Celestra Books 1-3

ethereal

tremble

burn

By Addison Moore

CELESTRA BOOKS 1-3 Copyright 2013 © Addison Moore

ETHEREAL Copyright 2011 © Addison Moore

TREMBLE Copyright 2011 © Addison Moore

BURN Copyright 2011 © Addison Moore

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

Books by Addison Moore

New Adult

Someone To Love (Someone to Love 1)

Someone Like You (Someone to Love 2) Coming 2014

3 a.m. Kisses (3 a.m. Kisses 1)

Contemporary Romance

The Solitude of Passion

Young Adult Paranormal Romance

Ethereal (Celestra Series Book 1)

Tremble (Celestra Series Book 2)

Burn (Celestra Series Book 3)

Wicked (Celestra Series Book 4)

Vex (Celestra Series Book 5)

Expel (Celestra Series Book 6)

Toxic Part One (Celestra Series Book 7)

Toxic Part Two (Celestra Series Book 7.5)

Elysian (Celestra Series Book 8)

Ethereal Knights (Celestra Knights)

Ephemeral (The Countenance Trilogy 1)

Evanescent (The Countenance Trilogy 2)

Entropy (The Countenance Trilogy 3) Coming late 2013

ethereal

Celestra Series Book 1

Addison Moore

Copyright © 2011 by Addison Moore

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

All Rights Reserved.

For the mafia princess and the backseat boys.

You mean everything to me.

Preface

Falling in love is a lot like death. It chooses you. It decides the moment and the chain of events that will preclude the precise intersection of life in which it occurs. It uses you—treats you as though you were malleable in its warm pliable hands. It doesn’t bother to ask if you want it, or need it, just fills the gaping hole of destiny’s design.

Love. My world blooms with its beautiful never-ending ache. I would give all of my blood to my enemies to have it completely—if I knew it would satisfy them—if I could live without it. But I know the resolution. I know the end of the story before it ever begins. I must choose love. And for this, I will surely die.

It is that time in my life—a time for love and a time for death. Fate had intertwined the two, bereaved of any mercy. It is in the architecture of my being, the infrastructure. The pillars of my life had been established long ago—the blueprint written in my bloodlines.

1

Move

A white stagnant cloud surrounds us—fog so thick it makes the world look ethereal—like a relic from some long forgotten place. Our car glides off the ferry, and my stepfather takes the keys from the porter.

Tad, my stepfather, hands him a crumpled bill in secret. Tad is the cheapest living creature on the face of the earth. I’m embarrassed to look at the porter so I begin with the business of climbing in the car.

“Skyla,” my mother pulls me back, “let your sisters go first.”

My sister Mia, and stepsister Melissa, both crawl into the third row of the minivan. I’m stuck with Drake, per usual, my half brother who entertains himself with bodily functions and tries to get me in on the action. He’ll be a junior next month like me.

My mother thought it was a sign that she and her then boyfriend had kids the same ages, plus two deceased spouses. I’m really happy for Mia since both she and Melissa are going into seventh grade together. Junior high in general is kind of scary, plus she’s off my back now. Before Melissa came into our lives, Mia was constantly bugging me and getting into my things, and now it’s like I don’t even exist. Drake on the other hand, I’m not so thankful for. I’m already aware that his presence will effortlessly degrade my social standing.

I push in my ear-buds and lean back for the ride.

Paragon Island is off the central coast of Washington. My mother made a list of odd facts about it and stuck it to the vanity just above my desk, which isn’t there anymore because everything I own has been shipped to our new residence somewhere on the west side of the island. I don’t remember the laundry list of ridiculous facts, just that it’s twenty-six miles in length, two high schools, two malls, and is complete with a load of freaks that specialize in the art of inbreeding. And by the use of deductive logic, some of those freaks will be my classmates—inmates—for the next two years. OK, that last one wasn’t actually on the list, but factual nonetheless. Also, there’s the whole deal about east side, west side, which suggests to me I should be expecting musical gang fights and lots of girls named Maria.

I already miss my old school—old life. Not that I was super popular or anything, but it was home and what I was used to. No one had any real expectations of me, and I was comfortable in my nonexistent clique of girls. I also miss my dad who died two years ago, whose death is the entire reason my universe disbanded. He was the gravity that kept my sanity aligned. Without him I’m adrift in this world, without a compass and without a home.

I wipe a lone tear off my face and force myself to take in the landscape—row after row of skeletal trees that stretch to the sky, fog-laden roads illuminated in black and white. Something about this feels right. This is how I imagined the world right after my dad died—lonely—one solid grey scene after the next in some muted old-time movie. L.A. was always sunny, always telling the wrong story, ending with miraculous sunsets that looked like they belonged in a fairytale. It was a murky grey reality that I craved. It’s like this island knows me. It knows me right through to my gossamer riddled heart.

“Is it always like this?” I pluck out an ear-bud and lean toward Mom.

“The weather? Rains a lot, too.” She beams her paper white teeth in my direction, her crimson hair fringes her face. She knows how to radiate a smile, how to pull one off even when the situation doesn’t warrant it. I wish she could turn down the volume once in a while, but that would be like asking the sun to tone down its beams. Sometimes I hate how perky she is, like she doesn’t miss dad—like he never existed.

“Perfect.” I move my lips, don’t let my voice escape.

Tad points toward a long stretch of homes. These aren’t the run of the mill suburban streets that stamped out Los Angeles like a disorganized quilt. These houses sit on top of long narrow driveways, each on their own perch, nestled in a private forest of pine trees so thick you can hardly make out the structure of the home itself.

“Third one,” Tad says, hovering over the steering wheel.

Now would be a great time for the airbag to deploy. I imagine his shocked expression as it explodes into his chest, knocks him backward and breaks his neck. I can practically see the blood trickle from his nose.

“We’re here,” my mother sings.

My mouth drops open as we trail up the driveway. It looks massive compared to the beach bungalow we lived in back home. A wall of glass looks out at the street below, tall double doors with twin fixed windows set in both—one of them broken. It takes a minute for me to absorb the sheer mammoth size before I realize it’s nothing more than an overgrown cabin. Large fat beams run across the façade, and it reminds me of the Lincoln logs I used to play with in preschool.

The fresh damp air hits me as I file out of the car, baptizes me with the unexpected scent of eucalyptus. I like it like this—nature all around—perfumed air to greet each day. I think I could get used to living here. Paragon is proving to be morbidly beautiful in its own special way.

Drake emerges from the car picking at his nose, his eyes glued to the house in a daze.

Suffice it to say, I’m more than slightly mortified to be forcibly associated with him. Drake is my own personal social suicide, and the sooner I accept that, the sooner I can come to terms with my loner status at the school library.

“Landon family?” A light female voice calls out from the fog at the bottom of the driveway.

A thin brunette with her hair pulled back wafts in and out of the fog like a ghost. Auburn highlights electrify her ponytail as she jogs up to meet us.

“Hi! I’m your neighbor,” she jerks her thumb at the house next door, “Brielle.” Her tiny hand jets out in my direction.

I reach for her, but Drake sideswipes me. He over exaggerates a handshake, lets her know he’s a douchebag right from the beginning. No sense in saving the surprise for later.

“Skyla Messenger.” I shove Drake aside with my shoulder and shake her hand like a human who actively participates in civilization.

She reminds me of the army of Barbie’s I used to play with as a kid, same perfect features—bright green eyes. Except for the hair. I’ve got the requisite blonde hair that you need to survive in L.A. If you’re a female and have access to a bottle of bleach you’re required to go bimbo by the time your sixteen. Lucky for me it grows out of my head this way. I let it grow long after my dad died. It’s him I get the curls from.

“Come on.” Tad waves us up the stairs onto an expansive porch and the wood groans from the weight of us. A picnic table sits abandoned in the corner with an umbrella is spiked through the center, chock full of spider webs.

“I’ll give you the tour,” Brielle offers, stepping in before me. She bounces through the door with far more enthusiasm than I’ve had in years.

Tad and Mom head toward the back of the house, with my mother pointing out how nice everything is and Tad refuting her claims. The girls take off upstairs and fill the hollowed out house with the echoes of their laughter.

“You’ve been here?”

“Oh yeah, tons. My friend used to live here.” Her face smoothes out as she stares past me with a glazed look in her eye.

“Where’d she go?”

“She died.”

I stop abruptly, stunned by the revelation. I don’t know why I wasn’t expecting death as an answer. Sometimes it feels as if death is something unique to my family. I keep forgetting its necrotic arms stretch out to the rest of the world as well.

“You didn’t know?” Brielle takes me by the hand and pulls me up the stairs at a decent clip—her enthusiasm still awkwardly bubbling to the surface.

“No. So, um, what happened?” Truth is, I don’t want to know. I hate ghost stories by the campfire, and I don’t listen to the news. I can’t stand freaky things so I avoid them at all costs, that’s exactly why I maintain the ability to sleep at night. But this is different. The poor girl lived here once. I should at least care to ask what happened, but Brielle doesn’t say anything just keeps walking with a hop in her step as though she didn’t hear.

We make our way down a huge hallway with coffee stained walls—cobwebs in the corner, dense enough to qualify as curtains. I watch as the ghostlike tendrils of spider webs long forgotten give a gentle wave from the crevices of the dusty chandelier above.

Mia and Melissa have staked their claim to the bedroom at the far end, near a set of double doors, which I assume is the master. Drake is already gassing up the one just off the stairs, so I’m left with the one in the middle.

“Chloe’s room,” the words whisper from her lips. Brielle steps in and drinks it down, wide-eyed and terrified.

“Chloe’s room,” I echo. An icy chill penetrates my bones. I look around at the dingy rectangle with bare walls and dark-planked floors. A large bay window with a built in bench fills the back wall. It lends the room a romantic appeal in a haunted sort of way.

“So your friend—” I start in slow. The last things I want is to do is pull the pin on the grieving grenade in the event it’s still fresh—in case her death still stings like hell to think about like it does with my dad. “What did she die of?”

Brielle’s face bleeds out all color, her eyes widen at my seemingly irresponsible oversight.

“She didn’t die of anything. She was murdered.”

2

Adulation

It doesn’t take long before I talk my way out of unpacking duties and ditch the haunted house for a quick tour of Paragon Island piloted by Brielle herself.

The movers pull in just as we leave and I see them haul my old dresser out and hoist it upstairs. It looks so foreign here against the backdrop of the pines. All of my furniture, all of my things transplanted to this unknowable place. It scares me on some level knowing life will never be the same again.

“They never caught who did it,” Brielle says as we drive down a black velvet highway. “Found her in a shallow grave near the base of Devil’s Peak. It’s weird because we hang out at the overlook all the time.” She pulls her leg up on the seat and steers the wheel with her knee for a good stretch of road. “And there she was right there at the bottom.” Her eyes glaze over as tears begin to fall.

I’m too busy honing in on her sorrow, matching it with my own over my father to notice we’ve drifted lanes. A horn blares without ceasing and shakes us both back to reality. I grab a hold of the wheel and help maneuver us into the proper lane.

“Crap!” I’m half laughing. It feels good like this to have the laughter chase the tears away. One more solid second, and we would have flooded the Jeep with a river of sorrow.

“I’m so freaking sorry,” she says, pressing her hand to her chest. “Trust me vehicular homicide wasn’t high on my to-do list when I got up this morning.” She lifts a finger over at the bowling alley across the way. “Let’s go there.”

Paragon Bowling Alley, the large neon sign blinks with all the fanfare of some D list joint off the Sunset Strip. It sits across the main thoroughfare, overlooking a jagged shoreline. The sun’s dismal glow illuminates it from behind a mass of dark clouds. It sets over the establishment like an orange ember as if prophesying something about that very place.

We make our way inside and a violent seizure of light attacks our senses, subtle as a funhouse. The name Arcade Heaven is painted on a plank right above the doorway. The dark cloistered room is lined with video games that blink on an off in a spastic stream of energy. A group of teenagers, mostly Goth looking guys, hunch over the blinking mechanisms making hasty strides with every jerk of their hand.

“This way!” Her voice rises up over the noise.

She leads me through the tiny room and into a well-lit expanse devoid of the sensory pollution of the entry. It looks like your average bowling alley with lanes lining the two opposing walls of the colossal structure. A giant squared off cashier’s station sits to our right with a wall of shoes behind it. Every now and again a set of pins knock over followed by a gasp or scream. The place is nearly empty, but then it is a Thursday afternoon in August. I suppose even the village shut-ins take a vacation now and again.

“Bree,” a male voice spikes from behind.

We turn in unison. A pair of guys around our age make their way over, both tall, one with gold hair that matches my own, and one with hair the color pitch. It’s the blonde that gets my attention. He looks familiar and yet I can’t place why. He presses out a smile and my insides explode with head. It feels as though the entire room has lost its light, harnessed all the beauty life has to offer and shifted its lust-filled focus on the two of us. I bask in his perfection, straight Roman nose, sharp almond eyes, broad chest, shoulders as wide as a baseball bat.

My mouth falls open stupidly, and I can feel the drool pooling beneath my tongue.

“Guys, this is Skyla. She’s moving into Chloe’s old house.” She gives an apprehensive look. “Skyla, these are the knuckleheads I work with, Logan and Gage.” She waves her hands over them as though they were prizes.

Logan.

Immediately I’m lost in his trance—like he’s cast a spell on me and now I can’t look away. It’s simultaneously the most comfortable and frightening feeling in the world. I want to tell him that he’s gorgeous, that he could start a forest fire with his looks alone, but something far more banal escapes my lips in the form of hello.

“Skyla?” The dark haired boy leans in. “Gage Oliver.” He takes up my hand and steps into me in an effort to capture my attention. He smiles and his face ignites in a set of severe dimples that make me weak at the knees. His eyes are the purest color blue I have ever seen—the color of a cobalt sea off in some exotic part of the world. His stunning features are a work of art, and I’m perplexed that standing before me are two of the best looking guys on the planet. Normally, I would have been ripe to worship at his feet, but it’s the Adonis to his left that has me spellbound.

“You have a very unique name. It’s beautiful.” The Adonis takes my hand away from Gage and brings it to his lips with a smile. “Logan Oliver.” His voice dips as he emphasizes his first name.

“Oh, so you’re brothers?” It comes out doubtful. They look nothing alike. Or maybe they’re step? Mothers marrying morons is on the rise.

“Cousins.” Logan ticks his head toward Gage. “I live with them. My parents are both deceased.”

His words jar me from my lust-struck stupor.

“Oh, I’m sorry. My dad died, too.” It’s only when I look down that I notice he’s still holding my hand, cradling it soft between both of his. The awkwardness of the situation comes to light and he gently replaces it next to my waist.

“Sorry.” He gives a pensive stare, bearing right through me with those amber lenses—like he sees me, but too much. I feel naked under his watchful supervision, and it sends an errant shudder up my spine.

We reconfigure at a nearby table with Brielle next to me, and Logan across from her.

“So you’re a junior?” Gage rasps his knuckles across the table like a nervous habit. He’s fixed on me with those piercing blue orbs, pulling his gaze across my features slow as honey. He takes me in with an open intensity as if he sees our future written across my forehead.

“Yup,” I try to sound casual, ignoring the fact I’m shaking in their godlike presence. “And you guys?”

“We’re all juniors!” Brielle rattles my arm as though it were the most exciting news in the world.

When she touches my flesh, I can hear her thoughts. It’s an odd gift that I underutilize. I think my mother is onto me because she bolts like a cat out of water if I dare let a hug linger.

Bet they’re both already in love with her. She glances at the ceiling. All that perfect hair, and what color are those eyes anyway? Crystal clear? Really, I hate how beautiful she is.

She hates my beauty. The thought of it brings a slight curve to my lips.

“So tell me about Chloe,” I ask no one in particular. If I’m going to be holed up in her bedroom, it’d be nice to know something about her.

A stunted silence fills the tiny space around us, and I suddenly get the feeling I should never have brought her up.

Logan’s face darkens. His eyes flare, something akin to anger. Gage cuts a look across the room as though he were seething.

Chloe may be dead, but it’s clear her name still holds a great deal of power.

3

Cult of Personality

Turns out Chloe was the subject of much lust at West Paragon High—cheerleader, all around American girl, dated both Logan and Gage on and off—been dead a good nine months.

I blink up at the canopy above my bed. My mother had the movers replicate my old bedroom under her strict delegation of authority. She dreams of us falling in love with this rat-trap, playing the piano and singing by a roaring fire. I think she needs an entire family transplant for something of that moronic magnitude to happen. Doesn’t she realize our family died two years ago? We buried it back in L.A. with my father.

I glance out the window as the morning stretches out in a sheer bloom of fog, and a sad smile plays on my lips. Already I don’t want to leave—already I’m in love with this haunted, arid island.

I dreamed of Logan last night. Logan on the beach, Logan at the movies, his oven-hot hands racing up and down my body—crying out my name on a lonely stretch of highway.

A horn goes off outside in a series of short staccato beeps.

I glance over at the alarm—nine on the button. Brielle managed to convince me to join the cheerleading squad with her. She said, ever since Chloe died they’ve yet to fill the void and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

The horn goes off again as I round my legs over the bed. I ignore her impatient honking and head into the shower.

When I get out, I find Brielle is sitting Indian style on my bed, messing with her phone. “Morning sunshine.” She doesn’t bother looking up.

“So Gage or Logan, which one’s yours?” I try to sound indifferent, lacing my words with sarcasm, but I’m digging for the truth and we both know it.

I towel dry my hair like it’s no big deal, like I didn’t whisper I love you to him all night long in my dreams.

“Which one do you think?” She cocks her head to the side like a dare.

It couldn’t be Logan. What we shared was electric.

“Gage?”

She pulls her lips in a line. “Neither.”

“Oh.” I let my towel fall to the ground and snatch the hairbrush off my desk. “Which one are you hoping for?” I can spot a crush a mile away. If she says neither I’m going to hold her down by the wrists until I hear the truth stream through her mind.

“I don’t know. I’ve known them all my life—kind of find them boring. I like fresh meat. You know, undiscovered terrain.” She gives a hard squint hard and points toward Drake’s room.

“Oh, dear God, no.” In a way it’s a good thing because there won’t be any weirdness between us, like ever. Let the record show I will never challenge her for Drake’s affection.

“What?” She breaks out in a giant grin. “He’s cute.”

“Gah!” My hands rise instinctively over my ears. “It’s like you’re cursing.”

“Anyway,” she tosses her phone onto the mattress, “they’re not seeing anybody. And when I went to work last night it was obvious they were already warring over you. Guess they like fresh meat, too.”

Warring?

My entire body flushes with heat.

Fresh meat, indeed. Good thing I’m partial to carnivores.

***

West Paragon High sits landlocked an unfortunate distance from the miles of sandy shore the island has to offer. Another fog filled afternoon greets us, and I welcome the dew as it kisses my face, caresses my arms and legs as we cut through it with haste.

We’re a good forty minutes late to practice because of my ‘hygiene habit’ as Brielle so delicately put it.

On the ride over, she informed me of the triune goddesses who run the team and apparently the school with their wicked charm, of which no one can stand, and yet everybody secretly wants to be a part of. Sounds like your typical power bitches.

“Michelle Miller, Emily Morgan, Lexy Bakova,” Brielle spits their names out like curses. They have that ripped from the pages of an expensive magazine look written all over them. And I’m guessing the set of matching scowls is their signature smirk.

“Nice to meet you.” I manufacture a smile.

“Natalie Coleman, Kate Winston.” Brielle concludes the introductions with a set of homelier girls with bright friendly faces—Natalie with her rust colored ringlets and Kate as pale as paper.

It’s uncomfortably quiet, save for a few shy hellos from the last two. The trio of wickedness glares over at me with a special brand of callousness I’ve yet to encounter. A sense of vulnerability washes over me, and suddenly I’m self-conscious of everything right down to my breathing.

“Hey,” a booming voice calls from the side.

With lightning quick strides Logan appears next to me, swooping his arm across my shoulder like it belonged there—not that I’m protesting.

“Trying out for the team?” He’s sporting a half-shirt, worn out grey sweats and has a football helmet tucked under his arm.

“Yeah, I think so.” I don’t tell him that I’m in. That they’ll give me Chloe’s spot if I want it. I don’t want to see his amber eyes smolder with anger at the mention of her name.

He’s far more attractive than he was yesterday, and I’m not entirely sure how that’s even possible.

“Morning,” I say as though magically we were the only two people on the field.

“Morning,” he counters, soft as a whisper. He smiles into me with his eyes lighting up like beautiful flames.

I keep staring at her and I’m gonna have a really big problem right here, right now. I hear him say.

I bite down a smile, fighting back the laugh trying to rumble out of my chest. I can feel the heat stinging my cheeks an embarrassing shade of scarlet.

God—I think I’m in love.

His eyes widen with pleasure.

Love? He looks right at me as he says it in his mind.

My eyes widen with horror as I jump free from his grasp.

Shit!

He heard me.

I heard him and he heard me.

Judging by the shocked expression on his face. He didn’t expect it either.

4

Listen

Later that night, I watch mesmerized as the trees appear and disappear in and out of the fog as Brielle races us down the narrow streets of Paragon.

Mom was so tired, there was hardly any fight left in her when I asked if I could go to a party tonight. Mom’s only concession was that I let Drake tag along. She wants him to get acclimated before school starts. She and Tad are afraid he’ll have a hard time fitting in. I wanted to tell her that most likely he won’t fit in anyway—primates usually don’t fare so well at public school. But I paid the piper and issued Drake a get-out-of-the-house-free-card instead.

“Ellis Harrison is sort of a dick,” Brielle says, turning down the music in her bright red Jeep.

Earlier she informed both my mother and me that he came from old money, that he lived in one of the biggest homes in Paragon Estates, a gated community not too far away.

She recites his name to the security guard at the tower who lazily punches in a code and the wooden arm in front of the car rises to let us through.

The Paragon Estates feels far more open, more spacious than the quasi track housing the rest of the island is subject to. We glide down a mysterious winding path flanked with tall blue ponderosa pines lining the periphery. You can feel the affluence just driving past the sprawling homes, each one more extravagant than the last, hiding behind neatly trimmed bushes that nestle their borders. A white bridal fence stretches out alongside the road for what feels like miles as giant eucalyptus shag their leaves into the wind.

The dark velvet night glows an eerie shade of purple, the color of a storybook world, a fairytale. Even through the thick rolling fog you can make out the crystal expanse of stars glinting above. They sparkle down their glory like shards of broken glass.

Brielle pulls into a long stone-paved driveway that widens until it reaches a monolithic estate lit up like a jewel. A giant chandelier glitters out from the second story window just above a set of glass doors adorned with wrought iron. The whole place has a Spanish villa feel, equipped with an enormous three-tiered fountain in the middle of the circular driveway. The base of the manmade spring is surrounded by an entire pride of stone lions. The water illuminates an unearthly glow, and it occurs to me while taking in all of the majesty that I could never get used to living in a place as fantastic as this. I’d have to wear ball gowns to bed and pearls to breakfast. Hell, I’d probably have to eat pearls for breakfast.

“Holy shit,” Drake hisses as we get out of the Jeep.

The entire upper portion of the driveway is bombarded with cars. I look around suspiciously, trying to decode which one Logan might drive, or Gage for that matter. Speaking of which, I’m not particularly looking forward to seeing the mind reader in question tonight. I still haven’t had the chance to properly process what happened this afternoon. He didn’t say a word after the strange incident, just took off for practice like a bat out of hell.

Maybe it was my imagination? Maybe I only thought he could hear me? Honest to God I’d die if he could. Proclaiming my love for someone, on this, the second day of our acquaintance, is enough to spook anybody. And the last thing I want to do is spook Logan Oliver.

Brielle leads us in through the front door without knocking.

It’s noisy inside. My chest picks up the bass from some rap song I don’t recognize as an army of shadows laugh and sway to the beat. I don’t say anything about the music blowing out my eardrums. I just follow the scarf of Bree’s perfume into the next room, which is scarcely illuminated by the residual light from the entry.

It’s not wall to wall bodies like the parties I’ve been to back home, but then those houses were the size of a shoebox and come to think of it, if we shrunk this place down to size, it would probably be wall to wall bodies, too.

“Ellis!” She flings her arms around a tall, good-looking guy with sandy hair and a deep dimple in his right cheek. My stomach gives a hot pinch at the sight of him. “This is Skyla,” Brielle shouts over the music, “and her brother!” She pulls Drake over and laps her arm around his waist.

Ellis doesn’t hesitate to offer me a full-blown hug. His hands ride up and down my back like a pair of rabid snakes, nearly unhooking my bra in the process and something tells me that might have been the point. “Nice to meet you.” He slithers to my hand and shakes it.

Damn, she’s hot. I want to…

I snatch my hand back before the visual has a chance to take over. Some thoughts just aren’t worth hearing.

“Look who decided to join the party?” A voice emanates from behind.

Gage appears next to Brielle. His eyes shine bright as beacons as if he’s got a blue flashlight in the back of each one. He introduces himself to Drake by way of a high-five.

Gage looks sharp in a stark white polo. It gives off an eerie glow in this low light and matches the white of his teeth.

I press out a quiet smile. Innately I can tell he’s sweet. He has a warmth about him, something that every part of me wants to gravitate toward, but it’s the prospect of seeing Logan that has my heart racing.

They’re a package deal, right? Living together, the bowling alley, football team…

I turn and startle to find him behind me.

“Hey,” he says it low, seductive. He folds his arms across his chest and shifts into a defiant stance. The shadows in the room play with his features, sharpening his already cutting good looks, and I can’t tell whether or not he’s happy to see me.

Brielle pulls Logan over with robust enthusiasm and introduces Drake as my brother. So much for pretending I don’t recognize him as a species. At least he’s not picking his nose. For that I can be thankful.

Drake reaches up and scratches at the side of his nostril, giving me a mild heart attack in the process.

“You shoot pool?” Logan directs the question at me as though we were the only people in the room.

“I’ll break some balls with you guys.” Ellis nods into the offer.

“No thanks.” Logan doesn’t waver from our stare. A tiny smile plays on his lips but he won’t give it. Logan and his splendor manage to deafen all of the noise from the room. His eyes seem to have garnered the ability to steal the light from the chandelier, cast it out at the world as though it were their own.

Without a word, I follow Logan through a pair of French doors that lead out to the side yard.

The air outside is perfumed with night blooming jasmine, a scent that reminds me of my backyard in L.A. It coats me with a heavy feeling of nostalgia and I want to escape it, leave the bookmark from the past in another state entirely. Instead, I try to focus on the fog as it deposits its damp residue over my face with its cold ragged breath.

Logan walks us down a dirt trail leading to a barn-like structure in the rear of the property.

“It’s warm inside. I promise.” He presses his fingers against the small of my back, holding open the door to the miniature house.

It is warm inside, cozy, unlike the mausoleum we left.

He turns on a light in a kitchen the size of the one I had in L.A. In fact it looks surprisingly like a normal sized home with the exception its just one large room with a pool table smack in the middle.

I run my fingers over the smooth red velvet lining the table while Logan fishes the balls out of the pockets and rolls them on top. I watch as he gathers them, places them into the wooden triangle with great patience. He doesn’t say a word, just goes about his business like he was at work.

A weirdness has cropped up between us, and I’m staring to think sequestering myself with him so soon wasn’t the best idea.

“So,” he begins, “how long have you known?” He pushes a stick in my direction as if it were an olive branch.

“Known what?”

He’s not talking about love, right? We literally just met and he can’t read minds so the whole idea is absurd.

His head ticks to the side, examining me openly under the soft glow of light.

“That I like to play pool?” I tease. I don’t tell him I’m a novice at the sport, that I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve played and still have fingers left over. Instead, I lean in and shoot the white ball across the table and say, “Stripes.”

Logan steps in, pinning me against the table with his body over mine. He leans in and shoots from behind my back. Heat emanates off his skin, hot as a summer sidewalk. His knee presses into my thigh like an invitation, and I break out in an unexpected sweat.

“Solids,” his warm breath hums across my cheek.

I twist around, landing us nose to nose.

Logan gives a sorrowful smile as his eyes glaze over with lust. He brushes his fingers across the back of my neck and holds me there softly.

Kiss me, he instructs. His eyes widen at the prospect.

A dull moan gets trapped in my throat as I lean in and press my lips against his, soft as a summer breeze.

A small part of me tries to scramble my thoughts, erase the overzealous elation from my being, but I can’t. I grab the back of his neck and push him in deeper, indulging in a kiss that goes on for miles. His tongue darts around my mouth, glides across my teeth, happy to be there.

Logan pushes me back onto the pool table and the balls shoot out from underneath me. He runs his lips over my face, my neck, igniting me with a wave of quick kisses. He pulses up to my ear before crashing over my lips, perfect and hungry.

Right here. Right now, he purrs.

“What?” I slap my hands against his chest, pushing him off with a violent force.

“Sorry.” His hands fly through the air quick as a stickup.

“I better go.” I bolt from the pool house and into the night.

If I stayed another minute I might have said yes.

5

Questions

Ellis’ party is still going strong.

Brielle is nowhere to be seen and suspiciously neither is Drake. The disgusting possibilities float through my mind—welcome as a school of dead fish.

“Skyla,” Logan’s deep voice emanates from behind as I peer into the kitchen.

I ignore him briefly as I spy on Brielle and Drake pushed up against the sink. He’s busy raking his hands up and down her back octopus-style, and I find the entire display of mollusk-like affection difficult to watch.

I lean back into the hall filled with disbelief.

“I think we need to talk,” Logan shakes his head when he says it. He looks serious as though a major infraction just occurred.

“Look,” the strange urge to cry infiltrates me, “I just really want to go home.” My knees tremble as I try to steady myself against the wall. The idea of someone else having the same ability more than freaks me out. Especially when it’s a boy I happen to like.

“Let me take you,” he says it soft and gentle as if trying to convince me there’s nothing to fear, as if reading peoples minds, Drake getting it on with the super model next door, were as normal as breathing.

I follow Logan outside, afraid to hold his hand or touch him in general. If he can hear my thoughts that means the deformity that lives in me also lives in him. That it wasn’t some random gift bestowed upon me and my father—that others have this, too.

Maybe I gave it to Logan like a cold or mono? Maybe I have the ability to pass it to the ones I love, or at least those I believe I do.

We make our way down the winding driveway, past the rows of expensive cars and into the great expanse of a deep velvet night.

“So, where we going?” My fingers brush up against him and this time I don’t fight it. I form my hand around his because it feels natural, because I want to.

He stops short and turns to face me. I live across the street. His eyes press into mine.

Can you hear me? I offer it as a test run.

“Yes,” he pushes the word out with great intensity.

“Oh God.”

He hears me. He knows my thoughts. I wiggle out of his grasp.

Can you hear me now? I offer it with all the sarcastic inflection I can muster.

He pulls his cheek up on one side.

“I need to touch you,” he says.

“You’re just like me,” I marvel. All the anger and confusion vanishes like smoke and suddenly I’m thrilled to have Logan Oliver standing before me. Somehow, someway, we found our way to each other.

“And you’re just like me, but prettier.” He leans in slow and sears me with a kiss.

The world shifts, the lavender sky spreads its wings over the two of us like a blessing.

We continue the meandering walk over to his house. It mirrors Ellis’ home in width, but the styling is different, more rambling ranch than Spanish Villa. The lights are all off, and I wait on the porch as he literally pops in and out to grab his keys and wallet. He leads me over to an oversized white truck and helps me climb inside. I text Drake and let him know where I’m headed.

“You really want to go home?” He asks, settling himself in his seat. He sticks the keys in the ignition, and the truck roars to life beneath us.

“Not really,” the thought of hanging out with Mom and Tad is enough to make me fashion a noose out of my hair. “You wanna just drive?”

“Sure, I know just the place to take you.”

Take me? God—it’s probably some dense forest where the locals go to mate.

“I know I’m from L.A. and stuff,” I start, “so you probably think I’ve been everywhere—done everything,” I haven’t dropped in a hole, and that’s something I’d like to do right about now, “but I haven’t, and I don’t plan on it. I’m a… ” I stop shy of formulating the word ‘virgin’ on my lips. We’ve already determined I’m a freak, well, I guess we both are, but still, no point in dissecting the issue.

“I’m glad you haven’t been everywhere,” he says it with a disarming charm that makes me writhe on the inside, “or done everything.” He glances over with a peaceable smile.

We drive for long stretches in silence. A thicket of boiling clouds canopy across the sky like an oversized umbrella. They press into the island, hiding the moon and the stars like a cloak.

“Do you know what it is?” He asks, taking the turnoff marked Devil’s Peak. He pulls into a graveled lot and parks in close to a wooden fence that sits at the edge of the cliff. The moon breaks through and shines its beams down over the water.

“It’s so beautiful,” I breathe. I’m mesmerized by the glistening river of light as it dances in an erratic line over the waves.

“So are you, but you’re evading the question.” He picks up my hand and nestles it in his.

Do you know why you’re like this?

A breath gets caught in my throat.

A picture of my father—his perfect smile blinks through my mind. Lately each time I think of him it feels as though I’ve fallen through a trapdoor.

Another image vies for my attention—a young couple, both filled with elation as they hold up an infant between them.

That’s me in the middle. Logan looks at me intently.

I’m sorry. My heart breaks for him. What happened?

Car accident—so I was told.

“I could do this with my dad.” It frightens me to do this with Logan. “My mom, my sister, they can’t.”

“Gage can’t. Look—I just want you to know I don’t make a habit of touching people and reading their thoughts.”

“I’m impressed.” But not sure I’m buying it.

“Are you?” He pulls my fingers to his lips and kisses them individually. “But you don’t really know why you can do this, do you.” It comes out more a fact than a question.

“No. Will you tell me?”

Logan wraps his arms around me and pulls me close.

I don’t fight him because there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

“Yes, I’ll tell you,” he leans in and brushes his lips against mine, “but not tonight.” He crashes his lips over mine with a hot flurry of kisses.

And I don’t object.

6

Inquisition

In the late afternoon, when I finally manage to roll out of bed, I head downstairs and find my mother in the kitchen.

“You look like death warmed over.” She plucks at my hair as I walk past her on the way to the fridge.

“Gee thanks.” I pull out the O.J. and lean against the island. “You ever miss Daddy?” It comes out childlike, simple.

Her eyes widen then retract as she glances back down at her game of Sudoku. I recognize the small book she purchased at the gas station before leaving L.A.

“Only like crazy,” her voice dips to a guilty whisper. It’s usually an indication that Tad is somewhere in the vicinity. I hate the way my father has become some dirty little secret ever since Tad crashed into our lives. It’s like a sin to acknowledge my father even existed.

I don’t know if it’s the fact I could have easily slept another six hours, or the fact I can’t stand Tad in general but my blood begins to percolate, brewing itself into a perfect hormonal rage.

“It’s OK to talk about him, you know,” I say a little louder than necessary. “I wasn’t exactly hatched from an egg. He put me here.” The idea of my parents copulating sprints through my mind, takes my appetite out along with it.

“Nobody said you were hatched from an egg.” She gives the slight hint of annoyance. “Spare us the attitude. Looks like someone got up on the wrong side of the bed.”

I slam down the carafe in my hand, hard on the counter.

“Do I have to get up on the wrong side of the bed to think about Dad?”

“Skyla.” Mom’s eyes close heavy with regret.

Already we’ve started this day—this crazy train, down the wrong track.

“Excuse me but I still remember him,” my voice shakes as I deliver the words a little louder than anticipated. Without thinking I walk over and clutch my hands over her bare shoulders. “I miss him.” Tears stream down my cheeks as I dig my nails into her. Can you hear me? Tell me if you can hear me. Explain to me what the hell this is, because he’s dead, and he can’t tell me anything anymore!

“Skyla,” she shrieks, trying to break free from my hold. “Tad…Tad?” She bucks against me in an effort to wrangle away. Tad’s right, she’s going off the deep end because I never took her to therapy. God—what if she’s on drugs?

I let go as if her skin were on fire. She nurses her arms, holds herself tenderly as Tad the step monkey fast approaches.

“That’s it,” he barks. “You’ve gone too far, Skyla,” he reprimands while inspecting my mother’s injuries.

My mother breaks down into heaving sobs. He encapsulates her in his arms as she murmurs something, and he rocks her like soothing a baby.

I don’t hang out to watch the rest of the show. Instead, I speed out the front door and slam it with a bionic force. It goes off like a shotgun blast, ricocheting through the virginal morning air. Birds jet out of the pine branches and fly away from the house. I watch as they trek across the sky, quick as a dart.

I wish I could be that free.

***

Barefoot, with messy hair and no make-up is hardly the first impression you want to make on the parents of your new best friend.

Brielle lets me in, still wiping the sleep from her eyes. She takes in all my I-just-rolled-out-of-bed glory and blinks back surprise.

“Casual,” she nods, “I like that.”

The house is heavy with the sweet woodsy scent of bacon. I haven’t had real bacon since Tad came into our lives and declared pig-fried flesh something akin to an abomination.

A tall blonde with short-cropped hair and a friendly face peers over Brielle’s shoulder.

“You must be Skyla.” She puts out a slender hand, and I shake it.

“Nice to meet you,” I say.

“Darla,” she says giving my hand a firm squeeze. “Have you eaten yet?”

“Oh, that’s OK.” I shake my head. Like it’s not bad enough I’ve come to their door disheveled, I need to eat their food, too.

“I insist.” Brielle threads her arm through mine. “Our friendship isn’t official until you break bread with me—or pancakes.” She winks over at her mom like maybe they’re poison.

Brielle’s house is decorator perfect, all done up in shabby chic. It’s covered with a dozen different toile fabrics, from curtains, to throw pillows. Every square inch has been gift wrapped in repeating patterns. And knick-knacks abound in every nook and cranny, yet it doesn’t feel cluttered. Personally, I’d love it if Mom saw fit to unleash a pastel fabric bomb in the Landon household. I’d be in heaven if my bedroom looked exactly like this right down to the blue chandelier hanging over the center of the dining room table. Tad and Drake however would definitely feel their manhood disintegrating at the speed of light in an atmosphere like this.

“Your dad at work?” I ask Bree while her mother dishes up breakfast.

“Probably. They’re divorced,” she pauses, “I have a sister at Washington State. It’s just me and my mom right now.”

“That’s right. Just us girls,” she sings back with a slight country accent.

I wish my mother were secure enough to live on her own. I tried to talk her out of marrying Tad—being near Tad. Something about him sends a chill up my spine, sharp as razors. But I could never put my finger on why, and thus have never built an adequate case against him. Who am I kidding? She would have married him anyway. I’m the last person on the planet my mother would consult for the color of her pedicure, let alone marriage.

“You have fun at the party last night?” Brielle knocks her knee into mine beneath the table like she’s speaking in code.

“Logan drove me home. Showed me the overlook.” I shrug trying to ignore the fact I’m blushing ten shades of red.

“Overlook?” Darla lays our plates down and takes a seat. “Pretty girl like you? I bet he showed more than the overlook,” she draws the words out suggestively.

My mouth falls open at the sexual implications of it all. God, I hope she means landscape or the shiny blue Pacific. But I bet not. Brielle obviously has one of those ‘special’ moms that thinks sex at sixteen is natural as breathing. I’m pretty sure I’d never in a million years want my mom to convert to Darla’s special brand of parenting philosophy. The thought of my mother talking to me about sex makes me want to stab my eyes out with a fork, gouge even deeper and scramble my brains to prevent the conversation from ever happening.

“He showed me Ellis Harrison’s pool house. It looks like a barn.” It comes out unnatural as though I were lying.

Darla explodes into a fit of laughter. She picks up her plate and heads out of the room like I had chased her out with my sheer stupidity.

“A barn? Is that what they’re calling it these days?” She cries from the other room.

“She’s gone.” Brielle shakes her head in disgust. Maybe she doesn’t appreciate a ‘cool’ mom either.

“So, anyway,” I pat my bacon with a napkin, “that’s what happened. How was your night?”

“Awesome with a capital everything.” She takes a sip of her milk while batting her clumped lashes.

“I hope it was awesome because you had a good time for reasons other than Count Drakeula.” It’s not my fault he comes equipped with sharp pointy teeth—that and the fact I’m not above name-calling.

“Count Drakeula can suck my blood anytime he wishes.”

“You know I’m more than grossed out by this. You should go for Gage. He’s like a Greek god or something.” My stomach pinches with jealousy as if to protest the idea.

“Been there, tried to do that. Besides, he was talking about you last night. It doesn’t faze him at all that Logan practically staked his claim.”

“Me?” Something deep inside me purrs at the thought of Gage the claim jumper interested in me. I’ve never been the center of attention before, and for sure not from boys of this caliber. “It’s hard to believe they don’t already have girlfriends.”

“They really haven’t gone out with anyone since Chloe. They took her death pretty hard. We all did.” The smile bleeds off her face. She traces the rim of her glass with her fingertip as a spontaneous show of tears wobble inside her lids.

There’s so much mystery surrounding Chloe.

“Tell me all about her. I really want to know.”

7

Eulogy

Brielle bleeds words as fast as she can speak them. We head up to her bedroom, which is done up in yet another fit of pink toile. It becomes embarrassingly apparent they’ve safely exceeded their legal limit of both pink and toile in this household. They’re taking this whole, we are women, see our décor thing a bit too far. I’ll have to bring Mia and Melissa up here sometime and watch them swoon. I’m sure as soon as Taddy dearest hears of their newfound lust for a replica bedroom he’ll be on it in one pinky twisted minute. Not only is Melissa a daddy’s girl, but he’s taken Mia under his wing by proxy. I won’t deny the fact I’m insanely jealous. I used to be a daddy’s girl myself, but now there’s no more daddy.

A stream of tears rolls down my cheek as I listen to Brielle ramble on about how great Chloe was. Only my tears aren’t for Chloe and her albeit brief life, in fact, sadly, I sort of feel like I’m actually detesting her by the minute even though it’s totally not cool to detest a dead person. My tears are solely for my father—my father who’s been allocated to a mere whisper in Tad Landon’s glass castle. My father who used to take me to the pier to gaze out at the open night sky and point to the stars saying that’s where we came from, where we really belong.

Brielle chats incessantly about her dead BFF as we get ready for cheer, and as we face my parents and I spill an apology about my behavior earlier—lying like spilling oil. She talks as I shower, while I change for practice, and on the way over in the car.

“Anyway, one day I’ll have to show you all the scrapbooks. We used to sit around and piece them together at night. Pretty lame, right?”

“No, I think that’s great you have all those memories laid out to look at. I wish I had something like that of my dad. All our pictures are still floating around on my hard drive.” For so long I could barely think of him. Seeing his pictures in the hall of our old house killed me on an intimate level. I used to wish my mother would cover them up—burn them. And now there aren’t any around. Tad came in and hijacked our lives. We moved, and those are the only things my mother has yet to unpack.

For a moment I consider turning my room into a shrine for my father. That alone might ensure the fact Mom and Tad would never set foot in it. Then again, neither would I.

We pull into the school parking lot covered with the pall of another grey day.

“I like the weather here,” I say, letting the moist film adhere to my face, my open palms, as I drink it in.

“No one likes the weather here, except maybe the vampires.” She knocks into me with her shoulder and gives a wild cackle.

Natalie and Kate catch up with us before we hit the field. Natalie’s stiff curls are pulled back into a bumpy ponytail. Kate looks fresh out of the shower with dripping wet hair, long blonde strands as thick as spaghetti.

Brielle laments the fact practice is so early even though it’s nearly three in the afternoon. “One thing’s for sure,” she brushes up against my shoulder when she says it, “Ellis Harrison knows how to throw a party.”

I avert my gaze in the event she wants to drag this conversation back to the gutter like her mother did and spot Logan from across the field with his hands on his hips. He stands perfectly still as the rest of the football teams runs wild in some well-orchestrated play.

I wave over to him with a spastic enthusiasm and catch his attention. He lifts his hand just as a wall of a bodies lunge at him. Logan lands flat on his back, three bodies deep, and I let out a groan at the sight.

“Looks like your hands are lethal weapons.” Kate mimics my wave.

“Very funny,” I say as we make our way over the expanse of emerald lawn.

It feels good to have friends, or the prospective friends at least. It feels more than good to have the prospect of a boyfriend even though he’s not officially my anything. And it’s especially good that he shares my secret, that we can do it together. It brings a whole new meaning to a meeting of the minds.

“Alright bitches!” Michelle barks out at us. Her face is a thing of beauty but her personality clouds any physical perfection she might have. “Ready begin!” She blares music from a boom box without waiting for us to get into position. I try to copy the steps and keep up, but it’s pointless. I’m more than ten steps behind everyone else at any given time.

I bump into Lexy Bakova as I foolishly attempt a running kick and end up knocking her to the ground by way of my foot.

“Shit!” I cover my mouth.

The music stops abruptly as the triune goddesses quickly descend upon her.

“I’m so sorry.” I crouch down, trying to catch a glimpse of the unintended victim of my clumsiness. “It was an accident, I swear.”

A powerful blow explodes over my mouth, sends me flying backward onto the lawn. It takes a second for me to realize it was Emily’s elbow that so violently decided to connect with my dental work.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she exaggerates the words.

“It was an accident, I swear,” Michelle bleats it out with sarcasm. They break out in a fit of cackles while helping Lexy to her feet.

“What the fuck!” Kate shouts as she helps me up. Natalie and Brielle look equally pissed for me and I’d appreciate this a whole lot more if I wasn’t dying in pain.

“You’re bleeding.” Brielle wipes my mouth with the back of her hand, and a smear of red liquid streaks across her finger.

I inventory my teeth by way of my tongue to see if I’ve lost any in the process. I can taste the salt in my blood—tastes like rust, like I’ve been sucking on old pennies and I spit before the urge to vomit takes over.

“You’re so sick,” Lexy reprimands with her hand still flat over her stomach.

“Excuse me,” Brielle charges at her, “she almost had her teeth rearranged, you stupid bitch!”

“Who asked you to join the squad anyway?” Lexy doesn’t hesitate baring her fangs in my direction.

“I did.” Brielle takes an aggressive step forward. A small gust of wind pumps up her hair like a lions mane, and for a second I’m afraid a catfight is about to break out. “You gotta problem with that?”

“Actually,” Michelle steps between the two of them, “we all have a problem with that.” She fixes those expressionless black eyes on me with venom. “You think you can move into Chloe’s house, take her spot on the team, steal her boyfriend, and call it a day?”

“If you really want to be like her,” Emily bites down a wicked grin, “why don’t you swan dive off Devil’s Peak?” Flames shoot out of Emily’s eyes as if she has the power to will it to happen. But the details are worn. You don’t swan dive then bury yourself in a shallow grave. If she were really Chloe’s friend, she would never have gone there in the first place.

Brielle pushes into Emily’s chest, hard with both hands.

“Shit!” Emily screams at top volume before doubling over. “I think you popped an implant.”

“That’s it,” Michelle snaps, “practice is canceled.”

Lexy crashes into my shoulder as she strides on by. “You better watch your back, bitch.”

8

Lust and Things

Brielle takes to me to the nearest ER, and I blatantly refuse to get out of the car. Instead, we end up someplace where the attendants have bodies strong enough to protect you from a nuclear missile and can heal you with their good looks alone—the bowling alley.

I’m beginning to appreciate the aggressive flicker of light as we make our way inside. I love how spacious the bowling alley is, how the heavenly scent of buttered popcorn might actually be breeding air born calories.

In less than a minute, Logan gently pats my cheek with a bag of crushed ice. Every now and again he pulls it back to inspect the damage.

I place my hand over his arm—caress it back and forth until I can hear him clearly.

You’ll live. He gives a bleak smile. Stay away from those girls. They’re mostly trouble.

They said I stole Chloe’s boyfriend. Did I? My cheeks explode with color.

I’m shocked by my own audacity.

He gives a gentle laugh.

“What’s up with all the star gazing and silence?” Brielle looks genuinely perturbed. “If you die in your sleep because you have a concussion, it’s literally on your head, missy.”

“Points to you for sounding like my mother.” I trail down Logan’s arm and clasp onto his fingers.

Brielle glares at me a moment before excusing herself to the bathroom.

Was it something I said? I give a sarcastic smile.

“Look,” Gage blows it out in disgust, “if you guys are going to do this, find a booth in the back where people can’t see you,” The slight hint of jealousy lingers long after leaves.

Are you sure Gage can’t do this? I mean, you are related, I ask.

No. He knows all about it. Wouldn’t take my hand if it meant getting out of a fire. He’s mastered other tricks though, far more useless, I assure you.

What do you mean, other tricks? Logan, tell me what this is. Is it some sort of genetic defect? Why can I do this? Why do we have this ability?

His face sours. He pulls his hand away and drops it under the table.

“I want to. Not here though.”

“Why not? Nobody will know. We can do it in secret.”

“Really?” Brielle laughs as she takes a seat, her hand stuffed with a giant wad of tissue. “Why not right here on the table? I don’t think anyone will notice at all.”

“Not that,” I balk. “Are you OK?” Her eyes are puffy and swollen like she’s just had a good cry. All this talk about Chloe must have really upset her. I hate the thought I was somehow responsible. It was me who brought her up.

“It’s just hard sometimes.” She looks up at Logan. “Chloe’s been on my mind, and it’s gone from bad to worse.”

“Chloe was your friend.” He squints like he doesn’t really mean it. “It’s OK to miss her.”

My chest sinks like a stone when he says her name.

“I know.” Brielle wipes the tears and looks over at me. “She did have the bad habit of hanging out with Em, Michelle, and Lexy. They weren’t always the triune anything. She was the one who tempered them, and now without her they’ve gone feral. It’s like their wickedness unleashed the second Chloe disappeared.”

“Disappeared?” Of course she disappeared. I just never thought of it that way. In my mind it had all happened backward with her already lying in state in her casket.

“She went missing for two weeks,” Brielle whispers it like a secret. “Nobody knows what happened. Coroner says her body was thrashed when they found her,” she lowers her lashes, “she had these strange cuts all over.” Brielle gazes out past the lanes, through the walls, and straight into Chloe’s grave.

“Cuts? Maybe they were scrapes from branches? Like she was trying to escape,” I offer.

Logan shakes his head as though trying to evict the visual from his mind.

“Deep incisions,” Brielle’s voice breaks when she says it. “Her mom said it looked barbaric like she was used as some kind of science experiment. They think maybe somebody tortured her,” her voice rasps to nothing.

“Dear God.” I mouth the words.

Logan pulls the bag of ice away and shifts its contents before gently replacing it to my lip.

I had no idea about Chloe. I’m starting to regret ever asking about her. For all I know the killer could have extricated her from our shared bedroom in the middle of the night. They could have a perverse desire to snatch girls from that exact location again and again. I don’t really know anyone here on Paragon that well. For all I know he could be lurking somewhere right here in the bowling alley—watching me, waiting.

For sure I need to give my brain something fresh to gnaw on so I change the subject.

“Listen, if I can convince my parents to have a party will you come?” It may not be the perfect segue, but it beats ruminating on a killer.

“Of course.” A devilish smile play on Logan’s lips. Although I doubt a party was the venue he had in mind to let me in on his big secret—our secret.

“I mean just you guys and,” I look over at Brielle, “Drake will be there. Kate and Nat can come. My mom has this thing about my stepbrother meeting people. I know she’ll be OK with it.” Never mind the fact I almost clawed her flesh off this morning. I’m sort of hoping she’s already long forgotten about that.

“Sounds good.” Logan picks up my hand. But I can’t tell you in a room full of people. We need to be alone—just you and me.

Tell me now. No one will know.

Alone.

Am I going to freak out when I hear it?

He doesn’t say anything. Not a single thought sails through his mind.

You don’t think I can handle it, do you? I ask.

It’s not that I don’t think you can’t handle it. Once you realize who you are, you won’t ever get a chance to go back.

Who am I?

Skyla.

Not funny. I don’t scare easy.

You’re lying. He gives a bleak smile.

You’re saying it’ll frighten me?

It will and it should.

9

Speechless

“And think about Drake,” I motion over to him sprawled across the sectional, “he could meet all kinds of people who go to West Paragon.” I nod convincingly into my mother.

Brielle and I have spent the last several minutes building our case for a simple movie night with friends tomorrow night. Just the sheer heft of how hard it is convincing her to have a few people over, you would think we were asking to sacrifice kittens at midnight.

“I’m all for it,” she gives a dismissive wave, “I’ll take Tad out for a surprise date and catch the ten o’clock show. Fair enough?”

“What about the girls?” I hadn’t even thought of Mia and Melissa until they walked past us five seconds ago.

“They’ll come with.” She relaxes into the idea.

“Really?” A small squeal of delight escapes, and I’m careful to check it. No need to let her in on the fact I’m beyond excited. Just the thought of having Logan over makes me want to bounce like a three-year old.

“We’ve still got boxes everywhere and don’t think it hasn’t gone unnoticed that you haven’t exactly been digging into them.”

“I swear,” I hold my hand in the air like a girl scout, “I will tackle those boxes come Sunday morning.”

“Nice try, but I’m dragging the whole lot of you to church.”

Brielle gives an audible laugh.

“It wouldn’t hurt if you joined us,” Mom offers.

“Thanks, but no thanks.” Brielle averts her eyes when my mother’s not looking. Once my mom has a chance to get to know Darla, I think she’ll realize they have polarizing parental opinions and I’m betting marital ones, too.

When my dad was alive, church was a part of the family. It was mostly something my dad encouraged and none of us protested too severely. But since my mother married the antichrist, none of us have even stepped near hallowed ground.

“OK, Sunday afternoon,” I submerge my glee like trying to hold an air bubble underwater, “and we won’t make a mess. You’ll see.”

***

“Bitch squad, three o’ clock.” Brielle pushes me into the clearance rack at the mall.

I hadn’t really thought about clothes before, but after ransacking my closet it was clear there was nothing Logan worthy to wear tomorrow night.

“Would you stop?” I say, trying to right myself. “I’m not afraid of them.” I watch as Michelle, Lexy and Emily turn their noses up at the meager offerings. “If they hate everything so damn much maybe they should jump off Devil’s Peak.” A part of me can’t believe I just said that out loud. I keep forgetting that comments like that bring up the pain of Chloe’s death. It’s embarrassing how many times I’ve emotionally slit Brielle’s wrist with my tongue and let her bleed with grief. “Sorry,” I whisper as the three of them head in our direction.

“No offense taken.” Brielle pretends to interest herself in an ugly striped sweater.

“So, Michelle,” Emily ups the volume of her ultra annoying voice, “you give Logan back his sweater yet?”

I look up. It’s like hearing his name inspires some kind of kneejerk reaction in me. And why would she have his sweater? Probably just bullshit.

“I haven’t seen him yet.” Michelle glowers briefly in my direction. “It was just last night he left it in my room.” They break out in a fit of laughter. The sound of their voices erodes the peace and quiet of the store, fills my ears with its chaffing rhythm. I can tell by their expressions, making me miserable offers them a unique brand of nirvana.

Emily makes her way over in a series of heavy plods. Her dark curls frame her face, harsh and unattractive. It reminds me of a picture I once saw of a mermaid who had her locks shorn by the sea witch. When I was little, my father would read me fairytales at bedtime and I would study the pictures, dream about them. I used to wish I could be like that girl, jump into the sea and swim with the fishes, live in that magical underwater world.

“I guess I owe you an apology.” Her watery blue eyes drill into mine.

I’m stupefied by the notion of an apology—struck without words. Emily Morgan, the evil mermaid, eating crow? Doubtful.

“I guess you didn’t steal everything from Chloe.” Emily steps away as Lexy replaces her in the line up.

“How does it feel to be sleeping in the same room that Logan did Chloe in? Has he done you there too? You know, it being familiar stomping grounds and all. He is known for being insatiable in that department, isn’t that right Michelle?”

“I don’t kiss and tell, Lex.” A slow spreading smile widens across Michelle’s face.

It’s like I see her for the first time, her dark honeyed skin, eyes black as midnight, her lips naturally pulled in a snarl whether the occasion warrants it or not. Her hair falls down in burnt amber waves well past her shoulders. She holds a wicked beauty. I could see guys lining up around the block to take a ride if she threw out the offer. But I’m not buying that Logan is one of them.

“Let’s go,” I whisper to Bree.

“Not so fast.” Michelle steps out in front of me. “Logan says you’re having a party tomorrow night. So I guess that means we’re invited, right?” She clogs up the air with her sarcastic drivel.

“Really? Logan told you that?” I bet she vomits lies in her sleep.

“Yup. He says it’s going to be really exciting, what with all the movies and popcorn.” Michelle digs into me with a look of satisfaction. “Oh wait, he didn’t mention popcorn—guess it won’t be exciting after all.”

“Oh, I know,” Emily interjects. “We can all go to the library first and check out books. Then we can snuggle up on the couch together and read them round robin style.”

They explode with laughter.

“Better yet,” Emily continues, “we can do personality makeovers!” She’s laughing so hard, tears streak down the side of her face, bleaching out her foundation in jagged white tracks.

Brielle grabs me by the elbow and rushes us out the door, setting the security alarm off in the process. She looks down at the ugly striped sweater in her hand before tossing it back into the store, nailing Michelle in the face with it.

“If any of that crap about Logan is true, his ass is toast,” Brielle hisses.

If any of that stuff about Logan is true I want off Paragon.

I’ll swim all the way back to L.A. if I have to.

10

Gathering

“So it’s prolly the wrong time to ask, but how exactly does one garner a handful of enemies in the short time we’ve been here?” Drake asks with a mouthful of food.

I slap the next chip out of his hand.

“Stay away from the rations,” I snip. “It’s not for you.”

To say I’ve been a little pissy since my confrontation yesterday with the bitch squad is a gross miscarriage of the truth. I’ve been a lot pissy, and stabby and all around miserable.

I made Brielle promise she wouldn’t tell me whatever info she may have gleaned from her shift at the bowling alley. I want to hear it right out of Logan’s mouth—see his face when he tells me what exactly went on with Michelle. Hopefully nothing.

A thousand different scenarios have played out in my mind and the truth is not one of them made me feel better. And the thought of Logan having sex with some dead girl in my bedroom sent me packing for the downstairs couch last night. I know she wasn’t dead at the time, but dead or alive, it hurt like hell to hear it.

“Please,” Brielle snorts into Drake. She sounds just as annoyed with him as I do. Maybe the delusion has been shattered, and she sees him for the monkey boy he really is. “They’re everybody’s enemies.”

“So you’re saying I’m in good company.” I stir the lemonade in a large glass pitcher my mother uses for parties. Chips and dip? Lemonade? “This is so going to suck.”

“No it’s not.” Brielle pushes me aside and continues to stir for me. “We’re watching a movie. The guys are bringing pizza. And by nights end you may not hate Michelle so much.”

My eyes dart over to her accusingly. She’s implying that what Michelle said yesterday was true, at least in part. I hold up my hand. I don’t want to hear another word—for now.

“When they get here, I’ll take Logan upstairs and make him tell me everything. Just start the movie—don’t bother waiting for us. I’ve seen it a thousand times already.”

“Knew it,” Drake balks. “This ‘innocent get together’ is a rouse for you to get it on with some guy in your bedroom.” He looks rather proud of his misinformed epiphany.

At least Mom and Tad have already left with the girls in tow, which leaves me free to beat the shit out of Drake should the need arise and God knows it’s arising as we speak.

The doorbell goes off.

“Saved by the bell,” I say, speeding past him, “literally.”

Brielle whisks by and lets them in. Gage strides in with a giant white pizza box, digging his dimples in my direction as if there were romantic implications behind those deep wells. Natalie and Kate come in all smiles and hellos, each offering a hug.

“I can’t believe they did that to you,” Kate whispers. Actually, I’m not sure which offense she’s referencing. The list seems to grow by the minute.

Logan holds up the rear. He looks luminescent with a crisp white t-shirt, inky dark jeans—the scent of his cologne offering me a warm embrace before he ever reaches me. Track marks linger in his hair, still damp around the edges from the shower.

“Hi.” He gives a soft embrace rubbing the skin on the back of my neck with his fingers. I’m innocent I swear. He presses out a sweet smile that I could never convict him with.

“I believe you.” Something about Logan has the power to render me spellbound in his presence. Even if we didn’t share our gift I would be anyway.

We gather in the family room where I toss paper plates like Frisbees. Logan doesn’t eat, just stands off to the side with his arms folded across his chest as if he were waiting for his trial.

“So here’s the DVD,” I say, handing it over to Gage. “If you don’t like it blame Drake.” It’s some cheesy movie from like ten years ago. I point over to the cabinet beneath the TV. “There’s lots more crap where that came from.” That was Tad’s major contribution to the household—a boatload of B movies.

“You get the comedy channel?” Gage takes the remote and channel surfs while everyone finds a spot and gets comfy.

“Hey,” I spear a look of feigned surprise over at Logan, “would you like a tour of the house?”

“Why, yes. Yes I would,” he matches my playful tone.

“You’re going to miss the movie.” Kate pinches my shorts as I walk by.

“That’s the point.” Natalie pulls up a toss pillow and hugs it close to her chest. “They’re going to entertain themselves.”

Gage looks up. His eyes spear through me like a javelin. There’s something searing about that penetrating stare. It makes me want to know all of his secrets and Logan’s combined.

“We’re just going to talk.” I don’t know why I felt the need to quantify how I spend my time to Gage of all people, but a small part of me wanted to. It’s like he knows me. Like we’re connected in some strange way that I don’t fully understand. There’s so much I don’t know. I plan on shaking all of the answers out of Logan in the next few hours. By the time I go to bed tonight, in the same room he supposedly did Chloe—I’d better know everything.

“Hey Skyla?” Drake calls out as Logan and I are about to ascend the stairs. “There’s a stack of rubbers in my top drawer. Feel free to grab one. I hear it’s a safe way to talk to people.”

Freaking moron.

11

Truth

I spent all morning cleaning and hiding the things that seem to multiply and run errant in my bedroom when I’m not looking. My bed is perhaps the neatest it’s been in its entire wicker-framed history. All of my stuffed animals, as embarrassing as it is to admit, are stowed safely beneath my bed.

I scan the floor for any bras or underwear that may have gone undetected. My clothes are native to the rug in the center of the room, which my mother has lovingly dubbed as the hamper.

The room itself is nothing special, and for sure nothing pretty with stacks of cardboard boxes lining the periphery. The walls are still a dingy white. One day this summer, I for sure want to paint it a really pretty green.

“I’ll help.”

“Help?” I let go of his hand and bounce over to the mattress, patting the spot right next to me.

“Paint your room.”

“Are you kidding?” I bury my head in the pillow.

I was so nervous about having him up here I completely forgot that holding his hand was like inviting him to listen in on my underwear laden monologue.

“And you hid things pretty well.” He reaches under the bed and yanks up a prize—the stuffed elephant I won at the county fair when I was eleven.

“Give me that,” I laugh, snatching the animal and hugging it hard across my chest. “Don’t touch him, he’s mine.”

“So,” he digs his fingers into the hair at the base of my neck, “you want to know why I was at Michelle’s.” It comes out expressionless.

“It’s none of my business where you go.” I drift my gaze over to the door—wonder if I locked it.

“I locked it.” He smiles.

“No reason to,” I say it cold.

“Michelle has something I want.”

“I hear most girls do.”

“Not that. And no, most girls don’t. You do.” He cocks his head to the side with a blatant flirtatious smile. “Michelle has something else. Something nobody else could give me.”

“What?”

“I can’t say.”

“Say,” I command.

“It’s something of Chloe’s.”

“Who’s going to care?”

“You’ll care—you may want it.” His brows raise a notch. “And I’m pretty sure I’ll want to give it to you, at least in part.”

“OK,” a lungful of air expresses through my lips, “anybody ever tell you, you talk in circles?” I reach over and interlace our fingers. I feel so comfortable sitting on my bed with him. It’s strange. “Are you sleeping with Michelle?”

“No.”

“Have you slept with Michelle?”

“Almost, but that was months after Chloe died and I was a head case.”

“Did you sleep with Chloe in my bedroom?” I shoot the words out with a quick assault.

Our eyes lock, imprisoning one another in a solemn gaze.

“Yes.”

I push back a good six inches toward the headboard. Any comfort I may have felt has dissipated quick as a vapor. A million viral things want to stream from my mouth all at once—every single one an excuse to kick him in the face.

He doesn’t say anything. Instead he leans back on the bed and covers his eyes with his arm. A soft breath of exasperation blows from his lips.

“It’s not like you knew me then.” I immediately regret my words. Who am I anyway? I’m just some girl he met. He’s probably known Chloe forever. She was probably the love of his life, and if I start a relationship with him now I’ll always be competing with a memory. “Just tell me about the touch, how we can hear.” All I want from Logan Oliver is for him to spill his deep dark secrets and get the hell out of my bedroom.

He sits up and scoots over, careful not to touch me.

“I think we should do this with words.” He touches his lips when he says it.

“Afraid to let me in much?”

He shakes his head.

“More like, afraid to hear you.” He sounds out each word with caution, treading lightly so he won’t get burned. “It happened twice with Chloe and me. It was stupid. Chloe and I…” he shakes his head, “she wasn’t the right person for me.” He picks up my hand. “By the time she disappeared we had already broken up, which put me at the top of the suspect list.”

Logan is the last person I’d suspect of something like that.

“Tell me what Michelle has,” I ask.

“Her diary.”

“Oh.”

“She left something in it for me.” He pulls his lips in a line. “Anyway, when I get it, you can read it if you like.” He takes up my hand.

I would like that, I say surprising myself with my honesty. What better way to know the girl who once lived in my room?

He blinks a smile.

“So what about me? This thing?” I don’t want to talk about Chloe anymore, like ever.

He rattles my hand in the air and I take it back.

“This thing. You said your dad did it?”

“Yes. My mom and sister can’t.”

“Your dad ever talk about his family? Do you know them?”

“Just my grandma. She lives in a nursing home back in L.A. My mother left her there to rot.” Harsh, but true.

“She ever talk about angels?”

“All the time, but she’s senile. The doctors said it was one of her fixations. It was nonstop angels everyday, all the time.”

“Well she might not be as senile as everybody thinks. The only other people that share our gift have Nephilim blood in them.”

“Nephilim?” I pull back to get a better look at him.

“Angels who chose their lust for women over their desire to remain on the frontlines for God. They came down and started families as if they were human.”

“Are you saying I’m part Nephilim?”

“I think so, but I’ll have to take a small vile of blood to be sure.”

“You’re kidding, right?” My hearts races at the prospect. “I can’t stand the sight of blood.”

“Well then, you’d make a lousy vampire.” His lips curve just shy of a smile.

“And where do you send this vial? Angels-R-Us?”

“My uncle runs the mortuary. He has access to testing.”

“Your uncle runs the mortuary? I thought your family ran the bowling alley.” Just the thought of a room full of dead bodies sends a chill up my spine.

“My father owned the bowling alley. My uncle had it under management until he could pass it to me. I’ve been running it into the ground ever since I was fourteen.” He shrugs. “I never claimed to be good at anything.”

“Fourteen?”

“I had help. Still do. But back to the topic at hand.” He pulls out a lighter, a scalpel, and a small glass vial from out of his pocket. “Are you ready to get the answers you’ve been looking for?”

12

On Death and Dying

The morgue is quiet and cold. It sits at the northern tip of the island surrounded by churches as though they needed the strength of brick and mortar to shelter the dead. The cemetery lies just behind the mortuary proper with only a few sparse headstones followed by rows of glittering plaques.

I talked my mother into letting Logan drive me home from church.

“Skyla, this is my Uncle Barron, Gage’s dad.”

“Nice to meet you.” I shake his hand. He has a warm glow about him. He’s tall and shares the same stunning blue eyes as Gage.

“Come into the kitchen.” He holds open a double door, which leads into a stark white room with a long metal tray in the center. I blink twice at it before I realize the covered lump is probably a body awaiting some sort of death prep, and the thought makes me sway on my heels.

“Chin up.” His uncle pinches my cheek, hard. “Sorry, I’m short on smelling salts.”

“No, it’s OK.” This is not a freaking kitchen. It’s a place where no one should eat, ever.

“You have any other gifts?” He asks as he takes the vial from Logan.

It’s hard to imagine that dark crimson liquid bubbling up at the top is what keeps me going. That it holds the secrets to my so-called life. That I produce it deep inside my bones—that everybody does—is nothing short of a miracle.

“Gifts?” He asks again.

“Um, no. I don’t think so. Do you?” I direct the last part toward Logan.

“A few.”

His uncle cuts in before he has the chance to elaborate.

“What you have Skyla, is a unique gift. It’s the trademark of a special faction of Nephilim known as Celestra.”

“Celestra.” I try it out on my lips—it tickles as it rolls from my tongue.

“Most Nephilim around these parts are Levatio. Once in a while you roll the genetic dice and you get a win.”

“A win?”

“Celestra is the highest order of earthbound angels.” He nods. “They have the ability to rule and other amazing gifts that have left them the most loathed faction this side of the universe.”

“Loathed as in hated?” I give Logan a look of discontent. I’m not liking the idea of being hated—and by angels? That sounds illegal on a spiritual level and wrong on just about every other.

“Yes,” Barron continues, “they’re also nearly extinct. Then there’s the Countenance faction—we refer to them as the Counts for short. They cover the earth like vermin, demand money from everyone like the world owes it to them.”

“Sounds like a twisted form of government.” I try to make light of the situation.

“Oh, they have their claws in that, too,” he assures. “They’re everywhere.”

“So why are the Celestra nearly extinct?”

He exchanges a somber glance with Logan.

“Because, my love,” his uncle bears into me with his cobalt eyes, “the Counts have made it their mission to have them eradicated.”

It takes a long trip around the outskirts of my mind to grasp any one of my racing thoughts let alone verbalize a semi-coherent response. “Do I have a mark on my head? Did they kill my dad? Your parents?” I direct that last question toward Logan.

“Yes,” Barron answers, “mostly likely yes, and definitely yes.” He looks mildly amused, peering at me from over his frameless spectacles. “Once Logan’s parents produced a near pure Celestra, they couldn’t let them breed anymore.” He says it matter of fact as though it were a well-understood fact.

“And my dad?”

“He produced you. But there’s also the chance he was killed for his standing. You mentioned your sister doesn’t seem to have this?”

I shake my head. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t. I’ve tested her on many occasions holding her hand while thinking the most outlandish things just trying to get a rise out of her. If she can hear me, and she’s hiding the fact, she deserves an Oscar every year for the rest of her life.

“Perhaps the Counts don’t know about you yet,” Barron shrugs, “but they will. They have a strong sense of smell when it comes to these things. Don’t be remiss, they will kill if they feel you’re a threat.”

“Well, I’m not a threat.” I pump a short-lived smile.

“You might be.” He tousles my hair before walking away.

***

“We don’t always know who they are,” Logan says.

We sit on a bench overlooking the cemetery. It’s so calm and peaceful here. The sun stretches her beams over the rolling hills and sets her reflection on the grave markers, making them sparkle like a thousand shards of glass.

“Who else is Nephilim besides you and Gage?”

“I just know us,” he whispers. “There are a few people my uncle’s age. I only know this because they hold council meetings. Once in a while the meetings are on Paragon. When you reach the age of enlightenment, they graft you in—tell you all their secrets.” He wiggles his fingers when he says it. “It’s sort of the big reveal.”

“Why this certain age? They don’t trust us because we’re young?”

“Ageist bastards,” he laughs a little when he says it.

“So how old do you have to be to know everything?”

“Thirty.”

“Shut up.” I push into him with my shoulder. You may as well not know anything if you have to wait all the way until you’re thirty. Thirty is practically on the verge of senility.

“I’m serious. Thirty. Most Celestra die by then. Don’t worry, you and I will make it. I have a strong assurance of this.”

“And how, pray tell, do you know?” I like where’s he’s going. Even if his goal is to comfort me, it feels as though a giant casket has been lifted off my chest.

“Because Gage told me. He knows things. That’s his gift.”

“When did he say this?” I give his hand a gentle squeeze.

“The day before I met you,” it comes out in earnest.

A light breeze picks up, and the dreary afternoon is transformed into a perfect summer day. I couldn’t think of a better place to be than sitting in a cemetery with my favorite angel right by my side.

“Me neither.” He gives a sly smile.

Logan brushes his lips against mine, soft as a feather.

13

Drama Mama

As promised, I dig through box after box of the crap we’ve managed to hoard all these years. Honestly, I thought we threw so much stuff away before we left L.A. I didn’t think we’d have anything left to unpack.

Piles of my elementary school art and Mia’s preschool endeavors gone awry clutter up the boxes. Not one note from my father, not a lock of his hair, or his favorite tie. I wonder why my mother bothered keeping my sister and me—obligation, or fear of prison.

“You have any whites?” Mom breezes past me on the way to the laundry room, her arms laden down with Tads dirty socks and underwear.

“You ever regret turning into Tad’s live-in maid?” I taunt as she passes.

“Don’t start a war you’re not willing to finish,” my mother bleats. A few crashes and bangs later she reemerges, the sound of running water soothes the room from behind.

“I don’t see any of Dad’s stuff.” There’s a note of defeat in my voice. I really don’t get why we need to erase someone just because they’re dead. Even Logan wants his dead girlfriend’s diary, which sucks in a big way, but that’s for another day.

“It’s in there somewhere.” She pushes a broken wicker basket to the side with her foot and comes over to where I’m seated.

“I think I want to put together a scrapbook. You know, of all the good times we used to have.”

“What good times?” Her eyes widen with curiosity, pale as stones.

I’m pretty sure she’s not trying to get me riled up, although it’s backfiring on her big time.

“Come on, Mom—you remember the good times.” I don’t let her hear my disappointment even though this blatant dumb blonde shit she’s trying to pull is really pissing me off.

“I don’t remember too many of those, just a lot of yelling—not enough money and too many bills to pay.” She picks up a deck of playing cards and pulls them out of the sleeve. “Anything in particular you want to share with me?”

Not really. But I don’t say that, I say, “All you remember about Daddy is yelling and not having money?” The sky outside the window darkens, the driving wind sends the branch of a eucalyptus scraping across the glass.

“It was hard for the two of us. We had you when we were both so young.”

“So you’re saying I’m the reason you and Dad had a rough go of it?” I struggle to keep it together.

“That’s not what I’m saying.” She digs her palms into her eyes full with regret. “What I’m trying to say is—oh heck, Skyla, I don’t know. It was hard, and it was even harder when he died. Thank God for Tad because without him…”

I hop to my feet and take the stairs two by two. I’d rather sit alone in my bedroom with Chloe’s ghost. Maybe she’ll detail to me how Logan touched her, how it felt to have him wanting her. I’ll take anything over my mother and her dissertation on how Tad saved the day.

He sure as hell didn’t save mine.

***

I walk around my bedroom in a slow methodical circle, tapping the walls and saying her name as if daring her to appear.

My mother doesn’t bother coming up to repair any damage that may have occurred during our impromptu verbal scrimmage. Seems our relationship is on the path to a steady deterioration, and neither of us really gives a shit.

“Where are you Chloe? Afraid Logan might like me just a little bit better?” I whisper the words into the wall as though it were a part of her. “I would have had him anyway.” I’m not really into pissing off Chloe, but she’s become a good surrogate for my mother at the moment.

A drowsy feeling overcomes me, and I stagger over to the bed—flop down and indulge in the blank world behind my eyelids.

It feels like I’m falling—it feels unnatural like I’m rotating through the air in a series of erratic circles. I’m falling through space and time and landing right smack into a dream.

Do you know who I am? A girl in skintight jeans and a hot pink tank top beckons me over. Her long dark curls extend past her hips, and her eyes glint out like twin orange sunsets. She’s pretty in a scary, poltergeist from your nightmares, sort of way.

Chloe? I don’t hide my enthusiasm. Everyone around me knew her, and now I get to meet her, see her with my own eyes.

It’s me. She bleeds a necrotic smile. Do you know why I came? Her body stretches out another foot taller easy as pulling taffy.

So you can tell me how much you hate me? Honestly, it’s all I can deduce. I’m not sure if my sarcasm is coming in clear. My voice stagnates like I’m talking from inside a fishbowl.

I don’t hate you, she emits in a haunting river of vocal quivers. I called you here because I need you.

You can’t have Logan. I don’t mean for it to sound so cold or territorial.

I still have Logan where it counts. She says it serious.

I don’t think I want to help you with anything. Don’t come knocking around these eyelids anymore.

I will myself to wake up. It takes a bionic effort on my part to flutter my lids and open my eyes. I roll off the bed and land on the floor, my stomach writhing from nausea.

If she comes back I’ll smoke her out of existence.

I don’t know how, but I will.

14

Game Changer

Brielle once again manages to talk me into a mall crawl.

Outside the air is thick with humidity, heavy as a sopping wet towel. A thick sheath of clouds press in the heat and turn the island into one big sauna. It’s strangulating suffering in this airless environment devoid of any sunlight.

It’s an outdoor mall so we don’t have mercy of air conditioning unless we step into the stores, and already we’ve seen everything there is—twice.

We sit out under a giant umbrella eating our shared ice cream, a double scoop of chocolate from a cup. A herd of small children run in and out of a fountain, watching the water shoot up out of tiny spouts that line the area labeled, wet zone.

There’s something strange about this day that doesn’t settle well with me. My skin feels like it’s on fire, and it has nothing to do with the bizarre dark heat wave we’re embroiled in. It feels odd—as though someone’s watching me, following me. I scour the vicinity like a hawk, looking for people, animals, an errant shop worker who happens to be leering in my direction, but nothing.

“You’re thoroughly paranoid, you know that?”

I’ve made the mistake of sharing my thoughts with Brielle.

“I don’t know.” I stage my body out like a siren waiting to draw someone in. “It’s like an instinct. I just know someone’s watching. You ever get that feeling?”

“No—besides, you’re starting to creep me out. It’s the same kinds of stuff Chloe was saying before…” She shrugs and takes another bite of her ice cream.

“Really? Then maybe they’re back?”

“Don’t say that,” her voice sharpens. “Don’t ever say that, Skyla. There is nobody around us. Trust me I’ve looked. My dad is a detective, it’s in my blood to know these things.”

I don’t let Brielle see how shaken I am. It’s as if each passing moment brings them closer. Their intent is anything but good, that much I know. I can’t help but wonder if it’s the Counts. Bitch squad maybe? Most likely the latter, or worse, Tad and my mother.

“Oh thank God.” Brielle stands up and lunges into someone behind me.

It’s Gage.

“Hey!” I’m thrilled to see him, partly because Logan is never far behind and partly because I suddenly feel well protected. No offense to Brielle, but I’m pretty sure she’s worthless in that department.

“You’re late for your shift.” He pats her on the arm.

“Oh shit! I’m so sorry! We have to go.” She darts around and gathers her things.

“Hang out for a minute,” Gage says to me. “I can give you a ride.”

“Sure.” I watch as Brielle freaks out on her way toward the parking lot.

“Drive careful,” I shout. “Is Logan here?” I revert my attention back to the ebony haired god seated before me. He’s already helping himself to the ice cream. He looks up and gives a wry smile.

“I’m not good enough?”

Something about the way he says it melts the pit of my stomach.

“Of course you’re good enough. It’s just you’re not Logan.” I’m not sure that made things better.

Gage leans back, takes me in without an apology. He lets his eyes roam free over my person, up and down like a body-scan until I clear my throat.

“You always rude like that?” I ask.

“I’m not trying to be rude. Sorry.” His dark hair nestles in curls toward the base of his neck. Gage Oliver has got to be the hottest guy on the planet, next to Logan, of course. It’s like they suffer from some genetic deformity that took over and accidently created two perfect beings. “Heard my dad’s looking into things for you.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty excited. I’ve never thought about myself as an angel before. More like the opposite.” Not really, but I don’t have anything else to say. I take a huge bite off my spoon and fill my mouth with chocolate to prevent me from saying anything that might sound stupid.

“Well you’re definitely an angel.” He arches his brows at me. “I know.”

“And you know this because?”

“It’s my gift.”

“Oh, Logan mentioned it,” I whisper. “He said you told him we weren’t going to die until a ripe old age.”

“Yeah, well, don’t go doing anything stupid like standing in front of a train. Just because you’re going to live doesn’t mean you can’t do it as a vegetable.” His features darken.

“Right.” Mental note: Gage equals buzz kill.

“I know something else about you.” He looks me over with a studious intent.

A bird whistles to his right, a large black beast, far too monstrous to be a crow.

“Oh, my God!” I press my hand into my chest in horror at the sight. It sits perched on the trashcan directly next to Gage. It’s gargantuan and demonic and looks as if it accidentally flew in from some prehistoric time period. Its feathers are the exact same hue of Gage’s hair, and its eyes are glued to him with great interest. “Make it go away.” I cover my face with my hands as a horrible tremor of fear darts through me.

I look up in time to see Gage flick his finger lightly into the air with no real malfeasance behind it.

The giant bird races into the sky quick as a demon, streaks across the hemisphere like a black billow of smoke until it evaporates into the grey nothingness of the sky.

“You made it do that didn’t you?” It was something more than your typical scatting of a bird. Something in the way Gage nonchalantly directed his finger in the air, told me so much more.

“I did.” He slumps into his seat as if bored with the effort he’s having to put in with me.

“So what is it that you know?” I try to sound disinterested but really I want to reach over and rattle out all his secrets.

“I know you’re going to marry me someday.” He doesn’t bother with a smile or a laugh, or anything to indicate he might be teasing.

“Well, I’m not.”

He pulls his cheek to the side almost apologetically. “You will.”

15

Virtue

The next afternoon, Logan calls and says he wants to take me somewhere. Of course, I said pick me up in fifteen minutes without even asking where. I’d go to the landfill if he wanted to.

I stayed up far too late last night, still afraid to sleep in my room. No scary dreams, thank God, but my head throbs from a lack of a solid eight.

Logan’s monster truck gets here a whole five minutes before he does by way of noise pollution. I wait at the bottom of the driveway, and wave to him as soon as he drifts out of the fog.

“Hey you,” I say, climbing into the cab.

“I would have come around to help you.”

“No worries.” I clasp his fingers from across the seat. I go to put my foot on the last wrung of the mini ladder and slip straight to the bottom. Without realizing what’s happening I’m floating through the air, rising effortlessly into the truck by way of his hand wrapped around my wrist. “How’d you do that?” I marvel, shutting the door and reaching for my seatbelt.

“It’s a gift.”

“You’re like really strong.” My heart beats erratic, swallowing up the extra oxygen my brain would have normally needed for me to say something a little more articulate. “Can I do that?”

“I don’t know, can you?”

“I don’t think so.”

He pulls out onto the main road and we start in on our adventure. Trees whiz by in a viridian blur. The fog rakes by in distended billows, faster and faster until it looks like we’re going back in time, or forward, it could go either way and on Paragon, and this wouldn’t surprise me.

“Your gifts can grow,” he says. “It’s rare, but they can manifest with time. Don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t do something. It’s poison every single time.”

***

Logan takes me to one of the most beautiful natural wonders ever created by the hand of God, a set of waterfalls.

The Falls of Virtue are located in the dead center of the island. There’s a mountainous incline we climb seemingly forever until we crest up above the fog. The air is unusually clear—far more pristine than anything I was ever used to back in L.A.

“Wow.” Their sheer beauty steals my breath away. A rainbow shivers across the three sacred falls, and glows in the warm veil of sunlight as if to greet us. “It’s…” There are no words.

The mountain in the center disappears to greater heights, enwreathed in a layer of clouds at the base. The fog lies just beneath our feet, creating a mystical aura that floats above the water.

“You have unicorns here too?”

“Not at this location. They prefer the higher elevations where it snows,” he teases.

“So that’s where the water comes from?”

“Year round.”

I step out to the rim of the lake. The falls are loud, but not deafening like other waterfalls I’ve been to. It’s a soft enchanting rush, a never-ending flow of constant beauty that fills the waiting pool beneath. The water holds the same cobalt hue as Gage’s eyes, and for a minute he sears through my mind as if he’s admonishing me. Truth is—I’m still trying to digest those last few words he spoke.

“This is where I want to get married someday.” Not to Gage. Maybe it’s not the thing to say to the guy who’s not quite officially your boyfriend, but it feels right. This place practically warrants profound statements about ones future. Before Logan gets too bogged down with regret over bringing me here, I offer, “Gage said I was going to marry him.” I roll my eyes at the absurdity.

Logan’s smile drops from his face like a stone. His eyes widen and he looks right through me, dazed.

“So it must be true,” he says.

“I’m not marrying Gage,” I say, flatly. “I thought it was funny. Brielle thinks maybe he has a crush on me.”

“He does.” He’s still gazing out into nowhere, right through my skull.

“Anyway, I’m not into him,” I pause trying to wake him from his stupor with a wave of my hand, “I’m into you.”

He snaps out of his trance and his lips pick up a slight curve.

“I’m into you.” He comes in soft with a string of silent kisses, then heads into something deeper we can both bite into.

I love kissing Logan. Kissing Logan at the Falls of Virtue is like stepping into a fairytale. Suddenly I’m transported to a land with dragons and villains. Of course, I’m the princess, which in turn makes Logan the perfect prince.

He pulls back, bouncing one soft kiss off the tip of my nose.

“You up for a swim, princess?”

“I don’t have my bathing suit.” I give a wry smile. I hate when I forget he can hear me, and I have a feeling I know what’s coming.

“Swim in your underwear, or without. Your choice.”

“I don’t have a towel.” It races out of me. Besides, I’m not sure if I’m up for the big fleshy reveal.

“I have a few in the truck for emergencies.”

“Does this qualify as an emergency?”

“It’s the only one I know of.” His face fills with devilish intent. “I’ll stay in my boxers.” He holds up his hand like a boy scout.

The thought of Logan stripping down to his skivvies makes me weak—makes me writhe inside intense with pleasure. This can’t be good. Nothing good is going to come of this, I can feel it.

“Sure.” I walk around the truck and take off my sweater. I happen to have on my bright pink bra with the rhinestone jewel inset in the middle, which practically demands to be seen.

I go to peel off my jeans, and for the life of me I can’t remember what underwear I’m wearing.

Oh please, God, don’t let them be white mamas. I have my fair share of granny panties no thanks to my mom’s desire to keep me amply supplied, and once in a while I’ll put them on. If that’s today I’m going to have to seriously reconsider this whole idea. I tug past my hips only to reveal with great delight a pair of yellow lace boy shorts, which is great because they cover a multitude of shaving issues.

A light tap ripples across the hood of the truck.

I traipse back around and find Logan standing there in all his celestial glory, plus boxers.

Heat rushes to my face as I feel him take me in. Per square inch I’m wearing the exact amount of clothing I’ve worn a million times before to the beach—technically more if you count the G-string my mother has no clue about.

He takes my hand and pulls me into a careful kiss. I can feel the warmth of his body—his bare skin against mine. It feels sinful and perfectly right at the very same time.

“You think the water’s cold?” I say pushing him back gently before things go too far.

“I hope so.”

We hold hands and dive in together off a small ledge near the center of the lake. The icy bite of the water feels like it has the ability to skin me alive. We might as well be swimming in arctic springs it’s so freaking cold. My skin goes numb from the shock of it—feels thick as a rubber wetsuit.

Logan and I dive under each of the three falls, stealing secret kisses that seem to last an eternity beneath each one.

There’s no way I would ever become Gage’s anything. Logan has me totally and completely. This is something that surpasses the length of years, the ladder of time. We’re building something eternal. I can feel it.

Something dark glints to my right, a shadow of something moving in the evergreen, then I see it.

The raven.

All afternoon I wonder what it means.

16

Mixed

It rains the entire next day. Brielle finishes up her shift at six and invites Drake and me down to the bowling alley to play a few rounds.

After paying for shoes and two games, I’m drained of nearly every penny of my Christmas money from last year.

“I’ll give you a refund if you want.” Logan has already offered to give back my money, twice.

“I’m not here to rob you.” Although, I’m not above taking advantage of him in other ways. A naughty smile glides across my face.

“No, but it’s my job to rob you, and I don’t feel too good about it.” He presses an assortment of buttons, and the register springs open.

“How about you take me to dinner and a movie? We’ll call it even.”

“Deal.” He slams the register shut, and I get out of line, so he can help the people behind me.

It’s busy tonight, like everyone on the island decided it was a good night to bowl.

I see Brielle waving us over in the far corner of the room. Drake strides ahead, as if she’s waving at him exclusively, and judging by the come hither look in her eyes, the cleavage down to her navel, she just might be.

“Hey, you playing?” Gage flicks at the shoes in my hands.

His hair is slicked back, exposing the sheer perfection of his features. I’m shocked there aren’t a hundred girls mobbing him at any given time. Logan’s looking pretty hot too, but I would never want to imagine a single girl mobbing him, let alone a hundred.

“You always this bright?” I can’t help responding to the natural inclination I have to be a little mean to Gage. I’m afraid if I give him the wrong signals he’ll think the wedding is on, and he might send his pet bird after me again.

“I’m off in ten. If you want to make it even, I can hang out.”

“Whatever.” I look back at Logan. The line just exploded out the door. Wish he were off in ten.

Drake sets up the computer. Instead of Drake, he actually writes Count Drakeula and I want to crawl in a hole. For Brielle he writes sexy thang—again displaying his incredible lack of judgment. Thankfully for me, he just puts Skyla. Gage hops over before he’s done filling in the queue, so his name goes beneath mine.

“You think it’ll look like that on our wedding invitations?” I tease, leaning over to put on my shoes.

He folds his arms and slides deep in his seat. He doesn’t find any humor in the situation, just chews the inside of his cheek out of frustration.

I miss both Brielle and Drake’s turns because I’m too busy staring down Gage— trying to decode his mysterious aura.

“You’re up.” He kicks playfully at my foot.

I’m sharing a hot pink eight-pound ball with Brielle. Before I head down the lane to shoot I note she scored a strike, so it’s got to be good luck. I take a running start then go to release, only it doesn’t release, it sticks to my fingers popping off in midair and lands hard as an anvil on the gleaming wood floors. Sounds like a cannon just went off.

My shoulders pinch up around my neck, and I’m praying no one saw, only I know Gage did for sure because I can feel him burning a hole through my shirt right this very second.

I turn to find not only Gage, but an equally stunned Brielle and Drake gawking at me as though I had just committed the most heinous sporting crime ever. And to my delight and horror the bitch squad happens to be picking out balls with none other than Logan just past our table—they’re all probably wondering who gave the blonde jackass a bowling ball to play with.

The return cycle spits out the hot pink nightmare, and I pick it up again. Logan appears next to me holding a blue marbled ball that looks as though he’s shrunk down the earth and sky for me.

“Try this one, it might be a better fit.” He takes the monster ball with a serious mind of its own away from me. I’m surprised he doesn’t come after me for damages.

“Thanks.”

“Here, I’ll show you how to shoot.” He walks me down the beginning of the lane and bends my arm back. I can feel his leg press in hard against mine. His arm slips just behind my elbow, his warm neck cradles in the crook of my shoulder.

I never knew bowling could be such an erotic sport.

“Neither did I,” he whispers hot in my ear.

I laugh as we chuck the ball awkwardly down the lane. Only this time it’s not an automatic gutter ball. This time, it rolls all the way down and knocks back half the pins.

Logan and I exchange high-fives.

I hop back to my seat filled with glee, even though Logan went back to answer some ludicrous question Michelle screeched over at him. I watch as he sits down at their table and starts filling in their computer board.

Gage bullets his ball down the lane with a vengeance and gets a strike right off the bat. I’d accuse him of dumb luck, but he’s probably bowled in the dark and achieved the same feat.

I glance over my shoulder and catch Logan’s name popping up on the neighboring screen.

“I thought he was working tonight,” I muse to Gage as he takes a seat.

“He’s the boss. Always doing what he likes.” He stretches his arm across the back of the curved bench, his fingers touching the top of my shoulder.

Brielle screams and shouts with great exuberance from her second strike in a row, which I missed again—some friend I am.

“Congratulations,” I say without the required enthusiasm.

“Is that what’s bugging you?” She clicks her tongue over at the next table. “Logan has a way of getting around.” She pulls a face. “Sorry. He’s just friendly that way.”

“Is this true?” I ask Gage below a whisper.

“I try not to affiliate myself with rumors,” there’s a palpable sarcasm in his tone. “Judge for yourself.”

I try to look back without being so obvious. Logan has his hand on Michelle’s arm as she leans in and whispers something to him. I know what he’s doing. He’s reading her mind. I’m sure it’s loaded with equal portions of lust and lunacy.

Logan looks back and sees me watching. He gives a brief wink, a barely there expression of acknowledgement, before turning his full attention to whatever it is she’s filling his head with.

They openly share a laugh.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear they were a couple.

17

Snake

The sky has split open. It yawns long stretches of rain—torrential downpours— until the roadways look like muddy rivers polluted with battery acid, mud the color of rust rising up on its sides.

Brielle called and asked if Drake and I wanted to come over, hang out and watch a movie, so we go.

The house looks different. More structured, less carefree than the last time I was here. It’s been dusted and swept and the dishes are not migrating all over the counter, most likely courtesy of Brielle herself.

She’s wearing a brand new black sweater with peek-a-boo lace trim. It’s embarrassingly apparent she’s not wearing a bra. Deductive logic reasons this by the way she’s bouncing around. Her face is done up kabuki style with too much makeup and not enough reality left for the discriminating eye. Something tells me I’ll be watching this movie on her larger than life plasma all by my lonesome.

“So Drake,” she over annunciates his name, “would you like a tour of the house?”

“Really?” I ignore the opening credits and turn down the volume. “Is that where this is headed? Because I could leave, and you two can tour the world for all I care.”

“No, no! Don’t do that, please.” Brielle purses her lower lip in a dramatic fashion.

“Fine I’ll stay.”

As soon as they head upstairs, I pluck out my phone and start texting Logan.

Where are you? I’m doing time at B’s. She’s getting busy with monkey boy. ~S

A fair amount of the movie goes by before my cell vibrates over the coffee table.

Work. Want to come? I can use the help. Must be a great day to bowl. What is B doing with a monkey?

I hear the distinct knock of a headboard whack against the wall a few times then nothing. I’m afraid to move, or breathe, and I want nothing more than to run home in the pouring rain and pull the covers up over my head. I’m not sure that I’m fit to live in a world where monkey boy gets action with a beautiful girl like Bree, especially not if said action is taking place right above my head. It feels like an unholy violation listening to it in real time.

Trust me, I’d much rather help u. It is the perfect day for bowling. And to answer your question, rutting. ~S

It takes less than a minute for him to respond.

Rutting?! You have a way with words. You should write poetry.

I laugh at the thought. If I wrote poetry it wouldn’t be about my rodent-like stepbrother and newfound best friend. I would pen rivers of sappy words, all strung together in an effort to capture the intense feelings I have for Logan. I might just do that anyway.

I’ll save my poems for you. I promise they will not include the word rutting. Ever. ~S

I try and formulate a poem for him in my mind, but each time the word love pops up uninvited. Is this what it feels like to be in love? What I feel for Logan?

He buzzes right back.

Rutting is my new favorite word. BTW, Gage wants me to give you a message. He very much looks forward to rutting with you.

Ha. Ha.

Tell Gage anytime. I’m waiting and coincidentally very lonely at this very moment. ~S

Less than ten seconds.

Never mind. I suddenly have a great disdain for the word rutting. You must never rut with Gage. Promise me this.

My heart warms at his sudden burst of jealousy.

Will you rut with others? Turnabout is fair play. ~S

No.

Promise. ~S

I place down the phone and settle in to watch the rest of the movie. It was a strange yet comforting conversation with Logan. I think I’m one inch away from being his girlfriend. I wonder how it gets to be official. Write on your Facebook wall? Change your status to read in a relationship? Or maybe it just becomes so painfully obvious that after a while everybody and their mother knows. I’ve never had a boyfriend before, but I’d sure love the answer to these questions.

18

Take Down

It’s not fifteen minutes into cheer practice that I manage to tweak my ankle entirely on my own. I’d love to blame just about anybody for today’s literal misstep, but the bulk of the blame is on me—OK—all of it.

“How’d you do this?” Logan’s football coach hovers over me. He presses his finger down over the growing bulge until I squeal in pain.

“Nice method of evaluation,” I slap his hand away, “if this were the middle-ages.”

His eyes bug out with surprise. I don’t really care what he thinks, I’m not one of his jocks who needs to take whatever he dishes, especially if what he’s dishing involves pain.

“Ice it. Stay off it for a day or two. Nothing’s broken.” He rises to his feet then claps his hands extra loud in an effort to break up the crowd.

Logan reaches down and picks me up effortlessly with one arm under both knees, the other supporting my back. “Where to?”

“I need ice.” I try not to let on that I’m on the verge of tears. It’s not so much the pain than the embarrassment and extra attention. I was never a big fan of either.

“I know just the place.”

Brielle walks beside us over to his truck.

“There’s no way you’ll get her in there,” she says, full with concern over the aerial feat Logan is ready to attempt.

He has Gage hold open the door and block Brielle’s view as he lifts me safe into the seat as though I were as heavy as a hollowed out egg.

Gage hops in the back and we take off.

“First sunny day in a week and I blow it.”

“Blaming yourself for an injury is a defeatist attitude,” Logan says, looking at the road. “It’s time to relax and let your body heal.”

“Wise and true.” I wave to Gage out the back window.

We turn left instead of right at the light, away from the bowling alley or my house, so I’m clueless as to where he might be taking me.

“Falls of Virtue?” Actually that’s to the left as well. It’s just my round about way of grilling him for details.

“Nope. I know somewhere with much stronger healing properties. The foods pretty good too.”

“If there’s an ER involved, count me out. I hate hospitals almost as much as I hate blood.” A quick spike of panic shoots through me at the possibility.

“No ER, I promise.”

“Is there rutting involved?”

“Only if you want there to be.”

I wince as I shift my weight.

“There’s a yellow lab named Charlie,” he starts, “some hot chocolate, a grilled cheese sandwich, and an ice pack involved—maybe some reality TV.”

“Sounds like Heaven.”

“Almost is.”

A black sports car with deep tinted windows swings over into our lane and just keeps coming. It races toward us without wavering.

“Do something,” I scream in a panic.

The left lane is clogged with traffic and there’s a steep embankment to our right.

I can’t look. I go to cover my eyes, but as I do I notice the cars alongside us are no longer racing in the other direction, the people in them frozen in horror as they observe what’s about to happen.

The truck however is still moving, flying in slow motion over the oncoming traffic as we pass it—obnoxiously slow. Logan takes out his phone and snaps a picture of the men in the vehicle.

Then the world speeds up again, and we’re traveling at a normal velocity on the open stretch of road ahead as if nothing happened at all.

I look over at the truck bed and catch Gage hopping back inside, settling in.

It was him—Gage. He carried us over. Super human strength must be their shared gift.

I wonder what else they can do.

***

Logan and Gage run theories past each other of who those men could have been.

“There’s a meeting at Nicholas Haver’s in two days,” Gage informs him.

“We’re there.” They share a fist bump in the kitchen of their palatial home. Their parents aren’t home and I’m sort of disappointed. I’ve met the uncle, but I’m dying to meet Logan’s aunt, my supposed future mother-in-law. I guess she’d be my mother-in-law either way. I don’t know why, but I’m fascinated with other people’s mothers.

“I want to go,” I interject.

“Go where?” Logan’s busy pulling out the ingredients for our lunch.

“The meeting. It’s a Celestra thing, right?”

“Faction council. You’re a Celestra,” Gage corrects.

“There’s no way you can go.” Logan plucks a pan from underneath the cabinet. “You could endanger yourself. The less people know you have Celestra blood, the better.”

“Once you’re on their radar…” Gage and Logan share a look of discontent.

“Once I’m on their radar, they’ll want me dead.”

“Not necessarily right away. They might give you a fighting chance.” Gage folds his arms across his chest.

“Like you?” I direct it over at Logan.

“Apparently, I have more than a fighting chance. I’m going to live to a ripe old age, remember?” He darts a look over to Gage.

“We both are,” I confirm.

“Remember what I said about vegetables.” Gage slaps his hand against the doorframe on the way out of the kitchen.

I’m going to that meeting, neither Logan or Gage can stop me.

I watch as Logan fires up the stove, sprays the pan with oil.

It will all work out in the end because I’m going to live to be a ripe old age.

A bitter acid rises to the back of my throat.

Live to be a ripe old age.

Gage says so.

If I follow that logic...then I must also believe I’m going to marry him, which I don’t.

Do I?

19

Scheme

“Wake up!” My mother tears open the curtains. “Rise and shine and give God your glory, glory!” Her voice grates in my ears. I think I would have appreciated bamboo shoots beneath my fingernails just a little bit more. Her singing solidifies my perpetual bad mood for the day.

A dapple of pale sunlight streaks across my lids as I roll over, trying to ignore both it and the happy gale force hurricane disguised as my mother.

“Come on, Skyla.” She rattles me by the shoulder. “Tad and I have a surprise for you—for the whole family. Come on.”

My mother evacuates the premises taking her fanatical jubilation with her, and the room reverts back to the peace and calm I’ve come to appreciate. I try to absorb the tranquility, the lull in the air, in an effort to balance out the agitation she just drilled into my bones.

I get up on my elbow and peer out the window. Fog softens the harshness of reality, steals the definition from the world—blankets itself around everything as if it were some supernatural form of protection. I’ve come to love Paragon—its moody days, cool star-filled nights, the falls, even the cemetery is a thing of beauty. Most of all, I love the people. It’s amazing how connected I feel in just a short period of time. It’s like I’ve always belonged here, like everything else was just a waypoint until I arrived at my final destination.

A hard knock detonates on the other side of the door.

“Now, Skyla,” Tad barks.

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and push into my flip-flops before heading downstairs.

***

My mother has her hair done, her good jeans on, make-up in place, and it’s not quite seven-thirty.

A small sprig of hope rises in me at the thought of this being their big divorce announcement. Now that would be a surprise. That’s one family meeting I’m very much anticipating.

I plop down on the couch next to Mia and Melissa, while Drake busies himself by pouring a box of cereal down his throat.

“Your father and I—” my mother starts.

Tad cuts her off with a brief wave. She nods submissively and holds out her hands as if to say take it away.

I hate how he does that to her. It’s not the first time he’s interrupted when she’s about to say something. It’s like he thinks whatever’s about to come out of his mouth is far more important.

“It’s sort of my baby,” he says before continuing. “Althorpe has set up a meeting for me in Seattle tomorrow, and I thought what better way to get to know the surrounding area than taking a train ride through the local mountains? So, your mother and I,” he drapes his arms over her shoulder, “we’ve decided that it’s going to be our first official family get away.”

“A train?” Mia squeals into Melissa’s face as if Santa himself were going to be on it.

“Cool.” Drake pours the remainder of milk into his bowl without missing a beat.

“Have fun.” The thought of having the house to myself for the weekend sounds more than delicious.

“We will have fun—with you.” My mother chides. “This is non-negotiable.”

“If she’s not going I’m not going,” Drake says with a full mouth.

“Oh no, he’s definitely going. I’m not staying in the house alone with him.” I’m sure he’ll have Brielle over the second they hit the bottom of the driveway. I’m not interested in bearing witness to another fuck-fest.

“You’re both going,” Tad bellows. “Everybody get ready. We want to try and make the afternoon ferry.” He gathers his briefcase off the kitchen counter and heads upstairs.

“I’m not going,” I say, looking dead on at my mother. If she really wants a challenge I’ll give her one.

“Why, Skyla? Why?” She doesn’t bother hiding her exasperation.

Mia and Melissa amble upstairs in a frenzy of excitement.

“Because…” I pause considering my options. “I’m on my period.” I give a sly smile over to Drake while my mother goes over and busies herself in the kitchen. “Monster, debilitating cramps,” I groan, clutching at my abdomen.

“Gross.” Drake does a magnificent disappearing act.

“Do you really have monster cramps?” She stops short of scrubbing the granite counter raw.

“Yes.” I absolutely hate lying with a passion, but if it means getting me off of a seventy-two hour detail with the step monkey—where I would be confined in a glorified casket as we gawk at landscape, I’ll do it.

“I’d be napping the whole time and…” Tad walks by in the middle of my spiel. “If I’m sleeping in a drug induced coma I can’t appreciate the scenery, and you’ll be wasting all that money on the ferry, not to mention food and lodging.”

Tad’s ears pull back so far he looks like a rat.

“You can stay.” He continues to the kitchen.

“What do you mean, she can stay?” Mom objects.

“She’s right. She can sleep here for free. It saves us at least a hundred dollars, and face it, we need that hundred dollars.” His posture straightens as he says it.

Chalk one up for me. I’ll keep his tight-wad ways in mind more often.

Tad walks back down the hall leaving my mother to penetrate me freely with her hostile lasers.

“You win,” she says without emotion. “But don’t think you’re any less a member of this family.” She strides past me in a fury, her jeans scissoring up against each other with a loud swish.

I won.

I’ll be at that faction meeting tomorrow night, and nobody can stop me.

20

Dream

It takes a small eternity for Tad and Mom to organize the troops, or what’s left of them. By the time the girls and Drake shower they’ve already missed the first ferry, so I have to remain doubled over on the couch a lot longer than anticipated. My mother makes sure I take a pain pill under her watchful supervision because God forbid I should be left alone with a bottle of glorified Aspirin, and yet they don’t lock up the liquor. It doesn’t matter. I don’t drink—hate the flavor—hate the feeling.

By the time I bolt the door behind them I’m feeling genuinely sleepy so I head on up to my room and crash.

Chloe comes to me in a dream. It’s that oh crap moment when you realize the dream you’re having, the one that started out perfectly normal, has morphed into a nightmare and now all you want is to do is claw out of it like a cat at the bottom of a hopelessly deep well.

Skyla. She calls to me down a very long hall. It’s dark, save for the light emanating from an open door. I can see the frame of a woman, dark hair flowing like tendrils. I know it’s her. I can feel it, feel her.

What do you want? I cry out. This is no vague panic gripping me. There is a very real danger here. My heart jumps in my throat, vibrating tenaciously like a fish out of water. This must be what it feels like to die.

You have enemies, Skyla. I didn’t think I had them, but I was warned and didn’t listen. If you’re not careful there’s a shallow grave that waits for you.

That’s not what Gage said. It’s funny how now, in my dream, I’ve accepted him as the final authority over my future.

I said the grave waited for you. I never said you’d be in it. They want to watch you bleed. She holds out her arm exposing long precision cut gashes. They ran all kinds of experiments on me. They kept my body down there for twelve days. They could keep you a lifetime. They’re not interested in your pain, Skyla. You need to stay away from the Faction Council. And most of all steer clear of Logan. Your life depends on it. Or else everything you know will change. And you’ll spend the rest of your life running.

Don’t come to me again. I tremble holding onto the wall. It quivers with me. I can feel the vibration trailing up my shoulder.

If that’s what you wish. Chloe evaporates into nothing more than a smoky film.

I bolt up out of bed in a sweat, my shirt clinging to me cold as ice.

Why would she want me to steer clear of Logan? She can’t still want him for herself—she’s dead. Someone needs to refresh the rules of a successful relationship with her. Then again, if I loved Logan and lost him, I wouldn’t be above haunting his new girlfriend. What’s a little nightmare, now and then?

***

Since I’m alone for the very first time ever—I do what any other red-blooded American girl would do, invite my boyfriend over.

I clean for the next several hours. I had no idea what a freaking mess Mia and Melissa were capable of. They’ve got clothes behind the sofa, under the cushions, a trail of trash that snakes around the entire house, and the downstairs bathroom looks like a cosmetics factory exploded. And by the way, why aren’t Mom and Tad all over their asses for the carnage they’ve create?

A gentle knock emanates from the door. I smooth down the lace top I borrowed from Brielle last week. I try to push the fact it’s the same top she wore on her sexcapade with Drake out of my mind, but unlike her I’m wearing a bra and not planning on stripping off the first chance I get, or the second.

“Hi!” I motion for him to come inside.

Logan is resplendent. He looks polished as a male model. He’s wearing a soft cologne that smells woodsy and sweet like the leaves from a juniper. I can’t resist wrapping my arms around him and landing a soft kiss over his lips. Something warms my chest, so I pull back a bit. He’s holding a white paper bag that smells like Italian food.

“Dinner.” He holds it up triumphantly.

I turn on the TV and we sit side by side in the family room eating our eggplant sandwiches.

“So I had this freaky dream.” A huff of laughter escapes my chest to let him know I totally don’t believe in stuff like that.

“Tell me all about it.” He sets down his plate and knocks back the rest of his soda.

“It was about Chloe.” I put it out there.

He straightens his back against the cushion.

“It was stupid,” I offer.

“She say something to you?”

I wonder if he wants to hear some weepy romantic proclamation—to know that she’s still pining for him on the other side.

“I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“If she has a message, I’d like to know what it is.” He caresses my hand, clasps our fingers tight.

“I know what you’re doing.”

Then tell me.

“She doesn’t think I should go to the council meeting tomorrow night.”

And you won’t. Logan looks certain, but more than that, like he won’t allow it.

“I have a right to be there. Besides she ended it with all this psychobabble about me steering clear of you. Are you happy? She’s trying to meddle in our relationship from the great beyond.”

“Relationship?” The curve of a smile erases the worry from his forehead.

Oh God, I used the R word—and to a guy. Next thing you know I’ll be telling him he’s my boyfriend.

I’ll take that title. He pulls me up over to his lap. No council meeting. Promise?

“Promise.” I force myself to clear my mind of any unnecessary clutter. Why waste precious time with my new boyfriend when the meeting is an entire twenty-four hours away?

21

Unrest

It’s ten after midnight and Logan is pressing me to let him sleep on the downstairs couch.

“No.”

“Why not? Won’t you sleep better knowing I’m down here to protect you?”

“No. I’ll want to be down here, doing this,” I squeeze my arms tight around his waist. “Then neither of us will get a good night’s rest. Plus I’ll have to lie to my mother again when she asks if any boys stayed over. I’ve met my quota on lying for the month.”

“That’s noble,” he says without enthusiasm. He gets up off the couch slowly, helping me up in the process. “I open tomorrow.” He presses out a smile. “If you start dying of boredom you’re welcome to join me.”

“Gee thanks.” I tilt my head to the side in an effort to emphasize my sarcasm. I hadn’t really thought about a job yet. I guess I need to see what kind of load I’m stuck with next semester. I’d hate to be doing my homework on the job.

“The job’s yours if you want it, and I’ll let you get away with doing your homework on the side.”

“It creeps me out when you do that.”

“Only because you keep forgetting. I’m not trying to pry. It’s just out there—loud as speaking.”

“You’re right. So, anyway, when will I see you?”

“After my shift I have a two hour window before Gage and I head out to the meeting. What are you going to be up to?”

“Just hanging out with Bree. Come over before you leave.”

“You got it.”

We stand in the doorframe of the moonless night savoring our goodnight kiss. The cool night air breezes past us, circling my bare ankles with its arctic chill.

Logan heads down the porch on the way to his truck.

“Remember, I’m just a phone call away,” he says before hopping inside.

I watch as he backs out of the driveway and disappears down the street.

***

I don’t remember the last time I was alone in a house by myself. It’s one of those things that rarely happens with a busy family like ours. For sure I’ve never been alone at this house. Come to think of it, I’ve never spent the night alone at any house, ever.

A shiver runs through me as I shut and bolt the door. I’d turn on the heater if I knew how to work it, so much for it being August.

The hollow of my footsteps echoes off the walls as I make my way back to the family room. I switch the TV off, and the house fills with a deafening silence. It sounds less than natural so I switch it back on and turn down the volume. I’ll leave it on for the night. It’ll make it look like someone’s home, sort of like a safety mechanism. No one in their right mind will want to break in if they think someone’s wide-awake downstairs. Then again, criminals are rarely in their right mind.

I peer out the window over in the direction of Bree’s house. An entire thicket of overgrown pines, barricades my view. It’s not important. It’s not like seeing a light on over there would have made me feel safer.

I head up to my bedroom, leaving on all the downstairs lights. Tad will probably have a heart attack when he sees the electric bill, so at least some good will come from this.

It’s strange how everything looks different, sounds different when there’s nobody in the house but you.

I head into my bathroom to brush my teeth. I’m far too lazy to take off my makeup or change into my PJ’s. Besides, jeans and a sexy shirt will totally come in handy when I run out the front door screaming.

A dark figure appears from behind, and I jump, holding out my toothbrush like it’s some diabolical weapon someone might actually fear.

“Who’s there?” I spit the foam out of my mouth and wipe the excess off my lips with a towel.

I felt someone there behind me, felt them.

A loud thump emanates from downstairs, which sends me immediately searching my jeans for my cell.

“Shit!” I panic. I distinctly remember leaving it in the kitchen next to the sink, which happens to be the most distal point from where I’m standing. And thanks to Tad’s superhuman tightwad capabilities there is no landline in this freaking house!

A sharp rasping sound rubs against my window and sends me sailing downstairs in a dramatic screaming tirade.

My heart attempts to jackhammer out of my chest as I speed over to my phone, but it’s gone.

“Skyla?” My name echoes from behind.

I freeze.

In my entire life I have only peed my pants once. I was in the fifth grade, and Laura Henderson my then best friend had me laughing so hard I released a small river of urine going down the steps of where we were seated during lunch. I’ll never forget that feeling, watching helpless as the concrete darkened around me, my shame spreading along with it.

I turn slow toward the glass back door that leads to a tiny porch. I’ve yet to visit the back of the house, and for all I know there could be an entire cemetery out there.

A woman with shaggy hair waves at me. Her erratic smile is far too enthusiastic for my liking. I can’t make out her body just the paper white skin of her face. She jumps and her eyes shut tight, her tongue bulging out of her mouth. A brown shredded rope cinches around her neck. It goes straight up past the door, and she starts in on a slow spin as her hair flattens against the glass.

A violent series of screams sail from my vocal cords.

I spot my phone on the table and run to the closet and call Brielle.

22

Party

The light from the crack in the curtains tickles me until I shove a pillow over my face and try to continue with the pleasant dream-deprived coma I was experiencing.

The volume on the TV rises, and I peek from under the pillow to find Brielle munching on a bag of chips with her hair disheveled and mascara smudged down to her cheek.

“Crazy night,” I say, forcing myself to sit up. “Thanks for coming.”

As soon as Brielle got here we went straight to the back door to find a bushy red branch had fallen off one of the trees. It must have been an illusion. I was so tired. It couldn’t have been real. Could it?

“I’ve sent a mass text out, so we should have a ton of people,” she says, playing with her phone.

“A ton of people?” A part of me is still asleep.

“At the party. You have anything we could put out for food? Or never mind, I told them nine o’clock so everyone should have eaten by then. My mom has these cool wireless speakers I’ll bring over and hook it up to my iPod. There’s a—”

“Stop. I’m not having a party. You can mass text everyone back and let them know it’s been canceled.”

“I can’t do that. Besides, school starts in a few weeks. Doesn’t your mom want you to meet everybody?” She gives a sly grin. “Killing two birds with one stone.”

“She does.” And doesn’t Logan want me busy tonight so I can’t sneak off to the council meeting? “I guess we’re going to have a party.”

And I’m going to kill two birds with one stone.

***

Brielle hauls the speakers over, and before I realize it, I’m enjoying the music exploding throughout the house.

Brielle suggests we leave the lights off and open all the curtains, but it’s pitch black both inside and out, so I pull a bunch of camping lanterns from the garage and set them out all over.

“Everything looks so cool!” I hold both of Logan’s hands and jump up and down like an idiot in an effort to look convincing. Then I drop them like he’s got the plague and head over to the front door securing it open for the onslaught. A few kids are already hanging out on the porch, and according to Bree tons more are on the way. I need Logan to believe I’m not going anywhere tonight, that this party is my pet project and that I want nothing more than to oversee the whole thing, which I sort of do. Lousy night to have a faction meeting, if you ask me.

“So maybe after the meeting, Gage and I will drop by again.” Logan comes over and wraps his arm around my shoulder. As long as he’s not touching my flesh, I don’t have to work so hard on blanking out my mind.

A crowd wanders in and soon the downstairs fills in with bodies.

“So how come Brielle spent the night?”

“I got scared.” I pull a face. I don’t tell him about the woman dangling from a rope out the backdoor. I may be headed for the loony bin, but I don’t need to let the entire world in on my journey.

“You should have called me.” He pushes into me gently, landing my back flat against the wall. His lips press against mine, and I try to enjoy his wonderful deep kisses while creating a force field of white noise within my mind.

He pulls back and gives a curious look.

“What? I can’t enjoy the fruit of your lips?”

His eyes twitch around the room as though he senses something.

“What’s wrong?” His expression has me worried. Maybe he detects something or someone left over from the night before.

“What happened last night?”

“Nothing. A branch fell down and hit the window. I freaked out.”

“There’s something else.” He walks through the river of bodies and down to the kitchen. His head turns slowly toward the back door, and his eyes widen with surprise.

I hide behind his shoulder and peer out carefully. The last thing I want to do is scream like a maniac in front of the entire student body of West Paragon High.

It’s Michelle. The door’s wide open, and Michelle’s sitting there smoking a cigarette flanked by Emily and Lexy, creating a disgusting cloud of bitchiness.

Logan’s chest rumbles against me as though he were going to say something, but doesn’t.

“What did you think you were going to see?” I ask in a hushed tone.

“Something evil,” he whispers back.

“Looks like you were right.”

“Looks like I was.” He trembles with an inaudible laugh. “I didn’t want to tell you this last night, but Chloe thought this place was haunted.”

I take in a sharp breath. That explains more than a few things.

“I can spend the night if you like,” he offers.

His offer is a balm to my newfound misery, although I question if he’s telling the truth or utilizing scare tactics to his advantage.

“That’s OK. I have Bree.”

“I’ll stop by after the meeting anyway.” Besides, there’s something I want to show you that you may not have discovered about the house.

“That it grows eight furry legs at night, and it’s really a tarantula?”

His brows knit together.

Gage pops up behind him and slaps him on the shoulder. “Time.”

“All right.” He takes me by the hand and we move swiftly toward the front. “Expect me after midnight.”

He drops a kiss on my forehead and disappears into the crowd.

I’ll be seeing you long before then, I muse. Only you won’t know it.

23

Awakening

I found Nicholas Haver’s address this afternoon in a Paragon Island phonebook at the foot of Tad’s desk. I thought I’d have to dig for hours, scan the Internet, pick Brielle’s mom for information, but it was all so easy.

I head upstairs and change from my jeans to a charcoal running suit. I want to make every effort to blend into the night. Really I’m only planning on hanging out on the periphery to get a feel of what’s going on—eaves drop if I’m lucky. Besides, didn’t Logan say you needed to be thirty to go to one of these? Or maybe you needed to be thirty to learn all of the benefits? Who the hell cares. All I know is if Logan and Gage think they can go—so do I.

“Hey.” Brielle grabs me by the arm as I dig out the spare key to the minivan from the kitchen. Lucky for me Tad would rather pay a cab than risk his precious ten-year old body wagon get stolen from the pier. Little did he know I would be the one stealing it—borrowing it. “Isn’t this great?” She bounces into me.

Ellis Harrison shadows her from behind. I remember him from the party he threw when I first got here. He’s tall, good looking and his teeth glow in the dark. I don’t know why Brielle doesn’t go for him instead of Drake—so many choices to make and such poor choices being made.

“I gotta make a food run. I’m starving.”

“Are you kidding?” Clearly she wasn’t expecting me to leave my own party.

“No really. I’ll get a ton of food and be right back.”

“You can’t feed all these people!”

Something in the living room breaks, sounds like glass, and I’m praying it’s not a window.

We head over to find a bottle exploded all over the floor.

“I’ll get some towels.” Brielle offers rushing back to the kitchen.

I ditch out the front, the cold night air penetrates right through my clothes with a glacial chill, making me wish I’d brought a jacket.

“I’ll go with you.”

I don’t even notice Ellis at my heels until I unlock the minivan, and he piles in.

“You can’t come.” I shoo him out with my fingers as I start the engine. Technically I don’t have my driver’s license. I was way too petrified to drive around L.A. so I took my sweet time getting my learners permit. Plus, it probably didn’t help that my father died in a fiery freeway collision right about the same time. Nothing to dampen your zest for driving like a little vehicular homicide.

“I want to.” He’s quick to buckle himself in, and for a moment I consider taking him. He won’t have to know why I’m sneaking around. He can sit in the car. He can protect me from freaky women who like to hang themselves in my presence, and we can go out and eat donuts afterwards. It’s made of win.

I shake myself back to reality.

“Get out of the car,” I bark.

“OK, OK.” He holds up his hands in an effort to quell my aggression.

“I mean thanks, but I can’t drive anyone under twenty-one for the next two decades. It’s a special stipulation on my driver’s permit.”

His forehead wrinkles.

“Liar, liar pants on fire,” he says it calm and eerily out of cadence. “You’re going to see Logan. He’s not the right one for you, but have it your way.” He gets out of the car.

I roll down the window.

“What do you mean?” I shout after him.

“I mean, I am.” He holds out his arms while walking backward up the driveway.

Dream on.

***

Nicholas Haver lives behind the gates.

Shit.

I slam my hand against the steering wheel.

The guard at the gate all but laughed when I told him I was going to visit my friend Nick. He went over the list twice before making me circle back around to the main road. Then it hits me. Ellis Harrison.

I fly back down to the house, which eats up another twenty minutes and find Ellis standing in a circle of smoke with two guys I don’t know.

“Ellis,” I hiss.

The whites of his eyes glint.

“You got food?” He asks with glassy eyes.

The air smells funny. I see one of the guys pass a joint to the other, and I take in a sharp breath.

“You guys can’t do this here!” I try to ventilate the area with my hands. “I’m going to go to jail or prison for this. Plus my mom is totally going to kill me!”

“Relax.” Ellis snaps out of his stupor and looks surprisingly normal.

“I changed my mind. I want you to come with.” I drag him by the elbow and shove him into the passenger seat.

I run around to the other side and click on my seatbelt.

“Buckle up,” I yell, backing out the driveway in haste.

“Where we headed?”

“Your place.”

“There’s no food at my place.”

“We’re not headed there for the food.” I try to sound mysterious like maybe he might get lucky, so he won’t protest and screw up my chances of getting behind the gates. Nicholas Haver’s house is miles away from the front gate, and I don’t much like running around the dark in the middle of the night.

We drive in silence. Or at least I think we do until he lets out a loud series of strange noises and I realize he’s snoring.

I shake him abruptly as we arrive at the gate.

“Help you?” The guard asks peering into the car.

“I’m taking Ellis Harrison home. Right, Ellis?”

He gazes at the night security guard through heavily lidded eyes.

“Hey there.” The security guard gives a brief salute as the barricade rises.

I roll past the guardhouse and into the quiet solitude of the backcountry of Paragon Estates.

I’m in.

I’m going to the faction council meeting—with a very stoned Ellis Harrison.

24

Just Call Me Angel

“Over there on the right.” Ellis points to his house, bright eyed and bushy tailed.

I pass it up trying to visualize the map, which I stupidly forgot to bring with me. I know he lives on a cul-de-sac called Saddle Drive, and he’s the only house on the block so it can’t be that hard to find. It veered right off Steamboat, which is the main thoroughfare.

“Turn around right here,” he instructs.

“I’m not going to your house. Would you like me to drop you off?”

“No,” he says suspiciously. “You passed up his house too.” His being Logan’s.

“Not going there either. I need to pick up something for a friend at Nicholas Haver’s house. You know him?”

“Big Nick?” There’s a note of disbelief in his tone.

“Yeah, big Nick. So what does big Nick do anyway?” No point in letting my imagination run wild if Ellis is willing to blab.

“Construction.”

“Oh right. That makes total sense.” Not really.

Ellis instructs me on the details of how to get there, and after several twists and turns down unmarked roadways I come to realize there is no way I could have gotten here on my own. So it’s sort of a God thing Ellis is with me.

The street is loaded with cars. I park high up on the ridge behind a giant shrub and get out of the minivan.

Ellis joins me.

“You mind waiting in the car?”

“You’re parked like a mile away. I’ll come with. Besides, I like Nick. I helped him do an addition last spring.”

“OK. But I have to tell you something. I’m not really here to get anything from Nick. I have to ask you to wait by the car. This is strictly female business. I’m actually here to see his wife.” Who I pray actually exists.

His face darkens.

“Well if you put it that way.” He leans against the minivan and crosses his arms.

Stay, I shout at him mentally as though he were a dog.

It’s beyond dark, so I open up my cell and let it illuminate a pathway over to the property. I round out the back and find a giant structure, like Ellis’s pool house only ten times that size. The lights are on, and I can see a bunch of heads sprinkled around the room.

I tiptoe across the long stretch of yard with no bushes, or trees, or structure to obscure me. I glide across something greasy with my left foot, and it’s not until the foul odor hits my nose that I realize I stepped in a pile of dog droppings.

Gross.

I smear my shoe along the grass until I work most of it off.

If there’s dog crap, where’s the dog?

I don’t waste any time analyzing the situation, instead I hug the back wall, slightly out of breath from the long trek over.

Voices emanate from inside.

The window clear on the opposite end is open so I get on all fours and crawl over.

I can hear them perfectly clear as if I were in the room.

“Noster can’t afford to side with Celestra,” a male voice says matter of fact—sounds bored, actually.

Gee thanks.

“So Celestra is on its own?” Sounds like Logan. “Then don’t threaten me with a trial by Justice Alliance when I take things into my own hands.”

He’s yelling. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Logan worked up, let alone, yell.

“What in the heck?” A voice hisses from behind.

I turn in fright to see Ellis Harrison nose to nose with me, and I let out a small squeal.

A dog comes charging out of the bushes, two glowing red eyes—teeth sharp as arrows, barking at top volume. He’s charging a million miles an hour, all rage and salivating fangs.

I can’t look, so I push my face into Ellis’ chest.

A chain rattles severely, and the dog yelps a series of whimpers. When I look up he’s only three feet away, impotent to complete his mission.

Bodies bleed out of the room, and a man with a belly that hangs clear over his trousers yanks Ellis up by one hand and me by the other.

“What in the…” he says full of surprise.

It’s Gage I see first.

“She’s here for me,” Gage shouts, making his way over.

Logan comes into focus, his eyes the size of baseballs.

“All of you out,” Nicholas Haver shouts, pushing Ellis and I in their direction.

Just a minute ago the patio was teeming with people and now there’s just the four of us. It’s like they scurried back inside because they didn’t want to be seen.

“I’m not here for them,” I say with a renewed vigor.

Big Nick eyeballs me up and down.

“I’m here because I belong here.” I stop short of flaunting the word Celestra because of Ellis, who, by the way, ruined everything.

“Come on.” Logan grabs me by the waist and starts leading me back up the trail.

What the hell are you doing here? He sounds markedly pissed.

I need more answers than you’re willing to give me. I give his hand a hard squeeze to let him know I feel the exact same way.

And you bring Ellis? He glowers over at him openly.

I needed to get behind the gates. Besides, he’s stoned. He won’t remember half this tomorrow.

He’ll clearly remember all this tomorrow, and by the way—he’s always stoned. That’s baseline for him. He twitches his nose. New perfume?

Yes. It’s called Craptastic. Like my night.

We get back up to the ridge and I take in a few deep lungfuls of fresh night air. I pluck off my shoes and toss them in a plastic bag that I find floating around the trunk of the minivan.

“Are you guys coming back to the party?” I ask looking from Logan to Gage.

“No.” Logan observes as Ellis stumbles into the passenger side of the minivan. “And neither are you.”

He takes the keys I’m holding rather loosely and hands them over to Gage.

“Drive Ellis back. Stay as long as you want, but drive his car home for him.” He turns to me. “You’re coming with me.”

25

Facts

The shutters are drawn and a small glow of light warms the Oliver’s sprawling estate.

“Nobody’s home,” he informs as we enter through the front.

A lethargic yellow lab wags his tail nervously as he sniffs forcibly by my feet.

“You must be Charlie.” He was out back in the fields when I was here the other day, so we missed our first meeting.

Logan leads me into the dining room. A palatial rectangle sits in the middle with a gold inlaid table that’s fit to seat twelve comfortably. A massive hutch sits behind it, and on each of the glass shelves are hundreds of angel figurines. My mother would say the whole thing’s gaudy, but I find it fascinating—eccentric.

“I’d have to agree with her.” Logan rubs his thumb against my hand.

“Is there any way to turn that off?” I can’t seem to keep forgetting he can hear me clear as a loud speaker.

“Not that I know of.” He pulls out a sheet of paper and a pen from a small desk off to the side before we take a seat at the table.

He starts making charts and jotting down names. The word faction is written in giant letters across the top.

“So you’re finally going to tell me everything there is to know?” I’m thrilled by the prospect.

“Maybe.” He keeps at his work until he’s done. “I’d never lie to you.”

“So that means no.”

“That means maybe.” He looks almost apologetic.

He spins the paper around and scoots in close.

“There are five factions of earthbound angels.” He taps his pen against the first one. “Celestra—that’s us.” A brief impression of a smile appears. “Countenance, most powerful, crooked bunch of bastards that roam the earth—think mob, but far more greedy. We don’t know who they are. They don’t make it a practice to reveal their status. They band together and share the wealth, so there’re lots of reasons for keeping their mouths shut. Plus, they don’t frown upon killing their own if they don’t cooperate. Then there’s the most common three, Noster, Levatio—that’s Gage and my uncle. Deorsum, that’s my aunt. And there you have it, factions at a glance.”

“So Celestra has the most powerful blood?”

“Yes.”

“Which means?” I can tell I’m going to have to pull all of the answers out of him, which isn’t fair because I don’t know the right questions to ask.

“Which means if there were enough of us, we could rule the Nephilim kingdom. Celestra is supposedly in charge but with lame duck status. It’s like a government, and right now the crooks are taking over. Each faction must pay a royalty to the Counts in exchange for their protection.”

“Protection against what? Aren’t they the ones we need protection from?”

He points the pen in my face.

“You’re a smart one. Technically, yes, but they claim to be protecting us against other spiritual beings called, Sectors. The Sectors are like overlords of the angel armies. You’re a warrior if you hadn’t already done your homework. That’s why it’s all right to kill if your life is in danger, or you’ve been instructed to do so by your faction leader.”

“And is that a sufficient plea to tell your legal council before they haul your ass to prison?”

“You won’t go to prison if you stay within those bounds. The factions take care of everything.”

“So murder out of necessity or under orders is OK.”

“Essentially.”

“I don’t exactly understand the Sectors,” I say.

“I don’t either. It falls under the category of wait until you’re thirty, but I have some theories.”

“And what about powers? Both you and Gage are really strong. Gage knows things. You and I can read minds, what else is there?”

“My aunt can influence small children to do her bidding. She owns and operates the single largest daycare center on the island. Parents love her. Most Deorsum don’t have that ability. The run of the mill things for them are strength and speed. You might say they got the shaft when it comes to outstanding superpowers.”

“I hear pretty well, too.” A tall brunette with her hair in a bun makes her way over and extends her hand.

She’s wearing a royal blue suit and has on an obnoxious shade of orange lipstick, but she’s absolutely stunning. I’d love for my mom to meet her.

“Emma.” Her fingers are frozen, so limp she barely moves within my seemingly harsh grasp.

“Skyla.”

Logan’s uncle enters and gives a slight wave. He looks over my shoulder and nods.

“Giving her the breakdown I see. I should have the blood work completed in a weeks time. I’m running a very detailed panel, that way we’ll know for sure if you’re Celestra or a mix or anything at all. Sometimes that happens. But if you’re a mix we go by what you have more of. It’s just easier for labeling purposes.”

“Great. I look forward to it.”

They exit with polite nods and smiles. Second thought, my mother would eat her for breakfast, and Tad would embarrass the hell out of me. It’s probably best they never meet. But of course now that I don’t want them to…

“We should have your parents over,” Logan suggests as though he’s just had some great epiphany.

“Is one of your abilities causing super humiliation?”

He frowns.

“They’ll meet one day.” He starts drawing boxes around all the faction names. “Levatio. The lucky bastards as I like to call them.”

“Are they lucky?” I’m fascinated to learn more about them, especially since Gage is one.

“Not really. They’ve got strength and speed, the knowing, teleportation.”

“How cool is that?” Now I totally wish Gage were here so he could bolt around the room.

“Noster’s same as Levatio with the exception they can see through walls, and oh yeah, both can levitate.”

“As in fly?”

“It’s not long range or anything, they can’t orbit the earth, but yes.”

“That’s so freaking fantastic,” I say dazzled by all these strange superpowers.

He drops his pen and folds his hands together.

“And what about us?” I take hold of his eyes with mine. An electrical current sizzles between us. He’s stunning and sharp, and annoyingly outright elusive with information.

“Read minds.” He holds out his hands and shrugs. “Strength, speed.” His expression clouds over. “Time travel.”

26

Principles

Time travel.

The word goes off like a gong long after Logan expelled it. He said he couldn’t really elaborate, that maybe we could talk about it later so I just let it go. Just the idea was enough to satiate me for now.

Gage comes in at three in the morning and says the exact words I don’t want to hear.

“Party’s still going strong.”

“We should get back there.” I spike up on the couch and stab my eyes around in the dark, in an effort to wake up. Logan put on a DVD, and then we started kissing and I must have fallen asleep.

I look over at Logan totally embarrassed and guilty.

“I really do love kissing you,” I say stupidly.

He looks mildly amused.

“Stay here,” Logan pulls me in, “you’re going to want to kick everyone out. No point in being a buzz kill. Besides, it’ll be four by the time we get there.”

He’s right.

“I won’t be able to sleep knowing they’re destroying the house.”

“Nobody’s destroying anything.” Gage flops on the couch opposite us. “Ellis was having a goodtime, didn’t want to come home.”

“You have a goodtime?” I’d feel kind of bad if Gage said no. There were tons of girls there—girls that would have been supermodels back home, raking in millions.

A twinge of jealousy cinches in my stomach, and I shake my head trying to get rid of the feeling. I’m into Logan. I don’t need Gage. I could care less if he were with ten girls at once.

“So you up on all the celestial B.S.?” He asks.

“It’s not B.S.,” I shoot back. My father was one, and I don’t like him talking that way.

“Sorry.” He covers the top of his head with a pillow. “You guys try anything out?”

I shake my head. Logan, for whatever reason, doesn’t seem that into exploring powers with me.

“Maybe I’ll help you out sometime,” Gage offers.

“Maybe you won’t,” Logan counters.

“I want to,” I say. “I want to try things out. And you said my powers could grow. It’s like a muscle, right? The more you use it the stronger it gets?”

“No.” The whites of Logan’s eyes widen. “The more you use it the more trouble you can get into. Definitely not like that.”

“I know enough to be careful.”

“You know enough to be dangerous,” Logan speeds it out.

We sit there with our eyes glinting back and forth at one another like ping-pongs.

I don’t like the chains of restraint Logan puts over me. I’m not an infant, and according to Gage, I can’t get myself killed.

I look from Logan to Gage. I might have to take Gage up on his offer. It’s Logan’s own fault if I end up going behind his back.

I want to know what I’m capable of. I want to feel it. And if I really can time travel, maybe I can save my father?

***

Sunday afternoon I head back home.

Gage was right. The house wasn’t destroyed. It was merely decimated.

I walk stunned from room to room. The kitchen has a lawn chair I’ve never seen before dangling out of the sink.

The couch is configured differently in the living room and every single cushion is nowhere to be seen. The curtains have been yanked down on one side, and there’s a clear slit down the center where the light comes through, and if its mocking me.

“I’m toast.” I sludge through empty beer bottles and soda cans, mystery wrappers and some unidentifiable things until I hit the stairs. A trail of dark liquid has been poured on the first five steps, and something gummy is stuck to the rest of the carpet leading on up.

I check Drake’s room first. His bed is unmade and to tell the truth I have no clue if that’s normal. Mia and Melissa’s room looks untouched. Both bunks are still laden with stuffed animals arranged face out and in size order, so that’s a no. Next is my room.

My freaking room.

Brielle is sprawled out on the bed stark naked with her shoes still on. I run over and throw my t-shirt on her from off the floor in an effort to cover the insanity.

“You sleep with somebody in here?” I don’t really care that she cheated on Drake, it’s just that I’m going to have to burn the bed, that’s all.

She gives a guilty laugh, bearing her teeth in an awkward manner a little too long.

I head back out the hall and shut the door tight. Thank God Logan didn’t venture in behind me.

My parent’s room is next. The door sticks, and my heart drops thinking someone might be bolted in there. I bust through and there’s no one except one very rumpled bed and I’m absolutely positive my anal, male chauvinist pig of a stepfather would not have allowed my mother to leave it this way. He’d hogtie her in apron strings and chain her to the bedpost if she tried to get away with crap like this.

“I’m going to die. My parents are going to execute the world’s harshest judgment upon me and I’ll never leave the house again. We need to go back in time,” I plead to Logan.

He shakes his head looking mournful over the situation.

“You can’t use that for something like this. It falls under domestic detail. I’ll call Gage. We’ll clean up as much as we can.”

Nat and Kate swing by as well. We manage to get all the trash off the floors and recover all but one of the sofa cushions. It looks toothless, with three brown cushions and one white gaping space with nothing but the spring cover below.

I collect the bedding from Mom and Tad’s room and start the wash. It’s going to take three hours before I wash all of those fat, fuzzy blankets, and that oversized comforter will never dry by tonight.

“I might be homeless after today.” I let Logan cradle me in the living room. I find his lips and forget about the whole mess my life has turned into.

The front door jiggles, and a pair of footsteps make their way over.

I look up expecting to see Gage or Bree or anyone else. But I don’t. Instead I see my mother.

27

Red Handed

Tad, Drake, and the girls tumble in after my mom.

“Skyla Laurel Messenger, get yourself upstairs now,” she shrieks. “And excuse me, mister who kisses my daughter in my living room, you can find the front door thank you very the hell much!” Her voice hits that upper register I haven’t heard in years since she had one of her famous blowouts with my father.

I head on up and pause at the top.

“Oh, my, word,” she screams.

I can hear her roaming deeper and deeper, and now Tad is shouting something, and they seem to be shouting in unison and at each other at the same time. I see Nat and Kate leave. Logan’s truck rolls down the driveway, so Gage must have went out the back.

“What’s going on?” Brielle staggers out of my bedroom.

I motion her back inside and press my finger to my lips.

Mia and Melissa gallop upstairs lugging their overnight bags.

“You’re in deep shit,” Mia whispers as they saunter past me.

Drake comes up and sees Brielle.

“Cool.” He relaxes into a dorky grin and they go off in his room together.

I can’t believe this. I let Brielle convince me into doing something that I knew, I knew, was a very bad idea. I feel like beating myself, giving myself black eyes over the entire event, but I know my mother will probably do that for me.

Heavy footsteps ignite in this direction. I duck into my bedroom and shut myself in.

A choir of disappointed murmurs buzz through the other side of the door, then a violent shriek when my mother, most likely, sees her unmade bed.

My door swings open and I huddle in the corner fearing for my life.

“Get out here now.” She annunciates every single word.

Reluctantly I exit the safety of my bedroom and head into the hall.

“Who did you have in this house this weekend? And I know that lot of not so innocent looking kids helping you clean was just the tip of the iceberg.”

“All the trashcans are filled with beer bottles,” Tad shouts.

“Skyla!” My mother rages.

“I didn’t drink. I swear!”

“Well bully for you,” Mom sings. “That means I had a bunch of drunk teenagers at my house, and if anything happens to them because of their little trip to Landon tavern, it’s on my head!”

I shrink back. I hate seeing my mother this mad. I hate the sound of her voice when it’s locked in anger.

“Did you have sex with that boy here?”

“No.” My hands fly up over my ears. We’ve definitely drifted into the relationship no-fly zone. “I’m a virgin. I swear.” File that under things I never thought I’d scream out loud.

“Yeah, well, too bad there’s no surefire way to tell because I really don’t believe you.”

And there’s another riff in our already deteriorating relationship.

“She’s probably on drugs, too.” Tad paces in a frantic circle. I bet he regrets marrying my mother, regrets the sloppy baggage she dragged into it like some stench-riddled carcass.

“And why is the minivan parked in the street?” My mother demands.

“Because the driveway was full.” There, I said the truth.

“You don’t have a license.” I can feel the heat of her breath as she roars an inch from my nose.

“And it smells like a bear took a shit in there.” Tad matches her tone.

“Maybe it did,” I offer.

“There are no bears on Paragon,” Tad screams into me on his way to the bedroom.

I can hear the shower turn on from Drake’s room. He’s probably in there with the hellion responsible for this carnage while I occupy the ‘rents with my Brielle-inspired shenanigans. I’m suddenly regretting we ever met.

“Get to your room until I think of an ample and just punishment.” Disappointment seethes from her pores, all directed right at me.

“You ever wish I was in that car with Dad?” The words tumble from my lips bypassing the brain filter on their way out.

“Skyla,” her whole affect softens, “don’t ever say that.” She pulls a loose strand of hair and tucks it behind my ear. “I knew you were probably going to have a party.”

Great. She thinks the worst of me. Technically it was Brielle who had the party, Brielle who had sex in my bed, and Brielle who’s most likely doing that exact same thing right now under her nose.

“When I was your age I did the same thing.”

“Oh.” I can’t even imagine my mother my age. “You get in trouble?”

“No. I never got caught.”

I raise my fingers over my mouth in surprise.

“I clean better than you.” She walks down the hall to her bedroom and shuts the door.

I head over to Drake’s room and knock on the door to give them a scare. A scrambling sound emits from inside, then silence.

No reason Brielle should have all the fun, although being with Drake is technically a punishment. Obviously she’s a sadist.

I head over to my room and close the door.

My mother—I track through my memory trying to recall her ever mentioning her youth. I know she grew up near the waterfront. My grandparents died a few years back. She has a sister in Idaho. That’s all I really know about my mom. Is she a member of an angel faction? How exactly does one go about asking their mother if they are, in any way, a supernatural being?

I yank the covers off my bed and drop onto the bare mattress.

I don’t know how, but I’m going to make it a point to find out.

28

Ninjas

Days drag on. I familiarize myself with the nuances of my bedroom. Sometimes I sit in the walk-in closet with the lights off and text Logan for hours. Apparently ample punishment doesn’t include taking away my cell or my computer. I’m thrilled actually. My room feels more like a safe haven rather than a prison.

My mother gives a mild knock before entering.

“You up for a chore?”

“Yes,” I say hesitantly. Obviously no would have been the wrong answer. I try to assess her mood, but the only clue as to how she might be feeling is that bright pink ruffled shirt. It screams take-me-to-the-circus-and-put-me-on-the-first-clown-you-see.

“I need to do a bunch of paperwork for Tad, so I’m going to ask you to take Mia and Melissa back-to-school shopping for me.

I perk up at the thought. Outside? In a car?

“I’ll drop you guys off, just call when you need to get picked up. I know it seems like I’m going soft on you, but summer’s going to end in a couple weeks.” She lets her shoulders rise and fall. “Who knows, maybe I am getting soft. Be ready in fifteen.”

I flip off my bed and text Logan. I think we’re about to have an accidental meeting.

***

I pretend to absorb myself in a novel on the way to the mall, so my mother might hold off on the inquisition. I’m still waiting for a thorough line of questioning involving Logan since she caught us in a heavy-duty lip lock.

We file out of the van, and I wave her off. Mia and Melissa are armed with cash, and per my mother’s wicked plan, I am not. I didn’t fight my mother on that one. I’m sure new clothes are in the cards for me, just not today, or perhaps not ‘till I’m thirty.

We head into the Paragon West End mall. It’s busier than the last time I was here by several hundred people. Must be the end of summer sale and back to school bustle all rolled into one. I see Logan over by the giant fountain and wave.

“OK. So you guys are going to stick together, and you have enough money for lunch and a movie, right?”

“Oh, we can totally see a movie!” Melissa clutches my sister’s arm.

“Or two or three,” I suggest. “Look, I have my cell. Just call me when you’re ready to go. I’m going to hang out, kay?”

They wander down the corridor and disappear into a juniors dress shop, bubbling with excitement.

I envy Mia. I wish I had a sister my age rather than Drake. At least I have Logan to take the edge off.

He greets me with a kiss.

“Let’s blow this joint.” I tick my head toward the parking lot. The last thing I need is spotting Mia and Melissa every five minutes. They’re totally safe. I can feel it in my creaky bones. It’s not like I left them alone—they’re not seven. They’re thirteen.

***

“So where you taking me?” We’ve got the windows rolled down and the wind thrashes my hair around.

“It’s a surprise.”

We drive for a half hour past the falls. I’m completely nervous about how far away I’ve gotten from the girls. He pulls down a tiny dirt road with a big white-planked sign that reads Black Forest.

It’s more than a thicket of pine trees. It’s a denseness that I’ve never seen before. Walls of emerald fur line the roadway impenetrable by man or beast.

He drives down to a clearing, and we get out of the truck.

“You take all the girls here?” Really I don’t want an answer to that one.

“I don’t think I’ve taken anyone here.” He leads me down a small stone path that leads into a smaller clearing, deep in the forest where you could feasibly only arrive on foot.

“It’s kind of creepy.” Even though I’m with Logan, I feel entirely vulnerable.

Don’t. We’re safe. He walks over and snaps a one foot round branch off a tree, easy as snapping a pretzel.

Words garble in my throat. I can’t seem to push any of them out.

“I’m going to teach you how to do that.” He launches into one of his wild grins.

“I’m all ears.” I walk over and stand next to him.

“First, you determine that you can do this. Before you choose what you’re going to do with your strength, you need to believe.”

“OK. So I believe I can pluck this branch off.” I choose a far smaller, more meager branch to target.

He motions for me to try.

I give it a yank, and it snaps upwards with violent force. Nada.

“You have to really believe. It’s a biblical principle. You need to come from a place of knowing. Really understand that you’ve been given the power, and if you doubt it’s possible—it will be impossible.”

“Great.” I try branch after branch, each time targeting something softer, meeker. “Can’t do it.” I suck in deep full breaths. It’s too exhausting to even think about trying again.

“OK.” He looks around at the bed of dead pine needles on the ground. “Let’s try speed.” He positions himself like he’s going to run, but ends up standing next to a tree hundreds of yards away.

“Hey! How’d you do that?” I yell, exhilarated.

He cups his hands around his mouth. “Try it!”

I place myself in the identical position, and start in on a run. The whole world turns into a blur, a carefree whirl on a familiar carnival ride. It reminds me of when my father used to take me up in his arms and spin me. Or at least I thought he was spinning me—it felt just like this.

I appear right next to Logan with my chest heaving from the mammoth effort.

“You did it!” He wraps his arms around my waist and gives me a twirl.

A loud reverberating shot rings out in the forest. A branch the size of a small tree just above our heads begins its silent tumble right for us.

Logan pushes me out of the way as the timber crashes onto the bed of pine needles.

“That could have killed us!” I pant. My heart rattles in my chest like a caged rabid squirrel.

He looks around calm with careful intent.

“I believe that was the plan.”

29

Trouble

Logan and I perch behind the trunk of an evergreen while staring out into the heavy shadow of the surrounding forest.

Logan leans forward and brings his finger to his lips while looking at one of the branches on a tree across the way. He throws his finger into the air with a hard point. A dark-winged creature bolts out and heads to the west.

“It’s that raven,” I marvel. “What is that, your bird or something?”

“It sends a signal.”

“Can’t you just use your cell?”

“It’s more than that.” He gets up on his feet. “C’mon.” He pulls me in behind him using his body as a shield, and we walk light footed through the dense overgrowth. It’s getting progressively darker. The fog illuminates itself like a lantern as it fills in the landscape around us.

The heavy crush of leaves quickens in our direction. A stench of rotting flesh, or putrid fish, clogs up my nostrils, and I find myself fighting the strong urge to vomit.

“What is that?”

“It’s a Fem.” He clutches at my shoulders. “We have to outrun it, or it’ll kill us.”

“I can’t.” I’m gonna die. My mother is going to find me in forest eaten by a Fem. “It’s going to eat me, isn’t it?” A weak groan emits from my throat.

“It might.” He looks around distressed, panting.

He picks me up and starts running. It feels like trees are darting in and out of our path. The sky appears and disappears like lightning. I close my eyes and bury my face in Logan’s chest until it feels like I’m flying in a dizzy circle with my father again. That’s how Logan makes me feel—safe like my father.

An unbearably loud roar explodes right over my head, like that of a lion or a bear. I open my eyes to discover it emanating from Logan. I don’t know whether to be frightened or entertained.

He jumps branch to branch, with me dangling on for dear life, and sits me a good twenty feet up. If I fall, I could easily crack my skull on the waiting rocks below.

He lunges forward and clutches at a dark figure.

I have no idea what in the hell it is. I’ve only seen the things of this world, and I know for certain this isn’t one of them. I can’t make out the proper form. When I see it, I sway in disbelief. I crouch in and hug the trunk with all my might.

A large bear looking creature ten feet high at least, with the girth of five bears up top, and legs like a jackrabbit, lunges and hisses at Logan. It looks like something out of a horror movie, something of pure evil. A shiny-flocked fur covers its flesh, its mouth is open, and it thrashes its bright red pit all over.

I close my eyes and bury my head into the trunk of the tree.

I can hear a scuffle take place, bodies being lifted and thrown to the ground with violent force. The unnatural quiver of the forest lets me know this is no ordinary match. This isn’t human against human. And I have a very distinct feeling, that for one of them, this is going to end very, very, badly.

“Skyla!” Logan calls my name.

It takes all my effort to open my eyes and look in his direction. It might be his dying breath—the last word that leaves his mouth might be my name.

Logan’s standing right there in the clearing with one foot on top of the beast’s chest in triumph.

“You kill it?” I ask hesitantly.

“Take a picture.”

“You’re insane if you think I’m digging around for my phone.”

Gage appears beneath me. “Jump, and I’ll catch you.”

“No.” I strengthen my death grip on the trunk of the tree. “I’m very afraid of heights. I’ll need hours of therapy to repair the damage done here today.”

Logan springs up next to me and grabs me by the waist. That weightless feeling I hate flips through my stomach, and somehow we magically appear on terra firma.

The beast hisses, and a wall of vapors surround it before it evaporates into thin air. The horrible smell penetrates the forest, and we’re forced to cover our mouths as we run for the car.

“Smells like raw sewage,” I say as Logan helps me into the cab of his truck and shuts the door.

Gage appears in the seat next to me.

He pulls a small sprig of pine needles out of my hair and holds it out as if he were offering me a gift. He sneaks a quick kiss on my forehead.

“I’m glad you’re OK,” he whispers before disappearing.

Logan climbs in and shuts the door still out of breath.

“What exactly is a Fem, and please tell me that was the last one.”

“A Fem can change shapes to be whatever it wants—whatever it thinks will frighten you and weaken your defenses.”

Immediately I think of the woman with crazy hair, hanging outside my kitchen door.

“And what do they want?”

“They personally don’t want anything. They’re a lower faction of the Sectors. They do all the spiritual dirty work. It’s been long believed that Countenance hire them out to do their bidding, but of course they deny it. There’s not enough evidence to bring them to the Justice Alliance.”

“You said they hire them out. What’s their currency?”

“It’s a power exchange. I don’t know how it works. All I know is if you ever come upon a Fem—one of you will be leaving dead.”

“I could never kill anything like that. I’d be too afraid.”

“That’s why it looks the way it does because it wants to scare you. You have to remember it’s nothing more than a ball of air.”

“Ball of air.” I repeat the words. But it looked so real—fought so hard.

I don’t think I have what it takes to be an angel. Somehow, I don’t think it matters.

30

Snatched

It’s dark by the time we get to the mall. We made a pit stop at Logan’s house so he could shower and change. All the hundreds of shoppers who were here this afternoon have gone, and it looks like a bona fide ghost town.

I call Mia on her cell but it goes to voicemail, same with Melissa.

Not two minutes later, my mother calls and informs me she’s picking us up—that it’s nearing our bedtime. I leave the word bedtime out of my lexicon when I translate the conversation to Logan.

“So you’re like a superhero,” I push into him playfully.

“So are you.” He gives a playful shove back before circling my waist.

“Yeah, but you killed a dragon. That practically makes you a prince.”

“It wasn’t a dragon, but it might be next time.” He looks resigned to this. “And if I’m a prince, you must be a princess.”

I reach up and give a supple kiss to his neck.

“It’s pretty amazing that we’re both Celestra. We could have an entire faction of perfect Celestrial beings running around one day.”

“Or flying. We could always learn to fly.”

“So we can learn other gifts?”

“Yeah, but it’s like learning the piano for the very first time or another language. It takes great effort to master it. With your natural gifts, you just need to believe. He does the rest for you.”

“Who’s he?”

“Master.” He points up.

Before we can continue on with our conversation, my cell goes off. It’s Mom.

“I’m right here in the parking lot. Come on down.” There’s a hint of impatience in her voice.

I hang up, struck with panic.

“I have to find the girls.”

Logan and I buy movie tickets just so we can get in. We comb through a football field of blackened movie theaters. I’m so desperate I’m shouting their names as I walk in without regard for the movie or the patrons. To make matters worse, it’s nearing ten o’clock, and I keep ignoring my mother’s nagging phone calls.

I meet Logan back outside by the concession stand.

“They’re not anywhere.” A quiver of fear bubbles through me. I can feel the tears building fast. “You think someone took them?”

A hard knock explodes on the glass wall facing outside. It’s my mother with an irate expression, violently waving me over.

I walk past Logan mouthing a goodbye and head out in the cold damp air to meet her.

“It’s that boy again, isn’t it?” Her eyes expand the size of dishes. “Instead of a nice day out with your sisters, you turned this into some sort of romantic rendezvous!”

I hardly consider slaying a beast in the woods a romantic rendezvous.

“No,” I object just above a whisper.

“Where are your sisters?”

Again she’s exasperated. I bet I’ll hear later how she did the exact same things when she was younger, but judging by the intense venomous glare—maybe not.

Just as I’m about to admit I’ve badly misplace both Mia and Melissa, my cell goes off.

“Mia!” I hold it up triumphantly.

“So what movie did you see?” I try to act nonchalant as though I knew they were in the theater all along, which I sort of did.

“Emma Fantastic,” she chortles into my ear.

“Emma Fantastic,” I say, covering the phone. Both my mother and I turn to the display board to see what time Emma Fantastic gets out, only to find out after checking everything twice, Emma fucking Fantastic isn’t playing at the theater.

“Listen, I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, but I have Mom here and we’re both well aware Emma Fantastic isn’t playing.” I try asserting my authority in an effort to impress my mother.

“I know it’s not playing there.” Mia always sounds about seven on the phone, so it’s impossible to stay mad at her. “We took a bus to the East mall on the other side of the island.”

My fingers shake as I glance over at my mother nervously. Something tells me it’s going to be a long car ride over.

***

And you know what? I was right.

It takes over forty-five minutes with no traffic before we turn into the parking lot. My mother has gone over every single horrifying scenario of what might have happened to the girls. Who knew the harrowing possibilities were seemingly endless? Of course she left out being eaten by a giant, smelly Fem, but she couldn’t have guessed that in a million years.

It occurs to me that I missed a thousand opportunities on the way over to politely nudge her and ask if she was an angel. At this point Mia and Melissa are in as much trouble as I am, so things couldn’t possibly get any worse.

“Mom? Remember when Dad would call me his angel? Why do you think that was?”

“Because you hadn’t bloomed into your teenage years.” She honks the horn as she pulls against the curb.

Mia and Melissa startle in our direction with the flash of the headlights.

“Besides,” she continues, “he loved making you into something special. Mia too, but your relationship with your dad was different. It’s like you shared some special bond. He said you would surpass him in greatness someday.” She shakes a pang of grief away.

Mia and Melissa pile in the backseat. My mother turns up the volume on her glacial queen routine, and we start in on a rather quiet ride home.

I lean my head against the cool glass of the window and watch the stars turn and dance with every new twist in the road. I wonder if my father’s watching me, watching me kiss Logan, and shiver in fear while perched in the branches of trees. I wonder what he thinks of all this. I wonder if he really cares anymore.

31

Leave

I text Logan as soon as I get back up in my room, and let him know I survived— for now.

He texts me back. I’m staying in tonight.

As opposed to? ~S

Lexy Bakova’s party. Gage wanted me to go with, but I said no.

Aww. He doesn’t want to piss me off, so he stayed in. So wise.

Thanx ~S

So what are you wearing?

Flannel pants with a hole in the thigh, and a ragged old sweat shirt that I’ve used to do yard work in.

You’re a pervert, you know that? ~S

I was hoping you’d notice. I can practically hear him saying it.

There’s a soft knock on the door.

Brb. I drop my cell on the bed and scramble to a seated position.

It’s Drake.

“What?” I say annoyed, picking my phone back up and cradling it.

“I’m going out tonight, and I want you to come.”

“You’re going out where?” I ask suspiciously.

“Some party at some cheerleader’s house. Brielle wants me to go, and I don’t really know anyone like you do.”

“You just said Brielle’s going.”

“What if she leaves me?” He runs his hands through his hair in a panic.

“She most likely will,” I say it matter of fact. “Besides, I can’t. I’m grounded, like forever.”

“So what more could they do to you? And it’s not like you’re going to get caught. How many times do they come in your room at night to check on you?”

Never. I start rotating the idea around in my brain.

“We can come back early. And they’re already asleep,” he adds.

Mom did mention how exhausted she was when we pulled into the driveway. Drake’s right, she’s probably being haunted in her dreams by Chloe as we speak.

“Give me ten minutes.”

***

Drake thinks we should walk out the front door as opposed to climbing out the window and swinging down to earth on tree branches like I suggested. Turns out we manage to arouse the suspicions of no one as we make our way to the minivan where Brielle is already waiting.

“I can’t believe you’re sneaking out!” She hugs me as though I’ve accomplished something major.

“Drake has permission.” I nod in an effort to aggravate him by removing some of the mystique he’s trying to build.

“She knows,” he gives a dirty look before unlocking the door.

Clearly the scent of crap does not dissipate as easily as one would think. We drive all the way there with the windows down. And it’s not until I see Gage standing out front that I text Logan and tell him where I am.

Lexy lives just south of the mall, overlooking the ocean in a relatively normal sized home. It looks like the same crowd that was over at my house Saturday is circulating in the driveway. I recognize more than a few faces. I get out and make my way over to Gage.

He takes a full step back as though he’s looking at an illusion.

“It’s really me.”

“You look,” he pauses to take me in, “amazing.”

“Thanks.” I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks. “I just told Logan to come on down.” It’s starting to feel a little awkward, so I do a quick survey of the sea of people to try and spot Brielle. Not that I really want to hang with Drake. Maybe we can both ditch him.

“So you all right?” Gage has a soulful way about him. His hair is slicked back wet. The sliver of moonlight that’s out tonight casts a perfect reflection off the top.

“I’m,” I want to say fine, but what’s the point? “Completely freaked out. I don’t know what I’d have done if I was alone. For sure I wouldn’t be standing here. I owe Logan my life,” I gush.

His expression dims.

“I wouldn’t go that far.” He motions for me to follow.

We head toward the side of the house, barren of people. Gage leans in and places his hand on the wall behind me, pinning me in.

Something in my gut loosens, and I feel completely relaxed.

“So why don’t you go in there and fight some of those girls off for a while?” Truth is, I’m afraid he’s going to kiss me. Truth is, I’m afraid I’m not going to stop him.

“I don’t want to be in there. I want to be out here. With you.”

I look past his shoulder into the street. No sign of a car, not one single headlight going in either direction. A warm breeze wafts by, and the strong scent of eucalyptus fills the air.

“You know, I kind of have this thing going with Logan, and…” I let my gaze fall as his body moves closer to mine. I can feel the warmth radiating from his skin, hot as a fever.

“If I’m going to marry you one day,” he says rather dreamily, “we’re going to have to do this. A lot.”

It’s an explosion of emotion when his lips connect with mine. A love song, and every glorious sunset I’ve ever seen all rolled into one. We write a poem with the dull ache of our passion.

I snap back to reality and push back hard. He flies back a good three feet, surprised at how he got there.

I make a beeline for the front of the house where I find Logan talking to Michelle and Lexy.

“Hi,” I try not to sound winded—like Gage’s kiss didn’t leave me breathless.

He takes a hold of the back of my neck.

White noise! White noise!

I try to focus on my breathing, the stars—his eyes.

I need to be with Michelle tonight. I’m getting very close.

My heart sinks like granite.

“I guess I’ll see you around,” I say maneuvering myself into the throngs of bodies.

32

Jealous

I can’t stand watching him with Michelle. Why does he care so much about a stupid diary when it hurts me?

Gage follows me around like a puppy—an apologetic puppy who thrives on my attention.

“You know he’s just using her, right?” I motion over to the two of them sitting by the roaring fire. Michelle has her arms around Logan’s midsection, and he’s caressing her neck. “He’s just listening in,” I say.

Gage doesn’t appear too amused.

“I would never do that to you.” There’s something sincere in his tone, and I wholeheartedly believe him.

“Why does he want this diary so bad anyway?” I whisper.

“He thinks it has some vital piece of information.”

“To what? Get her killers?”

He shakes his head.

“You know what they say about a fool?” He whispers.

“What?” I don’t like how he’s comparing Logan to a fool. He looks noble, like a king sitting over there. He has a glow about him that outshines the fire.

“Give him enough rope—he’ll hang himself.” Gage seems rather proud of his euphemism.

We watch as Michelle pulls his face down and kisses him full on the lips. He doesn’t thrash around or toss her in the fire, instead he pulls back with nothing more than a blink—it makes me want to go over and knock both of them into the fire myself.

“He’s gone too far.” Hot angry tears burn the insides of my lids. I look around for signs of Drake or Brielle, but don’t see any. They’re probably rolling around in Lexy’s bedroom. Brielle’s not too shy when it comes to things like that. “Take me home.”

“Sure.”

The air outside has condensed a thin layer over everything. It leaves a fine mist over my skin and hair as we make our way over to Gage’s truck. A black one to Logan’s white, and easier to get into.

I’m so pissed I’m seething. I can’t see straight, partially due to the tears I refuse to let fall. I push them away with the back of my hands.

“I don’t really feel like going home.” I haven’t even been gone a full hour. If I get into trouble now I don’t think any of this has been worth it. Tears shoot out the corner of my eyes, rapid fire. I can’t seem to get a hold of myself. I start in on a full-blown sob into the palms of my hands, shaking like a freaking baby.

Gage pulls over and kills the ignition. He snaps off his seatbelt, then mine.

“Come here.” He pulls me toward him and hands me a tissue from out of small box sitting on his console. “Look!” He marvels tracing the tail of a shooting star with his finger.

I wish I felt for Gage what I feel for Logan. I thought Logan and I had some stronger than steel impenetrable bond. I was already insanely attracted to him before I knew we were both Celestra.

I snuggle into Gage a little deeper.

One great thing about Gage is that he doesn’t have the ability to know what I’m thinking. I don’t have to infiltrate my brain with whitewash to get through a tough moment with him. It’s a huge relief on many fronts.

He picks up my hand and inspects it.

“Are you sizing my finger?” I tease.

“No that’s your other hand. I’m looking for trail marks.”

“I don’t think I got any scratches today.”

His chest rises with restrained laughter. He holds my hand up to the moonlight streaming through the window. It looks pale, far too thin and fragile to be mine.

“Trail marks have to do with time travel. They’re white dots that bleach into your skin. No one knows why they appear, they just do.”

“Sort of like a passport.” I muse joining him in examining my hands. “Is that one?”

Gage turns on the overhead light. “Son of a gun. It is.” He hardly breaks out the enthusiasm when he says it. “Where’d you go?”

“I don’t have a clue. I don’t remember anything.”

“You must have went somewhere. Think.” He gives a gentle shake.

“Look there’s another one.” I say perfectly surprised by this revelation.

“You really get around don’t you?” His dimples ignite on either side.

I reach up and turn off the overhead light. I don’t want to think about how gorgeous Gage is, when the one I really want to be with is doing who knows what with Michelle, so he can get his hands on paper—paper.

“How’d you like the kiss?” He asks.

“It was all right.” I give him a playful shove. Before I can say, don’t do that again, his lips are covering mine. I don’t back away or split his tongue in half with my teeth. I just let it happen. I don’t feel half as guilty as before. A part of me wants to indulge. This might be the very last time I kiss him, ever.

It goes on for long stretches of time. We don’t tire—just keep roaming around exploring, running our tongues back and forth, making lazy circles, figure eights.

Deep in my heart it doesn’t feel right, like I’m cheating on Logan with no diary to gain from the whole experience. But I know it really doesn’t matter. Relationships are fickle. I’m just fooling myself into thinking someone like Logan was going to stay with me exclusively. So what if he called himself my boyfriend? So what if I thought he really was? What do I know about love anyway?

A thunderous knock on the glass startles the two of us to attention.

Logan.

Gage opens the door. I’m not sure whether he gets out or Logan yanks him into the street, but a fight erupts. Full throttle kicks to the balls—punching. I see blood, and I don’t know where it’s coming from.

A pair of headlights stream over the two of them before slowing down. It’s the minivan. I grab my purse and get out. I walk by their brawling bodies without once urging them to stop. I want Gage to beat the shit out of Logan. I hope that kiss hurt him as much as it did when I saw him with Michelle.

I get into the minivan and slam the slider door shut.

“Go around them,” I tell Drake.

And he does.

33

Insurrection

I can feel my cell vibrate in my jeans as soon as I get back into my bedroom. It’s Logan. If he thinks I’m going to engage in some lovelorn conversation until the wee hours of the morning—I glance up at the clock. It is the wee hours of the morning. I pick it up on the third ring.

“Make it quick.”

“I’m sorry. Will you accept my apology?” He sounds hurt and sincere and incredibly sexy, but none of that rectifies the fact I can’t get the visual of his lip-lock with Michelle out of my mind.

“No.” I flick my heels off with a thump. “I’m just being honest.”

“I wouldn’t ask anything else.”

I listen to the sound of his breathing until I feel hypnotized by the rhythm. I turn off the lamp next to my bed and lie under the covers with Logan tucked next to my ear in the dark.

“I wish I was with you. There’s so much more I want to say,” he whispers.

I hold the phone away while I sniff back tears.

“I made you cry.” The anger in his voice resonates across the line. “You don’t have to forgive me. I don’t think I can forgive myself.”

It crushes me to hear him say that. I heave a ragged breath into the pillow.

“Did you get the diary?”

“No.”

“Are you done with trying?”

Nothing but silence.

“I guess I have my answer. Listen, I gotta go. Tell Gage I said hi, would you?”

I hope it hurt.

***

My mother has decided as a just punishment for losing track of my sisters I’m to play the part of the family scullery maid, forever.

I wash the stone floors in the kitchen and dining room with a mop and boiling hot water—literally boiling. She has me don a pair of black Wellies she dug out of the garage and has me heat the teakettle. Once it begins to scream from the pain, she instructs me to drizzle the scalding liquid all over the floor and scrub the crap out of it with a mop that’s missing more than a few dozen threads. I’m beginning to think my mom is missing more than a few dozen brain cells because I don’t see a darn of a difference on the blotchy brown floor.

“Mom?” I make sure the girls are outside before I continue the conversation.

“Mmm, hmm?” She doesn’t look up from her crossword puzzle.

“Did you know that something terrible happened to a girl that used to live here?”

Her head shoots up. She folds over her crossword and leans in.

“Yeah, Hon, I do. It’s part of the reason we were able to afford this house to begin with.”

I stare over at her speechless. If it weren’t for Chloe ending up at the bottom of Devil’s Peak I wouldn’t be standing here today. Fire sale.

“I also heard it was haunted.” She sounds a little too exuberant over the subject.

I’d hate to burst her bubble by letting her know it was probably just a bunch of Fems running around trying to kill people.

“I wouldn’t go sharing any of that with your sisters.” Her lips make a perfect O as they run in through the backdoor.

“I’m trying to boil the floors here,” I shout after them.

“You were always the funny one.” Mom scrunches her nose over at me.

“I thought you were the funny one,” I say. She married Tad, didn’t she?

“Tell me about this boy you keep sneaking off to be with.”

I freeze mid swipe. Does she mean sneaking off as in last night?

“His name is Logan.” I swab the floors with long, clean strokes. “His parents died when he was young, and he lives with his aunt and uncle, one cousin the same age.” I leave out the part about me kissing the both of them, and how I think I might have accidentally fallen in love so quickly—absentmindedly.

“You really like him don’t you.” It comes out a fact.

I shrug. The last thing I want to do is cry on my mother’s shoulder over what happened last night.

“You’re so young, Skyla. And beautiful!” She rises in her seat when she says it as though it were an epiphany. “There are so many fish in the sea. Don’t settle for the first one that catches your eye. Play hard to get. You should be.”

I don’t really know what playing hard to get does for you, other than make you hard to get. Maybe if I were hard to get, Logan would be drooling all over me instead of Michelle.

The diary. That’s exactly what Michelle’s doing, playing hard to get. Unfortunately for me, it seems to be working.

“That girl that died, she and Logan used to go out,” I add.

My mother drops her pen. “That’s…” she searches the air for words. “Creepy.” Her fingers strum across the granite. “That reminds me. Your father dated a girl who died unexpectedly.”

My eyes bug out as I continue to swipe the floor—so much death and carnage. What’s the purpose?

“Oh yeah? You know her name?” I ask.

“Candy something. Oh, it was probably something like Candace. They were seniors together.”

I bet I could look her up in Dad’s old yearbook. I bet if I dug around real good, I’d discover she was a Celestra.

34

Covetous

It’s registration day at West Paragon, so Drake drives us down to campus to get our classes settled. Brielle is like a racehorse dying to get out of the gate to show us around.

I’m used to the practice field so I’m familiar with that much, but this time Brielle has us park in the main lot and we enter campus from an entirely different direction.

Stone cobbled pavers fan out in circular patterns that extend the entire length and breadth of the walkways. Two tall, brick buildings soften in a cloud of fog so thick you can hardly see the landscape beyond them. If I hadn’t been here for cheer practice, I would never have known the buildings are encased in trees that stretch hundreds of feet into the air like javelins.

Brielle leads us into the shorter of the two buildings. Inside it’s filled with all of the familiar faces from the parties I’ve been going to. I see Gage and Logan finishing up toward the front of the line. I try to pretend not to notice when I see them making their way over.

Ellis Harrison steps into my line of vision. He’s sporting wireless glasses and a plaid shirt. I hardly recognize him with the clear eyes and the stony expression.

“I got you in two classes,” he boasts.

“How do you know?” I try to ignore both Logan and Gage standing off to the side.

“It’s posted up on the wall.”

“Oh. I thought we were registering.”

“Nope, just copying a list they were too lazy to email. Plus this way they get you to sign up for the after school stuff without infringing on their precious time.”

Gage and Logan continue to wait patiently.

“So, what classes do we have together?” I widen my smile. Maybe if they think I’m suddenly interested in Ellis they’ll leave me alone for good. Mama said there were more fish in the sea, right? Ellis is looking mighty fishy right about now.

Logan steps in between us.

“Ellis, will you excuse us a minute?”

Ellis looks from me to Logan.

“You want me to leave you two alone?” He directs the question over to me.

“Not really. What were those classes again?” I step around Logan to get a better view of the ledger in Ellis’ hand.

“Sociology and Algebra Two.” He points to them as he says it.

“Algebra Two? You must be really good at math. I’m going to need lots of tutoring,” I say. If Logan isn’t writhing from the daggers I’m churning, I’m pretty sure I’m not the fish for him.

“Are you done?” Logan pushes into Ellis with his shoulder. It’s like he’s gone animal, which reminds me of that roar. His kisses stream through my mind like a slideshow, causing my stomach to bottom out like I’m on a roller coaster.

“Enough.” I bite the air with my anger. “I’ll talk to you.” I turn to Ellis. “Thank you. I look forward to your help,” I whisper.

“For the record,” Logan whispers as Ellis leaves, “I tutored him in math two years in a row.”

“Like I said, you’re a real superhero. So how long before you get your girlfriend’s diary back? A week? A month? Next two years? I really don’t want your excuses.”

“I’m not giving excuses.” He shifts from one foot to the other. “I checked the schedule. You know how many classes we have together?”

“You and me, or you and Michelle?” Honestly, I don’t know anymore.

“You and me.” He looks like a statue of perfection in this light. He’s so gorgeous it hurts.

A hot spear of raw attraction bisects my abdomen.

“How many?” I’m hoping for at least three.

“None.” A genuine look of disappointment sweeps across his face.

“None?” I say, trying not to sound too alarmed.

“What are the odds, right?”

“I don’t know.” I’m perfectly stunned. “What about lunch?”

“You have B, I have A.”

“Lovely.” Then I start to panic about Brielle and what about Michelle? Will she be dining with Logan? I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all. “I’d better get up there.” A huge knot lodges in the center of my throat. I pull a pen and paper from my purse, ignoring the ones laid out and head over to the boards until I find my name. As I jot down my classes it occurs to me that both Ellis and Logan had to have checked their classes and compared them to mine. I’m not so surprised Logan did it, but Ellis? Interesting.

I take my list and look down at the O’s. I find Logan and Gage together like usual. Logan’s right—nothing together. I compare my classes with the ones Gage is registered for. English Lit, Algebra Two, World History, I scan down the list. All the same classes. All the same times.

I try to find him in the crowd.

“Boo,” he says, standing square in front of me.

“Did you do this?” I hold out my schedule accusingly.

“No, I didn’t do this, technically a computer network did. But it’s pretty cool.” His eyes laser through mine, and for a minute I’m right back in that truck again, melting away like delicious warm chocolate.

Michelle comes in with Emily and Lexy, and the three of them make a beeline over to Logan. Michelle doesn’t waste any time snatching his schedule from out of his hands and comparing notes. She nods approvingly. Her hand flies up, and he meets it with a high five.

I’m not sure what Logan doesn’t get about the way I feel when I see the two of them together—how it feels like someone set your clothes on fire and refuses to help put them out.

I rake my hand through Gage’s hair.

“Yeah. It’s pretty cool.”

35

Burn

Outside the dark sky boils as it seals in the last hot spell of summer. A light pepper of rain falls, refreshing us in this oppressive heat.

Drake wants to stop for lunch at the bowling alley in hopes to see Brielle, and since Mom and Tad have put him in charge of my whereabouts today, I don’t really have a say in the matter. Tad assumed Drake wouldn’t lose me. I wanted to inform him Drake was very responsible with me the night before, but I bit my tongue. Besides, Mia and Melissa were sitting right there. I don’t want to give them any ideas about sneaking out in the middle of the night.

The air conditioning is on full blast in the bowling alley. It feels amazing in contrast to the hot sticky climate percolating outside.

Gage insists on giving me a tour of the kitchen. Large stainless appliances line the back wall. A long center island cluttered with bowls and utensils is bustling with a pair of busy workers preparing the orders streaming in.

He leads me over to a large metal door, and a white fog billows out when he opens it.

“Walk-in freezer. Hang out in there a few minutes and it’ll really cool you off.”

“Can you get locked in?” I’d be afraid to work here for that reason alone.

“Nope.” He slides his hand up and down the smooth inside of the door. “Shuts just like a refrigerator.”

Logan comes back and walks past us as he pulls down a giant sleeve of hotdog buns.

“Are you ready to work for me?” His brows twitch in a flirtatious manner. Logan’s eyes are the most amazing amber color I’ve ever seen. There’s something wild about them, almost primitive. I’m fascinated by how they glow.

“Maybe I will. I think I’d enjoy working with Gage,” I say, just to piss him off.

His expression sours.

“Him I’m about to fire,” he remarks, taking his bag and heading back into the kitchen.

“You guys usually get along?” I have a feeling the riff is a new thing, and it’s all my fault.

“We’ve fought before.” Gage leans into the kitchen with a dark expression.

“Over Chloe?”

His lips pull into a line.

I don’t know Gage as well as Logan, but it seems to me in a lot of ways they’re opposites. I’m starting to wonder if Gage is better boyfriend material than Logan. Gage told me he’d never do the things Logan was doing.

“Why does Michelle have Chloe’s diary anyway?” I pull back and spy on Logan as he works the food line. You’d never know he runs this place. He’s right in the mix with the rest of the employees pulling all the hard jobs, not bossing anyone around. Brielle’s forever telling me she loves working here.

“She says her mother gave her a box of Chloe’s things. She found it.”

“I bet she read it cover to cover.”

“You’d think.”

“So were you and Chloe pretty close?”

“We went out a few times.” He socks his fist softly into a metal shelving unit.

A loud hiss comes from the corner of the kitchen and the noxious odor of burning tortilla chips permeates the air.

Gage bolts back into the kitchen and attempts to put a lid over the fryer, but a tornado of flames shoots up out of it and runs halfway across the ceiling.

“Skyla!” Logan shouts from the other side of the counter. He jumps through the service window and rushes over to where I’m standing, frozen.

The kitchen drains of employees as Logan commands them out. I turn to move and knock something solid over with my foot causing a gush of liquid to rush around my feet.

“Get out now!” Gage shouts as he struggles to pull me in his direction.

In nothing more than a quiet whisper, the floor ignites in flames. Tall spears of fire separate me from Gage. An entire barricade forms and a huge rushing wall erupts between Logan and me.

I try to move, but it feels like my tennis shoes are being suctioned to the ground. The first air-brained thought that whizzes through my mind is that I must have stepped in gum. I lift my shoes and it looks more like I stepped in a pile of marshmallow fluff, only what’s really happening is the cheap tennis shoes my mother bought are melting right off my feet.

“Help!” I choke out the word. A dense smoke fills the kitchen. A loud blowing noise drills in my ear. It forces the flames down, extinguishing them into a sea of white clouds.

My eyes seal shut from the smoke. An arm reaches under my knees and lifts me off the ground. I push my face into the shirt of whoever has me and desperately try gasping for breath. We move outside in a fury. I take in the fresh air, choking out what’s left of the smoke.

“You’re OK.” A kiss drops down on the top of my head. It’s Logan’s voice I hear.

“Logan!” I circle my arms around the back of his neck. “What just happened?”

“I don’t know. We’ve never had anything like that before.”

“Skyla.” Gage walks up gasping for air. His face is blackened from soot illuminating his eyes like twin beacons. “You OK?”

Logan replaces me on the ground causing my shoes to stick unnaturally.

“I’m fine.” I try to dust off the soot from my jeans only to smear it into long black streaks.

The shrill cry of a siren drills through the air.

“I checked the temp, and the oil was fine.” Gage gives a quizzical look. “Do you think?” He doesn’t finish his thought.

“I know,” Logan breathes the word.

The two of them lock eyes in an immovable gaze.

“What?” I yell. “This involves me. I was in that fire.”

“Fire is the only sure way to kill a Celestra,” Gage says.

“Fire?” My father died in a fire.

Logan opens his mouth then shuts it as Brielle dives in on top, blanketing me with a hug.

“I can’t believe you survived! They made us run out the back. I had no idea you guys were standing out here. The entire kitchen is destroyed.”

“I’m sorry.” I direct it at Logan. It’s because of me. Whatever it was, it wanted me.

36

Smash

Mom and Tad are frantic when they pick me up from the emergency room. The doctor on duty assured them I had no signs of damage to my lungs, and my blood oxygen level was perfectly normal.

After I shower and dress, my mother makes me lie down in the family room where she covers me with a blanket and makes me try to eat disgusting day glow yellow chicken soup from powder and drink bland tea.

“I almost burned to death. I don’t have diarrhea.” I’m quick to remind her as she ups the ante and offers to make me toast.

She holds her hands up near her temples and shudders.

“I can’t lose you Skyla. Too much has already happened here. I’m starting to think moving was a very big mistake.”

I toss the covers off. It’s stifling in the house, and her last comment sends a heated rush of adrenaline through me.

“I think moving here was the best thing that’s happened to this family in a really long time.” Like before Dad, but I don’t say that part.

“You think the best thing about moving here is named, Logan,” she says his name like it’s the plague.

“I’m sure there are boys named Logan everywhere.” I try to appease her by making it sound as though I could have fallen for someone anywhere, but deep down inside I don’t believe a word. “You met Tad at work.” I shrug. They both worked for the same design firm in L.A. The way Tad whooped about opening his own division on Paragon you’d think he won the lottery. I think my mom assumed she’d be an equal partner, but from what I’ve seen, she’s nothing more than his secretary.

Tad walks by and breezes into the kitchen. We watch together as he inventories the refrigerator then slams it shut with disappointment.

“Lizbeth, there’s no food in this damn house.” He says it in such a comical way I think he’s half joking. Who talks to my mother that way? My dad would shoot him if he could. He’d probably want me to do it for him. Sure my mom and he fought, but he never addressed her that way, at least never around me.

In less than ten minutes my mom and the Gestapo are doing a grocery run. Unfreakingbelievable.

Drake and the girls are quiet upstairs so I head on up to grab my phone so I can chat with Logan. My jealous rage toward Michelle seems to have subsided for the moment. I mean he did pull me out of a burning building. He did kill a Fem for me. And then there’s Gage who lifted Logan’s truck out of the way of oncoming traffic.

A cold chill descends upon me as I climb the stairs. I rub my bare arms running up the final steps. It’s freezing up here. Drake’s door is shut and so is the girls. The hall window is fixed so it can’t be coming from there. I lay my hand across the glass, warm like the weather outside. So where’s this cold air coming from? Neither the heating nor the AC works in this place. I have a feeling the blue light special had a little more to do with this defunct lemon and all of the broken amenities, than it did the disappearance of one of its residents or any so called ghosts.

The air continues to become more frigid as I move down the hall. I bypass my bedroom with my hands extended before me like a zombie.

“Oh my gosh,” I whisper in disbelief. A light fog fills the hole of my parent’s bedroom. I walk in, treading with caution. It looks remarkably normal. The comforter is drawn tight over the bed, and a hundred microscopic pillows sit neatly arranged in rows. “Please, God, kill me if I ever live like this.”

I head in a little deeper into the heart of the sharp, glacial chill. It’s so cold it stings my flesh like a sunburn.

“What is this?” I ask out loud as though I might get some sort of answer.

The door to the closet is open. I’m immediately attracted in a morbid way to the dark gaping hole. It’s an icebox in here. You could hang meat. I pull the string dangling from the center of the walk-in and turn on the light. My mother and Tad have divided the closet down the middle. My mom’s clothes are arranged in no special order with the exception of long dresses toward the left, but Tad’s side reeks of anal. Dress shirts are scaled from black to white in color order. Who does that? Maybe a girl would do that—maybe a thirteen-year-old girl would color code her wardrobe, but a grown man? His pants are laid out the same way, even his shoes fan out in a depressed rainbow of color.

An icy bite of air circles around my left leg. It’s as though it’s speaking to me, telling me something. I crouch down and feel with my hand until I hit the back wall behind Tad’s shoes. It’s dripping wet. My fingers snag on a small lever. I pull it down opening a small door in the wall. I pat my hand around blindly and come up with a stack of paper.

I riffle through it, and my heart feels like it’s going to seize up, not to mention this piercing cold air has me feeling lightheaded.

A stack of hundred dollar bills—fifty, hundred dollar bills.

Shit! I never want to hear him harp about not having two dimes to rub together, again. The next time he does this, I might just say, no dipshit—we have Benjamin’s.

A waddle of newspaper clippings wrapped in a rubber band vies for my attention. I go to loosen the band, severing it accidentally.

Great.

I open them up and flatten them out with the palm of my hand.

A bunch of these are about Dad’s accident. The other three are clippings of a missing West Paragon High School girl. Chloe. Another one from last October, about this house being haunted.

I scramble putting everything back together the way I found it and shut it back in the tiny compartment.

I get up and start heading out of the room and run smack into Tad himself.

37

Secrets

“Get a small bottle or plastic bag and collect some of the moisture,” Logan instructs me over the phone.

I consider this a moment. Perhaps calling Logan with the odd news of what I discovered on Tad’s side of the closet wasn’t the best idea. Plus I had a mild heart attack when Tad walked back in to get his wallet. I told him I was just borrowing Mom’s hairspray and he didn’t bat a lash.

“You don’t get it,” I say. “The clippings were just weird. He’s psycho! I’m living with a lunatic.”

“I agree with you. The clippings are strange. But Skyla, listen to me—go right now and find something to capture that moisture. I’ll give it to my uncle, and he’ll analyze it.”

“Analyze it? It’s water.”

“It may be something more than that.”

“Like ghost water?” OK, that made no sense.

He expels a heavy sigh into the phone.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“You did nothing wrong. Listen, I’m coming over.”

“You can’t come over. My parents will kill me.” And it kills me that I just referred to Mom and Tad collectively as, my parents.

The line goes dead.

***

Logan arrives seemingly on foot. He parked somewhere below Brielle’s driveway and appeared at the backdoor of the kitchen.

I give a small yelp when I see him waving. My hand flies up to my throat as I jump backward into the sink.

“You know I’m afraid to look out this door,” I scold as I let him in. Mia and Melissa are in the back practicing how to play spin the bottle for a party they’ve been invited to. I’ll have to teach them later how to manipulate it just perfectly, so the bottle lands square on the boy you want to kiss.

Logan and I head upstairs. He pulls a small glass vial from his pocket just like the one he took my blood in.

“You get a bulk discount on those?” I say sarcastically.

“With you around I might have to.” He gives a slight grin.

I take him straight into my parent’s closet, turn on the light and orient him to the exact area. It’s not so unearthly cold in here anymore. Before I can ask if it’s good. I hear my mother shout from the bottom of the stairs.

“Help unload the car please!” Her voice carries up the stairs.

Without thinking, I bolt out of the room and head downstairs in an effort to keep them from heading up. It would have been nice if I informed Logan of my plan. But he’s a bright boy. He’ll figure it out.

“Don’t just stand there like a statue. Get out there and grab some groceries,” Tad barks as he heads through the door.

A part of me wants to listen and run out to the minivan, but it’s parked so far away, and by the time I get back Tad might already be upstairs changing.

Mia and Melissa each come in with an armful of bags. Funny, I don’t see Drake in the familial equation. He’s probably upstairs with Brielle, bathing, or playing hide-and-seek, or whatever the hell it is they do. Drake is clearly the golden child who can do no wrong.

“Hey, young lady.” Tad snaps his finger toward the van.

“Oh God,” I mouth as I sprint down to the open trunk and grab the last of the paper bags. I make a mad dash up the porch and spill half the contents of a bag full of loose fruit. Who puts loose fruit in a paper bag?

I run the bags to the entry and place them on the floor in an effort to bolt back and gather the rolling apples and pears. I spot a bunch of bananas that have managed to fall under the slotted stairs. Shit! It’s going to take an entire millennium to scurry up the slope and retrieve them. I decide to ignore them and head inside.

I unload my bags onto the kitchen counter as Mom and Tad bitch about the lousy job the guy at the grocery store did of bagging up their stuff. Little do they know there are much bigger things to bitch about such as the boy I left stranded in their bedroom. I toss the fruit in a glass bowl mom has set out with a few heavily puckered apples already in it.

I fold the paper bags neatly and put them away, then stretch my hands out and yawn dramatically.

“I think I’ll catch a nap.”

“And where the hell are the bananas? I know I put them in the cart,” Tad complains as they both ignore my spontaneous monologue.

I take the stairs two by two and head straight into their bedroom. It’s not cold anymore. In fact the air is stuffy and stale like it usually is in here. I whip open their closet.

“Logan?” I hiss.

Nothing.

I take a peek in their bathroom, and that’s when Mom and Tad decide to walk in. He’s got his hands cupping both her breasts outside her shirt, and she’s laughing like she actually enjoys that perv touching her.

It’s a real deer in the headlights moment, with Tad’s hands dropping straight to his side as the expression falls right off Mom’s face. A small bit of vomit rises to the back of my throat.

“Just borrowing the hairspray,” I say, afraid the image will engrave itself in my brain as I walk past them.

Too late—already has.

38

Passage

He couldn’t have left, I would have seen him—someone would have seen him.

I lock my bedroom door. It looks as though there’s a body underneath my covers, but then again it always looks like that because I never make my bed.

“Psst?” I hiss walking carefully as though he might pop out at me. “Logan?”

A small sliver of light emerges from the line under my closet door, and I head on over.

I find Logan inside sitting Indian style, reading a book. Everything about him is perfectly serene. You could easily exchange the surroundings for a library, and he would fit right in.

“You should really consider putting a nice comfy chair in here. It’s a great place to take your mind off things and relax.” He tosses the book behind him. “Maybe a bean bag?”

“Funny.” I slide a pile of shoes to the side with my foot. “How are we going to get you out?” I well up with fear at the prospect of Logan becoming forever trapped in my closet.

“Don’t worry.” He hits the air brakes with his hand. “I’m sure you’ll bring sustenance when needed. And we can do this.” He pulls me down over him and presses in with a long searing kiss. “I want to show you something.”

“What?” I rub the palms of my hands across his chest in a series of small circles. The scent of laundry softener lights up my senses.

“Not that, but it’s a good idea for later.” He pulls us both to our feet. “Up there.” He points to the top shelf toward the back. “You have a chair we can stand on?”

I haul in the rolling desk chair that glides around like it’s on ice.

“I’ll hold it,” I offer.

Logan climbs on and reaches up toward the wall. His feet engage in a full swivel in both directions as my fingers slip off the back.

“Oops sorry,” I say.

“There might only be two of us left, Skyla. Please don’t try to kill me.”

“Really, are there only two of us left?” If we were the last of the Celestra then it would be our genetic duty to produce offspring—lots and lots of offspring.

“No, but at the rate they’re killing us, we might get there soon.” Something snaps, and the wall comes off in his hand.

“It’s a façade!” I don’t know why this thrills me.

“Most things are.” He hands it down to me, and I place it upright between my winter jackets. A sliding panel door bumps back, and there’s a two and a half foot wide opening. “Come on.” He urges me to climb up there.

“What is it, the attic?” I take his hands and let him help me up into the narrow dark opening.

“It’s,” he grunts as he pushes himself in after me. “It’s a locked off portion of it. Chloe didn’t know it was there until just a few months before she… discovered it by accident.”

“Oh.” A pinch of jealousy stirs hot inside me. “Were you trapped in her bedroom and in need of a way out?”

He doesn’t bother with a laugh. Instead he gropes around above me and a small bare bulb goes off.

I suck in a lungful of air. It’s beautiful. The walls are covered in a million paper butterflies—large, small, every color of the rainbow. It must have taken her hours, weeks, maybe even months to fill in all the bare spaces.

“This was her getaway. I was here once, and that was because she kept something I gave her, here.”

“You came to check on it?” I can’t help but bite into him a little each time he mentions her. I guess I am the jealous type, and I don’t really care if he knows it.

“I came to get it back.” His eyebrows give a gentle rise.

“So you have it?” I don’t even know what it is, but I love the fact it was something akin to the breakup collection agency more than it was a secret rendezvous.

“No she never gave it back.” His gaze wanders past the wall into oblivion, reliving the moment.

“What was it?”

“A pendant that belonged to my grandmother. Chloe said she wanted to give it back. And then she went missing and that was that.”

“I thought you said she let you in here, and she was going to give it to you?”

“I never said that. I said I’ve only been here once. It was after she was gone. Brielle took me up here when I told her Chloe had something important of mine.”

“Oh. Maybe she was wearing it—you know, when they took her.”

“She wore it for a little while, then she wanted to prove she didn’t need it. We had a fight and I never saw her wear it again. She told Brielle she was keeping it in her diary.”

“Strange place to keep jewelry.” My eyes narrow in on him. “Maybe she got rid of it or pawned it. Do you believe her?”

“She couldn’t lie to me,” he says serious.

Of course she could lie to him. Anybody can lie to anybody. It’s part of the rules of this game called life. Not that it feels good or it’s right or that anybody should do it, but it is possible. It’s like he thinks she was perfect. He has a serious case of a Chloe-based messiah complex.

“She could lie.” I match his over serious tone to the T. It’s comical, both of us here in a paper butterfly sanctuary created by his dead ex-girlfriend, having a spat over, of all things, the virtues of his ex.

“I think I like you jealous.” His lips curve into a delicious smile. He leans in and bites gently on my lower lip causing a full-blown meltdown in my stomach. We spend the better part of an hour making good use of the gorgeous surroundings—the inflexible sturdy floor. I don’t think I could ever stay mad at Logan.

A hard thump comes from below. I can hear my mother muffling something through the door.

“Just a minute,” I shout. “I have to go.” I hop back down into the closet.

“I’m leaving,” Logan whispers, hitching his thumb behind him.

I don’t ask questions, just throw a whole mess of clothes up there and pretend the butterfly room never existed.

39

Lost

I wait until well after dinner, when my mom and Tad retire to their bedroom to do whatever freaky things it is they do back there, before barricading myself in my room. I not only take the routine precautions of locking the door, I slide the dresser against it to ensure no one will dare try to pound their way in. Next, I turn on the shower and let the water run in the event someone should come bang away, they might hear the water and figure I’m indisposed.

I don’t know what excites me so much about having a secret passage in my bedroom. My room is easily a hundred times the size of the tiny space embellished with butterflies, so it must be the secrecy of it all. I climb in just barely able to pull myself up on the shelf. I definitely need more upper body strength. Maybe this could be a weight room or something? I could do yoga or pilates. Then again the lack of fresh air and circulation might become an issue, already it’s so dank and muggy up here.

I flick on the light and drag up a spare throw pillow I plucked from off my bed and take a seat on it. Even the floor is unique, made of some kind of soft black vinyl, speckled with silver flecks. It feels like I’m sitting on stars, like I have the entire galaxy at my feet.

I pick on a loose thread on the side of the pillow. I’m getting so sleepy. It’s been such a long day.

I shift and lie down. It’s so easy to relax up here. I close my eyes and drift off to sleep.

When I wake up, I have this weird feeling in my brain like someone opened my skull and poured in a can of soda. Carbonated—it feels carbonated.

The light is off, which panics me into reaching for the pull cord, and thankfully it illuminates the cozy room once again. I turn to leave out the crawl space, and the exit is blocked.

Shit! I’ve been sealed in, probably by Tad.

I fudge it a little, and it slides right open, but the façade is back on.

“What the?” I push it out and it falls to the floor with a whimper. Besides, I pushed a five hundred pound dresser over the door and…wait—the water’s off.

I head out of the closet, and immediately notice the furniture’s been reconfigured. A brass bed sits where my bed was last, but it’s not mine, and neither is the dresser or the rug or the desk—or the girl sitting at the desk!

I slap my hand over my mouth.

Don’t panic—I plead with myself as I step back into the closet. She’s got her ear-buds in and she’s spinning a pencil between her fingers.

It must be Chloe. It is Chloe. I recognize her from the pictures, the dreams. That must mean…oh, God, no. I can’t time travel. I don’t know the rules. What if I’m stuck here forever? Technically I already am here, safely tucked in L.A. And if it’s over two years ago, so is dad. I could catch a flight and go home and save him. I could be my own long lost twin or something.

I peek back out into the room. Her cell must have gone off because she picks it up and starts speaking into it.

Wait a minute…if she’s talking, why can’t I hear her? Oh my gosh. I’m broken.

A rush of panic flushes through me. I try to will myself to hear. Logan said all the gifts could be learned, but I had to believe—no doubt allowed. I can do this. I can hear Chloe.

I peer back out in the room at her. Great she’s laughing.

I squeeze my eyes shut and repeat, I can hear her right now. Over and over again until something pops in the atmosphere and I hear a cackle come from outside the door.

“You think I care what kind of car you drive? You could ride a bike, and I wouldn’t care,” she purrs into the phone. “Get white.”

White? As in a truck?

“Tell him to get black, silver is way too close.”

She’s bossing them both around. I shake my head in disbelief.

“I can’t. I have practice. But I’ll take a rain check. If I make tryouts I’ll let you buy me something nice.” She laughs again. “And if you make varsity, I’ll buy you something nice.” She laughs. “Me? I’m partial to jewels. Family jewels.” The sound of her chortling makes me wish I were deaf again.

She was joking. She threw in some stupid double entendre, and he gave her his grandmother’s pendant. And where did she put it? Her dumb diary.

I go to climb back on the chair and there isn’t one.

No chair!

Chloe passes right by me and I straighten stiff as a board against the frame of her closet—er, my closet. Whatever.

I hear the bathroom door shut. Impulsively, I dash out and snatch the chair from beneath her desk, which is ten times as heavy as the one I own, probably because her mother insists on buying something of quality and not succumbing to the ultra thrifty ways of her miserly new husband.

A silver sparkle catches my eye, and I pause on my way back to the closet. A round filigree pendant with a cut blue stone in the middle sits off to the side of her notebook.

He’s already given it to her. I reach over and pick it up. It’s so heavy.

The toilet flushes.

I tuck the pendant in my jeans and hightail it back to the closet with the chair. It takes me less than ten seconds to hop back in the hole and into the butterfly room.

Now what?

I start plucking at the butterflies while tears of frustration burn behind my lids.

Maybe I just need to sleep?

40

Found

My eyes flutter open. There’s a hand on my shoulder shaking me, and for a minute I think it’s Mom, and that I’m in my own bed.

“Five more minutes.” As the words slip out of my mouth I can sense the stifled acoustic of my own voice smothering in the tiny space.

I bolt up and scoot back. I hit the wall so hard it feels like the pins holding up the butterflies have pressed through my flesh, and I let out a yelp.

“Shh!” She brings her finger up over her mouth as her eyes narrow in on me, hard. “Who are you?”

She doesn’t seem at all alarmed—annoyed, yes, alarmed, no.

“Skyla.”

“Skyla?” She turns her head to get a better look at me as her expression dims. “And you’re from the past or the future?” She looks down as though she’s about to rip my throat out.

“How did you know?” I soften a bit. At least I don’t think she’s going to call the cops or kill me for sport.

“Doesn’t matter.” She fills her lungs with a hopeless breath. “Which one?” She seems more than curious, like it matters on a larger scale than I can comprehend.

“Future.”

She gives a hard blink. Chloe isn’t at all harsh and bitchy like I had imagined her. In fact she’s, I hate to say it—pretty nice.

“So I guess something happens to me.” She puts her fingers in her mouth and starts chewing her nails.

“Oh you shouldn’t do that it’s a hotbed of germs, plus guys hate it.” Wait a minute why am I giving her advice on guys? She’s dating my hot boyfriend as we speak.

“Stop. I’m probably dead anyway. What did you come for?”

I take that back, slight bitch.

“I didn’t come for anything. This is my room now, and I just found out about this, this…” I wave my hands around. “Whatever you call it.”

“Oh.” She takes it better than I thought. “So you don’t know how to use it.”

“Time travel? Are you…” I squint my eyes at her.

“I’m an angel.” She nods. “And it’s no coincidence you’re in my room. I bet you have my friends, my…” She lets the thought dangle not wanting to complete it. “Not that it’s important. Look, you wouldn’t be here unless you wanted something. What is it?” She snaps.

I shake my head incredulously. Then a light goes off in my brain. I dig into my pocket and pull out the pendant.

“I want this.”

“You bitch!” She snatches it back.

“I wasn’t trying to steal it. You flushed the toilet, and I needed to get back up here and plus…” I bite down on my bottom lip.

“Plus what?” Her lips blacken unnaturally.

“Plus…” I close my eyes a second. I really pray I’m not going to regret this. “Logan is searching for it.”

Her head picks up a notch as though she just noticed me, as though everything I had said before was blather, and now I had finally said the one thing she wanted to hear, or was afraid to.

“Well I’m not giving it to you.” She presses it against her chest. “How do I know you’re going to give it to him?”

“I swear.” I cross my heart and hold out my fingers.

“I’ll hold onto it, thank you very much.”

“Keep it in your diary.” It speeds out of me. I can’t believe this—it was my stupid idea.

“My diary? Who puts jewelry in their diary? What am I suppose to do? Notch out a hole like some common criminal?” She looks at me incredulous.

“Yes!” I touch my nose and point at her simultaneously. “And when you do that, be sure and put your diary in this room.”

She shakes her head vigorously.

“Why?”

“Brielle knows all about this room. I don’t want her reading it. And I don’t want you or anybody else reading it either.” She pulls back and inspects me.

“Michelle will. She’s the one who’s going to end up with it if you don’t hide it up here where no one will find it. She’ll give it to Logan and he’ll read it too.” I’m not making any promises. I might read it. I will read it.

Her head shoots back an inch with surprise.

“Logan can’t read it.”

“Personally, I don’t understand why you don’t just burn the darn thing and leave the pendant on the floor.”

A choking sound gets locked in her throat. She clutches softly at her neck, and tears well up in her eyes.

“It’s all that will be left of me. All my thoughts, all my dreams—ideas, a detailed list of people I hate.” She ticks her head to the side and shrugs. “No.” It comes out firm. “I can’t destroy it, but you have to swear to me you won’t read a word, or I will come back, and I will haunt you, and you will wish very badly that we never had this conversation.” Her finger sticks in my chest matching the intensity of the pins in my back.

“Done.”

She inhales sharply before bringing her hands to her hips. Reaching behind her she plucks at the smallest turquoise butterfly nestled in a bed of red makeshift flowers and plucks at it until a tiny door opens. Its pitch black in there, looks like it’s flocked or lined with felt. A few books and a small box lie stacked on top of one another causing me to look away quickly because I don’t want to snoop. Plus, I can always snoop later when she’s not around.

“It’ll be in here. I’ll put the pendant in the diary, and remember you can’t read a word.”

“OK. So how do I get back?” I rub my sweaty palms down over my jeans.

“Easy. I’ll send you.” A manufactured grin spreads wide across her face. She makes a fist and pulls back. I see it coming, and I still don’t believe she’s going to hit me, then—

41

Mine

My eyes flutter open and I think I’m in bed, but the mattress is hard as a rock, and I remember exactly where I am as I sit straight up. The side of my face throbs and I pat the swollen flesh with my fingertips.

The passage door is open. I look down, and I see my chair and recognize my clothes and hear the shower water running. I’m so emotional I feel like sobbing.

The tiny turquoise butterfly catches my attention. I gently pull the knob like I saw Chloe do, and the door pops right open. It’s there. A fat book with bloated pages sits on top of the wooden jewelry box along with the same stack of books as I saw earlier. I hold the book to my chest and close the door to the secret compartment.

Out in my room, safe on my bed, I keep it curled to my chest for a good long while as silent tears stream their way down my cheek. What must she have thought when I left? Did knowing she was going to die take the fight out of her? What if I told her she was going to be tortured? Or that they would bury her body in a shallow grave at the bottom of Devil’s Peak? Would it have made a difference? Or what if she knew I was in love with her boyfriend? I wonder if she thought I was pretty?

OK, that last thought was completely uncalled for. I wipe the tears from my eyes and start in on the diary. It opens to the dead middle and there’s something wrong. I shag the book out over my bed. She glued the pages along the periphery of the entire text. The only way I’d be able to read this is if I had an X-Acto knife—very clever.

A small portion near the bottom is taped up and I can feel the pendant underneath. I tear it out from the thin veil of wrapping and caress it in between my fingers. Heavy— the stone is soft as butter. I bring it up to my lips and rub it over them until I can feel it, even when it’s not there. It’s beautiful. It must mean something though. What kind of value could it have that Logan is willing to move heaven and earth to get it? Just because it was his grandmother’s? I don’t think so. I get the feeling it’s something more.

***

I have to go to cheer practice. I have to.

I love that there is one thing in my life that neither my mother nor Tad can give me grief over.

Michelle, Emily and Lexy are fashionably late, so I hightail it over to the football field and flag down Logan.

He comes over pulling off his helmet, beads of sweat dripping down the sides of his face. He squints into a smile and leans in to kiss me.

Logan Oliver is hot—literally and physically.

“Something spectacular happened last night.” OK, that was a little more dramatic than I intended, but still.

“You found another room?” He teases.

“No. Is there one?”

He runs his fingers through the back of my hair. “No,” he whispers with a little laugh. “Actually I don’t have any idea. What was so spectacular?”

“Time travel!” I beam up at him.

The coach whistles over at Logan.

“I gotta go. Don’t ever joke like that. If you come in contact with someone, it could change things.” He presses in a quick kiss. “You could hasten someone’s death if you’re not careful.”

I watch as he runs back to the field.

I don’t know if I killed her, but I’m sure I took the fight out of her.

***

I wait until Mom and Tad go to bed. I place the dresser back over my door and turn on the shower. I climb into the butterfly room and arrange the four pillows I’ve dragged up here. Clutching at Chloe’s diary, I try my hardest to fall asleep. It’s funny how sleep doesn’t come when you want it—how it wants to hang out far too long when you no longer need it.

I can feel the passage of time. My lids flutter as I struggle to open them. I take in a deep breath of stifling air and sit up. The cover is back over the opening! I’m back.

I open the door to the passage extra careful not to scare her into having a heart attack or inspire her to throw a ninja star at me or something equally stupid, but deadly.

I can’t make out any noise, so I take a second to convince myself that I can hear. My ears fill with the sound of rushing water, then stabilize. I hop down and move to the edge of the closet. I see her out there with her ear-buds in, threading a pencil through her fingers.

Same day. I think.

She picks up her cell and plucks out an ear-bud.

The diary in my hand starts to shiver. It warms beneath my fingers then evaporates into nothing.

I did it. Chloe will never know I was here, and she can fight for her life. But what if she survives? I’ll be somewhere else. I might even still be on Paragon. Surely there’s another cursed house that no one wants to touch with a ten-foot pole that Tad can get at cost, right? But what if there’s not, and I never see Logan again?

“You think I care what kind of car you drive? You could ride a bike and I wouldn’t care.” She purrs into the phone. “Get white.”

Logan’s right there on the other line. Maybe while she’s in the bathroom I can call him back and give him my number?

I express my disappointment in one quick breath.

“Tell him to get black, silver is way too close.”

Get on with it.

“I can’t. I have practice. But I’ll take a rain check. If I make tryouts I’ll let you buy me something nice.” She laughs again. “And if you make varsity, I’ll buy you something nice.” She laughs “Me? I’m partial to jewels. Family jewels.”

Yes we know.

She walks passed me and heads into the bathroom. I speed over and start dragging the chair back. The pendant catches my eye again. It’s so pretty. Unique.

I look over my shoulder at the open mouth of the closet. People misplace things all the time. And Logan will thank me for it, plus no more Michelle.

I snake it off the dresser and stuff it into my jeans.

The toilet flushes.

I make a beeline to the butterfly room. I believe if I don’t fall asleep Chloe will come in and beat me. I can sleep. I can…

42

Yours

It worked! I hug all four of my pillows at once then hop back down to my bedroom. I pluck the pendant out of my pocket and kiss it with squeal of delight.

This time I didn’t speak to Chloe, so she’ll have no clue what her future holds. A thick feeling of guilt coats me from the inside. I should have warned her. I should find out where this horrible thing happens and help her circumvent it.

I should also go back to my old life in L.A. and tell my old self all about this cool guy named Logan and how I have to force my mother to buy a house on Paragon…except one tiny detail, I don’t know how to get anywhere. And the simple fact I’m back in my own bedroom means that returning the diary and staying out of Chloe’s life, still yielded the same deadly results.

The pendant warms in my hand. At least I can give it back to Logan, and it’s good-bye Michelle.

I pick my cell up off my desk and flop on my bed.

I have something you want ~S

Less than ten seconds later.

Are you in the mood to give it away?

What? No! But yes!!! ~S

He’ll never guess in a million years I have the pendant. I’ll just tell him I found it in the secret compartment in the butterfly room.

Can you come over? ~S

Sorry.

Why not ~S

It takes a little longer than I like for him to get back to me.

I’m with M. @ the movies. She’s in the bathroom and I SWEAR this ends tonight.

I don’t text him back.

***

Later, in my angry dreams, I think I see Michelle. She laughs at me while waving Logan’s sweater like a flag.

Something soft and wet trails my neck and I struggle to wake up, trying to shoo the dog away. Then I remember with perfect clarity we don’t have a dog and I shoot out of bed like a pistol.

It’s Logan holding his hands up in the surrender position. He’s got a remorseful grin on his face and something rectangular tucked under his arm. He plucks it out and holds up the diary victoriously.

“You got it!” I say far too loud. I slap my hand over my mouth and motion for Logan to help me move the dresser against my door.

Once we finish, he passes me the diary.

“You read it?” I whisper.

“Not yet.”

It’s still bound with glue. Each page is petrified together, you can’t read it or add another entry—that means Michelle didn’t read it either.

I exhale hard. A lump forms in my throat. I know she’s been gone almost a year, but I saw her. I was just with her, twice this week.

I pluck the pendent out of my pocket and go to hide it in the palm of my hand, but the rough corner of it pricks me.

“Ouch!” The pendent ejects out of my hand and dances across the floor.

“You found it.” There’s a note of exceptional wonder in his voice. He picks it up off the floor and holds it out like an exotic specimen. “Where’d you find it?” He doesn’t take his eyes off it.

“I didn’t.” I meant to say, the butterfly room. I bring my fingers up over my lips.

“You took it?” He looks puzzled. “You went back to return the diary, but kept the pendant?” His face drains of color.

It becomes quickly apparent that I’ve somehow botched things again.

“People lose things all the time,” I say.

“Not things they need to eat, and breathe, and see.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s a protective hedge.” He flips it in the air like a coin. A great look of sadness comes over him. “I wondered why she took it off. Why she put it in her diary of all places.”

I swallow hard. Chloe must have remembered something from my first visit. Clearly I have no clue about time travel.

“Here.” He opens my hand and places it gently down, stone side up. “Wear this. Don’t ever take this off. No Sector, or Fem, or Count can kill you. You’ll be impervious.” He gives a very careful kiss just above my left eyebrow.

Then leaves.

I head back to my bed staring—glaring at the pendant. So I’m the one who took her protective hedge away. I’m the one who turned her loose to an entire hoard of waiting evil. It was me all along.

Logan didn’t take her diary. Why were the pages still glued if I undid the first visit? Unless all I did was return the diary. And I’m starting to think I should return the pendant too.

I go over it six ways to Sunday, how I could possibly change things—help Chloe live—find my father and do the same.

I think of the woman hanging from the backdoor, the Fem and its horrid putrefied stench, the men in the wrong way lane, the fire. If I keep the pendant I can avoid an entire lifetime of grief. I could live without having to fear my death—captivity, which is worse than death, and then Gage would be right. I could glide into old age skydiving without a parachute every single day. Or I could do the right thing and give it back.

Tears fill under my lids. I watch the world distort at their command—wobble to and fro—quiver as though it were afraid for its life.

I know what I need to do.

43

Family

Tad and Mom decide since its Melissa’s birthday we should all go out to dinner. Melissa votes for the bowling alley, which Tad quickly rejects, and for that I’m thankful. The last thing I want is Tad and my mother near Logan. No thank you.

The Mexican restaurant in downtown Paragon is your traditional villa knockoff with sombreros and colorful paper doilies strewn about on a laundry line. It’s dark inside and immediately I like it. It’s the exact romantic, exotic environment I imagine Logan and I frequenting. Especially once school starts, since we’ll hardly see each other due to our nonexistent classes together. While I’m busy daydreaming about how handsome Logan would be illuminated by one of those small red candles, a pair of hands land flat on my shoulders.

“Hey.” It comes in a quick hot whisper.

I pivot around on my heels to find Logan nodding into me with a little more distance than I’m used to.

Gage appears, then his aunt and uncle.

“What are you doing here?” It takes everything in me not to lunge into a hug.

“Hopefully we’ll be eating.” He tweaks his brows.

“Skyla!” Logan’s aunt offers me her hand.

Glancing over I see Mom and Tad bearing down on me with loaded interest. So I introduce them.

My mother is enthralled with Logan’s Aunt Emma.

They jab on about textiles and textures, the rustic touch and other irrelevant things until the waitress calls out Melissa’s name.

“Why don’t you join us?” My mother asks. It sounds so genuine, not obligatory like you would expect it to be.

“Yes!” Emma beams back. “We would love to, right Barron?” He’s decidedly less enthused, but agrees. I can see Tad sweating financial bullets already at the thought of paying for an additional four meals.

Logan pulls me back by the elbow as everyone clears the waiting area.

“Where’s your pendant?”

“I…” I don’t really want to get into it.

“You don’t have a chain, do you?” He gives a sly smile and produces a long silver strand from his pocket.

“Excellent.” I take it from him nervously. “Wouldn’t it be funny if I secretly returned the pendant last night?” I force a giggle.

“It would be very not funny. It couldn’t help her now. But you, you’ll be safe.”

“You mean she’d still die?”

“Of course. It doesn’t change. Besides, the odds of going back to the exact same place and time are phenomenal. I don’t think it could happen.”

“So if I had…when I put on the pendant, I’m free of all things scary?” I hold up my hair while he attaches the clasp.

“And nobody will be able to kill you. Ever.”

I shut my eyes hard and cry a little over my stupid, stupid mistake.

***

If I hadn’t embarrassed myself before, I was working really hard at it now. You’d think I was at Chloe’s funeral the way I pushed my food around my plate and said two words the entire meal. Gage sits on one side of me, and Logan on the other. I feel slightly disoriented and dizzy from all the information Logan just pumped into my brain. If only he would have spelled everything out for me right from the beginning, I would have never gone back on my own volition.

Melissa can’t take her eyes off Gage. Its kind of adorable watching an unexpected bit of puppy love bloom, even if it is one sided. We sing to her and she blows out the candle sticking crooked out of the complimentary slice of flan. I’m sure Tad expects us to split it ten ways, so I’m not too stunned when he asks the waitress for extra spoons.

“Melissa, did you make a wish?” Emma asks politely.

“Yes,” she’s quick to answer. “I wish, when I grow up I marry Gage.”

A round of laughter circles the table.

I shake my head, still fogged up in a daze. “Actually, Gage is going to marry me.” I say matter of fact.

“Skyla!” My mother looks both surprised and miffed. “I thought you were seeing Logan?”

“I am. It’s twisted.”

When the check comes, Logan’s Uncle Barron insists on treating the birthday girl and covers the entire bill.

Everyone rises to their feet simultaneously. Logan shakes Tad’s hand then my mother’s.

“You mind if I treat Skyla to dessert? I’ll bring her home right after.” Logan asks still holding her hand in both of his.

“Not at all,” she says. “Take your time.” She leans into me on the way out. “I like him. Don’t blow it.”

Typical of my mother, not to have faith in me. What does she think I’m going to do? Burn down his kitchen? Cause a riff between him and his cousin? Return the one gift he gave me that could save my life? All of the above?

The waitress seats us at a table for two, nearby. Logan and I peruse the menu and end up ordering the deep-fried ice cream.

“I can tell my mother loved your parents.” My mouth drops as I realize what I’ve just said. Sure, remind him he’s got dead parents. Add it to the list.

“I know what you meant. I consider them my parents. To tell the truth I don’t really remember the original set.” He pulls a bleak smile.

“I’m sorry. That’s terrible.” The romantic vision I had is completely destroyed. “She was on the phone with you.” I add in a lowered tone. Why not go out with a big bang and upset him over his dead girlfriend, too? “When I saw her, you were picking out a color for your truck.”

“Oh,” his voice rises as though it were all coming back to him, “and she suggested Gage go with black. He never forgave her for that. It’s too hard to keep clean.”

It’s quiet again. The waitress brings our dessert and two spoons. We start in slow with the task at hand.

“This is really good,” I say without emotion.

“I know.” He’s not eating. He’s looking through me with those rare glowing eyes. It’s the secret I’m keeping that has him perplexed. He may not know, but he suspects everything.

44

Mystery

At breakfast, Tad announces he’s decided to take my mother to the mainland for the day. I’m so thrilled I do a little happy dance underneath the table.

“And I hope all of you behave.” He says the last word aimed sarcastically at me.

“I’m not leaving the house. In fact, I’m not even leaving my bedroom.” Logan’s coming over today. I texted him and asked for a do-over after I fantastically ruined every aspect of last night.

“Great.” Tad produces a piece of paper from behind his back. “So you won’t have a problem signing this.” He lays it flat on the table before me and plops a pen down besides it.

“What’s this?” I ask picking it up.

It reads, I, Skyla Laurel Messenger, pledge not to have wild and out of control parties, or gatherings with two or more people without my parent’s full and final consent. I will not have boys over under any circumstance unless both parents approve and at least one parent is present in the company of said boy. I will not drink alcohol, nor will I allow my friends to consume alcohol on my family’s property. I will not do illegal drugs, nor smoke cigarettes, cigars, or Salvia. And lastly, I shall not have intimate relations without the bond of marriage while under my parent’s roof. If I should choose to become sexually active, I will honor my parent’s request and give proof of my selected choice of birth control…

I jump up from the table. And wave the paper in my mother’s face.

“Do you know about this?” I shriek. I knew Tad was sick and twisted, but now he’s exposed himself to my mother.

“I do.” Her lashes lower and her voice drops to her shoes.

“You do?”

“Yes. I went with him to have it notarized,” she adds, a little miffed at my questioning.

“You had this notarized? I can’t believe you. You’re both sick!” I throw the paper between the two of them.

“You’re out of control, Skyla.” Tad’s calm voice only sets me off even more.

“I’m not out of control. You’re out of control. You’re…you’re a freak! A cheap freak! Why do you have a stack of hundred dollar bills locked upstairs in your bedroom?” I clasp my hands on my hips. I’m going to let all the bombs drop and fall where they may. I’m sick of living with this uptight asshole, and when my mother hears what a nutcase he is, she will be, too.

“What are you talking about?” His head rotates in a half circle.

“And what about all those news clippings about this house being haunted, and the dead girl who used to live here?” Both Mia and Melissa let out a shriek. I step into my mother’s face. “I bet you didn’t know he has a news clipping of Daddy’s accident. If that’s not grounds for divorce, I don’t know what is,” I roar.

My mother’s head drops down into her chest and hangs there while she tries to absorb it all.

“Lizbeth, what in the hell is your daughter talking about, now?” His face turns purple when he says it, and a vein on his forehead pops from the effort.

“It’s mine, Skyla,” she groans. “The clippings and the money. They’re mine.” She lifts her shoulders to her ears.

“Are you hiding money from me? I thought we weren’t going to have separate accounts? What happened to what’s mine is yours, and what’s yours is mine?” He sounds like a child when he says it.

“It is. I swear it is. I like to have a little cash on the side in the event of an emergency. Everybody should have cash at the ready.”

“She said there were hundreds of dollars there. How would you feel if I hid hundreds of dollars from you?” He’s still changing colors.

“Well the way you don’t trust banks, it wouldn’t surprise me to find hundreds of dollars inside the mattress!” She yells.

“Why don’t you rip it open and find out!” He matches her velocity.

Mia and Melissa are holding each other huddled on the couch, crying, while Drake stands mystified in the hallway.

“What the hell’s going on?” he asks.

I pluck the paper off the floor and carry it over to him.

“Here’s some light reading for you courtesy of daddy.”

Stupid demented document.

I will never forget this.

***

How my mother can get up and leave with that monkey man stuns me. I let Logan in right through the front door, and lead him up to my bedroom. Both Mia and Melissa are locked in their room due to the high frequency of ‘ghost like noises’ the house has been experiencing according to them.

I lock the bedroom door behind us and set my comforter on the floor for us to sit on. I have the rug, but I haven’t vacuumed since we moved in, and I can hardly stand to walk on it barefoot let alone sit on it with Logan.

He lies flat on his back and lets out a groan.

“Hey, you’re not sitting.”

“Am I supposed to be sitting?” He glances up at me.

“Yes. It’s rule number, five hundred sixty-nine. When a boy enters the house illegally, he must be in a vertical position at all times.”

“Does that mean my pants have to be buckled, too?” He gives a loose grin.

“I’ll get you a copy of the aforementioned document so you can go over it with your attorney later.” I wave it over him like a flag.

“I broke my back on the field today. Is there an exemption for broken backs?”

“Oh yes, it’s under the no mercy law. Tad will personally kick you in the balls when you’re down, and you’ll probably be forced to like it.”

“Not funny.” He hikes up on his elbows. “I have something you might like though.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” Anything that doesn’t have to do with Tad is officially considered good news.

“The results of your blood test are in.”

45

Proof

Dr. Barron Oliver, the sign reads, as Logan and I await the test results in his office.

“Sorry for the delay,” he says, taking a seat behind the large mahogany desk.

He’s got a white lab coat on and a pair of spectacles. He twitches his lips as he silently reads the document shielded by a manila envelope.

Logan and I wait in eager silence of the long coming news. Whatever it says in that report, however much a percent I am Celestra, or even if I have mixed blood, it was a gift from my father. How I wish he could have been here with me, so we could discover our family secrets together. I bet he didn’t have any idea about all of the factions and variety of gifts.

“Good news.” He looks up at us over his lenses. “First about that moisture sample.” He takes off his glasses and bites down on one side. “Unusual amount of plasma.” He ticks his head at Logan as though the two of them are speaking some special language.

“What’s plasma?” I ask.

“What kind?” Logan taps his hand on the table.

“Plasma is the fundamental liquid component found in blood.” Barron says before looking over at Logan. “It was human.”

“What the heck is human plasma doing floating around my house? Is my house really haunted?”

“You’re a spiritual being, Skyla. Don’t you live in your house? Haunted is a relative term these days.”

“I don’t spray my plasma all over the place.” I shake my head. “Excuse me, but I’m a little more than freaked out. You think it was Chloe?” I ask Logan.

“No.” Barron answers for him. “It was more than likely one of the Fem minions doing the bidding of the Counts I gather.”

“Why would they bother?”

“Why would they bother?” He parrots, amused at my line of questioning. “They would bother my dear”—he pauses to pick up the results from the blood sample— “because you happen to be a rare and wanted species. Your levels came in as pure.”

“How can I be pure if my mother’s not a Celestra?”

He shakes his head. “It’s impossible. Your mother must be a Celestra for you to be a pure breed.”

I swallow nervously. I don’t know which I dislike more, the fact I’m being compared as though I were a horse, or the fact my mother is indeed a Celestra and finds the need to hide it from me even after I grilled her.

“Pure.” Logan appears bewildered by the news. He looks at his uncle sternly, and they share a few brief moments worth of solemn expressions.

“It’s not good news is it?” I think the answer is obvious. In a perfect world there would be more Celestras, and the Counts wouldn’t feel threatened.

“Normally it wouldn’t be good news Skyla, but Logan tells me you have my mother’s pendant. Wear it. It’s the only one of its kind.”

“The only one?” Panic shifts in slow boiling circles just beneath my chest.

“It’s been passed down from the ancients—the heroes of old, the men of renown.” He presses into a polite smile. “It needs to be gifted to you for it to work. And Logan here generously gifted it to you at his own expense.”

I gulp down a dry pocket of air.

“I’m very thankful.” Mournful, is more like it. I’d love to blame Logan for not highlighting the finer points of Celestra 101, but it’s my fault for not heeding his warning to begin with. If I knew he was going to be right all of the time, I would have taken him much more seriously.

“So now that you have the pendant I don’t feel too bad sharing this last bit of unexpected news.” He breaks out in a genuine smile.

“What?” Logan leans in impatient.

“The blood sample has been stolen. There was a break in at the lab—after I ran the tests of course. It doesn’t surprise me. Those Fem’s can smell Nephilim blood from thousands of miles away. Put them on the right scent and it’s not a challenge anymore.”

“What do you mean, put them on the right scent?” I think I know, but I want to hear it from him.

“It means someone directed them to you first, then they went hunting for your blood. They probably found it in minutes. Decimated the lab.”

“That means they’re already after her,” Logan says.

“They will be until she dons the pendant.” He turns back to me. “And after that too, waiting for it to disappear from your neck. Oh, they would have a field day with you. You’re young and beautiful. They might even try to breed you with their kind to empower their gene pools.”

“Breed me? I’m not some animal you can lock up in a cage and force to have a litter of babies.”

“You are if they catch you. It’s a part of the price of being pure.”

A part of me wants to ask if by pure he means virgin. Because if my virginity ups my value in any way then by all means I’ll do whatever it takes to save my life. But I know better.

“Put that pendant on as soon as you get home.” Logan is stern and direct with me.

He chose my safety over his, just like he chose Chloe’s before me, and I’ve gone and ruined it. I’ll be dead soon just like Chloe.

I’ll tell my mother. She’ll hire a bodyguard for me. I’ll pull the money out of my college fund, only I don’t have one, and Tad would never agree to that.

Face it. I’m a dead girl walking.

46

Change

Turns out Mia and Melissa can’t keep a secret.

Tad and my mother have ‘somehow’ been apprised of the fact Logan was in my room and that I disappeared with him for several hours.

Since their initial tirade, they’ve been hitting websites like e-realestate.com pretty hard with various parts of the country on display—as in moving. They’re in a total frenzy trying to find permanent placement before school starts in two weeks. Tad’s already talking about an all girls boarding school for me. Not that it would much matter without Logan.

It’s worse than death knowing I’ll be away from him. I’d rather be eaten by a thousand rotting Fem’s than leave him here in Michelle’s eager clutches.

I watch as the fog billows out the window in silent abundant bursts. The trees stand stoic in its wake, like dark foot soldiers at the ready, just waiting for a command. I don’t think we’ve seen the sun but twice the entire time we’ve been here. The thought of moving to some cheerful sunny location depresses the hell out of me. I like the moody, grey days. I like the cool of the fog on my skin, how you can inhale the day, swallow it down and make it become a part of you.

I see Brielle waving me over from her balcony so I head over without explanation to Tad or my mother. It’s not that I’m making a point to be rude, it’s just that I’ve sworn an oath to myself to never speak to either one of them again. And if they move, I won’t speak at all. There’s a comfort in my silence. It might be the one thing in my life I’ll ever be able to control. They can try to shake my vocal cords out of me if they want, but I’m not using them. I’ll be known as the mute girl forever more.

“Hey!” Brielle’s face contorts with panic. “What’s wrong?” She takes my head on her shoulder, pats it softly from behind.

“They’re going to move,” I hum into her shoulder. Her shirt smells faintly of bleach and a nice brand of softener my mother used to buy pre-Tad. It’s a frivolous expense I heard him once tell her. I wish she would let him know he was too, of the emotional variety.

“Who’s going to move?” Brielle sounds distressed as we take a seat on the dirty wicker bench.

“We are.” I thumb back at the house. “Can I move in with you?” I ask hopeful, knowing full well my parents wouldn’t allow it. I doubt at this point I could even spend the night, which reminds me, I should bring her a copy of the legal document they drew up on my behalf. I bet her mother would choke on her soy latte if she laid eyes on it. She might even spring for a lawyer in an effort to help me get legally emancipated from such barbaric circumstances.

“Yes. That would be a blast. And for sure my mom wouldn’t care about whatever has them miffed. Don’t your sisters love it here? And what about Drake? You can’t take Drake.” She spreads her hand in front of her in a mild panic. I watch mesmerized as her long pale fingers melt into the fog. I’ve never noticed before what pretty fingernails she has. Mine are so brittle they never make it past my skin.

“My sisters hate the house. They think it’s haunted. And Drake’s a moron. Nobody listens to him.” True and true. I take the blame for my sisters, but I stand by what I said about Drake. At the end of the day though, he’s not half bad, plus Brielle likes him and I like Brielle.

“Oh ho-ney!” She rubs my back over and over until her mother comes out to join us.

Brielle fills her in on the situation.

“Well you just got here. They need to give the place a shot. Its no wonder they think you’re acting out. You’re just trying to piece together this new life they gave you. I bet no one asked your opinion when they left L.A.”

Actually they did, but now that I think back, when they asked if I was all for the move it was probably just a rhetorical question.

“Natalie’s having an end of summer party. Her parents have a beach house on the coast and she does this big bonfire every year. You’ll have to come. I’ll take you at gunpoint if I have to.” Brielle gives a small laugh.

“Gunpoint?” I muse. “It might be the only way.”

***

I call Logan with the devastating news. He doesn’t say anything for a real long time, and it makes me wonder if he’s still on the other line.

“It’s my fault,” he offers.

“No trust me. Everything is my fault these days.”

“I can’t believe this.” He blows out a breath. “I can visit.”

“I doubt they’ll let you.”

“We’ll apply to the same universities.”

“And if we don’t get in the same ones?”

“Paragon has an awesome community college.”

I perk up a little. We make a depressing round of small talk before hanging up. It’s probably better that I’m away from Paragon. I’m a walking time bomb. I reach over and snatch Chloe’s diary off my nightstand. I pull it in close to my chest and let it warm against my body.

I swore to her I’d never read it. I’m not really afraid of Chloe haunting me or even showing up in my dreams anymore. It’s like we’re old friends. I don’t think I’d mind it.

I roll around on my bed as sleep eludes me.

Wish I had that pendant. Wish I could give it back to Logan—keep it at the same time.

Wish it were Tad instead of me that this nebulous enemy was trying to kill.

47

Spree

Brielle’s mom, Darla, has become the new go-between for me and my parents. She somehow gets them to let me have a sleepover with Bree tonight and attend Natalie’s party tomorrow. Clearly, she could sell snow to an Eskimo and sand to an Arab. The only concession being, that she would be present the entire time. It’s not her fault she forgot she had a date with her boyfriend. But she trusts us. It’s nice to be treated like an adult by somebody.

“What exactly does your mom do?” I ask fanning my nails back and forth over my head. I convinced Brielle we should both have black fingernails for tomorrow in expression of our deep, deep mourning over me leaving. I actually heard mom say she was glad she didn’t unpack the last of the boxes and how much she didn’t look forward to starting the process all over again.

“She works in real estate. She wasn’t the one who sold your parents the house, but she was amazed they bought it sight unseen.”

“Tad’s stupid that way,” I say chipping off a dried bit of paint from off the fleshy part of my thumb.

“You really think they’re going to send you to an all girl’s school?” Brielle would probably have some sort of hormonal meltdown if she had to do that. It would be like sequestering the fox from the chicken coop.

“If it costs money, no. Tad can squeeze pennies from his ass. And he won’t spend a single one of them on me.” I pull my knees up and smooth out my long white nightdress. “I found Chloe’s secret room.” I wonder why she hadn’t told me about it herself, but I figured maybe it was too painful, too many memories, or that it was their space.

“Are the butterflies still there?” She stops fanning her nails midair.

“All of them.”

A steady set of heavy footsteps rises slowly up the stairs.

Brielle and I head into panic mode and sit up, each in our own corner of the bed.

“Who’s there?” She shouts.

I break free from my paralysis and slam the door shut before they have a chance to answer.

“There’s no lock!” Her voice shrills out to nothing.

I pan the area, but there’s no dresser, not one thing of great heft that could keep someone out. A pair of black oversized scissors garners my attention. I leap over to the desk and arm myself.

A slow methodical knock, rasps against the door.

Brielle lets out a bloodcurdling scream before ducking under her pillow.

My heart thumps unnaturally, like a thousand wild horses trampling through my bloodstream. I try to steady my breathing, try to ignore the thought of mom and my sisters mourning me at my funeral—Logan—his disappointment in me when he realizes I don’t have the pendant. All I know for sure is I’m going to kill the beast on the other side of the door. I’m going to start stabbing and not stop. I’m going to show the Counts that I’m willing to fight. I’ll fight harder than Chloe, if she even fought at all. I’ll make it impossible for them to keep me for two weeks alive. And I promise on my father’s grave, no one is going to breed me like a dog in a kennel.

The door swings open and a tall man in a trench coat stands erect and threatening less than a foot away. Screaming at the top of my lungs, I plant the first puncture deep in his flesh right above his stomach—dead center.

He doubles over and lets out a yell as he falls to his knees. I jab wildly at his back, but I can’t penetrate his leather coat. Before I can go for his eyes, Darla shows up and binds my wrist with her hands, while joining me in a series of wild primitive screams.

“Shut up! Shut up!” I hear her shout. “Darrell!” She rolls him over and he lets out a groan before passing out. She looks right at me. “Call 911. I think you just killed my boyfriend.”

***

Tad and Mom sit stunned across from me at the kitchen table.

The police officers actually commended me for defending myself so well. Since we weren’t expecting anyone, naturally we thought he was an intruder. Of course I thought I knew he was a Fem hired out to kill me for my pure angelic blood, but I don’t share any of that information because it sounds ludicrous, and the psych ward at Paragon Hospital isn’t exactly where I want to sleep tonight, or any night ever.

“Were the two of you drinking?” Tad asks rather morbidly.

“No. I don’t drink.”

“Smoking weed?” He continues with his exceptionally calm inquisition.

“I don’t do that either. And no we weren’t doing anything, but our nails.” I hold up my black smudged fingertips trying to ignore the fact I probably still have blood encrusted in them.

“If he decides to press charges, this could go on your record.” My mother is in a genuine state of panic.

“He’s not going to. The officer I talked to said it was self-defense, and I won’t get in trouble. Besides, they said it probably wasn’t more than a flesh wound.”

Tad shakes his head. “It’s like you’ve become this huge liability overnight. Did it ever occur to you to ask who it was?”

“We did.” I think Tad’s the liability.

My cell goes off, and it’s a text from Logan.

I’ve long suspected you were lethal.

I slip my phone back under my thigh. I don’t feel like ticking off Tad or my mother anymore by texting while they try to break me.

“We think you need counseling, Skyla.” My mother measures her words. Her cheeks have hollowed out since we’ve been here, and she has dark circles under her eyes the size of half dollars.

“We met with a local therapist a few days ago.” Tad interjects. “It was just a consult. We never imagined you were capable of something like this, but now I’m afraid we’re going to have to insist.”

“I don’t have any problem going to a therapist.” If he’s on Paragon, they’ll have to stay.

“I’m really glad you feel that way.” Tad gives a sad smile. “We called him a few minutes ago. He thinks we should bring you in for a full evaluation this evening.”

“It’s two in the morning. What kind of doctor works at this hour?” I ask. Something doesn’t smell right.

“Actually,” my mom says with tears in her eyes. “He wants you to check into the hospital so you can have a goodnights rest when he’s ready to see you.” Her lips twitch. Her lips always twitch when she stretches the truth.

“Are you taking me to the psych ward?” Words I never thought would come from my lips.

“Yes.”

48

Spooked

Paragon hospital lies smack in the center of the island. The fog has rolled back into the sea, and I see the bare naked landscape under the harsh disclosure of a sharp white moon.

Tad confiscated my cell phone before we left the house. I wasn’t allowed to say bye to the girls because they were sleeping. Drake came out looking sleep deprived, and when they told him where they were taking me and why, his face bleached out.

The doctor will probably discover things about me I never knew—that I’m a killer and lock me up forever. I really believe that somehow I killed Chloe. Even if I wasn’t responsible for the destruction of her life, I hastened it just like Logan implied.

We pull into a tall rectangle of a building. A glossy white brick path leads into a set of double sliding doors, and a blast of warm air hits me. I hadn’t even realized I was cold.

The elevator goes up for days, spits us out onto violent red carpet and a reception area with a nurse out front. A set of double wood doors with tiny, boxed shaped windows is the only other thing around.

A male nurse in bright blue scrubs emerges from inside. He holds the door open and extends his hand for us to enter.

I’m part way inside before I notice my mother and Tad aren’t trailing. Tad is already pushing the button for the next set of elevators, and my mother gives a silent wave as the nurse shuts the door behind him.

They weren’t going to come inside. No long, drawn out goodbye, no kiss from my mother—just a half hearted wave goodbye—the cold slam of the door.

***

Tears fill the crook of my arm. I lay on a glorified elongated box that’s bolted into the floor with no sheets and no pillow, locked in a dark room by myself.

“Skyla.” A familiar voice originates from the side.

I jump back and scream. There’s a small ray of light beaming in from the nurses station.

“It’s me, Gage.”

I rush into his arms and collapse in a fit of heaving sobs.

“I can’t stay.” He whispers into my hair. “They’ll check you every fifteen minutes. Logan wants you to go to sleep. He can visit you there.”

“He can? Why didn’t he tell me?”

“He was saving it.” He tightens his grip on me. “They’re coming. Goodnight.” He presses his lips against my forehead until he disappears.

I use the back of my arm as a tissue and wipe a long streak of snot across the entire length of it. I still haven’t showered. I can feel the sticky residue of blood in places I missed, high up near my elbows, the crevices of my wrist. Lying back down, I start to drift into beautiful dreams that will soon be filled with Logan.

***

Logan dreams us near a crystal blue lake on a bright summer day, in some other place far from Paragon where the sun isn’t afraid to shine.

We wrap our arms around each other on a grassy knoll so steep we’re almost vertical.

“Comfortable?” He asks wiping the tears from my eyes.

“Yes.” My voice sounds muffled, and I wonder if it has anything to do with me being locked in a padded room.

“You’re going to be fine.”

“Did Gage say so? Why didn’t I think of that? I should have made Gage tell me everything about my future.”

“It’s not right of him to do that.” Logan strokes my hair. It calms me down. Makes me want to stay in this dream forever.

“I’m desperate,” I say.

“You don’t need to be. Take in the Master’s peace. He wants this anxiety, give it to him.”

“I don’t know how to send it.”

He lies back on the emerald lawn. A deflated balloon appears on his fingertips.

“What’s that?”

“Your anti-stress agent. Imagine all of your stress filling up this balloon. Come on.” He urges.

I imagine all of the anxiety, the fear, the hurt, rejection, loneliness—grief, filling up that balloon.

In one fell swoop it bloats the size of a basketball. Logan ties it off on the bottom and simply lets go.

“There it goes.” He says mock shooting it with his fingers.

We watch as it reduces in size, as it turns into a speck and blinks out of existence. The celestial blue of the sky is increasingly deeper near the northern portion—stars are visible—right here midday.

“It’s done.” I feel lighter from the effort. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me.”

“Right. Thanks,” I call up to the sky.

There’s so much more I don’t understand. So many more balloons to fill in this lifetime. I wonder how he has time to hear them all or if they accumulate around him until he’s overwhelmed. I imagine I’ll get to ask him myself one day. He’ll show me a pile of decimated latex, and I’ll get to thank him all over.

We fall asleep safe in one another’s arms. Logan and I intertwined. I don’t think I’ll ever sleep alone again.

49

Out

Breakfast is served in the dayroom with a group of individuals who are either stoned or genuine zombies.

A nurse, with a severe case of adult acne, supervises with a clipboard, circling the table in a rotational manner that actually makes me dizzy.

All of the windows are barricaded with either wood framing or some kind of metal bars that make long rectangular patterns alternating with shorter squares, and some of those are in color.

Along the back wall, a giant piece of butcher paper is taped up behind the television. It’s a picture of a cabin by a lake with a boat bobbing in the middle, all done in magic marker, and it reeks of third grade. This is what my life has come to, breakfast with zombies and finger-paints.

A short woman dressed in an over cheery shade of pink, slaps a plastic tray with a covered dome in front of me. I pull the lid off ready for the big reveal, hopeful for something palatable even though I’m not that hungry. It’s a small bowl of white foamy mush, a piece of burnt toast, and a small portion of lumpy scrambled eggs that smell like a wet dog. I replace the dome and sink down in my seat.

Without asking, the rather over eager zombie to my left glides my tray over and grunts into it. He quickly dumps my portions into his own tray and slides mine back empty.

Great. Guess I’ll wait for the next fresh serving of brains.

“Skyla Messenger?” A slim man with dark hair and thick-framed glasses leans into the dayroom clutching at my chart. “Come with me, please.”

I follow behind him a good two feet, down the never-ending hall. I can feel the air rising up through my pale yellow gown, my sticky-back socks catching on the carpet all the way over.

He unlocks an over-bright room equipped with two seats and a table, asks me to be seated before clicking the door shut behind us.

“Dr. Booth.” His face brightens. He’s got tiny brown eyes shadowed by furry brows, and he’s just now starting to remind me a little of a teddy bear. He flops the chart on the table and folds his arm high up on his chest, examining me.

“Am I supposed to say something?”

He shakes his head rather bored. It’s like the door shut and he’s loosened. He probably does this with all his patients. He’s nothing more than a big fake that bilks insurance companies. He’ll probably want to keep me locked up for the next five years to insure his annual Hawaiian vacation.

“I want to go home,” I say weak.

“I’m going to let you, but first we need to have a little talk.”

A surge of adrenaline percolates through me. He’s going to let me go home!

“Yes, anything.” I’ll make stuff up, tell him whatever he wants to hear, just get me out of here.

“I know who you are, Skyla. I know you’re a Celestra.”

Oh God. Oh no. He’s one of them. Tad sent me right in the arms of some psycho Count who wants to kill me. He’s probably going to keep me locked up for good, and issue a battery of blood tests until I have none left.

“I’m Levatio.” He gives a tiny laugh and offers his hand.

“Really?” I shake his hand. “One of my good friends is Levatio!” I’m surging now. I’ve beat Tad at his own game.

“Gage Oliver,” he says knowing. “I’ve known the Oliver’s from times and times past.” He widens his ultra calm smile.

“So you’re going to let me go, right?” Maybe he can convince my parent’s I’m totally sane, lock Tad up instead.

“I’ll let you go, but I might have to incarcerate you from time to time just to make it look good.” He stretches his smile then snaps it back to the way it was.

“What?”

“Kidding.” He pats me on the arm before leaning deep into his seat. “I know the problems you Celestra have. You’re the one client I’ll have to pay special attention to. Logan mentioned you have a hedge pendant?”

“Did. I sent it back in time.” It sounds insane even to say it. “Please don’t tell. I want to be the one to tell him.”

“Your uncle said your blood was stolen from the lab. It means the Countenance has access to your full genetic code. They’re going to want to stop you from ever having children if they don’t kill you first. But that’s not a worry for today. And they’ve certainly let other Celestra live. If they were to wipe out the entire race it might ignite a civil conflict.” His forehead creases dramatically and a look of genuine worry crosses his face.

“How many are left?”

“I don’t know, but the numbers aren’t impressive.”

“Please, just send me home.” I pick off the polish on my fingernails. It’s a nervous habit, and since I’m prone to being nervous I don’t usually wear nail polish to begin with.

“I’ll have the nurse return your things. I’ve already called your parents. They’ll be here momentarily. I’ve told them I’d wave my office fees since your insurance doesn’t cover all of it. Your stepfather was so thrilled he mentioned it might be worth hanging around.”

“As in not move?” I don’t believe this. It’s too good to be true.

“Here’s my number.” He slides over a card. “If you need anything, and I mean anything, I’m more than willing to help you. My great grandmother was a Celestra.” He nods with pride.

“And what happened to her?”

“She married a full blood Levatio, so they left her alone.”

He leads me back out into the hall, shakes my hand, and tells me I’ll see him as minimally as possible.

I change into my clothes, and the nurse unlocks the door. My mother is alone at the end of the hallway by the window. I go over to her, and we watch the rain on the other side of the glass together in silence.

“Skyla.” She pulls me into a big weepy hug. “Will you ever forgive me?”

“Of course.” I feel lighter than air being outside of those double locked doors.

It’s Tad I won’t forgive.

50

Escape

The girls still believe I spent the night at Brielle’s. No one told them otherwise so they were none the wiser. Drake, on the other hand, invites me to his room in an effort to pick my brain for hours.

“Did they strap you to the bed? That’s standard protocol.” He adds as though he were preempting my answer.

“No. They put me in a room with a bed and no pillow. I had to sleep in a gown.”

“A gown?” He asks incredulously. “You could have hung yourself with a gown.”

“Yeah, well I didn’t. I don’t think there was anyplace to hang myself from.” Not that I’d use that as a means of transportation to the nether world. It’s disgusting. And according to years of lingering in the back of a church—heavily frowned upon.

“Did they force feed you meds?” He’s gripped. With a father like Tad he might find out firsthand how it all plays out in there.

“They didn’t give me any.”

“No meds?” His brows narrow dramatically.

Obviously I’ve let him down with this bit of information.

“No, they just took turns beating me with a stick. Then the other patients tried to eat my brain for breakfast. That’s where they keep the real zombies, you know.”

Drake has gone from the world’s biggest enthusiast to completely unamused.

“I’d love to sit and chat, but I’ve got a party to go to.”

“Natalie’s party?” I push back on his bed a notch. It’s on the beach, which I’ve never seen because Paragon seems to be locked in a fog tunnel. “I want to go.”

“You are nuts. You’re never going anywhere again.” He plucks a t-shirt from out of his dresser.

“But it’s the end of summer.”

“It’ll be the end of your life if you go.” He pulls out a pair of jeans from his closet. “I gotta change.”

I roll my legs off the bed, landing on the cool of the hardwood floors.

I’m not going miss the biggest party of the summer. I may only have months to live. Besides, what’s the worse that can happen if I go?

***

It turns out Tad has another notarized copy of the one I destroyed. I don’t hesitate signing the agreement this time, just before everyone sails off to bed. It’s not like I’m going to do any of those things anyway, and sneaking out of the house is not listed so I won’t be breaking code. Plus if it gets him off my back I’d sign ten of them.

In the butterfly room I press against the walls until I hit a seam of cold air and push. A small doorway opens, and I’m in the attic. I hold out my cell phone for light, and tread along the planked pathway until I hit the window facing Brielle’s house. I can’t remember what’s outside the window. I lift the glass and am more than impressed to find a small landing that leads to a lower roofline that leads to the porch. They all look doable this way, but I’m not so sure about coming back. Then again Logan did it. Never mind the fact Logan just so happens to have the strength of a hundred Sumo wrestlers.

Brielle and Drake are already in her Jeep. Drake looks terrified as though my lawless behavior might rub off and cost him a night in the psych ward, too.

We take the coastal route. It’s magical at night with the moon spraying its light across the water. I can’t wait to take a nice relaxing walk with Logan, feel the sand between my toes. We can skip rocks and cuddle by the fire, roast marshmallows on the open flame.

“I have the very distinct feeling of foreboding,” Drake announces in a dramatic fashion from the back.

“So like, you want me to pull over so you can puke?” Brielle contorts her features with utter disgust.

“No, foreboding,” he repeats. “It means eminent danger, misfortune up ahead. I’ve felt like this before and bad things happened. I’ve got this sixth sense for danger.”

“So I’ll drive slow. And I won’t drink. Arrive alive.” Her voice ends on an up note.

The possibilities of Drake’s premonition jag in my brain like an out of control train. How come I don’t feel any of these things? Shouldn’t I be the one with some built in warning system?

The radio goes to static, and Brielle leans in and switches it off.

A car stalled on the side of the road garners our attention. The hazards are blinking and there’s a woman scissoring her hands wildly into the air.

“Looks like she needs help.” Brielle doesn’t hesitate to pull in behind her.

“Are you nuts?” I ask. “She could have a gun or be an ax murderer. It’s eleven thirty at night. We don’t need to be helping anybody.”

“Relax. She probably just needs to borrow my cell or something. It’s not L.A., sheesh.” Brielle gets out and walks over. The woman steps into the beams from Brielle’s headlights. There’s something familiar about the woman’s wild frizzy mane. Brielle pulls her cell out of her pocket and hands it over.

“Look’s like she was right,” I say looking back at Drake.

A pair of headlights slow and pull in behind the Jeep.

“Looks like help has arrived for the helpers.” Drake leans back and closes his eyes.

I watch as a large framed man comes over to the driver’s side window.

Brielle is so right. I would have had ten thousand panic attacks by now if this was L.A., but it’s Paragon. Paragon, where you could probably walk the streets alone, barefoot and naked, and still nothing would happen to you.

The woman standing with Brielle walks up toward the front of the car. She looks right at me and starts in on a spasmodic wave.

A scream gets locked in my throat. It’s her! The woman, the ghost—the whatever who hung herself outside my kitchen door!

I start in on a spasm of wild panting and pointing.

“What?” Drake leans into the front seat.

A man jumps out of the shadows and snatches Brielle, stuffing her into the backseat of the car.

Without warning the woman jumps into the driver’s seat of Brielle’s car, and a man appears next to Drake.

I don’t think the back door ever opened.

I don’t think either of them are human.

51

Taken

We drive for miles through the backwoods of Paragon. Drake is bound and gagged, and both our cells have been confiscated. The guy in the backseat who happens to be wearing a black ski mask has managed to secure my hands behind my back with plastic ties and placed a blinder over my eyes.

After a long, severely bumpy ride, the car crawls to a stop, and the driver’s door opens. The night air is heavily scented and reminds me of an Italian seasoning my mother uses that I absolutely hate.

The bandana gets ripped off my head and part of my hair with it.

“Ouch.” I see the woman’s car from the side of the road just up ahead, so that must mean Brielle’s here too. I look around for signs of either Bree or Drake, but it’s eerily quiet. They’ve both mysteriously disappeared.

“Come on.” The masked man plucks me from the car. He pulls at me to follow, but I’m stuck. My hands are catching on the seatbelt. When he strapped the makeshift handcuffs on me, he didn’t realize my belt was still on.

“Get her hands out.” The woman hisses.

Her face is an odd shade of grey and her hands are skin over bone with long knobby fingers that look twice the size they need to be.

“I can’t, it’s stuck and these things are a bitch to get off. I need a knife.”

“Then get a knife!” She shrills into the night air eliciting a series of echoes.

He reaches into the ground and opens a small door. I watch in amazement as the hole in the earth lights up, and he descends down a stairwell.

It’s some kind of underground passage. Who’s ever going to find me down there?

The lone baritone chirp from a high up branch adjacent to where I’m standing captures my attention.

It’s the raven! I remember how Logan put his finger to his mouth and pointed toward the east, and the bird took off and sent Gage over—only my hands are bound. I doubt I’ll be able to do the same thing. I swear it’s looking at me—watching.

Go and get Gage. I think right at the bird. It’s Gage’s bird, I surmise. It’s always a precursor to when I see him. If Logan had a cool bird like that, I’m sure he would have told me. Actually I take that back. Apparently he’s not above saving tricks for later.

Go and get Gage! I shout as hard as I can in my mind. Still nothing.

I can almost hear Logan telling me gifts can be learned. Right now I want to learn to talk to birds. I hear Logan whisper the word believe into my subconscious. OK. I shut my eyes tight. I believe you will get Gage for me now. I look up, still nothing.

It’s funny, but I do believe this. I do believe the bird is going to get Gage, and I’m going to get out of this mess, and everything’s going to be just fine.

Just then the bird takes off and a swell of relief fills my chest.

I let go of a huge breath I didn’t even realize I was holding and give a hint of a smile.

A giant man in a ski mask comes right at me.

“No.” I shake my head.

He holds up a machete and grunts as he slices the seat belt right off my shoulder from the back.

All of the relief I felt a moment ago has drained. I let out a scream as he picks me up and carries me below the surface of the earth.

***

Long, winding corridors—spacious corridors at that. It’s well lit, painted stark white with matching glossy floors. It reminds me a little of West Paragon High, and I have a gut feeling Logan and I aren’t going to have any classes together down here either.

“Can you let my friends go?” I don’t dare call Drake my brother. They’d drag him off to the chop shop if I even implied it.

“Shut up. I hate the sound of your voice,” the woman snaps. Her flame-red shaggy hair billows out as her voice continues to echo.

“What’s wrong with my voice?” Actually I didn’t mean to say that out loud, I was more—

“Silence,” her caustic screech ricochets off the walls.

I hate your voice I want to tell her.

“You’re going to love it here.” She motions to a stark white room with a large stainless tray that strikingly resembles the one Logan showed me at the morgue.

Shit! I wiggle like mad to free myself from the strong mans grip.

The woman opens a tiny door in the back and I fall in like a sack of potatoes. I look back to see her waving before shutting the door. A small glass window shows them moving around, sliding a tray on casters with an assortment of sharp tools toward the metal bed. The guy with the mask pours a dark red liquid inside it and starts scrubbing it down.

“They’re sanitizing it,” a male voice whispers from behind.

“Gage!” I cling to him so tight I think I’m going to push through.

“Logan’s on his way.”

“Can’t you just zap me out of here? I’ll believe it and everything,” I sputter the words in a desperate panic.

“It doesn’t work like that.” He reaches over to the plastic ties binding my hands and I feel a release of pressure. He holds up a set of tiny pliers before slipping them back into his pocket.

“So you can never be contained? No one can ever trap a Levatio?” That’s the first gift I’m going to learn.

“Not true. All they have to do is touch me and I can be bound.”

The door behind me rattles. I can see her red fiery hair rising in the window. My arms fall loose to my sides as Gage blinks out of the room.

“We’re ready,” she sings.

52

Tinder

“Let go of me!” I shriek as the masked man drags me over to the table. “No!” I yell. He places his hand over my mouth and I bite down hard.

“Hey!” He barks plucking his finger from my teeth.

While he inspects his wounds I take the opportunity to lift my knee aggressively into his crotch. He lets out a slow moan, moving to the side like an injured puppy. I don’t see scary lady with the freaky bad hair, so I bolt out of the room and start running down the hallway.

What if I was supposed to go left, and I went right? I come upon a series of shut doors, and I’m too afraid to open them. I can’t help Brielle or Drake. I’m a lousy angel. And who asked me if I wanted this, anyway? Soon as I get out of here I’m going to get a blood transfusion. I want out—out of this crazy hamster maze, away from bat-shit crazy people who want to kill me. I never asked to be a Celestra. I never wanted this. If I didn’t come to Paragon and meet Logan I’d still be living my clueless life back in L.A. where I’d be shopping and hitting the beach and probably getting killed trying to navigate a twisted L.A. freeway…like my father.

I stop running. I’m not sure, but I think I made a revolution around the place— only the door to the slaughter house is now closed. It’s no use. They’re probably watching me on their security cameras, or using their sixth sense, while I wear myself out.

Gage where are you? I shout into my mind with all my might.

God, help me.

A slight buzz erupts just beneath my feet.

Huh?

It happens again. It’s not an earthquake. I’m familiar with those. This is right underneath my shoes. I take a step forward and it happens again, but stronger. I start walking and it picks up, but when I go to make a left down the hall it stops.

Should I follow the buzzing? Are buzzing feet good or bad? Good vibrations. Is that what this is?

Gage? I continue to follow the buzz. If I’m going to get sliced and diced, I may as well get a free foot massage out of it.

The vibrations increase. They file through my leg and up my torso, rattling my bones. It’s probably some slow form of electrocution, and I’m too hopped up on adrenalin to notice. The vibrations expand into deep sweltering waves. They ride up my body until I start to feel a familiar rhythm in my brain, something…I can’t put my finger on it. I’ve done this before.

I clasp the side of the hall, lean into it and feel the cool of the wall against my cheek. Feels like I’m falling asleep on my feet, like I’m tumbling through the air in a freefall.

***

The radio goes to static, and Brielle leans in and switches it off.

A car stalled on the side of the road garners our attention. The hazards are blinking and there’s a woman scissoring her hands wildly into the air.

“I’m back,” I pant in disbelief.

“Looks like she needs help.” Brielle starts to pull in behind her.

“No! You have to drive. Trust me on this,” I scream, navigating the car back out onto the street. “She could have a gun or be an ax murderer. It’s eleven thirty at night. We don’t need to be helping anybody.” I scramble for my phone to call Logan.

“Relax. She probably just needs to borrow my cell or something. It’s not L.A., sheesh.” Brielle tries to pull over again.

“You can’t do this!” I shout. “She’s going to kidnap you. I saw the whole thing. You were right Drake, something very bad was about to happen.” My chest heaves in and out in a dramatic fashion. I’m sure I’m making no sense to them, but I just got released from the psych ward, and I haven’t spent my insanity allowance yet.

“OK, relax. I know you can’t wait to see Logan. I’ll get you there. Besides, look.” She points into the rearview mirror. “There’s another car already helping. See? It’s not L.A.” She picks up speed and continues down the road.

Not L.A. that’s for damn sure.

***

Logan, smart boy he is, greets me with a luxuriously long mouthwatering kiss. My toes dig into the cool sand below as the heavy smoke-filled scent of the bonfire swirls around us.

He pulls back and relaxes his hands around my neck. His eyes glitter as they focus in on mine with great ferocity.

“You are not going to believe what just happened.” Truthfully I don’t even want to talk about it. The words sort of flew out of my mouth without permission.

“Skyla, I know.” His fingers sink into my shoulders. “What you’re experiencing is called a Treble. It means this reality is temporary, and things will be changed back to the way they were before you left.”

“No!” My body begins in on a series of involuntary quivers. “Drake and Brielle are there, and I don’t know where they are.” A rise of panic starts ripping through me as my teeth start to chatter.

“Tell me something about where you are so I can find it.”

“I’m underground. It’s…we drove along a bumpy road, and there was a forest.” I close my eyes. I’ve just described all of Paragon. “Don’t you have some underground detection kit or something? It’s a facility. It has a steel table like the one from the morgue. Do something!” I’m shaking uncontrollably. “Call the police.” My arms vacillate before me, transparent as velum. “Don’t let me go Logan. I don’t want to die.”

Logan’s eyes ignite with frustration.

Then he does a wonderful thing. He kisses me—a hungry kiss that quells my shivering body. He pushes his tongue into the back of my throat deeper and deeper, increasing his grasp on me until I think he’s going to thrust right through me and my pleasure is mixed with pain. Before I can push him away, I disappear.

53

Back

It takes a few hard blinks for the blinding white walls to come into focus. I let out a moan of defeat when I realize where I am.

“Come on.” Someone grabs my hand from behind and tugs.

“Logan!” I throw myself on him despite the fact he’s already moving, and we start dashing down the hall. “We can’t just leave. Drake and Brielle are here, too.”

“I’m sensing.” He pats his hands up and down a series of doors.

“Over here,” Gage hisses from around the corner.

“Gage,” I yell, as Logan and I move toward him.

A white metal door pulsates from the inside.

“Bree? Drake?” I shout through the crack. “We’ll get you out.”

“Back up.” Logan holds his hand out. His fingers twist the knob with such sheer force he creates an impression of his hand in the metal. The door slides open then bounces wide as Brielle and Drake burst through.

“I know the way.” Drake leads us down the twisted corridor and points to a shaft in the ceiling. “That’s it.” He pants, staring at the square ten feet above us.

Gage starts wobbling on his feet. He starts in on a slow gravity-defeating rise to the top of the ceiling.

“What the?” Drake’s voice is less than a whisper. His face loses all color and he drops to his feet in a disheveled lump on the floor.

Logan lifts him up and hands him to Gage, then Bree.

“Thank you,” a voice echoes around us.

“It’s her.” I can feel her nearby.

“Get them out of here.” Logan directs Gage.

A swarm of bodies dressed in black crowd in on Logan and me. One of the men pinches the back of Logan’s neck and he falls, limp as a rag doll.

“Logan!” I’m tossed over the shoulders of an exceptionally tall man and dragged right back to the chop shop.

***

I’m bound and strapped with metal chains thick as my thumb, lying on the glorified stainless bathtub of death.

“This really sucks,” I say rather calm as the redheaded woman works in a frenzy, separating long glass tubes into rows and rows. “So what’s your name?” I ask trembling.

“Whatever you’d like to call me.” Her voice echoes without reason. She doesn’t bother turning around from her busy work.

“I’ll call you, Hateful. You can’t have any good in you to do something like this.”

“I prefer Ezrina. And what is it you think I’m doing?” She sorts through a box before plucking out more enormous vials.

“Getting ready to take my blood.”

“One point for you,” she says it dry as though she were wasting her time speaking.

“I can’t stand the sight of blood.” My chest heaves in huge waves of panic.

“Then I’ll gouge out your eyes first.” She clicks a few vials together clearing out her workspace.

“No. No thanks.” I struggle to pull my hands free from the chains.

“Relax, will you?” She sits on a stool and glides over like I’m about to have a physical. “You Celestras are always so edgy.”

I stare wide-eyed behind her at Gage, holding a metal like spear in his hand.

The sharp end of the blade ejects itself out of her chest. She looks down at it in disbelief as a pool of crimson blooms across her white shirt like a flower.

She falls over and begins to twitch and writhe. A series of gagging noises sputter from her as I watch in horror from above. She points at me, her eyes narrow in with intense hatred, then blood trickles out of her nose and she stops moving.

My feet loosen. Gage is twisting metal, plucking my legs free. He makes his way over to my arms and starts doing the same.

“You killed her!” I never thought I’d be so elated over witnessing something so gruesome. “You were fantastic.”

“Yeah well, she doesn’t stay dead, so let’s hurry.”

“What do you mean she doesn’t stay dead?” I ask, rubbing at my wrist.

“We have two hours.” He helps me up. “I’ll go get Logan.” He disappears.

A short stubby man dressed in black, slides sideways through the door. He races over and I back into a tray of medieval looking tools of the trade.

I grab the first thing available—a long twisted piece of metal with a spear like tip. My thumb glides over a bump near the bottom, and the thing starts spinning.

“OK, hand it over and no one gets hurt.” He laughs without meaning to.

With everything in me, I thrust it hard into the soft fleshy area just below his stomach. He tumbles backward thrashing and screaming. I grab the metal tray and run behind him, knocking him over the head with it.

“Nice work,” Logan marvels, as he and Gage come upon me.

We three stand over his body as the blood spills out in a small pool around his midsection.

“How long does he stay dead?” I ask.

“Forever,” Gage comments.

I look from Gage to Logan.

“I thought you said it was a two hour thing?”

“Not this one.” Gage pats his jeans. “Let’s go.”

We race down the hall at top speed. Logan helps me out through the overhead panel and back onto the forest floor.

We follow Gage through the thicket in the woods and find Drake and Brielle huddled down below the windows in the backseat of her Jeep.

“I let them in on your little secret.” Gage climbs into the backseat with them.

Logan helps me get in on the passenger’s side then hops around and starts the car.

It’s going to be a long ride home.

54

Safe

Logan helps me up to the butterfly room. Without him I probably would have never been able to crest that second roofline.

I take off my jacket and toss it down the open panel onto my closet floor.

“So how does it feel being an angel?” He asks sitting across from me clasping my hands.

“Exhausting. It won’t always be like this will it?”

“It might be if you don’t put on that pendant.”

Color rises to my cheeks, as I stare down at our interlocked hands.

I’m sorry. I don’t have it anymore. I accidentally gave it back to Chloe.

A soft sigh depresses from his chest. He looks to the side before blinking back to me.

It’s not your fault, Skyla. I should have been upfront with you right from the beginning instead of leaking information to you on a need to know basis.

“Should we go back and get it?”

“You’ve returned it,” he gazes past my shoulder, “it may not help you now. Besides, now that she knows we’re after it, Chloe will want to secure it.”

“Do you forgive me?” It comes out meek.

“There’s nothing to forgive. Skyla, I want to tell you everything.” He gives a gentle tug. “Chloe was a Celestra too.”

“Really?” I like her more just because of that. I sort of have this sisterly vibe going with her.

“Really,” he pauses, “I had to break it off with her, but she didn’t want to.”

“What do you mean had to?”

“Two Celestra make a very big bull’s eye.”

“Oh.” I don’t think I like where this is going.

“Two Celestra dating, are too stupid to live,” he continues.

“Excuse me?”

“You and I, we can’t see each other anymore,” he takes in a breath, “not publicly.”

“So we’ll date in private.” I don’t really like it, but I’ll take what I can get.

“It’s not that simple. We need to take it a step further.”

I don’t want to know what that could possibly mean.

“You need to have a boyfriend. A real person who everyone thinks—believes you’re with.”

“Who in their right mind is going to agree to that?”

“Gage,” he closes his eyes as he says his name.

“Gage,” I repeat. “His prediction—it’s probably a fake marriage.”

“Let’s hope.” He twists his lips.

“So when does this start?”

“I think it should take effect now. And trust me, Gage made it clear that he would make this very believable.”

A flashback of Lexy Bakova’s party flickers through my mind—Gage and I locked in a kiss.

“I know,” he says mournfully.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. I was stupid to let Michelle hang all over me.”

“What about you? Are you going to get a girlfriend?”

“Nope. I’m going to be the scary loner.” His chest rumbles with a dry laugh.

“What would we have to do to be together permanently?”

“Take down the Countenance.” He shakes his head as though this were impossible.

I crawl over and sit between his knees. He drapes his arms around me, and I lean up and kiss him gently on the lips. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

Thank you for reading Ethereal (Celestra Series Book 1). If you enjoyed the book by this author please consider leaving a review at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or Goodreads.

*The following is a preview of Addison Moore’s new series, EPHEMERAL (The Countenance Trilogy 1).

Ephemeral

The Countenance Trilogy 1

Preview

Addison Moore

Copyright © 2012 by Addison Moore

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

Preface

I used to believe in things, in people, in places, and names—concrete forms of life that ended at some point in the unknowable future. I used to believe memories were infallible, that they could never collapse around you like a house of cards, burn to cinders before ever touching the ground.

People vanish all the time. Other people. You hear about it on the news, see their smiling faces staring back at you on milk cartons—their pictures plastered around town like wanted posters. But it was a world within a world, and innately you knew this could never really happen.

I used to believe in death. I used to believe once they put you in that box and tucked you away for one very long night under six feet of soil it was finished. The sunlight, fresh air, a warm embrace, they would never be yours again. It was the final vanishing act—your curtain pulled down and covering your casket. That was the day it would all start anew. Staring into the face of God, awaiting your final judgment.

But I was wrong about everything.

I had my name, my life, and my eternal judgment revoked in one passing hour at the hands of madmen who share my bloodlines.

They took everything, but my memory. They tried and failed, and now I am nothing more than a liability—a spark in a bed of dried timber, waiting to unleash an inferno. I don’t know how long I can go before they stop me or if they even care.

I used to believe so easily and now I strain the most insignificant detail from each passing day as if it were poison.

I know one solid truth. Everything about this new world is a lie.

I’m going to infiltrate their ranks—dismantle their kingdom—take them down until they all vanish, evaporate like smoke from the planet, erase any memory of them as if they had never happened.

Or I’ll die trying.

And I just might.

1

In Memory of Me

In the grand scheme of things, you’ll be dead for a lot longer than you’ll ever be alive.

I marinate in that truth, baste in the beauty of its wisdom while peering out at the dull emerald world. I fumble through dense woods with roots that race throughout the forest floor like wild petrified snakes. Wisps of lamp-lit fog twist throughout the narrow trails as gnarled branches coil around the evergreens.

Something stirs from behind, disrupts the silence with the heavy crush of leaves. I jump—startled, as though waking from a very bad dream. My chest thumps in rhythm to the pounding in my head.

“Hello?” I call out.

I try to remember how I got here. The last solid memory I have is driving to my boyfriend Tucker’s house to rip him a new one for sleeping with Megan Bartlett, a girl I know from volleyball. I was distracted with rage, the light turned green, and I never saw the other car coming. Then the crash—I remember kissing the windshield as I bristled through it at a horrific velocity.

A groan emits from the branches—more rattling.

My feet crush over a bed of dried maple leaves, filling in the haunting void of silence.

A hard thud lands square behind me, and I turn slow on my heels.

It would have been understandable to see a deer, a bear, or even another human being. But this…

A whimper gets caught in my throat, drowns out the idea of a scream.

It’s a man—a thing, his grey skin decomposed beyond recognition, exposing dried muscle and bone over his forehead, one eye missing, teeth all but gone. It staggers forward, slashing the air with a violent swing.

Before I can start in on a full-blown sprint, I trip over an errant branch and land hard on my back.

It comes at me—falls on its knees beside me omitting a sharp putrid stench. Crooked fingers tear my sweater, easy as shredding paper.

I let out a gurgled cry, twist and claw, scampering to my feet.

The forest gyrates, turns into a viridian kaleidoscope as I fumble through a dizzy maze of branches.

Loud guttural moans vibrate throughout the woods. I can feel its footsteps seconds behind. The forest darkens, the fog presses against the branches, fills my nostrils with its oily haze.

This is a nightmare—this is hell—a nightmare with a trapdoor. None of this is real. It can’t be.

My breathing quickens, my head starts to spin as I navigate the spindles in the thicket.

My mother once said, most people are prone to run through this world blind. I remember her words, the soft mannerism in which she spoke them as I stumble from branch to branch—rip a hole in my jeans, lose my jacket on the offshoot of a pine.

The creature gains speed, touches me. Grazes over my hair with its necrotic fingertips. I race blindly through the woods, push past the searing pain ripping through my skull, and crash to the ground with finality.

I glance back, fully expecting to find the decaying body, the stench of death, but instead I find a boy my age—the look of surprise ripe on his face. He pulls me to safety behind the trunk of a tree and lunges at the creature. He plucks a knife from his back pocket and wrestles the beast as it tries to latch onto his face.

I pick up a loose branch near my feet and give a hard jab at the monster, striking it right in the groin. It gives a soft gurgle as if laughing at my efforts.

I pick a rock up off the ground, the size of football, and lob it at the tangle of flesh rolling around in front of me.

It hits the boy in the side of the head, and he lets out an agonizing groan.

Shit!

“Sorry,” I shout.

He flips the creature, and lands it hard on its back. Its face holds a lavender hue, blue lips, unnatural bumps and lesions over the cheek and partially decomposed forehead.

It looks as if the boy is pummeling its malformed face, but as I approach from the side I can see him digging the knife into the creature’s eye, over and over until it ceases to writhe beneath him.

He jumps up and cleans his blade against the soft trunk of a maple.

The creature sizzles. Its ragged clothes engulf in flames quick as a grassfire before extinguishing itself in a ball of smoke.

“What’s happening?” I pant.

“Don’t you know?” He replaces the knife in his back pocket. The hard line of his jaw pops as he suppresses a smile. “They’re biodegradable,” a rumble of laughter trembles out of him. “You OK?” He comes over and cradles the side of my face with his open palm, observing me as though he were a doctor. A stream of light falls over him, amplifies the fact he’s alarmingly handsome.

I want to say, I don’t know where the hell I am, but I think there are more pressing matters than my lack of topographical orientation.

“What was that?” I ask.

His brows knit together. He leans in to inspect me, skeptical that I even had to ask.

“What’s your name?” He asks, wiping the dirt off his jeans.

“Laken Stewart.” I place my hand over the warmth of his arm. “Where am I?” I’ve never been twenty miles from where I was born—hell I’ve never left Kansas. For sure, I’ve never seen a forest this dense, let alone drifted in one.

“Ephemeral,” he dips into me with his gaze, “Connecticut,” he adds with a touch of sarcasm.

“I think I’m lost.” I touch my fingers to my temple as an explosion of pain rips through me.

Laken.

In the distance a woman shouts my name.

“Looks like you’ve just been found.” He offers a reserved smile, holds my gaze a little longer than necessary before turning away.

There’s something intoxicating about this stranger, this earthly savior of mine, and a part of me wants to discover everything about him.

“Wait.” I catch him by the elbow. “What was that thing?”

He doesn’t say a word, just gazes at me perplexed and sorrowful.

“Laken?” The female voice spikes with agitation.

“I’d better go,” he takes a full step back, “nice meeting you.”

“You saved me,” I say. He disappears in the fog like an apparition. “Hey—what’s your name?” I shout after him, but he doesn’t answer.

“Laken!” A raven-haired woman dressed in a power suit and heels snatches me by the wrist. “You need to keep out of the woods. Do you understand?” Her hair is slicked back in a knot, reflecting blue shadows as she moves.

“Who are you?” I pull my hand back.

“It’s me, Laken—Ms. Paxton,” she offers a short-lived smile. “You need to get back to campus.” Her chest rises violently as she struggles to catch her breath. “Never venture outside of the academy.”

She guides me out of the oppressive forest onto a red brick path that rolls out toward a monolithic series of ivy-covered buildings.

“Your uncle requested that you meet up with your brother tonight.”

“My brother?” Fletcher died well over a year ago, along with Wes, the only boy I ever loved. They drank their way into oblivion before taking one last fatal swim in the lake.

“Yes,” it strangles out of her, “do you think this is funny?”

“No.” I rub my bare arms. “I’m confused, I—”

She shoves a yellow student card at me. “You dropped this on your little jaunt in the woods.”

Laken Anderson—right face, wrong name. Issue date September 4th. Junior, Ephemeral Academy.

“Ephemeral.” I test the word out on my tongue. I stare at the student card, confused as hell as to what it might mean.

“You’re a resident at Austen House.” Her lips twist with pride as if she procured the living quarters for me herself. “I realize how overwhelming your first day must be. Your sister’s the dorm mother. She’s been waiting to orient you all afternoon.”

“My sister?” I have two, Jen is studying abroad her second year of college, and the epicenter of Lacey’s world is plundering all my free time to help plan for her epic tenth birthday party. I love Lacey. I couldn’t love her more if I had her myself.

“Jen—your sister, Jen.” Ms. Paxton nods in frustration. Her eyes widen with horror as she circles over me with an epiphany. “I have to go.” She darts down the road in the opposite direction.

“Wait!” I call out as she evaporates into the evening shadows.

I don’t have a brother anymore.

I don’t have an uncle.

My mother is a drunk, and my sister Jen left the country first chance she got. I live in Cider Plains, Kansas, in a quickly dilapidating bungalow that belonged to my grandmother, which is safely haunted by her pissed off ghost and the curse she bestowed upon us before she hung herself from the rafters.

My last name is Stewart, not Anderson. After I shot through the windshield, a tall radiant being declared it was not my time. He placed his hand, the size of a catcher’s mitt, over my face and submerged me back onto the planet.

I know for a fact I died on July 13th the day before my cheating boyfriend’s seventeenth birthday. Two calendar months have dissolved without my knowledge. Here I am—same body, different name.

All I really want to know is what the hell is going on.

Acknowledgements

Thank you to my wonderful family for putting up with mountains of laundry and lots of questionable nutrition. And to my husband who finds the time to do things that help me in every way even when he’s dog-tired. I love you guys.

To my awesome readers who have found a heart for Celestra, you amaze me.

To the Master who sits on the throne, I owe you everything.

tremble

Celestra Series Book 2

Addison Moore

Copyright © 2011 by Addison Moore

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

All Rights Reserved.

1

Dream

Inevitably, we all die. In your sleep if you’re lucky—unconscious, unaware of what’s transpiring around you—an instant transport to another realm. A beautiful place, if you know the way.

Drowning. There is something mysterious and frightening about the ocean. The unknowable depths—the unsearchable reaches of the indigo marine. It hadn’t occurred to me as I lunged into the water, sinking effortlessly into its cold waiting arms, it could be the last time I’d see the pale blue sky, the hard line of the horizon, the distant rocky shore. With the last breath of wind-blown air already growing stale in my lungs, I propel forward exasperated by its beauty.

This is the dream that masters the night. Chloe is with me. She is long dead, but has become a strange comfort to me in my dreams. We swim like mermaids with our long flowing hair, lips iced with bubbles. I feel Logan’s notable absence. Sometimes he dreams with me, when he is able. It happens now and again if he wills it, but it depletes him and he’s useless the next day.

I take Chloe’s hand and lead her into the tall emerald forest. She resists, but I win. She follows my thirsty desire to fly through the sea, suspended weightless, free from all struggles on the other side of this ancient rain. We lose ourselves in its rich gardens, caught off guard by the occasional eel darting in and out of the rocks just an arm’s length away on the dusty sea floor.

If there were only time for exploration, if I could somehow live out my dreams on the bottom of the ocean—bathing in brine—letting the currents have their way with me.  They sway me gently to the exact place I need to be, baptizing me in quiet solace.

I need to learn from the creatures of the deep, learn to swallow fear, bury it in the watery grave of indifference and swim away.

The light of the outside world shimmers in assurance just beyond the forest of pale green kelp. I focus on the long amber branches—rubbery formed leaves the shape of tears. We kick our way through pressured waters, every movement unnaturally lethargic. The water around us congeals ever so slightly as if to keep us down beyond our last breath.

An unnatural panic seizes me. I’m suffocating. I can’t breathe. I thrash for Chloe to help me—to shake me out of my dream. In my hysteria I let go and lose her.

A figure of a man, a boy, around my age appears. He comes closer and closer until I see him full and clear—sharp chiseled features, a soft mane of caramel waves, eyes the color of scarlet. He gives a short-lived smile before pressing his lips against mine and fills my lungs with a deep well of glorious air that satisfies me.

Then another breath, warm and deep, filling me with an ecstasy I never knew existed.

***

“Skyla. Skyla.”

The lights flip on, and my mother shakes violently at my shoulder. In a brief moment of dread, I think I overslept. It’s the first day of school, my first ever at West Paragon High. I tossed and turned until the early hours of the morning, ruminating over different scenarios of what my first day as a junior might look like.

The alarm clock is blocked with her body, so I can’t see the time.

“You awake?” There’s an uncalled for level of glee in her voice. Her red shaggy hair comes in and out of focus like a blur. I struggle to open my eyes, unable to keep my lids from gluing themselves shut in the harsh light. I give several hard blinks trying to adjust with no avail. I catch a glimpse out the window. It’s pitch black outside, which startles me to attention.

Maybe my stepfather had some cardiac infarction, and he’s dead. Now that would definitely be worth getting up at an ungodly hour.

“What?” I pull up on my elbow still squinting the world into focus.

“Surprise!” She sings the word in two equal parts and steps aside with a laugh.

Three grotesque creatures dressed in dark cloaks stand in a row. Their heavily disfigured faces stare out at me with hollow eyes, flesh that drips like candle wax, gaunt features that leave me gasping with a scream locked in my throat.

“Shit!” I mange to hiss, snatching up the covers and backing into the wall.

A swarm of hands collapse over me in unison. Before I realize it, I’m being dragged off the bed and pushed across the room by way of their aggressive prodding.

“Mom!” I yell.

They’re strong—determined. I can’t break free for more than one second before they latch onto me again. “Tad!” I scream for the man I wished dead a minute ago. “They’re Fems!” I yell, as if that should mean anything to my mother. If she were an angel, even the worst one of them, she’d understand the danger I was in.

“Have a good time!” My mom shouts as they jostle me down the stairs.

A mouthful of expletives try to unleash themselves at once, but all my vocal cords can manage is an ill-fitted yelp that would embarrass even a small poodle.

“Mom!” I shrill through the air with my primal cry.

How can she just stand there? How can she watch me get snatched from the confines of my own bedroom?

“Wait!” Her voice carries from the top of the stairs.

The front door gapes wide open exposing the night. The frigid air filters in licking at my bare legs, my arms.

Mom barrels down the stairs cinching up her nightgown with one hand.

My arms are secured behind my back, and one of the creatures has a leg hooked around mine. He overextends my knee just enough to inflict pain should I consider bolting.

“You’ll need these.” She holds out my leopard print robe and fuzzy pink slippers.

“What the…” Something fastens across my eyes and the world goes black. My mouth is harnessed with a tight fitted cloth.

This strange violent scene, in the entry of our new home, is likely the last physical impression I’ll have of my mother, and it leaves me wanting to strangle her.

2

Rush

After a lengthy drive, which I spent rolling around in a trunk, I’m led on a long walk through the cold morning air. I’m almost sure it’s morning. My eyes are wide open beneath the cloth strapped across my face, as a film of murky light filters in.

Finally my bare feet land on tiled floor, smooth and cold as a glacier. The acoustics change, and I can hear the echo of my erratic breathing. In a fit of adrenaline I loosen the bindings around my wrists. Like an explosion I grab the Fem whose body has been pressed against mine and claw and spike at it over and over.

A choir of screams ignite all around me as I continue to thrash wildly. The Fem feels so human—soft body, lanky arms, a tangle of thick hair that I easily grab onto.

“Do something!” I hear her scream.

The bandana around my eyes dislodges exposing a very distressed Michelle Miller. Her dark hair is arranged like a bird’s nest, and a gash of three bloody lines runs across the breadth of her left cheek.

It’s just the bitch squad.

A quivering sigh escapes me.

I’m not being held captive by rabid evil Fems. I’m not in some underground layer with a crazed celestial lunatic ready to drain the lifeblood out of me or force me to procreate with some genetically power hungry Count. I’m in a locker room watching Michelle smear blood across her face with the back of her arm.

My hands are quickly restrained from behind, this time with duct tape. Emily Morgan steps in front of me and opens the door to a storage closet. It takes a minute for me to register that the gym I’m standing in, judging by the row of upright urinals doesn’t belong to the girls.

“Oh crap,” I mutter.

Lexy jumps over to Michelle after she finishes cutting off the blood supply to my hands.

“Too tight,” I groan. It’s stupid to expect mercy from the bitch squad. That’s about as rational as taking a walk across the ceiling.

“Oh.” Emily places her hand over her mouth in a fit of sarcasm. “Maybe your arms will fall off.” She gives a swift blow to my stomach by way of her foot and propels me backwards into the closet.

“Welcome to the team.” Sounds like Lexy, but I’m in too much pain to look up. I’ve all but disemboweled Michelle. I should have eviscerated the three of them when I had the chance.

Something soft lands on me followed by two sharp darts speared at my head, my robe and fuzzy slippers.

The door slams with a certain finality, followed by the push of an object being shoved hard in front of it.

I put in a halfhearted effort to break free. It’s so still, so quiet outside the door.

I don’t think they’re here anymore.

I’ll have to rely on a band of naked boys to get me out of here.

***

I spill onto the floor, awakened by an unsuspecting janitor. Blinking into the gym I see a bustle of flesh-toned blurs running around with white towels secured at the waist. A burly man with a handlebar mustache yanks me to my feet and begins escorting me outside. I try to avoid looking anywhere but the floor until I clear the threshold of the gym.

“Damn hazing.” The disgruntled janitor swipes a blade through the duct-tape around my wrists before disappearing.

I can’t believe this. Here I am on the first freaking day of school in my robe and fuzzy slippers and, not to be forgotten, my freaking unshaven legs.

Crap, crap, and crap!

Painted on the side of the boy’s gym is an overblown effigy of a three headed snarling dog. Jet black with three viciously opened bright red mouths, yellow glowing eyes. Something about it reminds me of the Fem Logan killed in the forest a few weeks back. Beneath it reads the inscription West Paragon Dawgs.

“I’m a dog?” The words come out inaudible.

I don’t bother gripping the outer reaches of logic. Instead, I make a lightning-quick dash for the administration building.

I plan on making a whole slew of phone calls, including my mother, their mothers—and the police.

The glass door to the office is held open politely by a boy just leaving. I don’t attempt making eye contact or gauging how shocked he might be to see me running around my worse nightmare right here in the open. I’d take off my robe if I weren’t wearing a see-through tank with no bra and boy shorts that technically qualify as underwear.

“My name’s Skyla Messenger,” I pant to the woman behind the desk. “I need to call my mom. I was taken against my will this morning.”

She’s a slender woman, pale as paper. She gives a thin line of a smile.

“Kidnapped,” she says, almost inaudibly. “You were kidnapped.” She riffles through a small stack of files on her desk and shoves a pink sheet over to me. “Your schedule.” She twists her lips in an apathetic smile.

“I need to get dressed.” Not to mention I don’t have my face on yet, and I’m afraid to catch my reflection in the glass because I don’t even want to see what the hell my hair is doing. “Please, just call my mom.”

She shakes her head.

“Skyla, your mother contacted us yesterday and forbid us to do so. All kidnappings need to have at least one parent’s approval. If you have a problem with it take it up with Ms. Richards. She allows such stupid shenanigans.” Her eyes avert to the ceiling.

“Who’s Ms. Richards?” I glance down at the schedule. Sixth period P.E. Ms. Richards.

The harsh drill of the bell exudes from the open door behind me.

“You’ll be late for first.” She cuts a look to the hall and motions for me to scoot.

My father would have never approved of this. Unfortunately, there seems to be no end to the moronic decisions my mother is capable of making. I wish my father hadn’t died because I’m certain he would have never allowed me to attend the first day of school looking like a leopard print whale.

A rush of bodies flow in both directions at once. Everyone is polished; the scent of new clothes is heavy in the halls.

I feel light headed as I step outside the door.

***

In the heated rush to get to class, I’ve somehow become invisible to the bustling student body. Not until the halls start to thin do people stare at me openly—slap one another to attention and point.

That’s when I see him—Logan. He looks perfect in his jeans and crisp white t-shirt, a navy backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. His eyes round out in horror when he first takes me in—he stops midflight on his way to class.

“Logan!” I throw my arms around him, breathe his clean scent before I note how rigid his body is, how unmoved he is by my efforts. With his hands glued safely to his jeans, he backs away.

“Watch where you’re going.” He huffs, but the undercurrent of his expression is one of shock and sadness.

“Help me,” I beg. I reach over and clasp his hand. I want speak to him telepathically.

His eyes soften, they plead with me to understand. Not here, Skyla, he says. He removes my hand from his so I can’t hear his thoughts. Logan is staunch about us not being seen together in public. He reviewed the rules over the phone last night—ten different ways. No physical contact, no polite exchanges, if he walks down the hall I should look the other way and likewise. He’s persona non grata to me. All that’s great, in theory and all, since it’s going to take the target off our backs, with the tiny exception of I can’t act one way when I feel another. I’m completely in love with him.

The bell rings a slow shrill cry, lets all of my anguish out in a way I never could.

Logan turns and walks away like he never knew me.

3

Screwed

First period, English with Mr. Montgomery. I tuck the schedule into my pocket before opening the door. The teacher, a tall man with a wreath of grey hair, busies himself writing on the board. All eyes have magnetized in my direction, wide blank stares, opened mouths, a low filtering titter of laughter circles the room. I see Gage near the back motioning towards an empty seat in front of him.

I swoop across the room with accelerated efficiency. I don’t recognize any of the other faces, just Gage, my new boyfriend per Logan’s list of rules.

“You look good,” he whispers. His dark glossy hair is combed back in neat waves. His cobalt eyes attest to the fact he’s telling the truth. Gage would think I looked good if I walked in with mud on my face and curlers. It’s a cute love induced physical blindness he seems to come down with whenever I’m around.

“I have something for you,” he says.

“Like clothes?” I’m slightly intrigued.

“No, like jewelry.”

Gage holds out a thick class ring with embossed lettering. A red stone sits in the middle like a bulbous drop of blood.

He hands it over and I examine it, feel the heft of the shiny chunk of silver.

“I always thought when I had a girlfriend I’d give her my ring. You know…” He shrugs off the later part of his sentence.

“So you could claim her?”

His dimples ignite, but no smile. Gage is immaculate looking. Any girl would be lucky to have him, except me. I’m more of a Logan girl myself. My heart sinks at the thought of our little game of keep away. Logan and I are both Celestra, both prime targets for the Countenance, a faction of wicked angels that have no problem capturing me for my genetic material. That’s all I am to them, a glorified science experiment—a host that creates the blood they need to fill their precious vials.

My lips twist as I gaze into the ring. “You’re not very romantic, you know that?” A fact he’s clearly demonstrated.

“Here.” He passes me a notebook and a pen.

“Great. I can write my wedding vows—we’re practically linked for eternity.”

He pulls a face. Gage is a Levatio; he has the gift of knowing and he’s convinced himself we’re going to get married. And well, he’s sort of convinced me too—which sucks because I think that might be taking the whole stay away from Logan in public thing a bit too far.

“You know what I love?” Gage leans in.

“What?” I’m almost afraid to ask.

“How easy this is going to be for me.”

I turn back around. He’s acclimating way too fast to Logan’s plan. Anybody who agrees to play the part of boyfriend to help out his cousin is a bit demented in the first place. Gage has a lust-driven screw loose and this thrown together relationship is only going to feed his stalker-like tendencies.

I unclasp the necklace Logan gave me a few weeks ago from around my neck and thread Gage’s ring onto it. I hope it catches Logan’s eye at some point today. I hope he chokes on the reality of seeing me with Gage. I think I could love Gage if I tried, and that scares me far more than an entire faction of wayward angels.

***

Ellis Harrison, a stoner known from parties and parties past, follows Gage and me over to a table at nutrition with his permanent half-closed eyes and plants himself next to Brielle my neighbor slash newfound best friend. My family moved to Paragon Island this past summer, but I swear it feels like I’ve been here for years—centuries maybe.

“I am so sooo sorry!” Brielle offers a jostling hug. She is way too jubilant to be sorry. I’m pretty comfortable marinating in all this anger, and I’m still not entirely convinced this day isn’t one long nightmare.

“You are so going to pay if you knew anything about this.” I say it slowly and mean every word.

“I knew nothing. Besides, you look fabulous.” She exaggerates the last word. “Where’s Logan?” She pans the vicinity.

She knows nothing about that either.

“Around.”

“You guys fight?” Her face blanches out. Brielle has impeccable bone structure and apple green eyes. If we weren’t on some God-forsaken island in the middle of nowhere I’d swear she could be a model. And yet with all that super-human beauty she chooses to date my step-moron, Drake.

He comes up behind her and gives her left boob a squeeze.

“Oh gross.” I go over and sit down next to Gage, sliding his ring back and forth on my necklace like a zip line.

“Looks good.” Gage’s eyes have a way of smiling for him.

“Guess you peed your circle,” I say, twisting the ring with my fingers. “How many girls have worn this?”

“No one. I’m giving this to you Skyla. I’d like for you to have it.” His eyes widen a bit apprehensively.

He looks genuine, like he’s stepped outside of the realm of our agreement and it endears him to me.

A soft rumble of laughter emits from his throat as he pushes his shoulder into mine. He waits until Ellis walks over to a group of passing girls before leaning in.

“There’s a party Friday night.”

“Where?” Not that I’m completely apprised of the who’s who here on Paragon— I’m still trying to make my way around the island.

“Ellis’ house.” He ticks his head in his direction. Figures—it’s sort of his department. “You’re going to have a fight. It’s gonna get ugly.” A look of genuine sadness sweeps across his face.

“Who am I going to fight with?” Obviously Michelle. I still have her flesh underneath my fingernails—of course she wants revenge.

“Logan.” He gives his name in one quick whisper.

My head pulls back an inch.

“I’m not fighting with Logan.” This reeks of stupid. “I thought you were telling me something about my future.” I inform him. Not some stupid concoction Logan dreamt up to stick a fork in our public super couple status.

“I am.” A grim smile appears. “Plus he wants to.”

“So he ran this all by you? You have a play by play on how it’s all going down? The two of you map it out on a spreadsheet all night long?”

“Skyla, this is serious. It’s like you’re not getting it.”

“And then what? I run to you from across the room and beg you to save me from big bad, Logan? Is that the part where I massage your tonsils with my tongue?”

He blinks into me, just staring.

“You’re welcome to do that anytime.” He gives a wry smile. “But no, I take you home. Then, at the next party we can orally examine our nonessential organs or wrestle in front of the masses, either or—both if you want.”

I’m starting to wonder if Logan really wants me. There’s no way he could feel about me as intensely as I do about him and agree to something like this. It would kill me to see him with anyone else.

As if on cue, the bell rings and Logan struts by, moving in rhythm with a beautiful blonde who chats him up on the side.

I’m dying already.

4

Party

Friday night comes cloaked in fog, the silent impression of a Cheshire cat moon smiles lazily in and out of the ethereal veil.

The only contact I managed to have with Logan this week was a handful of texts and phone calls. Our entire relationship, reduced to symbols and midnight murmurings.

Brielle drives Drake and me over to Ellis’, located in the gated community of Paragon Estates. He’s a neighbor of Gage and Logan. I’ve already made Logan promise he’d come to my house later—the butterfly room—the secret room in my attic that belonged to Chloe before me.

I told Logan we could meet at his house, but he said it would discredit the events that would precede it. He hasn’t even hinted at an argument, and I didn’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledging that I know it’s coming.

Gage probably apprised him of the fact that he let me in on their secret mission to publically obliterate our relationship. I’m sure Logan is expecting me to act accordingly like a good little girlfriend, but I’m not going to. I think we’re going about this all wrong. We should fight the Counts on their own turf and get our lives back on track instead of running in the other direction like a bunch of cowards. Logan seems to think we need a detailed plan of how that might work, but I say we should balls out fight and figure out the details as we go along.

The party is outside in Ellis’ ranch-like backyard, under a canopy of overblown paper lanterns that illuminate a dull glow. The pool is lit up a stunning glacial blue. There are more bodies wandering around the property than I’ve seen on campus all week.

“Where’d all these people come from?” I ask Brielle.

“East,” she says, waving wildly at someone buried deep in the crowd. With only two high schools on the Island, it surprises me I haven’t seen this mass mingling session before. “Most everybody just got back from vacation,” she continues. “The ones that are like sick rich never stay on Paragon,” she says, answering the question I didn’t bother to ask.

I scan the crowd for Logan; instead, I see Ellis and his stoner friends laughing with a group of girls I’ve never seen before. It’s freaky how many of these girls look drop-dead beautiful. It’s like some superior race of goddesses accidentally dropped off their spawn on the island, and now they’re infiltrating the ranks.

“Boo,” Gage whispers hot in my ear from behind.

“Where’s Logan?” I don’t pretend to play it cool. I haven’t been apart from him this long since I moved here. I’ve seen more of his dead girlfriend than I have of him this entire week.

“What do you care?” There’s a twinge of jealousy in his voice, and it pinches my insides.

“Irritated much?” I blink a smile. I don’t like the thought of inadvertently leading Gage on. The last thing I want to do is hurt him.

Then I see him. Logan looks like a god. The gold highlights in his hair are set off by the incandescence of the lanterns strung up on fishing line crisscrossing the pool. His arms look huge bulging out of his t-shirt. He wears a devilish grin from ear to ear looking down at someone and nodding. He shifts slightly, then I see her.

“Who’s that?” I ask no one in particular.

“Carly!” Brielle squeals and trots over, nearly falling in the pool on the way.

I want to say, who the hell’s Carly, but don’t. Already I don’t like her and her long caramel hair, her simple t-shirt and jeans. She looks like someone I used to go to school with back in L.A., some spoiled stuck-up slut I couldn’t stand. I wonder if that’s reason enough not to like this Carly person. Really I just hate her for talking to Logan, for making him smile the way I do, or used to.

Gage pushes his hand into the small of my back and leads me over.

“She just got back from New York. You’ll like her. She’s totally nice.”

My stomach bottoms out. I don’t like the way Gage just referred to her as totally nice. Gage hardly pays attention to girls other than me, which causes a twinge of jealousy to spiral through my stomach. Maybe this is a good thing—a Godsend even. If Gage falls hard for Carly, he’ll cease and desist my faux boyfriend status. We can be friends, the highest form of appreciation I ever want to give to him. And, of course, Logan will be out of his mind once he sees I’m back on the free market, out from beneath the safety of his well thought-out plan. I don’t get why we need to flat out ignore each other. His words come back to me from a couple weeks ago, two Celestra dating are too stupid to live. So what about two Celestra who are just friends? What’s the deal with that?

“Carly girl.” Gage lunges into a hug. I watch as his hands smooth up and down her back as he does it.

“Gage!” The light voice of a three-year-old escapes from her lips, it’s ultra feminine, phony, and it makes me dislike her even more. “I brought you guys some stuff. You’ll have to come over tomorrow night, we’ll catch up and I can give you your prezies.” Another strike.

“Cool. I’m there.” Logan knocks back the rest of his soda before launching the can into a trash bin with missile-like precision.

Cool? He’s there? And what about me? He hasn’t even acknowledged me yet.

“This is Skyla,” Gage introduces us. “She moved into Chloe’s old house.”

Her eyes go dead. A blank look washes through her expression that appears and disappears as quick as it came. I wonder if anyone else caught that other than me.

“Pleased to meet you.” She extends her hand, and I shake it.

Who the hell says, pleased to meet you? There’s no accent, so I can’t excuse her for being British or something.

“Hi Logan,” I say. I meant to ask Carly if she knew Chloe, but my tongue took a U-turn.

He chews on the inside of his cheek and needles me with a brief stare.

“Let’s see your new car,” he says to Carly, and they take off in the direction of the driveway.

Deep down I know it’s all an act, but right now it feels pretty real. Is Logan really that great of an actor? A part of me doesn’t believe he is.

5

Broken

Apparently it doesn’t take long to admire her upholstery. Logan and Carly return within five minutes, barely enough time to trek down the driveway and back. He picks her up by waist and places her on a stone pedestal that sits along the edge of the deep end.

“I’ll be right back.” Gage heads over to a group of guys from East.

I can’t take my eyes off the craptastrophy unfolding before me. She tosses her hair and laughs as he makes himself comfortable between her knees.

“Are you freaking kidding, me?” I say out loud. He leans into her like he’s her boyfriend or something.

Ellis does a double take. “Carly’s back.” His lips curl up on the sides. “Look at that. Didn’t take long, did it?” He says with no affect.

“You into her or something?” Please say yes. I’d cheer from the sidelines if he wanted to push Logan in the pool for hitting on her so blatantly.

“Nah. She’s a tough nut to crack. I guess if you’re Logan Oliver you get a free pass. She’s nothing but a big tease.”

Instantly I feel better.

“You should go for her. I think you’d make a great couple. You’d be like totally cute puppies.” I ramble in an effort to get him on my team.

“Nope. You’re on your own with this one. I’ve got a harem of willing participants. I don’t need the ice queen shutting me down at lift off.”

“Oh, she burned you.” I’m burning now. I can’t lose Ellis. He needs to want her in order to divert her. “You should get her back. You know, go out with her and dump her harshly.”

He erupts in loud unexpected laughter.

“Maybe I should. But I have to wait until the well runs dry.” He glides over to a brunette with boobs the size of cantaloupes busting out of her top.

With Ellis the well will never run dry. I am so very screwed.

I lean against the wall, partially hidden by miniature palm trees and watch as Carly rests her shoulder on the statue of a lion. I wish it would animate—swallow her, rip her head off, and vomit it back out into the pool. I’d like for this night to end badly for her even if I have to make it happen myself.

Then, as if in slow motion, she runs her fingers through Logan’s hair, pulls him in close until their noses bump.

I’m mortified. Everyone at school, two schools are going to think they’re a couple. Whatever happened to his big idea of playing the part of scary loner?

“What’s the matter? Afraid of a little competition?” Michelle pops up out of the shadows, her face still sporting the three flesh toned scrapes that pillow out unnaturally. They hold the very strong promise of becoming infected.

“What competition?” How is it possible that I can hate anyone more than Michelle? Michelle, who kissed Logan, who he was playing while trying to snake Chloe’s diary away from her all summer. How is it possible that a small part of me prefers that Logan act like an ass with Michelle rather than Carly who has clearly ignited a nuclear bomb of hatred deep inside me?

“She can have all the fun she wants tonight. Next week I’ll make sure he understands he’s mine.” Michelle whispers the words like an incantation.

“What’s wrong with you?” I hiss. “You’re just going to stand there and let her slobber all over him like some rabid dog? You don’t give a crap about Logan if you’re OK seeing him with someone else.”

“Obviously you don’t either,” she snips before walking away.

She’s right. Michelle freaking Miller is right. If I stand in the shadows lurking like some candy-ass nitwit, then I don’t deserve him. I’ll just go over and politely pull him aside, tell him that this is really screwing with my brain and to knock this shit off. Then Carly can go find Gage or Ellis or whoever the hell else she wants to shut down at lift off.

I cut through the cool of the night, the fog gently lifts my hair as I make my way over a little quicker than I had envisioned.

“Hey.” It comes out curt.

I position myself next to Carly so Logan can get the full visual of my impending wrath. He’s so immersed in their snuggle fest, I want to strangle him. I’m about to yank him off and do a repeat performance of what I did to Michelle. Maybe I can carve my initials into his face? Both their faces.

“Hi Skylee,” Carly meows, before going back to rubbing his nose.

“It’s Skyla.” Not that I care what she calls me, or if she ever says my name again. “Logan,” I push his arm off her shoulder. “Look at me.” My voice raises a notch.

“Would you relax?” His eyes lock onto mine, just beneath the frustration there’s the slight hint of something else.

The group of bodies behind us dulls down to a gentle whisper. So much for politely removing ourselves so we don’t cause a scene.

“Logan, I need to talk to you real quick.” My voice quivers. I can’t stand the thought of losing it in front of both West and East High, not to mention, Carly the great.

“Well, I don’t want to talk to you.” He dive-bombs a kiss on her forehead, pulls back and smiles at her. She lets out a string of giggles and bounces a soft kiss off his cheek right in front of me.

“Excuse fucking me!” I shout.

Deafness falls over the party, and if there were music playing, it’s not playing now.

“Can you please get the hell away from my boyfriend?” I scream, pushing into her chest until she topples off the pedestal.

Logan matches my ferocity as he helps her to her feet. “You got some major issues. I’m not anybody’s boyfriend, Skyla.” He offers the sarcastic inflection on the later half of my name.

My cheeks fill with heat—my entire body ignites like a furnace, and my vision warps with tears.

“You’re going too far.” I can hardly get the words out. “He’s not being honest with you.” I say to Carly in a more subdued tone. “He’s with me.”

“What the heck are you talking about?” He roars. “Look, sorry if I made you think this was something more than a hookup, but it’s done. Get over it.” He turns his attention back to Carly, wrapping both his arms around her waist. He picks up her chin gently with his finger and whispers something about being OK.

“She’s lost it.” Carly laughs as she says it.

I force my body between the two of them and slip my hand around Logan’s so I can hear his thoughts. I need to know he doesn’t mean any of this. I want to have a private conversation right here with the entire high school population of Paragon lording over us with their judgmental stares.

He shakes my hand off like it was on fire.

“Get away from him.” Carly steps in front of him like she’s going to defend him—save him from me.

With a jolt I shove my hand into her stomach, eject her from the stone-paved pathway, and send her flying clear into the center of the pool.

A round of gasps circles the crowd.

“Don’t come to my room tonight,” I hiss as I walk away.

“Psycho,” he calls after me.

It rips through my heart like a blade.

6

Misery

I waited for him all the lonely night.

The dove grey sky outside my window is locked in a motionless fog that obliterates the less important details of the world—blurs it out to where I feel comfortable just knowing I’m still living in it. I love the endless parade of grey days on Paragon. The entire island wears a constant shroud like a ghost from some distant morbid time.

I head downstairs and find Mom in the kitchen crunching numbers on the calculator. A huge pile of Tad’s work is stacked three bricks high besides her. She’s become his indentured servant and doesn’t even know it.

“Where’s your master?” I ask, opening the fridge.

“Skyla.” She doesn’t bother hiding her irritation.

“Sorry. Where’s Taddy dearest.” I fan myself with the refrigerator door, balking inwardly at its meager offerings.

“That’s better,” she clicks away at the keyboard. “Golfing.”

I practically choke on my disgust.

“And you’re stuck doing his homework? Do you see anything at all wrong with this picture?” I walk over and take a seat next to her at the table.

“I volunteered to do this rather than go with him. I’m not so keen on walking around grass all day. Besides,” she taps her finger dramatically into the keyboard. “I’m done. You’re not still mad at me are you?”

“What makes you think so?” I lean onto my elbows and gaze ahead. I can’t stop thinking about Logan and the five hundred ways he diced up my heart last night.

“Well for one, you’re speaking to me for the first time in four days, and for two, you seem rather over it.”

Mom apologized through the roof when I finally made it home Tuesday. She thought they’d be feeding me pancakes at the all night diner, then give me a makeover or something stupid. I didn’t bother telling her the only thing they put in my stomach was Emily’s foot. She felt bad enough already. To compound her ignorance, she thought Brielle was in on it too, which she wasn’t. Although, it’s not like Brielle did much for me that day either besides lend me her brush and some lip-gloss.

“I broke up with Logan last night.” I say it in a slow melodic string. It feels real now that I’ve said it out loud to my mother. I wonder if Chloe’s ghost heard.

“Skyla.” She wraps her arms around me, squeezes me tight. “I’m so sorry. I know how much something like that hurts. It can be so painful, but you have so many other guys who are interested. It isn’t the end of anything, just the beginning. You want to tell me what happened?”

“He was with some other girl,” I offer.

A small choking sound gets trapped in her throat.

“It’s always that way.” Before she gets her last word out properly Drake walks into the room.

“Is that why you threw that chick in the pool?” He leans hard over the table in an effort to give me his full attention. His hair is spiked up in the back, and he’s got white patches all over his face in a medicated effort to clear his complexion. Gross.

“Skyla please tell me you didn’t push a girl into the pool. Was she hurt? You know she could sue us if she wanted.”

“She didn’t push a girl into the pool,” Drake corrects. “She launched her like a missile. I swear she was airborne for like ten seconds. I’ve never seen anything like it. Remind me to never mess with you.”

At least some good came from it.

“Yes, I pushed her,” I confess.

“Was that the girl…he left you for?” My mother’s words hang in the air.

Left me for? It wrings my heart out just to hear her say it.

I nod.

“Oh, honey, it’s not her fault.” She cradles me. “You have my full permission to throw Logan into the nearest swimming pool should the occasion arise.”

My cell goes off in my pocket—a text from Brielle.

Carly’s house tonight. She wants me to invite you. Please come.

“Is she kidding?” I say out loud. “Carly wants me to go to some get together at her house tonight. I smell a vat full of pig’s blood.”

“Is that the girl?” My mother’s eyes light up. “See, women are really above fighting over men. You should go and show Logan you’re over all this pettiness. It’ll send a clear message that you’re above this and that he’s simply not worth it.”

The timer on the dryer buzzes and Mom takes off after it.

“So you going?” Drake asks.

“Are you?”

“Brielle’s going, I’m going. You chicken?”

“I’m going.” I shrug, texting Brielle back.

I’m shaking inside at the thought, but I’ve fought my enemies on their own turf before and won.

7

Healer

That afternoon, I try three different times to fall asleep and make my way to Chloe. It’s no use. I pull off the covers and sit up in bed. I’ve never been good at crashing in the middle of the day. Logan says it’s impossible to control where you end up when you time travel, but I managed to land at my desired location three different times last month. I think time travel is one of my stronger gifts, but I don’t dare advertise the fact to Logan. At least I didn’t when we were actually speaking. I can’t believe he hasn’t called me once since our blow out.

All of this misery reminds me of how much I miss my father, how desperately I ached when he died. If I could get to Chloe, maybe she’d come with me and we could go see my dad?

I’m too freaked out to try it on my own. Too afraid I won’t want to come back, and who knows what I’ll end up screwing up while I’m there. I need the guidance of another Celestra, and God knows it isn’t going to be Logan.

***

Brielle picks Drake and I up right after dinner. Carly lives clear across the island. It takes a good forty minutes before we arrive at her amply lit estate which makes even the nicer homes on Paragon look like hovels.

“So what do her parents do?” I ask Bree as we head up the walk.

“Old money. They travel, sip champagne. The whole family is impossible to hate. They’re like the nicest people on the planet.”

I hate her—all of them, but I don’t let Brielle in on the fact I’ve managed to defy an impossibility. And I’m not sure how, but I like Carly even less for having nice parents. Go figure.

“Hi!” She greets us at the door before we have the chance to knock. “The guys are here.” She walks us through a cavernous entry, past a spiral staircase that seems to spin in a frenzy all the way up to eternity. We end up in an over-furnished room with a TV the size of the wall.

Logan and Gage are seated at a small round table playing cards. There’s an empty space next to Logan with the cards covered, obviously belonging to Carly.

“Nat and Kate are in the Jacuzzi,” she says.

I would have died if she were sitting on Logan’s lap in the Jacuzzi when we walked in. The possibility of drowning would have been very real for her.

“You wanna play?” Gage fans his cards in my direction.

“Sure.” I’m not entirely sure he was speaking to me, but I streamline my way over.

The room is lined with dark wood shelves filled with books everywhere you look. Not just any books, leather-bound books with gilt writing on the spines.

Once my father took us to his friend’s house, it was actually an acquaintance from work who lived in a palatial estate with a library just like this one. I remember my father thumbing through the volumes, running his fingers over the spines like they could speak to him, taking in their scents. He loved to read.

Logan gives a scowl without bothering to look at me, gets up and plops on the couch next to Carly.

“I’m really starting to hate him,” I whisper to Gage, trying to stop the tears from forming. Tonight might just be Logan’s turn to hit the bottom of the deep end by way of my fury.

Gage places his hand over mine, locks eyes with me. A warm rush cycles through my stomach. He gives the most empathetic smile while bumping his knee against mine underneath the table as though he’s letting me know it’s all going to be OK.

I let the cards scatter in front of me and move over onto his lap. I forget that everyone else is somewhere in the room, and as big as it is I don’t think it will be easily overlooked if I start bawling like a baby—so I bury my face against his chest and bite down hard on my bottom lip.

“Hey, it’s OK,” Gage creates soft tender circles with his fingers on my lower back. It radiates soothing warmth, helps quell the pain.

A rustling commotion breaks out over by the couch.

“You’re a real asshole you know that?” Brielle shouts at someone at the other end of the room. Hopefully her wrath is aimed at Logan.

The room clears out. I can feel a gush of wind as they file out of the backdoor leading to the Jacuzzi. I’m sure Carly’s already stripping down to nothing with Logan’s overeager assistance.

An impossible silence takes over. Gage nuzzles his chin over the top of my head and secures me tight.

“Sorry I’m always so mean to you,” I say, taking in his clean scent. I circle my arms tight around his waist. It feels safe like this with Gage.

“You’re not mean to me.” His head backs up a notch. He picks up the ring attached to my necklace and slides it across the chain. “You ever take this off?”

I shake my head.

“So it’s almost like we’re showering together.” His brows twitch.

“Almost.” I give a gentle laugh.

Gage presses into me with an intense gaze. His demeanor changes, it shifts into something softer.

The urge to kiss him crops up and I don’t fight it. I lean in and press my lips against his. Gage pulls me in, indulges in something deeper, more meaningful. There’s a release inside me. Something loosens. It’s almost as if I’ve been waiting for this. Maybe it’s just the attention I’ve been craving. Maybe I’m not that into Logan. How can I enjoy the hot of Gage’s mouth if I’m completely in love with Logan? I don’t bother analyzing the situation, just push myself further into Gage. I can feel him writhing beneath me, the erratic beat of his heart thumping against my chest.

“Guess she’s over it,” a tiny voice whispers from the door.

I back up quickly, still out of breath, and see Carly standing shoulder to shoulder with Logan. His arms are crossed tight against his chest. He looks good and pissed—guess he’s not that great an actor after all.

8

Going Places

Alone on my cold uncomfortable bed, I thrash my arms and legs and reflect on that dream about the boy in the water—how he filled my lungs with air from his own. I think about what I would do if I met him. Is there really love in this world? Could he love me? What about Gage? If I fully give myself to Gage would he still be interested or suddenly decide our relationship was too boring—strangulating—dangerous?

I fall through the night in a never-ending spiral. I feel like I’m floating back in time one million years. I’m so broken over Logan, how he twisted my heart and stomped all over it—watched the blood splatter all over the place without batting an eye. It disheartens me until I melt into a dreamless sleep.

An audible gasp escapes from someone next to me.

My lids fly open to find Chloe hugging the sheets up around her neck.

“Chloe?” A sense of relief washes over me. “I’ve been wanting to get back here. You remember me, right?”

“Yes.” Mild irritation crosses her face. “I’ll always know you. The impression runs both ways through my memory.” She motions over to her nightstand at the black oversized t-shirt. “Do you mind? Why are you bawling?” She pulls the shirt over her head, letting the sheet slip through her fingers exposing a very naked Chloe. I bounce to the other end of the bed in a single bound.

“Logan dumped me.” I hate the pathetic way the words crawl from my mouth.

A quiet smile plays on the edge of her lips.

“Well, he didn’t dump me. He was just here.” Her long dark hair tousles over her shoulders when she says it.

“Here, here?” I point to the bed. I know for a fact she’s slept with Logan twice in her bedroom because he told me.

She gives half a nod, and her face explodes a dark shade of crimson.

I look over to the chair across the room. Miraculously I find myself seated at the desk.

“Hey, that was cool,” I marvel.

“You can move much faster when you light drive.”

“Light drive?”

“Light drive—time travel sounds so twentieth century to me. So who’s Logan with now?”

“Some girl named Carly. She just got back from New York. And by the way, the less of Logan we discuss the better.” I can’t bare the thought of his hands on her body, wanting her the way I wish he would want me.

I rub my temples and resist the urge to chase him down and beat the crap out of him. The insanity that has become my life keeps shooting my emotions to hell. I don’t know whether to cry or kill.

“Carly Foster?” She snarls. “I hate her. Don’t buy that forever miss goody two shoes shit. I have enough dirt on her to bury her ten feet deep.” She rakes a brush through her hair. “She’s done if she sniffs around Logan while I’m around.”

“Huh.” I lean back in the chair and roll gently on the casters. “You want to fill me in on anything?”

“No.” She flicks a finger in the air. “Go. You’re ruining my night. I’ve got serious things to record.” She brandishes her diary in the air.

“I want to see my dad. I want you to come with me.”

“No.” She gets down on the floor and leans against her bed. “Just go, Skyla I’ve never bothered you once—dreams don’t count.”

I hop down and take a seat next to her.

“Chloe, please. I can’t stand how much I miss him, and now with Logan pulverizing me every time I see him…” I let my words hang there. A giant egg of grief dams up my throat.

“Logan? Pulverize?” Her face contorts. “Doesn’t sound like the Logan I know.”

“He says we can’t be together because we’re both,” I shrug, “Celestra. He’s serious too. He’s been dripping all over Carly, and we had this huge fight in front of everyone. Then there was the incident of me making out with Gage.”

“You kissed Gage?” She snatches up my wrist as though I were a shoplifter.

“Yes. Gage… really seems to like me. He’s my fake boyfriend.” I say it like it should make total sense. “Anyway, he’s a good kisser and he’s never done a single thing to hurt me, so why do I still want Logan?”

“Logan,” she laughs when she says his name. “Don’t be stupid. Everyone wants Logan. And besides, how do you think I feel knowing he’s with you? Or was—whatever.

She runs her finger around the outside edge of her diary, lost in thought.

“You know what?” She starts in slow. “I think I will help you find your dad. But don’t tell Logan, he’s totally against it. He won’t even visit me.” Her forehead wrinkles, and she looks down at the floor as though she were about to drill a hole through it with the intensity.

“I’m sorry.” I’ve never thought of that. Why isn’t Logan visiting Chloe? “I know he thinks it’s predestined for you,” I don’t say the words, to die.

“Oh it is, sort of.” She nods as though she’s fully accepted this. But there are things even Logan doesn’t understand.” She gives a sharp smile. “But I do, that’s all that’s important.”

“Why would you want Logan to visit if he’s already here?”

“I want future Logan.” She stares off with a blank expression. “We have things to discuss—private things.”

“You seem to be chock full of secrets, don’t you?”

“You seem to want them all, don’t you?” She matches my tone.

“Take me to my dad, and I won’t harass you for them.”

“No, you’ll just wait to read them in my diary.” Her eyes circle over the pale blue rectangle in her hands.

I don’t say anything. She’s right, and she knows it.

“I haven’t read it yet.”

“Oh, Skyla.” She gives a devious laugh. Her eyes glint in the light, a rare shade of amber, and it’s at that moment I realize she has eyes the exact same color as Logan’s. “I know you haven’t read it yet.” Her face explodes with amusement. “And when you do, I’m sure I’ll hear about it. Now sit back down on my bed before I sucker punch you for fun.” She takes up my hands. “I’m going to take you wherever you want. Just make sure it’s the last thing you think about before you fall asleep. I don’t want to end up in Carly Foster’s bedroom with a machete.”

Now that doesn’t sound like a bad idea.

9

L.A.

I bear down on one thought in particular. A moment that I think is the crux, the turning point of my entire existence—the day my father died. It wasn’t easy thinking about one thing and one thing only. For instance, no matter how hard I tried to focus in on that one thought, my mind kept ricocheting to an unwarranted event from the past, like the time I was in ninth grade and wanted green Jell-O in the lunch line. Everybody and their mother made fun of green Jell-O. If you ate it you were logically horny, so I stayed away from green Jell-O like the plague even though I was both horny and hungry.

It would be pretty horrible to transport Chloe and I back to that majorly irrelevant point in my life. But if we happened to end up there I’d probably hoard all the green Jell-O I could get my hands on just for the hell of it.

Another random thought that floated through my head was kissing Gage. Gage has become the uninvited guest in the theatre of my mind. I marry the two thoughts, wrestle him in green Jell-O—dive in a pool filled with the green succulent slime and relive that kiss over and over.

Gage knows how to bring the intensity, make it bear down on you like heat from the sun. There’s something heartbreakingly pure about the way he kisses me. It’s like he doesn’t expect much in return, he’s just glad to be there, roaming around my mouth with his tongue. His desperation lingers long after he’s gone. He invades my dreams, flashes through my thoughts at arbitrary points of the day when I’m in the shower, riding in the car, or when I see the shadow of a bird. Any random event is capable of triggering those desperate kisses. I wonder if I came across so desperate to Logan? Maybe as much as I find it endearing in Gage, Logan can’t stand it in me.

“Where the hell are we?” Chloe whispers.

“Right here,” I marvel, mouthing the words.

My bedroom. Same configuration as my room back on Paragon, same comforter, pillow and sheets—same mess on the desk.

“We’re in L.A., my old house. What time is it?” I bolt over to the alarm clock turned on its side. “After eight. I’m already in school.” I search the far reaches of my memory. “He’s home. Stay here. I have a plan. I’ll be right back, I swear.”

“You can’t leave this house. I won’t go looking for you.” She slides open the mirrored closet door and sits half in, half out. “Hurry up. I don’t want to be up all night. It’s two a.m. for me.”

“Got it.” I wipe my palms onto my jeans. After all this time, I’m afraid to see my father. Afraid I’ll pass out at the sight of him.

The hallway is empty, quiet as a tomb. The familiar scent of our old house fills me. It drenches me in grief that I hadn’t noticed until now that our house had a scent to begin with. Mom baked cookies the night before. The air is still thick with their sweetness.

I walk downstairs gingerly. I hadn’t really thought about what I would do when and if I saw my father. I’ve always thought if I could go back I’d steal his keys. I’ve played out this scenario in my mind a thousand times, long before I knew what a Celestra was or the fact time travel was an option.

His keys shimmer in the path of a fresh morning beam streaming through the tiny window in the front door. I snap them up and stuff them deep into my pocket. It feels like an apocalyptic worthy save. A flood of relief so strong penetrates me, I feel like falling to my knees, hugging the walls and kissing them.

The rustle of paper comes from the dining room. Everything in me knows this is wrong. I shouldn’t go there, shouldn’t see him. Psychologically it could harm me. My mouth may start espousing truths he could never comprehend, but then he was a Celestra. He would know all this were possible, right? How much did he know and for how long?

I round the dining room wall. He’s there with his hand curled around a cup of coffee, his glasses pushed high into his forehead. His thick cap of hair has far more grey in it than I remember. His skin looks rougher, thicker. It’s as though his death had painted a younger version of him in my mind, taken the reality and exchanged it for perfection.

“Skyla!” He looks up surprised. “I thought Mom took you to school. You need a ride?”

His voice—that smooth as velvet deep baritone moves through my bones in a soothing rhythm. Oh, how I miss him. My heart aches and fills with unstoppable joy all at once.

“I’m sick.” I walk over and wrap my arms around his chest and take in his scent. It’s a deep luxurious hug that no matter how good it feels right now will never be enough for a lifetime.

“I gotta get moving soon. Sure you don’t need a ride? You look fine.” He studies my face as though it might clue him into my real intentions.

“No. I’m going to sleep. Got bad cramps. Mom gave me some medicine, so I’ll be knocked out.” I don’t know what the repercussions are going to be for the old me when I come home from school, but who cares? At least dad will be here at the end of the day—if not to greet me. And what about Paragon and all of the things that have happened? I have Chloe and the impressions I’ve made on her memory to thank for my lack of fear in that department. I may not have all the answers, but I can figure them out. Sometimes, contrary to what Logan believes, you don’t need a detailed plan.

I kiss him on the cheek.

“Good-bye, Daddy.”

I rush upstairs and close the door to my bedroom trying to stave off the tidal wave of emotion begging to stream out of me.

***

“Let’s go.” I take a seat next to Chloe on the floor. “Do we have to fall asleep?”

“Close your eyes and loosen your body.” She instructs, picking up my hands. We thread our fingers and sit there, relaxed, and I don’t feel a darn thing. Then that familiar falling sensation swirls through my body. I’m rocking and swaying even though my muscles haven’t moved an inch.

Everything ceases.

It’s so quiet and calm.

I’m all alone in my bed on Paragon.

10

Setback

I wake up to another ash grey sky, another seamless tick in the carousel of time. Not one object out of place in my bedroom, not a single hiccup as far as I can tell.

I don’t bother going to the bathroom or putting on my flip-flops before racing downstairs. Daddy could still be here. By some miracle, or the steering hand of destiny we could have moved to Paragon.

I pass my stepsister Melissa in the hall. I see Drake hunched over the breakfast table, and the light is on in Tad’s office across from the kitchen, so I poke my head in. Still him.

Theoretically Mom could have left Dad, they could be divorced for all I know, and I could call him on the phone if I wanted.

I find mom, busy on her laptop. I slide into the seat next to her and rest my head on my hand.

“Morning,” she says without looking up.

“Morning,” I parrot.

“What do you want?” Still not looking up.

“Just had a weird dream about Dad that’s all.” I let out a hard sigh.

“I’m sorry, honey.” Her arms fall around me tenderly. “Anything you want to talk about?”

I shake my head. I’m not up for the psychoanalysis of some fake dream I’ll have to make up as I go along.

“Can I ask you a question?” I approach the topic with caution. “How did he drive his car that day? I think I remember something about him looking for his keys before I left for school. I mean he must have found them, right?” The memory of what happened tugs at my brain, but I won’t let it in. I want my mother to feed me all the words, create a better ending than the one I know is coming. I might be able to digest them better that way.

Her muted green eyes circle the ceiling, in search of answers.

“Oh, that’s right. He called when I got to work and asked where the spare was.”

Shit.

“I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. So where was it?”

She pulls away from the laptop dramatically.

“Are you kidding me? I…” She stutters in frustration. “Oh heck, I don’t know.” Her fingers reconnect with the keyboard. “Probably in the kitchen somewhere. Lord knows we had a million junk drawers.”

“Yeah.” I slide off the seat and head upstairs.

Junk drawers.

***

I convince my mother to let me go with Bree and Drake over to the bowling alley, only we’re not going to the bowling alley we’re going to Logan’s house to see Gage—an irony only my life could provide.

The guard at the entry to the Paragon Estates raises the long arm of restriction and lets us in. A dense mist brooms across the landscape pulling the tree-lined streets in and out of focus.

Gage and Logan’s house comes up on us. I can practically feel Gage staring at us from some undisclosed window. His black truck is parked in the driveway cockeyed, and Logan’s white one is gone. Gage mentioned his parents were away on the mainland today, so I can only assume sexual awkwardness will ensue once he starts chasing me around the couch—although, I am growing tired of Logan’s silent yet rude routine. I just might let Gage catch me.

After a solid minute of knocking and ringing the bell, the door swings open, exposing a very wet from the shower or pool or whatever, handsome as hell, Logan.

“Come in.” He holds back his yellow lab, Charlie from darting out the door.

Brielle and Drake head straight into the family room chatting to themselves as though it were natural as breathing that Logan should be here at all. Sans the fact that he actually lives here, I’m still shocked by the prospect.

“Hey.” I scan the entry behind him. The faint scent of cologne lingers in the air. The wind chime hanging up next to the garage gives a three-toned homage to a slight breeze passing through.

“Don’t you want to come in?” It sounds cold the way he says it, makes me shudder.

I cross the threshold. The hollow of the door connecting as it closes fills the strange silence around us.

“Gage said you were coming over.” There’s a sheepishness about him I don’t expect. “He volunteered to take my shift. I had him take my truck as a precaution.”

It startles me what this might mean. Logan wanted me here? Was kissing Gage all it took to shake him back to his senses?

“Come on.” He ticks his head over, and I follow.

We pass Brielle and Drake already watching something on TV and head upstairs.

It’s a grand wrought iron staircase, wider at the bottom then it tappers off near the top. Tan Berber carpet is held back with a black iron bar on each step, which leads to an expansive landing and a series of halls once we reach the top. In all honesty, Logan’s house didn’t strike me as all that huge judging from the downstairs. In fact if you chop off the top half, it would almost qualify as your average suburban home, but upstairs is a labyrinth. I’d need directions and a compass to even hope to navigate this place on my own, and forget about finding my way back down.

The hallway Logan leads us through is painted a dark unattractive shade of red. It clings to the wall unnaturally, patchy like dried blood. I’m not sure why his Aunt Emma would pick such a gruesome color. The rest of the house is done in cheery shades of pale blue, spring green, sunshine yellow. It’s only this hall that suggests there are secrets— reveals the fact it knows certain truths.

He leads me to a door farthest off the back, pressing his hand flat against the dark glossy wood door before turning the knob.

Logan glides into an easy smile.

“I miss you, Skyla.”

My heart thumps unnaturally.

Logan’s back—the one I knew from before this week from hell. I reach up and touch the skin just under his sleeve. His arms are rock hard, much more solid than I remember.

“I miss you, too.”

11

Carnal

Logan doesn’t bother wiping that devilish smile from his face. He opens the door exposing a dimly lit room, pitch dark save for the glow emanating from behind a navy curtain in the far corner. It feels huge—cave-like in here. At least six times the size of my bedroom. I can see the outline of a built-in shelving unit that houses hundreds of books, not the pretentious leather bound ones like at Carly’s, but the shadow of rows and rows of humble paperbacks.

A thick rug takes up almost the entire breadth and length of the room. Its long, shaggy hair makes me feel as though I’m walking on sand. A giant poster of a wave explodes across the wall behind his bed.

Logan circles his hand around my waist. I can feel the weight of his stare, those amber eyes cut through this cryptic light, clear as sparkling shards.

An intensity as strong as steel magnetizes us as his lips crush over mine. Long, sweet, deep aching kisses. We back into the bed and fall on top of the cool comforter never losing contact—our lust intensifies as his hands run wild under my shirt. Hours pass, days, weeks—it feels like one long bliss-filled dream. In the quiet of his room, on the soft spot of his bed, the only sound, the only motion is Logan and me.

If there was disbelief, any seed of doubt over Logan’s feelings, it’s been eradicated, detonated in the hot lingering hunger of his mouth.

After a long while I press my head into his chest, lean my ear up against his heart and listen to its unsteady rhythm, sounds like he just ran a marathon, like jungle drums from some unknown primitive tribe.

“You forgive me?” The words rumble through his chest.

“I don’t remember an apology.” I bite down on my lip hiding the conception of a smile.

He scoots until we’re eye to eye and gets comfortable.

“I’m sorry for everything. Forgive me?”

“Always.” I let out a sigh. “Except you really hurt me.” Killed me is a little more accurate.

I know. He presses a kiss onto the top of my head. I don’t want to do that again.

“What do you mean, don’t want to? Don’t.”

A dramatic hush pulsates between us. His eyes glint like strong, silent beacons suggesting there were a real possibility of this horror reprising itself again in the future.

“I will if you come near me,” he whispers. If you try to speak more than a word outside of the most platonic, nonexistent friendship. His brows narrow. I won’t let you die because of me.

Gage said…, I start.

I know what Gage said—captivity does not equal life, he says with a hard glint in his eye. Sometimes you’re better off dead.

Gage and his gift of knowing—doesn’t feel like such a gift right now. Logan’s right, captivity is worse than death.

If I’m away from you, he pauses, rubbing his thumb against the back of my hand. I might as well be dead. But I’ll never let that happen. He presses his lips against my fingers.

“Logan,” I start low. I still can’t get used to speaking to him with my mind. “Don’t you think denying ourselves a public relationship is just another form of captivity?”

“I know. That’s why I’ve started thinking about alternatives—options—there’s got to be something, but I can’t figure out what it could be.”

“Is there someone who can help us? Another Celestra with the same problem?”

His gaze darts to the side. He twists his lips considering this.

“I’ll ask my uncle. Meanwhile, my priority is to keep you safe. They will hurt you if we’re not careful. The horror is knowing that death won’t come.” He pauses. “My uncle told me this story about some guy, a Celestra, it was a month before Chloe disappeared. He was a rancher, the Counts set his barn on fire—bolted all the exits. He suffered third degree burns over most his body. He’s still in a hospital somewhere, as far as I know. They aren’t going to finish the job. He’s immobilized, imprisoned in a body that’s been reduced to less than human. He suffers immensely on a daily basis. Skyla,” his eyes glitter with moisture. “I couldn’t live with myself if that happened to you. If keeping away from you in public is the simple answer, then that’s what I’ll do.”

“And Chloe?” A sinking feeling presses into me. “You didn’t break up with her because you didn’t care about her. You did it to protect her.”

He gives a tired blink.

“Something like that.” He reflects for a moment. “Chloe and I were through. Other things came into play. She wasn’t the right one for me—believe me.”

“Did she go missing because they thought you were together? Is that why they took her?”

“She went missing…” He plucks at his lip, deep in thought. “I don’t know if it had anything to do with me. All I know is it was homecoming. She was queen,” he offers a wry smile. “She was wearing this huge dress. I remember thinking after how it was impossible that no one had seen anything. She was at a party with friends. They say she went outside and never came back.”

“What about her car?”

“Gone. Turned up as a burned out shell over Pike’s Reef—on the rocks fifty-feet offshore. There’s no way it could have driven over those jagged peaks, it was placed—dropped.”

“By something that wasn’t human.”

He gives a slight nod.

A long span of silence fills the room.

“That’s why I had to pick a fight with you. I knew the only way to do it right was to rile you up with Carly.”

“I hate you for that.” A part of me really means it.

“I know. If it makes you feel better, I was impressed with the way you sent her flying into the pool like a ragdoll. I see your strength is prominent when you’re angry. Remind me to never piss you off.”

“You already have.” I give a seductive smile.

“The only pain I want you to inflict on me is with your mouth.”

I bite the air and give a little laugh.

He traces the outline of my face, my nose, my lips.

“Stay away from me, Skyla,” he whispers, with a piercing stare. “I’ll leave you if I have to. I promise.”

12

Obedience

It doesn’t take much for my resolve to get tested.

Michelle falls on the grass next to me after cheer practice Monday and over exaggerates her fatigue in an effort to get my attention.

I look up at Brielle who’s exchanging notes with some girl from English. She’s no use in saving me from this oncoming train.

“So I ran into Carly yesterday.” Michelle takes a quick swig from her water bottle.

The sun has emerged for the first time today at this late hour. I wish it would magically rain, a blizzard would be nice—any weather phenomenon will do so long as I don’t have to endure a conversation with Michelle.

“And?”

“She’s seeing him.” She looks away, most likely to hide her delight.

I give an obligatory nod. I don’t really care if Michelle believes it. I can still feel his tongue bumping over my teeth.

“So that’s it?” A genuine look of confusion contorts her features.

“She can have him.” A hot spear shoots through my abdomen. “I was never that into him.” I turn just in time to see Gage coming up with his helmet in hand. Practice must be over. I scan the field for Logan. He’s still a speck down at the far end, locked in a huddle of shoulder pads, listening to the coach. Clearly Gage is here for me.

I get up and wipe the grass off my shorts.

“I’m with Gage now.” I say it low, so he won’t hear. I want to shock him with something he’ll never see coming, something that will shut Michelle up for good.

“What’s going on?” He smiles slightly out of breath, sweat trickling down the sides of his face.

I step forward and pull him into a slow, sweet kiss. I can taste the salt on his lips. I’m slightly repulsed, but I push into him just a little deeper in an effort to get my point across to all roving eyes.

We pull away, and his eyes are wide with surprise. He looks relieved and silently happy. I can practically see the fireworks going off in his electric blue eyes and a twinge of sadness washes over me. I bounce up on the balls of my feet and give another quick peck.

Michelle looks up at me from over her shoulder—judging. There’s a hesitancy in her eyes that I can’t seem to quench. If I can’t extinguish all doubt from Michelle—Michelle who would love for me to be out of Logan’s life—who am I really fooling? I’m going to have to amp up the believability.

I reach down and pick up his hand. Gage has a firm grip, thicker fingers than Logan.

“You mind walking me to the gym?” I ask.

“You’re really picking up the pace today.” The sad undertones are right there for me to hear.

“I really like you. You’re a good kisser.” I shrug. “I’m lucky.”

“You wanna hang out and bone up for that quiz Friday?”

Algebra Two and I are never going to be friends. I’ll be ecstatic if I end up with a D in the class.

“Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

***

Gage and I head over to the bowling alley. It’s pretty dead, save for a few people from school. Logan, who had the facility handed down by his father, lost the kitchen in a fire several weeks ago, and it has yet to reopen.

“So what’s going on with the remodel?” I ask him while firmly holding Gage by the hand.

“Looks like six weeks, depending on which contractor I go with. I’m having a brick oven installed which complicates things.” There is not one emotion in his voice. It was as though he were reading back my order at a fast food restaurant. I can tell he doesn’t want to be around while I’m holding Gage’s hand, and I don’t want to be rude and shake Gage off since he’s the one who initiated the finger lock.

“I love brick oven pizza.” I over annunciate the word love without meaning to. It thrills me to be within touching distance of Logan let alone speaking with him in public. I want to tell him to come by the butterfly room later, but the thought of hurting Gage kills me. It’s like I’m flame broiling his heart without meaning to.

Gage and I take a seat and start pouring over the first chapter of the Algebra Two book.

“Doesn’t Mr. Denny move a little fast for you?” I ask.

“No. A lesson a day, that’s the way it usually goes.”

“I know, but it doesn’t give any room for error. Like if I get stuck on something I’m automatically behind. I think he should do a lesson every two or three days. Everyone’s not a math genius like you.”

“I’m not a genius,” he says, riffling through his notes.

“Yeah right. Half the class is going to nosedive. You’ll be the only one with an A ruining the curve for the rest of us.” I pause as a little girl in shorts walks by. “Oh, I know! We can both wear shorts, and I’ll brush my leg up against yours, and you can tell me all the answers.” This is one time where being telepathic can actually boost my GPA.

His tongue pushes deep into his cheek.

“Why don’t I do all your homework too?” He says unamused. “That way all you have to do is show up.”

“I’m liking this.”

“No thanks.” He gets back to his notes. “You need to understand this stuff. Besides I don’t want to be that boyfriend.” His cheeks flush when he says it.

My heart wrenches at the thought of all the creative ways I inadvertently choose to hurt him. Gage with his perfect features, deep expressive eyes—the dark glory of his crown. I could easily fall in love with Gage if I wanted.

“You wanna go on a date with me?” I ask, hopeful.

“Why, you want me to take a crack at your lit paper too?” He doesn’t bother looking up from the equation he’s jotting down.

“No. It involves just you, me and an adventure. I might even kiss you.” I bat my eyes. I leave out the tiny detail of visiting my dad.

“Kiss me? With no one around to impress?” He looks doubtful. “Promise me a kiss and you got a deal.”

I reach over and take up his hand.

“I promise not just any kiss, but a deep lingering kiss that will haunt you in your dreams.”

Logan catches my eye from across the room, and my heart jerks a little.

13

Hide

Gage meets me in the butterfly room at ten o’ clock. He doesn’t need to break in through the attic. His gift of teleportation provides a dramatic and yet practical entrance. It may be a staple gift for the Levatio, but I’m determined to learn how to do this on my own. That’s the best thing about Gage, he’s not shy when it comes to experimenting with gifts.

“Check this out.” He runs his fingers over the hundreds of paper butterflies that Chloe once meticulously pinned to the walls, and they start to flutter and come to life. Every color shape and size animates, and they oscillate full of vigor. Each one seems to express an intense desire to leave the confines of this partitioned enclosure.

He pulls a cobalt butterfly off the wall, one the exact shade of his eyes and holds it out on his finger. It stretches its wings in a fibrillating tantrum as though it were so relieved to move at last.

“This is you, Skyla.” He tosses the butterfly up, and it floats up to the ceiling. “You’ve come out of your cocoon and are starting to move.”

I can stare at the trembling wings for hours, but they die down far too quickly, returning to their paper state. “Sit across from me and fold your legs,” I instruct.

“OK.” He blinks into me with curiosity.

“We’re going to visit my dad.”

“I figured.”

“How’s that?” I tilt my head. It’s like Gage knows me.

“Logan said, ‘whatever you do, don’t let her talk you into time travel.’”

“Oh.” Or that. “Never mind him.” I take up both his hands. “All I have to do is ransack the kitchen for the spare. It’ll just take a sec, you wait upstairs in my old room.” I tighten my grip on his fingers. “Close your eyes and relax.”

“I’ll go wherever you want. Only maybe not the dawn of time, I’m terrified of dinosaurs—Mastodons to be specific.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Really. When we were kids, Logan pushed me into the bones of some ancient Mastodon at the museum. He kept saying, ‘Look out! He’s going to eat you.’” His hands gyrate above his head when he says it.

“You’re funny.” I take his hands back and thread our fingers.

And I think you’re beautiful. He says it openly, as a clear thought.

I pretend not to notice, and get our transport underway.

***

It’s still and quiet when I open my eyes. Gage is already surveying the landscape, which leaves me panning the floor for bras and underwear because let’s face it, not much has changed.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back,” I whisper, getting up.

The sweet scent of cookies lingers in the air from my mother’s latest baking endeavor. I miss those happy days when she would spontaneously bake up a storm. I don’t recall a single cookie emerging from our new oven on Paragon, not one cake. Tad sucks all the energy out of her.

I rush downstairs and into the dining room.

“Daddy!” I skip over to him like a third grader and give a tight embrace. His cologne smells fresh, strong. I remember when he first started wearing it. It would make me sneeze, but I never told him. I loved the way he used to whisk through the room and let his scent linger like a ghost.

“Better already?” He pulls off his glasses, inspects me as if he’s seeing me for the very first time. “And, you’ve changed your clothes.”

“Girl thing,” I say, plucking at my sweater. Shit!

He remembers. Just like with Chloe, my last visit left an impression.

“I need a drink. Can I get you anything?” I used to detest doing menial chores for my parents. Now I would lick the bottom of his shoes if he wanted—if it meant I could have him back in my life again.

“No thanks. Get your drink and get back to bed.” He shakes out the paper. I try to memorize the straight bridge of his nose, the way his upper lip defines itself clearly like a prominent letter M, the patch of rosy flesh slightly elevated just beneath his left eye.

I head into the kitchen. For a second, it feels so natural, like I could really be faking cramps and hanging out with my dad, like Gage isn’t really in the room upstairs taking inventory of God knows what.

I pull open the official junk drawer—pens, lighters, loose receipts, keys—at least a dozen.

Shit.

What the heck does the spare look like? I pick at the dirty gold and silver discards, lying around like unwanted orphans.

In a panic, I pluck a plastic bag off the counter and start filling it with every available key I find, every shape and size. I don’t bother using reason when I toss in the one the size of a fingernail. Opening drawer after drawer, I find them hidden in even the most discriminating nooks and crannies. It’s a near impossible task. I open the desk in the front hall and discover a new treasure trove of dulled out metal, three full rings and one with an orange tag marked, spare.

I clutch it in my palm and close my eyes. This is it. He is not going to get on the freeway, his seatbelt won’t malfunction, and he won’t suffer the most excruciating death humanly possible.

The Holy Grail of my father’s destiny—that I traveled through time and space to retrieve—is tucked safely in my hand.

***

“Let’s go.” I shut the door to my room and try to secure it by pushing a stack of books against it. If my dad caught me with a guy in my room, he would have a major heart attack and defeat the entire purpose.

Gage is seated at my desk reading something out of a spiral bound notebook.

“You’re good.” He runs his fingers over the page as if to feel the words.

I briefly look over his shoulder before slapping the palm of my hand over my loopy handwriting.

Crap. I completely forgot about my sadistically sweet poetry phase.

“Forgive me. I was stupid.” I snatch his hand and pull him towards the closet.

“I didn’t think it was stupid.”

Gage has a way of looking up at me from under his dark thick lashes. Those sapphire lenses warm me up and down as they laser through me. It sends my stomach on a roller coaster, and I yank him down to the floor in an effort to distract myself.

“Come on, sit down,” I say, as we sit Indian style across from one another. “Think about falling asleep.” I tuck the bag under my shirt for safekeeping then lace our fingers together.

“I sleep better with a kiss before bedtime.” He tucks a smile into his left cheek and ignites a deep-set dimple.

Gage—those sweet soulful eyes, that painful angst of his that shreds me to pieces. I take a breath and lean forward, pressing my lips against his. He pulls me over, meeting me with soft, careful kisses. Then, like the careless toppling of a candle, it ignites into a full throttle blaze.

Kissing Gage is like lying in the grass on a warm spring day. You forget the beauty, how amazing it can make you feel until you’re right there in the meadow glowing in the radiance. We roll onto the floor and lose ourselves for what feels like hours. I don’t think either one of us wants to go home.

14

Heavy

My father died in a cab on the way to work.

The cabdriver escaped unharmed. I remember it in detail as though it were an actual memory. It makes me wonder how many of my memories are real and how many came by way of supernatural alteration. Nevertheless, I’m depressed as hell.

I sludge through the week, masking my pain, holding Gage in between classes and all through lunch as though he were Logan. I’ve come to appreciate Gage all on his own, the way he tenderly touches the back of my hair, the way he rubs his cheek against mine as though it were enough—his sad smiles.

Tonight is the first football game of the season, West Paragon Dawgs versus East Paragon Dolphins—Cerberus, guardian of the underworld versus, Flipper—go figure. Later, there’s a big party at some girl’s house from East that I’ve never heard of which probably means more of the Carly show. Every time I throw a high kick, I picture her face right there.

“Skyla!”

A voice shouts from out in the bleachers. I pan the crowd and catch my mother saying something to Tad. I see, Mia and Melissa, but I swear it sounded like a man.

“Skyla!”

My head snaps to the far left. A tall guy with an open, well-chiseled face raises his hand in a stagnant wave. He doesn’t smile, instead he holds my gaze in a spellbinding manner. There’s a sharp, dark beauty about him. Just as I’m about to grab Brielle and ask who he is, Ellis pops up.

“For you.” He thrusts a small bunch of hot pink daisies into my chest.

“Oh.” I take them from him, dazed. I glance back into the crowd, but I don’t see the stranger anymore. “Thanks. What are they for?” I don’t mean to sound rude. I’m still thrown off by the guy in the stands.

“For being you.” He stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Need a ride to Carson’s?”

“Gage…” I point out at the field. “I’m going with him.”

“All right. I’ll catch you later then.”

“Yeah, sure.”

My eyes divert back to the stands. Something doesn’t feel right.

“Wow, Gage now Ellis? You really get around.” Michelle pushes her blue and silver wad of tinfoil into my face. She’s still wearing my claw marks high up on her cheek. They protrude like a badge I was honored to give her. “It kind of sucks because I enjoyed stealing Logan from you, I had no idea you’d roll over and play dead so easy. You’re turning out to be a good little bitch, you know that?”

A whistle blows, and we’re back in motion.

I alternate pretending to kick Carly and Michelle, producing some aerial feats in the meantime that even surprise me. It’s amazing what an energizer anger can be, how jealousy fuels a toxic hate so powerful I could jump to the moon if I wanted.

Quarter after quarter, I watch Logan and Gage in equal parts—Logan as the quarterback and Gage as safety. Logan in all his quarterback glamour and Gage caught in the thick of the fight, always looking out for the other guy—protecting. The analogy isn’t lost on me. It tells our story in so many ways.

After the game, the team runs by, and we hold out our hands as they high five us on the way to the gym. Gage leans in and kisses my cheek when he passes. I see Logan holding up the rear. My heart thumps in rhythm, quaking like the ground beneath me.

I love you, I say as he clasps onto my hand.

In an instant he swoops by, but he watches me until he hits Brielle at the end of the line. I can tell he wanted to say something, maybe add something of his own. But the moment passed, and he disappears into the gym.

***

Clearly I should be mortified at what a stupid, stupid thing I did.

I beat myself up on the way over to the party, sinking low in the seat next to Gage. Gage—who I need to make priority one at our debut as a couple.

“Is Logan going?” There’s not an ounce of longing in my voice. Secretly, I hope he won’t be there. I’d die if he had to watch me melt like butter all over Gage after declaring my freaking love to him during a high five after a football game we lost.

“I don’t know.” He leans into the rearview mirror before relaxing back into the seat.

Gage has been bent out of shape ever since he found out Ellis Harrison’s been running around giving me flowers all night, as he so comically put it. He doesn’t seem to appreciate the competition, that’s for sure.

“So who’s this Carson person?”

“Carly’s friend from East—cheerleader like you.”

“Oh. Is she pretty?” I’m still not sure if I shouldn’t encourage Gage to sniff in another direction. I’m not opposed to having him as a boyfriend, but a part of me wonders if I should be playing the part of scary loner, too.

“Brielle knows her.” He rounds his hand over the wheel expertly avoiding the question.

“So do you like her? You like anyone?” It’s a small tear in the bloated bag of emotions I’ve been trying to maintain all night.

A choking sound emits from his throat.

“I like you.” He glances over at me with a look of wild frustration as if I should have pieced this puzzle together a longtime ago.

This isn’t going to end well. No one in their right mind can have two boyfriends. Nobody is going to win in this little love triangle of Logan’s own making. Doesn’t he realize my heart is breaking for Gage?

“I like you, too.” I reach over and place my hand on his knee. And I’m going to make sure everybody knows it.

***

Carson, the cheerleader, lives on a perch overlooking the cliffs near Devil’s Peak. I’m fascinated watching the fog swirl in thick billowy waves around the coast, hugging the cliff side—making it disappear entirely like a skilled magician. It must have been that way the night they buried Chloe. An entire string of homes face in that direction. I can’t imagine whoever put her in the ground was unseen, unless of course they were masked by fog.

Bodies file in and out of the oversized balcony, bigger than the backyard I had in L.A.—L.A., where my father burns no matter what I do to try to stop it.

“What’s going on?” Brielle knocks into me with the rhythm of the music.

“Where’s Drake?”

“Looking for a bathroom to puke in.” She swirls her straw in a pink and yellow colored drink filled with glowing ice. “Relax, it’s virgin—like you.”

“Good to know. Hey, at the game tonight there was this really strange guy with kind of dark blonde hair. He had a black coat on. He was calling me, and he kind of did this funny wave.” I hold my hand stiff in the air. “You see him?”

“Nope. Guess word’s out about you and Logan. For sure Ellis got the memo.”

“Yeah, I’m with Gage,” I say lackluster.

“So where’s he at?”

“Getting me a…” before I can finish, a red plastic cup swoops in from over my shoulder, “drink.”

“Nice. Get him trained early.” Brielle snatches Drake as he’s about to bypass us.

“I gotta go.” Drake clutches at his stomach. We’ve been here less than an hour. He must really be a lightweight.

“Aww…” Brielle draws her disappointment out with a sigh. “Call me, kay?” She motions as he pulls her backwards.

“Guess he’s done.” Gage takes a seat on the concrete bench behind me.

I turn around and throw my legs around his waist, facing him. It’s my version of the Carly, as I’ve affectionately come to call the position. Although in her defense it didn’t look half as skank because she wasn’t wearing a cheer skirt at the time.

“Hello to you, too.” His eyes saucer in and out.

I knock back my drink, never once taking my eyes off Gage. I don’t feel much like talking. Time to convince the whole world, including myself, that it’s Gage I want.

15

Kiss Me

I lay it all out on the line, slobbering all over Gage like a rabid Saint Bernard.

First, let the record show, I only mildly enjoy it in comparison to Gage himself who, as evidenced by the growing bulge in his pants, is finding way too much pleasure in the situation. The bulge in question is in direct contact with parts of my person that it has no business being in contact with in front of the student population of both East and West high. In case fornicating in public didn’t quite send off the right signals, I openly laugh at whatever comes out of his mouth in the form of a semi-coherent statement. The more I laugh, the funnier he becomes, and the funnier he becomes, the more I want to kiss him—it’s erotic mathematics.

By the end of the night, I pluck him off the bench we molested each other on, for the better part of forever, and pull him towards the exit.

Inside the house, bodies float like dark shadows, their laughter creating an indecent echo. Gage goes off to use the restroom, and I refill my plastic cup with more of the minty lemonade I’ve grown to love.

“Skyla,” a male voice says just above a whisper from somewhere in front of me. I marvel at the fact I hear it at all. It’s as though the room hushed for a moment, and at just the right interval, my name was called.

A dark figure stands in the doorway towards the end of the hall. I gulp down my drink trying to ignore the fact it might be the same freak from the bleachers.

“What’s going on?” Ellis pops up next to me.

“Waiting for Gage. We’re taking off.” I refill my drink and start chugging in an effort to cut off the conversation. What do I say? Thanks for the flowers? I may have already done that, but at the moment everything about tonight seems a bit foggy.

The figure in the hallway shifts, and a seam of light falls across his face. I think it’s him, the boy from the water—the dream. His head is down, and he’s got this weird clown-like smile on his face that really freaks me out. I’m deathly afraid of clowns.

“Who’s that?” It speeds out of me as I point down the hall.

Ellis looks up to where I’m jabbing my finger. He tilts his head and glances around the room.

“Who is that?” I repeat, snatching at his jacket.

“I don’t see anybody.” He steps in front of me blocking my view. I crane my neck to get another look, but he’s gone. Whoever that was is probably on his way over—probably some Count who wants to kill me, or…

There’s a quick squeeze around my waist, and I jump a foot in the air.

“Shit!” I clutch at my chest. It’s just Gage. “You freaking scared me!”

He holds his hands in the surrender position. Ellis disappears within three seconds of Gage’s appearing.

I do appreciate that Gage has become a surefire Ellis repellant.

***

We make our way outside, and the world starts to spin. The sidewalk shifts to meet my legs, and there’s a distinct dizzying lag slowing down my brain.

On the whirling drive home, I roll the down the window and stick my head out as far the seatbelt will allow. The cool, heavy fog collects on my lips, crystallizes my hair into long frosted strands. My skin feels numb. It doesn’t understand the touch of the icy wind. If I close my eyes too long, it feels like I’m twirling through the air—gyrating, and I wonder if I’m on some time travel default setting. I open my mouth to voice my concern to Gage, and a rise of vomit spikes up in the back of my throat.

“Pull over,” I unhitch my seatbelt and lean further out. I can feel him grab me by the back of my shirt in an effort to keep me from sailing out the window. We pull into a turnout facing the ocean.

Soft subtle waves lap over the rocky shore. The moon sprays out its iridescent glow, flutters over the water like a million dancing butterflies.

It feels good like this—nice and still as opposed to moving on a sixty-five mile an hour merry-go-round.

“You OK?”

“I’m fine.” I land back in my seat. Gage pinches off his belt and turns the radio down a notch. He nods to the music while looking out the window.

Gage and those deep soulful eyes—I want to fornicate for real in the cab of his truck.

I’m going to tell him this, but it comes out a lazy smile instead. He comes at me more than willing. Kissing Gage feels surreal, like I’ve waited my whole life to have him here with me. It’s as if I’m heightened to this awareness, and now I want nothing more than to be with him. I run my hands down his chest and dig my fingers into his jeans causing his stomach to contract. I fiddle with his button and take hold of his zipper.

“Skyla.”

I can’t open my eyes. It feels so good to spin like this—so dizzy.

16

Spin

“Shit!”

The expletive echoes in my mind like a gong. It takes three tries before my eyelids obey and slit open exposing the confines of my bedroom. I’m half off the bed, my neck dangling from the side, staring at something…something glossy and wet that reeks like…puke?

“Why didn’t you tell me you threw up?” My mother rushes into my bathroom emerging with a towel.

The expletive in question surprisingly came from Mom, which isn’t altogether abnormal, but she definitely reserves them for the most harrowing of events.

My head hurts—bad. For a second I try to remember if Gage and I were in a car accident last night. They say you don’t feel anything until the next day and mother F, does it ever hurt. I let out a deep meaningful groan.

“Here.” Mom ditches into the bathroom before tossing a damp towel over at me.

It takes all my strength to sit. It feels as though my blood’s been mixed with concrete, and to my surprise, I’m naked. I pull the sheets up to my chin and slink back down a notch.

Think, think…

I have no freaking recall of how I got in bed or undressed.

“What were you drinking?” Her marked irritation gets my attention.

“I wasn’t drinking anything. Lemonade, I was drinking lemonade.” That’s right, I think. I close my eyes and gently rub my temples.

“You weren’t drinking lemonade, Skyla. Drake’s sicker than a dog. Tell me right now, I want the truth. Did you drink beer or any hard liquor?” Her emerald eyes dart right into me.

“No.” I don’t know what Drake was ingesting. I really don’t care. “I told you it was lemonade. It had like mint in it or something.”

“Where were you?” She makes a final swipe at the floor with the towel and holds it at her waist.

“Carson, some girl from East. Her parents have a house near Devil’s peak.” It’s like I was injected with truth serum or something.

“Drake says he drank lemonade.” She spews the words out like venom. “I’m contacting Carson’s parents. I’m letting them know they’re responsible for poisoning two of my children.” She walks towards the door taking my vomit-laden towel with her.

“You’re going to embarrass the hell out me.” It hurts to raise my voice like that. My throat feels raw. “It must have been spiked. Probably everyone knew, but me.” Because apparently, I’m special that way.

“Oh, I’m sure it was spiked. I want a formal apology or I’m going to press charges.” With that she storms out and slams the door.

I reach for my cell and text Gage.

You take off my clothes? ~S

Less than five seconds later.

Yes.

My cheeks sizzle with heat. He took off my clothes!

I pull back the sheets and cringe. He saw me naked. Who knows how long he sat there gawking? He probably took advantage of me, or worse—pictures.

I scramble to find my cell, which gets momentarily lost in the folds of my covers.

Fuck you. ~S

Ten seconds later.

You’re welcome.

***

By four in the afternoon, my mother and Tad are on their way over to the Armistead’s house to receive their formal apology and perhaps tell them off in the process. I told my mother I would be asleep the rest of the day. I lock my door and push the dresser over it just enough. Logan’s meeting me up in the butterfly room. I’ve showered and dressed and am fully expecting him to have seen naked pictures of me, so I’m slightly ticked and mortified at the same time.

“Hi,” I say climbing in and taking a seat across from him.

“Hi yourself.” He tilts his head, narrowing his gaze. I can tell he’s holding back a laugh.

“He took pictures didn’t he?”

“Took pictures of what?” His forehead creases, like maybe he really doesn’t know what the heck I’m talking about.

“Of me. Naked.”

He straightens. Logan’s entire person revolts.

“Who took pictures of you naked?” He’s good and pissed and it’s safe to assume—nope—he didn’t know.

“Gage?” I’m hesitant to fill him in on the details.

“Why would Gage take naked pictures of you?”

“I don’t know.” I try to shrug it off. “Were you even at that party last night?”

“No.” It comes out curt. “I had to open this morning. Does Gage have naked pictures of you?” He looks simultaneously hurt and horrified.

I don’t think there’s going to be a right answer to this one. Either way, I’m pretty sure Logan is going to beat the crap out Gage later—oops and oh freaking well.

“Maybe. Someone spiked the lemonade, and I was wasted. I woke up without any clothes on, and I asked Gage if he did it. He said yes.”

His expression lightens. He folds his hands and considers this while looking around at the walls like he’s seeing them for the very first time.

“You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he gives a slow nod.

“It’s like…” I grapple for words, “he’s taking this whole boyfriend thing too far.” OK, so maybe I am too, but it’s all Logan’s fault. I never wanted to do this to begin with. If I don’t suck face with Gage on a regular basis, he’s practically threatened to hook up with Carly, or Michelle, or some other hot girl I’m not even aware of yet.

Logan reaches over and tugs me onto his lap. His head rests on my shoulder as he combs his fingers through my hair.

“I heard Ellis gave you flowers.”

“Yeah, but I lost them.”

“Gage is writing you a poem. I found it scrawled in his chicken scratch on his desk.” He sounds decidedly hurt.

“A poem?” I almost want to say because he saw mine, back in my old room, but Logan would freak if he knew I was time traveling. Or light dr…

You’re time traveling? He asks.

“Shit,” I whisper. I hate when I forget he can hear me.

Just the once. I say, trying to wash the time with Chloe out of my mind.

Where? He inspects the back of my hand for the pale spots that appear each time I cross dimensions.

L.A. to see my dad. I tried to change things, but he still died…

Sorry.

He brushes the loose hair from off my face and bounces a kiss off my forehead. I meet his lips and wrap my arms around his waist. We don’t talk about Gage anymore.

17

Fake

I wouldn’t say I was cheating.

It’s not my fault I can hear Ellis thinking—struggling to solve problem after problem on our Algebra Two quiz. It’s not my fault Ellis wore shorts and his bare legs are pulled back brushed up against mine. I blame Gage, really.

Gage drops his pen and leans over to get it. I catch him giving a disapproving glance at my handy footwork before sitting upright in his seat again. I offered him the job first, so I don’t want to hear him squawking about it later. Besides, it’s a total coincidence that Ellis is working out for me this way. What’s a little flirting? It’s not like Logan’s going to mind. He practically has me whored out to Gage anyway.

Besides, I’m still miffed over that whole naked thing—so miffed I haven’t shared two words with Gage this morning.

I rearrange the numbers on the last two problems. Actually I’m fairly certain I’ve corrected them, and it will be Ellis who gets them wrong. Then the bell rings.

“Nice work,” Gage says as we hand in our papers.

“Best test I ever took.” Ellis pats me on the back before heading out the door. It’s like he thinks I’m cheating on Gage with him now.

“So did Logan knock you around?” I ask Gage as we head out of class.

“You lie to him and tell him I have pictures?”

“I guess that’s a yes. And no I didn’t lie. Do you have pictures?” We make our way into the sea of bodies bobbing up and down in the hall.

His Adam’s apple rises and falls dramatically.

“You…” I start, still reaching for something intelligible to say.

“I don’t—didn’t.” He holds up a hand. “I was tempted.” We hit an even stride on the stairs. I see Brielle heading in the opposite direction, but she’s gone before I can say anything.

“Why’d you take my clothes off?” I try to keep it to a whisper, but a few heads spin around in front of us.

“You puked all over them. And in my truck—thanks for asking.”

“Oh, gross. Sorry.” I hadn’t even thought of that.

“Yeah, well.” We walk outside and pause in a dappled patch of sunlight. The sun’s won its constant struggle and broken through a dark thicket of clouds. Mom mentioned this morning that a storm was about to push through Paragon.

“You remember anything from that ride home?” He asks.

Ride home…I draw a blank.

“Sort of,” I lie.

Gage leans in. The weight of his stare assures me it was something monumental.

“Did I take my own clothes off?” Did I just say that out loud?

“No. But you wanted to.”

A hand slaps him on his shoulder, startles me. It’s Logan. He walks by as though nothing happened. Not even a hello. I don’t know how much longer I can do this. Something has to give. I can’t survive like this, like I’m nothing to him—less visible than air.

“After practice, you wanna go on an adventure with me?” Gage asks.

In the distance I see Logan, his broad shoulders pulled back as he chats with a group of girls. Scary loners have a certain attraction about them.

“Will you teach me some of your gifts someday?” It’s the knowing I’m after, teleportation too.

“Sure.” Gage would teach me to run a nuclear facility if I asked him to.

“I’m in.”

***

If I knew Gage’s adventure involved a wetsuit and snorkeling off the rocky shore of some hidden beach on the south end of the island, I probably would have said no. I didn’t bother hiding behind his truck when I pulled on the rubber second skin. After all, he’s seen me in less than my bra and underwear.

Fleecy white foam laps over our feet as we make our way into the icy water.

“I got you.” He steadies me with his hand. A swell comes up, and we’re waist deep within a moment’s notice.

I let out a scream.

“It’s freezing!” My teeth start to chatter uncontrollably like the windup toys you see at Halloween.

“Pee in your suit.”

“What? No.” He did not just say that.

“Whatever.” He hands me a mask and snorkel. “Spit in your mask so it doesn’t fog up.”

“Gross,” I say, as I follow Captain Disgusting’s orders.

I put it on just like he showed me. I’ve snorkeled before when I was ten or something. My dad had a way of pulling me out of my comfort zone and making me try new things. I don’t miss that part of him. It was like he would hone in on my fears and take me right to them, make me face them until they were crushed beneath my feet.

Gage and I swim out a good fifty feet. The ocean’s calmer out here, clearer, prettier.

I didn’t think we’d see much because of the blackened sky. The dense, dark clouds have worn an ominous shade of grey all day, but I can make out an entire school of tiny fish and loose floating leaves of seaweed as wide as the palm of my hand. There’s an inherent beauty about the ocean. It’s something shockingly simple yet so tremendous in magnitude it belittles you in the scope of its universe. I wish I could live here, swim in the sea day after day. Maybe this will be our thing, Gage and I.

A pepper of rain dots the surface. Gage pulls away and dives down towards the bottom. It’s the starfish he’s after. Its lavender glow makes it suspect, and he wants to feel it, bring it to me so I can touch it.

My body rises without my permission, and I pop up to the surface. My mask flips off and my snorkel with it. I’m hit with a massive amount of force, and I get sucked further out by an errant wave neither of us saw coming.

I claw and struggle to reach the surface. Rain comes down like hatchets as I try to take in a lungful of air. I’m sucked back under, tumbling over and over again like the spin cycle of a washing machine. I can’t breathe. A jungle of seaweed coils itself around me like a thousand leather leashes. I’m tangled—thrashing—can’t see…which way is up?

My lungs give. I open my mouth with the eerie knowledge this will be my final breath—one filled with salt and water—I’ll slowly black out and die.

A hand clasps over my shoulder. It’s him! It’s the boy from the bleachers, the party—the dream.

He gives a friendly smile before pressing his lips to mine. I inhale deeply, take everything he’s willing to give me, greedy and quick. His chest presses against mine as his legs wrap around my body.

It’s the most erotic breath I’ve ever taken.

18

Just Breathe

Sharp tempered pelts tap across my flesh in even time. My lids flutter open, and I see the sky shrouded in black boiling clouds expending its endless tears as a torrential liquid fury comes down on top of me.

“Skyla!” Gage shouts slapping me, jostling me by the shoulders.

I cough and sputter, struggling to rise to my elbows.

“Let’s get out of here.” It gurgles out from me.

I can see the angry ocean churning up in a billowy wash as water rises high up on the shore. It’s so dark out. I wonder how long we’ve been gone.

Gage scoops me in his arms and starts running across the sand dunes, over the grassy knoll, and back into the parking lot.

I climb in his truck, weak as paper.

“I’m taking you to the hospital.” He buckles me in. He appears next to me and roars the engine to life.

“No, I hate hospitals. I won’t get out of the car.” I wipe my nose with the back of my hand and see a thin line of blood glossing across it. I pull down the mirror on the sunshade. There’s a slight cut on the top of my lip that looks swollen.

The kiss. It all comes back to me.

“How’d I get back on shore?”

“I found you passed out. You don’t remember?” The tires skid out as he picks up speed. It’s raining so hard the headlights reflect off the water, and I know for a fact he can’t see shit.

“Slow down. Are you trying to put me in the hospital?”

“OK relax.” He slows down to a crawl. “You were with me, then you got sucked under.”

“You let go.”

“I swear, if I thought for a minute…” His hands fly up in frustration.

“Just hold the wheel.” I slide my fingers up over his and help him steer us back into the proper lane. “I have to tell you something. A few weeks back I had this dream… I was swimming with Chloe. It was about some guy kissing me underwater. Then the other night at the game, he was there. He called my name, and it was…” I try to remember if it was even him or my imagination.

“And?” His eyes ignite in curiosity as he grips the wheel with both hands. There’s a tension in his voice leading me to believe he doesn’t like where this is going.

“I saw him again at Carson’s party.”

His lips pull into a line.

“Shit,” he moans.

“So just now, I was tangled in seaweed. He was there again.”

“Then what?” He looks resolved to what I’m about to tell him.

“He kissed me.”

***

“You’re going to live.” Dr. Oliver pulls his mini flashlight away from my left eye. Purple spots appear everywhere, and I try to blink them away.

Logan helps me down from off the kitchen counter as his Aunt Emma drapes a heated bath towel over my shoulders. It carries the distinct scent of lavender. I dissolve under its warmth like a good dream you remember in the morning.

“I put it in the dryer for you,” she smiles. Her hair is pulled back in a tight glossy bun. She doesn’t have any makeup on. The skin around her eyes is thin as rice paper, an entire roadmap of frail blue and purple veins spider across her eyelids. She gives a gentle smile. “You want me to call your mother?”

“No, that’s OK. I sent a text on the way home and let her know everything’s fine.” Technically, I said I was studying with Gage. She would never have agreed to let me snorkel in the rain.

Logan leads me upstairs. It feels weird knowing his aunt and uncle are aware of the fact we’re headed to his room, only we aren’t. We detour into Gage’s room instead.

He’s fresh from the shower, comfy in sweats and a t-shirt. Same huge room as Logan’s with a shelving unit eating up an entire wall—half as many books.

I’m so exhausted. I don’t think twice before crawling onto his bed. Logan and Gage sit on either side of me and stare down with their inquisitiveness. Gage had already briefed Logan about the mystery man as soon as we arrived at the house.

“Stay away from him next time you see him,” Logan warns.

“Who is he? A Fem?” I pull up on my elbows.

“Too helpful.” He shakes his head. “He found you in the ocean? Too knowledgeable to be a Count. Sounds like he could be a Sector.”

“Sector,” I whisper. Sectors are confusing as hell. They’ve been known to take bribes from the Countenance. They sick the Fems on you to do their dirty work. “What does a Sector want with me?”

“I don’t have a clue.”

“If they’re the overlords of the angel armies, aren’t they benevolent or something?”

“Some are good, some wicked. I doubt you have a good one on your hands.” Logan assures me.

“He looked so nice,” I say, a little out of breath.

“Yeah, well,” Gage and Logan exchange glances. “They tend to masquerade as angels of light.”

“I don’t think you should go anywhere without Gage.” He looks mournful at the thought. “Or me if you have to,” Logan says.

“You?” A rush of adrenaline surges through me.

“Yes.”

“I thought you were off limits. You know, to keep me out of danger.” I shift in his direction.

“You’re already in danger.”

19

Hello

I’ve never felt a more comfortable bed then when I finally sink into my own. My ankles feel as though they’ve been twisted, cracked off at the base and glued back on. My neck is killing me. I can’t fully turn my head to the left.

I managed to omit the finer details of my injuries to Dr. Oliver, like the fact I think a partial paralysis seems almost inevitable which reminds me to never go along with Gage and his insane ideas again. Diving during a storm? Who am I kidding, Gage could take me diving in quick sand, and I’d probably go. I’m a victim of those watery blue eyes and the way he smiles without moving his lips.

A soft glow emanates through my closed lids. My eyes launch open. Reflexively, I part my lips to scream, but a hand clamps over my mouth.

It’s him—the boy from the water. Floating—hovering over my bed. His skin is eerily translucent. I can see the frame of my canopy right through his back. A strange incandescent light radiates from him, illuminating him from the inside like a jack o’ lantern. He gives a spectacular smile, and his teeth pierce the dark like a detonating burst of sunshine. It hurts my eyes just to look at him.

“I won’t harm you.”

I’m in the prime position to kick him in the balls, but somehow I already know it’s useless. Strength, running, none of it will help me now. If I threw myself out the window, I’m sure he’d appear next to me on the ground.

He removes his hand from my mouth with caution.

I scoot up in the bed and lean the back of my head into the wall so hard I think I’m going to push through.

“My name’s Marshall.” He sits opposite me and tones down his brightness, so I can see him without going blind.

“And?” I’m sure small talk is not high on the list of priorities.

“I’ve been dying to meet you.”

“So you can kill me?” I don’t appreciate his play on words.

He gives a convincing smile. There’s a way about him. I can feel his tension as though he wants something from me, but doesn’t know how to get it.

“I’m not going to kill you. I’ll always tell you the truth.” The smile melts off his face. “But I think you owe me a bit of gratitude.”

“Thank you.” I scan the vicinity for something to hit him with, not that it would help.

“Mmm.” His features darken. He’s sharply handsome in an untrustworthy way. “You don’t seem very grateful.”

“Let’s move this along because I have class in the morning, and this little meet and greet is really going to set the bags off under my eyes.”

Warm golden brown hair, eyes an amazing shade of burgundy stare at me. He looks stunning, like I could gaze at his unique brand of beauty for hours and never tire of it.

“You’ll recover,” he says.

Great. I’ve gone and pissed him off. I’ll be lucky to be alive by morning, let alone have bags under my eyes. I’ll be in a bag… wrapped in duct tape…

“Don’t be afraid. I promise I won’t hurt you.” He taps my knee and an electrical sensation runs up my spine and swirls into my brain.

“What a rush.” I close my eyes briefly enjoying the intense euphoric feeling. I don’t want to say it, but that felt beyond great.

“You’re quite the star, Skyla. You’re the talk of the celestial scene, you know that?”

“I am?”

“Yup.” He taps my leg again, and I inhale sharply at the intense rise of pleasure.

“What are you, some kind of drug?” I bat him away.

“Some call it venom, some liken it to a good buzz—some rapture.” His lips curl into a slow grin. “I’m not here to make you feel good. I wanted to let you know I’m your friend. The Countenance desire your capture, but I assume you already know that.”

“You’re a Sector?”

“And I can protect you.” He gives the slight impression of a smile. His light brightens then dissolves sending a series of shadows ricocheting through the room. “You’re not to tell anybody about me.”

“Too late.” I don’t do well with celestial bullying.

“I knew your father Skyla.” He softens a bit. “He was a friend to me.”

Doubtful.

“I’m here for you. But if you expose me…”

A chill races through me.

“To anyone,” he continues. “I’ll have to take you. If I don’t take you I’ll be bound. That’s like death to me and I can’t have that. Don’t make me choose between you and me, Skyla. It won’t be a choice. It will always be me.”

“I’m prone to telling people things.” The logical part of me wants to believe I’ve just signed my death warrant, but I don’t think so. It’s as if I know something—that he can and will protect me.

He pierces me with those strange eyes, gazing into me with a violent intensity.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out. I’ll let you get back to your beauty sleep. Would you like me to touch you again?”

I have the very distinct feeling I’m making a pact with the devil. I know that I will tell Logan and Gage, that no matter how much he threatens me, offers to protect me, I’m in the same amount of danger.

I wonder if Chloe felt this way—certain she was going to be captured, certain there was no right answer to pull her out of the mess she was in. I hadn’t asked to be born as a pure breed anything. In fact if I were asked, I would have declined the offer a thousand times again and again.

A dull ache permeates throughout my body. This is who I am, and these are my very unique dilemmas.

I extend my hand in his direction. “Marshall,” I test his name out on my lips and his eyes widen with satisfaction. “Touch me.”

His hand connects with mine setting off unearthly splendid reverberations.

Rapture—yes that’s it.

I never, ever want him to let go.

20

You Again

“Mr. Denny’s mother is very sick.” He runs his fingers across the desk as though he were petting a kitten before sitting on the edge.

It’s him. The man of my dreams, the boy-man who looks like he aged overnight to the ripe old age of twenty-seven. He just strolled into second period. His features seem more defined, more heart-stopping than last night.

“My name is Mr. Dudley.” He shoots a look right at me, Hello Skyla and I jump in my seat.

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.

My heart races a million miles an hour as a cold sweat breaks out all over my body.

He hands the graded tests to a student in the front row and instructs him to pass them out.

Marshall? I think, looking right at him. I want to know if he can hear me, read my thoughts without touching me. I don’t like this one freaking bit—but he doesn’t acknowledge me in anyway.

My test lands on my desk with a bright read B decorating the front. I spin around to show Gage, momentarily taking flight from Mr. Dudley and his wicked plan to take over my life. The next thing you know he’ll be scrambling eggs for breakfast pretending to be my mother.

Gage holds up his paper with a triangular A scrawled over half the page.

“Nice.” I twist a smile.

“Hey, what’d you get?” Ellis taps me on the shoulder.

“B.” I look over at his paper. C—knew it. He got the last two wrong. Guess he won’t be offering to tutor me again anytime soon.

“Excuse me?” Mr. Dudley, Marshall, whoever he is, booms from the front of the class.

I straighten in my seat when I realize the concentration of his focus is square on me.

“If you won’t pay attention, I’ll be forced to move you.” His finger dips into the empty seat besides his desk.

No thanks. I shake my head and stiffen in my seat. I don’t care how good it felt to touch him. I want to be here, safe, next to Gage.

He starts in on a lesson, writing fast and furious on the board while explaining the concept in such an entertaining way that he actually has the full attention of the class.

Within minutes, the female population falls victim to his comeliness, his quick wit and exasperating charm.

Ellis turns around and gives a brief look of confusion.

“He’s good,” he whispers.

He is good. For the first time since I sat down in this chair, I’m fully able to grasp the concepts. I fill my notebook with numbers and formulas that, for once, don’t look like hieroglyphics. A part of me feels like actually thanking him. The hour flies by.

“Skyla Messenger?” He looks down at his roster pretending to be perplexed. “Can I see you a moment?”

Bodies file out on the way to third. Gage clasps onto my hand as we make our way to the front together.

Marshall pushes back in his seat amused at the sight of Gage by my side.

“Which one of you is Skyla?” He asks sarcastically.

“I am. This is my boyfriend.”

“I need to speak with Miss Messenger. You can go.” He flicks a finger towards the door, scowling openly at Gage.

“I’ll wait for you.” Gage gives my hand a hard squeeze.

Marshall restrains himself until Gage is out of view. A rush of new students fills the seats, and Logan walks in with Michelle licking at his heels.

“Is this an act for my benefit?” It comes out rhetorical.

“I’ll be here the rest of the year.” He looks over my shoulder, probably at Logan who I can only guess is shooting daggers at him.

“What happened to Mr. Denny?”

“His mother’s sick. I wouldn’t lie to you. I think the brunette likes me.” He gives a flirtatious smile to someone behind me.

I glance back, catching Michelle in full-blown star-struck mode.

“Does that make you jealous?” He returns his full attention to me amused.

“No.”

His brows crease to a point.

“I dare you to flirt with her—date her,” I whisper. “They’ll throw you out.”

“They won’t throw me out,” he assures. “But I’m not here for her. I think we both know that.”

***

The bell rings. I rush out and find Gage still waiting.

“What did he want?”

“He accused me of cheating.” I can’t believe how easily the lie came from my lips.

“He knows you copied off Ellis? You should have changed some answers.”

“I did.” I look down the long empty hall. “I guess not enough. Come on, we’re going to be super late.” We head off in the direction of our chemistry class.

We make it outside to the senior lawn, and Gage pulls me back by the elbow.

“Since we’re already late. I want to give something to you.” He leads me over to the trunk of an over grown peppertree still wearing a thin veil of morning precipitation. “Here.” A neatly folded piece of paper appears between his fingers.

I take it from him and open it.

I see you clearly in my dreams

Long hair I long to touch

Life is not what it seems

Without you, it is all too much

“Did you write this?” I give an open mouth smile.

“It’s my lame attempt at poetry.” The apples of his cheeks fill with a hint of crimson.

“It’s not lame,” I shake my head. Gage wrote these words because he knew I would cherish them. He saw my notebook filled with flowery poems back in my old bedroom, and he’s trying to navigate this maze to my heart. I’m touched he cares to try so hard to get there.

I push up on my toes and press a soft kiss against his lips—let it linger.

A loud pinging sound disrupts the silence. We look back to see Mr. Dudley tapping something metal against the glass in an effort to garner our attention.

“We better go.” Gage grabs my hand and rushes me off in the direction of the science building.

I see the heads of the students turned in our direction. I know Logan is one of them.

21

Angel

Logan and I sit in the remnants of the kitchen in the bowling alley, in the walk in freezer to be exact. It’s storming outside, and every once in a while the electricity stutters, blinking on and off just enough to confirm the severity.

The freezer’s been powered off for weeks yet still holds the slight stench of smoke and rotting animal flesh.

We create an entire file on how we could possibly kill off Counts, that is, once we’ve identified who exactly we’ll be killing.

“Why don’t we kill all of them?” Sure it’s bloody, but if they have wicked genes, why not?

“Trust me, you wouldn’t want to. Besides I’m opposed to a complete genocide. The Counts are corrupt because of their leaders. If we’re lucky we won’t have a bloodbath on our hands.”

“Bloodbath.” I let the word hang in the air, stunned with how it coats the inside of my heart and makes it quiver. “What’d you think of Mr. Dudley?” I ask changing the subject.

“Is he the Sector?” His eyes peak at the epiphany.

“No—God no. He’s just some random teacher person.” I’m not really that into protecting Marshall’s identity as I am into protecting myself. He’ll be bound if I open my big mouth unless he captures me, and something in me innately knows he wasn’t kidding when he said he’d choose himself.

Logan looks over at me with his fingers pressed into his cheek as though he were waiting for me to say something that made a little more sense.

“I don’t believe you,” he says.

“I can’t lie to you.” Actually I don’t know that as fact.

“You skirt the truth well.” He studies me with his chin down towards his chest, lips pursed tight in a knot. “Whatever you’ve gotten yourself into, whatever he’s telling you to gain your confidence, it’s not true.”

“What do you mean gotten myself into? You think I’m a troublemaker?”

“No.” He reaches over and picks up my hand.

I shake him loose and sit on my fingers. I know Logan. He wants in on my stream of consciousness to see if he can figure out what’s really going on, and I’m not really good at that whole white noise thing.

“You look pretty guilty.” He rubs his palms over his jeans. “Look I’m not stupid. He’s turned the whole school upside down in one day. I heard his name whispered by every female in a ten-foot proximity. He’s either one of us or one of them. Whatever the heck he is, he’s not human.”

“Right.” If I don’t agree with him, obviously I’ll be covering things up. I should outright suspect him. “So what? He’s ruining your quarterback swagger?”

“Is he?” Logan considers this a moment. He gently lifts me off my seat and over to his lap. Our fingers find one another and flex tight as we hold them in the air. “What did Gage give you?”

“The poem.” I finger the class ring on my necklace, but I’m assuming he’s already seen that a million times.

“Did you like it?” His disappointment comes through clear without bothering to wait for my answer.

“Of course. It was a nice gesture.” I love seeing Logan writhe with jealousy. I love watching the flames shoot up through those tortured amber orbs.

“Looks like I’m down flowers and a poem.” He stares out at the black hole of the kitchen with a bleak expression.

I give a gentle bite on his soft earlobe. I’ll let you make it up to me.

We relax into one long stream of supple warm kisses.

I wish the world would melt away. I don’t want to think about school, or angels with death warrants, and for sure not Mr. Dudley. I want to think about Logan and etching this moment deep in my brain, so I can savor it over and over again later.

Logan wraps his arms tighter around my waist. Me too.

***

Gage drops me off at home. I walk into the house and toss my backpack in the corner of the dining room. Mia and Melissa laugh in unison while watching cartoons, and I try to remember if I still watched cartoons in junior high as I make my way to the fridge.

My feet freeze in their tracks paralyzed by the bizarre sight in front of me.

“Skyla, you know Mr. Dudley.” My mother looks over the rim of her glasses at me.

He’s sitting there with an amused grin, clutching at a folder from my mother’s advertising company.

“Hi,” I say. It comes out weak. The strong scent of spaghetti sauce permeates the air, and I can hear a pot of boiling water whirring on the stove.

“I had no idea your mother ran the Paragon division of Allthorpe.” He lets the folder slip through his fingers and onto the counter.

“He tells me he’s your new math teacher.” My mom sparkles at the thought. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she’s taken by him.

“Sub,” I say making my way over to the fridge. “He’s just a substitute.”

“That’s right. My real passion is animals. I have a horse ranch not too far from here where I run an equestrian school.”

“Nice.” I pour myself some juice completely disinterested in the conversation.

“Skyla.” Mom slaps her hand against the counter. “Do you even realize how very, very rude you are?” She turns to him. “Please excuse my daughter. She’s been in dire need of an attitude adjustment since we set foot on Paragon.”

Normally I would be mortified. Instead I head over and at glance at the computer monitor to see what exactly he has my mother doing.

Guardian Equestrian Academy.

“You like horses?” He asks as though I’m eight-years-old.

“No.” I don’t care either way. I know this is all a ploy to dig into me.

“Skyla.” My mother hisses.

“She’d be a perfect model,” he quips.

My mother takes a breath and examines me up and down.

“Yes. I think a model would be perfect for the ad. We can have her on a horse with the wind in her hair,” she says.

“We should put angel wings on her,” he offers. “She has a rather angelic look about her, don’t you think?” The sarcasm practically sprays all over the room.

“She’s no angel.” My mother clicks away at the keyboard. “Trust me on that one. And, yes, she’ll model for you.”

I see the price of rudeness these days is far too high.

I hang out on the couch until they wrap up their meeting, and she walks him out the door. I wait until my mom comes back into the room before making some lame excuse about an assignment in an effort to catch him on the driveway in private.

“What are you doing?” I pant from the mad dash over. The wind is picking up and thrashing my hair into my face.

“I’m enjoying myself. Aren’t you?” His entire person ignites with the afterglow of taunting.

He’s playing me. The curve of his smile, the way he undresses me with his eyes, he wants more than to protect me.

“Not really,” I say.

“You will, Saturday. I have the perfect horse for you. Would you like a job on the ranch?”

“Scooping horse shit? No thanks.”

“Hmm. Mouth like a gutter. I have other projects for you, should you reconsider.” He opens the passenger side of his metallic blue sports car and throws in his briefcase before circling around to the other side. “Can’t wait to see you in angel wings.” He gives a smug look of satisfaction. His eyes sharpen in my direction. “I plucked them off the angel myself.”

22

Back

Chloe sits opposite me with that same abashed smile on her face she had the first time I arrived. She’s clad in nothing but a sheet, still giddy from her encounter with Logan. The whole situation is an invitation to stick my finger down my throat and vomit all over her bed.

“So are we getting your dad again?” She rumples the sheets, spreads them around her like the bottom of a very full dress.

“You make it sound like we’re picking him up from the airport.” I pluck a loose thread from the floral comforter with repeating patterns of roses. I wonder if Logan will remember the details of tonight. If he burned them into his memory to cherish forever like I would have.

“What’s the matter?” She pulls a curtain of hair away from my eyes. “I know you miss your dad.”

“It’s not just that. Actually that’s gotten better, knowing I can go back and see him. And he remembers, like you.”

She gives a slight nod.

“It’s Logan and Gage and this new person—a teacher named Mr. Dudley.” I tell her about Marshall and all his freaky ways.

The expression bleeds from Chloe’s face. She falls back on her elbows and searches an invisible horizon for answers.

“You need to let them know, and for sure don’t trust him. I’ll poke around and see what I can find out. Horse ranch?” She shakes her head doubtfully. “So what’s going on with Logan and Gage?”

“It’s clear to everybody I’m with Gage. He wrote me a poem.”

“A poem?” She pushes into my knee with her foot. “Does Logan know?”

“Yes.”

“Fantastic.” She restrains a laugh while biting down on her finger.

“You’re loving this aren’t you?”

“Definitely.” Chloe eases into a string of giggles. “For all the misery they’ve given me, I like the thought of a little coming their way. You’re my best revenge.”

Revenge.

I give her a blank stare before falling back on the bed and staring up at the ceiling. A heavy feeling presses against my chest. I want to push aside this endless heartbreak, run away and hide. There has to be somewhere I can go to forget all of this madness, forget who I am. I’d go anywhere not to be me for a minute.

“It’s too much.” She puts an arm around my shoulder. The sweet romantic scent of her perfume rises in the air like an aria.

It is too much. It’s funny how drowning in my emotions often leads to twin feelings in me—to simultaneously want to cry and kick someone’s ass.

“You need to be strong, Skyla. You’re forgetting the most important part.”

“What’s that?” I turn towards her in anticipation of the revelation.

“There’s nobody like you Skyla, except me.” She blinks a smile. “And I’m dead.”

***

My bedroom is unchanged. I marvel at the precision in which we’re able to transport ourselves. How amazingly close we are to the exact moment we were here last, and I wonder if eventually we’ll run into ourselves.

“Have you done this alone yet?” Chloe asks hopping onto the bed.

“No. I prefer the buddy system.” I pluck the book of poems off my desk and toss them in her direction. “Entertain yourself.”

It’s quiet in the hall. The house smells sweet, and now I’m pretty sure I’ll never be able to eat a cookie again without thinking of my father.

I dash downstairs and scan the dish on top of the small table in the entry—keys are still gone. I slide open a drawer in the kitchen, and the keys that had adorned the bottom have vanished.

“Pumpkin, is that you?” My dad calls from the dining room.

I round the corner and offer him a tight, long hug. His scent fills me. I try to memorize how soft he is in his t-shirt, how his cheek bristles against mine.

“Don’t go to work. Stay home, we can hang out.”

“What?” He plucks off his glasses. “A minute ago you were suffering.” He looks at me suspect.

“I am, I mean I was, but I took some pain pills and I feel better. Come on, when was the last time we went out to a movie—just you and me? It can be Skyla and Daddy ditch day.”

“It could be, but it won’t. Now get back upstairs and get to bed, curl up with a good book. Your mom will kill me if I took you to the movies on a school day.”

I consider the irony.

“OK, then let’s watch a movie here.” I shrug. Brilliant.

He folds over the top of the newspaper and mulls it over.

“OK.”

Watching a crappy B rated movie with my dad, turns out to be the single most greatest experience of my entire life. I don’t pay attention to the characters or the plot instead, I nestle in his warmth like a baby chick. I pull his arm over my shoulder and touch my cheek against his bare flesh—press my lips into the soft underbelly of his arm and close my eyes. God, I miss my father.

I must have fallen asleep on the couch. A colorful patchwork quilt my grandmother made covers me. I look out the family room window and see that the sun has come up over the backyard, which is usually where it was by the time I came home from school. Shit!

I bolt up and search the dining room—no sign of dad.

“Sweetie?” I hear his voice in the kitchen.

“There you are,” I say relieved. He’s making a sandwich, still in his sweats and t-shirt. He didn’t go to work today. I changed things.

I give him a full rocking hug.

“I’m going to bed now. I feel delirious. I might not remember any of this later.”

He turns to look at me.

“Why? Are you losing your mind?”

“Something like that.”

I head upstairs and find Chloe hunched over my computer.

“Just friended you on Facebook,” she says casually.

“I should totally friend Logan and Gage!”

“No,” she snarls. “Let’s get out of here. I have a biology test in the morning.”

I take Chloe’s hands, and we sit on the hardwood floor in front of my closet.

“You’re wearing my shirt,” I say recognizing the zebra stripped t-shirt. I hated it even then.

“Yeah, you’ve got bad taste.” She plucks at her chest.

I lock fingers with her and give her a yank.

“You’re like a sister to me, you know that?” I tell her before crossing my legs.

“And you’re like a sister to me.” There’s something sinister in her eyes when she says it, but I believe her.

The room fades to a palpable darkness, everything vanishes, and we’re sitting in a vat of nothing. Before I can say anything, or panic properly, we’re gone.

23

Caught

My father died that evening doing an ice cream run for my mother. That would explain my sudden disdain for the frozen confection and the fact I have no recall of my mother purchasing it since.

Paragon is enveloped in a storm—might as well be a monsoon.

Gage has gotten in the habit of picking me up and dropping me off. Drake and Brielle usually take her Jeep. I miss spending time with Bree. Here I thought we’d be getting closer, and yet we’ve drifted into our own hormone-ruled worlds.

“What’s going on?” Gage asks leaning over his desk. “You haven’t said a thing all morning.”

The bell rang minutes ago, and Marshall is late for class. He’s already quite the sensation around campus. The girls have renamed him Studley Dudley, so there’s a buzz in the air in anticipation of his arrival.

“I went back and tried to save my dad.” I look down at the floor and get lost in the black and white checkered pattern for a moment. The windows rattle in concert with the baritone thunder.

“Same results?”

“Always.”

“So who’d you go with?” He tries to hide the look of disappointment, or maybe it’s jealousy. I’m too worn out to analyze.

“Chloe,” I say, as Mr. Studley strides into class as though the world rides on his timeline. For his sake, I hope it’s his first class of the day, or maybe not. I don’t really care if they fire him.

“Morning class.” Skyla.

I turn fully around to face Gage, not bothering to acknowledge Marshall’s private greeting.

“Logan doesn’t approve of my light driving, as Chloe calls it, so I don’t let him in on my inter-dimensional jaunts.”

“I’ll take a drive with you again.” His face relaxes at the thought.

“OK. I need a plan though. Can you help me come up with something that might actually work to save my dad?”

“Sorry, no promises.” His dimples ignite, but no smile.

The heavy scent of cologne wafts over me, then the thick feeling of a person—not quite human, lingering behind my shoulder.

I turn so fast I bump into Marshall with my knee. An intense glorious feeling runs up and down my bones like a tuning fork. I have to catch my breath from the pleasure of it all. I clasp my hands over the rim of my desk to keep from latching onto him.

“Excuse me.” He steps over my shoes passing out papers as he goes along.

I have a surprise for you in my room at four-thirty.

I have cheer until four-thirty.

He walks passed my desk again.

“Looks like I forgot to give you one.” He places the back of his knuckles over the top of my hand, covering us neatly with the outline of the new syllabus.

Such an intense rush.

I open my mouth, and a choking sound emits.

Four-thirty.

***

Walls of water come down from the sky, sweeping rain, sideways rain. Rain that makes you believe you’re standing on the bottom of the ocean inundates West Paragon.

It’s dark as evening, the lights in the gym flicker in a cyclical pattern, and it feels like we’re doing our routines by candlelight. The football team is adjacent to us running drills, shouting in unison like an army, which makes it impossible to focus, at least for me. Logan and his half shirt—he’s been pumping iron like a prisoner and it shows in so many excellent ways.

“I can’t do this.” Michelle grips her midsection. “I’m cutting out early.”

“Morning sickness?” Brielle whispers over to me with a laugh.

The bitch squad disbands in unison leaving us to watch Nat and Kate jump and kick like a pair of Energizer bunnies.

“Oh, guess what?” Brielle squeals.

She probably scored a C on her lit paper. It doesn’t take much to rile her up with excitement.

“I’m spending the night, Friday,” she coos.

“Awesome.” I could really use some girl time, really clear my head without…

“Not with you. Well, technically with you.”

“Oh, I get it.” She’s going to get busy with my step bother. What is it with her and her fascination with nitwits anyway?

“Oh and I totally want to hear all about your angel thing. I mean do you actually have wings and stuff? I’ve sort of been waiting for you to bring it up, but since you so rudely didn’t, I’m inviting myself into the conversation.”

“Wings? No, but I will Saturday. Come with me to Dudley’s horse ranch. I’m supposed to do some modeling for him.”

She sucks in a sharp breath.

“He is so going to try to sleep with you! Modeling…” She chokes on her words. “It’s practically code for sex.”

If only she knew how right she was.

“It’s legit. My mom’s running the ad for him and everything.” Speaking of which, I check my watch.

Four-thirty.

I jump to my feet.

“I gotta run an errand.”

***

Rain falls like axes, flattening my hair, filling my shoes with an inch of water as I slosh into the English building, sopping wet.

I shake myself off wet dog style, listening to my tennis shoes squeak across the linoleum until I come to Marshall’s classroom.

Door’s shut. I can tell by the shadow from under the door that the lights are off. The one who supposedly can’t lie to me turns out to be a big fat liar after all.

I pivot to go. What if he’s not lying? What if he’s hung himself to prove some macabre point, or is waiting, wearing nothing but a raincoat ready to flash me as soon as I walk through the door?

It is my duty to thoroughly investigate. And, besides, if he’s not there, I can riffle through his desk. He might have a candy bar in there or something, so it won’t be a total loss. Or maybe if I touch his desk, his chair, I might get that intense feeling of a thousand roller coasters and every kiss from Logan and Gage rolled into one. He’s probably transferring some illegal street drug into me by osmosis. He’s that sick, I can tell.

I twist the knob and step inside.

The whites of two pair of eyes pierce the dimly lit room from over by his desk. All I see is long hair sprayed over flesh, and I quickly turn around to face the closet.

Shit!

Breasts! I saw breasts.

I’m going to kill Marshall. I’m going to figure out how he dies and pray he stays dead because obviously he’s perverse. Why else would he call me in to watch him go at it with some girl?

“This goes viral, and I’m coming after you.” A finger spikes hard into my chest.

It’s Michelle!

My toes curl tight, causing my feet to squeak unnaturally.

She motions for me to zip the back of her cheer top, and I do so mechanically, then she leaves.

I turn around in time to see Marshall tending to a zipper of his own.

“You’re sick, you know that?”

“No, I’m quite healthy, actually.” He holds his hands out and gives a placid smile.

“What? Was I late, so you took Michelle?” I say her name like it’s riddled with syphilis.

“Jealous much?” He says throwing his coat on in haste and snapping shut his briefcase. “Step outside. You have a reputation to protect.”

We speed into the hall, walking at a decent clip.

I needed you to see it. She’s got it out for you, and you’re going to need far more ammunition than that. He cuts a hard look.

“I knew it. You can read minds.”

“Simpletons. Not you.”

I pause straightening at the thought. I’m not a simpleton.

Don’t flatter yourself. It’s because you’re Celestra. You’re harder to crack than a lead egg.

“What about Levatio?” I want to know if he’s digging into Gage, picking his brain when no one’s looking.

“Depends—if it’s solid thinking, not usually. But if it’s mush, which open lust causes it to be, why yes, I can hang around and watch the show if I want to.”

We tap dance down the stairs at an alarming clip.

He sets his hand on the door and pauses before exposing us to the harsh elements ready to batter us on the other side.

“That boyfriend of yours has a lascivious mind.” He pulls back his lips and looks into the fog pressing against the window. “In fact you might even say he’s the one who inspired my ingenious plan.” He gives a quick wink and walks briskly into the rain before popping open his umbrella. “Don’t worry, Skyla. My plan includes you.”

That’s exactly what I’m worried about.

24

Game On

Friday night comes, and the rain doesn’t bother to stop for the game. The opposing team is from upstate Washington. Apparently, most teams use Paragon as an excuse to party for the weekend, and lucky for them because the games are rarely cancelled. West High only goes off the island once this season and that’s not until November.

Michelle’s father came out earlier and staked a giant white canopy into the ground for us to cheer under. There’s not a soul in the bleachers, not one sign of a Sector.

Lightening illuminates the night, radiates a glow with the earnestness of midday. The players each revert to the sidelines. It’s impossible to tell if a whistle blew. I can’t hear anyone cheer but myself, and even that is mostly drowned out by the rain.

“They’re calling it off!” Brielle screams into my face.

“Forfeiting?” I scream back.

The players run in our direction, and we line up and extend our hands to the high five ready position. I smile wide at Gage who leads the pack into the gym, but it’s Logan I hold my breath for. We’ve never talked about what I said the last time. I’m pretty sure a high five after a losing game wasn’t the best moment to declare my love for someone. And tonight I have no idea whether we won or lost, or how exactly one might quantify a forfeit.

Logan clasps my hand a second.

Meet me in the gym by the hoops. He makes his way down the line without so much as an extra glance in my direction.

***

Hoops, like basketball, right? I look around the colossal darkened room as my feet create an echo with every step.

A faint whistle emits from behind the bleachers.

“Logan?” I hiss, hardly able to contain my excitement. I see him give a slight wave. His hair is plastered to his forehead, and his white uniform is covered in mud thick as toothpaste.

My heart races as I squeeze behind the metal support beams and make my way over.

“You have a good game?” I ask stupidly. For one, I was there and for two, it was cancelled.

He cocks his head to the side. A devilish smile glides across his lips. Something tells me he’s not too concerned with how stupid my question was.

I’ve been meaning to say something to you. He takes my hand and kisses it.

How much you miss me? And that this game of pretend is really just a big waste of time? I punctuate my questions with a brief kiss. It’s beyond exhilarating kissing Logan right here at West in the gym.

No, not that. He pulls back and lays his hand across my shoulder. His eyes pulsate into mine with intense laser precision. Skyla… he traces my jaw line with his finger. The thick black lines on either side of his face set off the amber of his eyes and make them glow like lanterns. His lips curl into the promise of a smile. I love you.

In one swift move, I hike my legs up over his hips and kiss him in a hysterical fit of passion. This is better than kissing Logan in the gym. This is kissing Logan in the gym with an, I love you.

The metal door to our left explodes open, and I plant my feet back firmly on the floor.

A shadow marches over swift as a ghost. It’s Marshall.

“What in the hell is this?” He asks looking right at me.

We take off past him without a word.

I’ll see you bright and early. Marshall penetrates my mind like a bullhorn.

Outside, Gage is propped against the side of the building tucked safely away from the rain under the awning.

I can’t help but notice the clear look of hurt across his face, and it makes me feel like crap.

“You ready to go?” He asks, wounded.

I pick up his hand as we head out towards the parking lot. I can’t let this keep happening to Gage.

I won’t let it.

25

The Plan

With Dr. Oliver and Emma off the island on business, Gage and Logan opened their doors to, well, everyone.

It turns out driving rain—nails spit from the sky—doesn’t stop a bunch of teenagers from congregating en masse.

It’s dark inside. I’m partially blinded until my eyes have a chance to adjust. There must be a code on Paragon that reads all parties must take place with the lights off. Not that I’m complaining. My makeup has long since melted off, and my hair has blown up twice its size after Brielle attacked it with a blow dryer. Brielle, of course, looks flawless.

“So I’m thinking we head back early,” she says.

“Head back, as in my house?” I find her monkey lust nauseating. “You are aware that we’re at my boyfriend’s house, right?”

“Boyfriends’,” she corrects.

I’m still not sure whether Brielle is onto us or not. I thought I made that whole relationship thing with Gage pretty hard to argue with. Speaking of which, here he comes to lead me upstairs.

He wraps an arm around my waist, and we head on up without incident.

“So you gonna hang out in your room for a while?” I ask. It feels almost motionless up here compared to the riot-like atmosphere happening downstairs.

“Yeah, I’m gonna write you another poem,” he says with a morbid rendition of sarcasm. “Maybe I’ll take the dog out for a walk or jump in the pool.”

My stomach cinches. I can’t look him in the eyes, so I trail the white molding with my gaze.

“We’re just gonna talk.” I’m not expecting him to believe me, but I have no idea how to soften the blow.

“His room’s that way.” He points down to the left before disappearing into the dark.

***

I walk down a series of corridors, each dimly lit with a candle flickering in a sconce on the wall. A part of me wishes Gage took me directly to Logan. But he’s too pissed, so goodbye Mr. Nice Guy.

He knew the deal when he agreed to it. I pause in the fog of darkness and draw in a breath. A part of me is furious for my decision to go along with this. It’s me who’s driving the stake into Gage’s heart, not Logan.

A seam of light sprays out from under a door down the hall. My feet move swift as a brush fire. I open the door and jump in out of the darkness, quickly securing it shut behind me.

He’s lying flat on the bed in jeans and a t-shirt with something strange thrown over his face. I take a few steps closer and startle.

Crap!

It’s a mask—a creepy clown mask. I can’t breathe!

“You scared the junk out me.” I press my hand into my chest.

He tilts his head to the side as if amused, only it looks freaky with that ghastly grimace glued to his face and him not saying anything. Makes me want to run screaming.

He gets up slowly.

“Oh, no. Not with that thing on.” It’s so weird. This is totally out of character for Logan. “Is that you?” I hiss below a whisper.

His head cocks to the side as he takes a few bold steps forward.

I propel back ten paces and hold out my hand.

He flicks his fingers beckoning me over.

“It’s freaking you, Marshall, isn’t it?” I bolt for the door, but he beats me to it and blocks it with his body. “What’s the matter, Michelle not enough for you? Brielle wants in too, does that make you happy? I’m sure you can juggle your four-thirty appointments for months if you wanted.”

He reaches up and plucks off the mask, exposing a very stunned Ellis Harrison.

“Who the hell’s Marshall? And why is he getting all the hot chicks?”

I snatch the mask out of his hand and smack him across the chest with it.

A light knock erupts at the door. It’s Logan.

***

Logan leads me to his bedroom at supersonic speed. Away from flower bearing Ellis who apparently has some girl in there using the bathroom and away from conversations of Marshall who I’m not even supposed to mention.

“So what’s the game plan?” I ask, leaning against the door with a seductive gleam in my eye.

“We’re going to get some serious studying done,” he says, walking over to a small round table off to the side.

“You’re kidding, right?” That’s not your typical protocol right after you declare your love for one another. Usually it manifests itself in a physical form, but I don’t have to spell it out for Logan—do I?

“I’ve got a pretty good map of who’s who in the factions as well as local chapters, thanks to the meeting I went to a few weeks back.”

I take a seat next to him, startled at how serious he is. He has two identical flipcharts set out. A poster board size diagram of names I don’t recognize takes up the center, and triangular splinters that lead to more names I don’t recognize shoot off the sides.

“It looks like you have it all figured out.” I run my fingers across Logan’s hard work as though I expect it to make more sense that way. “You know all these people?”

“Most.” He taps his pen against the page. “I don’t have it all figured out. Do you see what’s missing?” The challenge glints in his eye.

“Celestra, Noster, Levatio, Deorsum….” I look up. “Countenance.”

“Yes.” He nods. “Do you see what we’re up against? I have no clue who they are, not one.”

“Can your uncle help?”

“I asked. He doesn’t know either.” He darts his pen across the room in frustration.

“Who can we ask? There’s got to be somebody.”

He shakes his head, unable to answer.

Then it hits me.

I know a certain Sector who might be willing to help.

26

Let Me Hold Your Hand

Brielle and I drive over to Marshall’s ranch and park in front of his palatial gothic estate.

“Creepy,” she moans, studying the prominent gargoyles adorning every available corner of the structure.

“I know, right?” I say clutching at the door handle. Brielle and I didn’t get to talk last night like I had hoped. She went off to Drake’s room as soon as we got home, and by the time I woke up, they were both downstairs enjoying the pancakes mom whipped up. Weird—if my mother only knew.

We get out of the car and find a note taped to the oversized front doors that bear a striking resemblance to giant elongated coffins.

Please come around back. I’m tending to horses in the barn.

We head over a neatly manicured lawn. The entire house is outlined with dense rose bushes in every shape and color—thorns as thick as knives.

The sun manages to break through a crack in the dense layer of clouds that have pressed low against the island all morning. The cool air whips into a frenzy, so crisp and clean it hurts my L.A. lungs to take in a full breath.

“You think he’s going to care that I came?”

“Right,” I huff. “More like he’s going to try to molest you, so make a run for it while you can.”

“I’d let him have his way with me.” She shags her hair out with her fingers.

“Well then, he’d better write me a thank you for bringing you along.”

“Skyla!” He waves from the large gaping entry to the barn. The barn looks massive, more like an airplane hanger with bright red paneling that creates a spectacle on the outside. “Come in, come in.” He extends his hand, and both Bree and I walk over.

It’s strangely immaculate. It hardly smells like horse crap at all, for which I’m fiercely thankful.

“Brielle, fourth period.” She shakes his hand.

I watch as her face transforms, her eyes revert into her skull momentarily, and I’m surprisingly jealous.

“I know you. If you want, I can go over some quick pointers once I’m through with the shoot, guaranteed to boost your test scores. Do you like horses?”

Brielle stares at her bare hand still hiked up in the air.

“I…” she starts.

“Why don’t you make yourself comfortable in the main house—help yourself to a drink. The television’s in the great room. Hangout and watch whatever you like. I need some alone time with Skyla, and afterwards you can come see the proofs.”

“Not a problem.” She marvels at his offer, ditching out of the barn without so much as a glance in my direction.

“Tips to guarantee you boost your test score?” I scoff.

“Works every time.” He leads us deeper into the cavernous structure and heads into a large empty stall. “Your dressing room. Or should I say your undressing room?” His eyebrows peak at his own cleverness.

“I don’t do birthday suit.”

“Here then,” he reaches over to a bench behind him and picks up a pair of cut off denim shorts and a white tube top. “Put these on too.” He produces a pair of worn tan leather cowboy boots complete with an inch of mud on the heels.

“The woman who wore these still alive?” I muse.

“The definition of life is debatable.” He steps out of the stall and clutches at the door. “I’ll have your wings ready when you get out.”

Nice. Wings. Why do I feel like I’ve stepped into a horror movie?

I squeeze into the ultra short shorts, which are oddly just my size. I pluck off my sweater and bra and pull on the tube top. Thank God I’m wearing socks because there is no way he would have gotten me to stick my bare feet in these disgusting boots. I shake them out upside down before venturing my hand inside to feel for spiders, or snails, or tiny mutant Fems.

I emerge from the stall feeling rather bare and freezing. Marshall breaks out in spontaneous applaud.

“Bella! Bella!” He chants.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Anything.”

“Why is it that when I saw you under water, and in that dream, you looked so much younger?”

“Oh.” He pauses from removing his camera from the case. “Have I aged myself too much?” He stands up and places his hand on my forearm. There’s that rush again. I can’t complain when he touches me. Each time he does it feels so damn good.

His face morphs into a younger teenage version then slowly ages, until he looks the way he does now. “Somewhere in the middle perhaps?” He morphs backwards and shaves off about seven years.

“That’s better. Now you don’t seem like a such a perv.” I leave out the part about him being drop dead gorgeous. “So you have a wife or a girlfriend or something?” I’m not too up on the love life of Sectors.

“I’ve had many suitors. None like you though.”

“I’m not your suitor.” I can’t believe his audacity. Maybe I’m the one about to be molested?

A horse neighs from behind, and he walks over and pulls it out of the stall. It’s a silver looking horse, almost white with a light grey freckling. If Paragon were a horse, this would be it.

I walk over and pet the long flowing mane. So silky—baby fine hair, soft as feathers.

“What were you doing with Logan Oliver in the gym? Revenge sex because you didn’t like the implications of young Gage’s poetry?”

“I don’t have sex, so there’s that.” Not that I didn’t try. “And Logan and I are just friends. I’m in love with Gage.” For a moment I wonder if I accidently said Logan’s name instead.

“You’re in love with Gage?” He frowns. “I haven’t seen you hopping up and down on him, trying to cram your head in his mouth.”

“That’s not what I was doing. I was…” Oh crap, never mind. “Where are the wings?”

“Why are you hiding your relationship with Logan? I can help you.” He shakes his head and holds out his hands as though this were fact. And it might be.

“The Countenance wants me dead—correction, alive.”

“Don’t you know I’m the one they scurry to for help in that department? They’re cowards.”

“I’m supposed to believe it’s just you? I give you whatever you want and I’ll be safe?”

He pulls me back by the elbow and spins me towards him.

“I like you, Skyla. Name something you need, and I’ll give it to you to prove it.”

“I’ll name something I need, but first you tell me what it is you want.”

27

Candor

Marshall pulls me aside, and we take a seat on a large bale of hay, still in solid block formation.

“I’m not going to mix words.” He claps his hands together once. In this younger state he bears a striking resemblance to Logan. “I want you, Skyla.”

I’d ask, why me, but I have an inclination. Logan’s right, how can I trust him—especially now that he confesses to having the same goal as the Counts?

“Say something,” he beckons.

“I don’t know what to say. What do you want from me? I already know the answer. It’s my blood. My body is nothing more than a vessel that contains a pure Celestra.”

“I want so much more.” He places his hand on my bare knee and that intense rush is far sharper and well defined than it’s ever been before. I don’t remove his hand. Instead I writhe inside with this bionic otherworldly electrocution that makes me feel like I can float right out of my skin. “I want you to fall in love with me. Is that outside of the realm of possibility? I think you’re funny and smart and witty. You’re everything I am, but better.”

His words don’t faze me. It’s clear he’s openly placating me.

“Tell me what I can do for you. I’ll do anything if you give me the chance to make you fall in love with me. There is no limit, not even the sky.”

“Bring my father back to life.” I’ll never fall in love with Marshall, but no use in pretending I’m above using him.

“Did he die in a fire? We both know the answer to that. Something else.”

“I want to know who the Counts are.” It comes to me clear as a bell as though I were continuing a thought that I conceived last night.

“Done,” he taps my knee before folding his hands.

“That’s it? You’re going to do it? I’ll need a list, a directory or I don’t know, a picture gallery to go with it…” My mind races with the possibilities.

“No, I don’t have that kind of patience, and, to be honest that wouldn’t benefit me much. When I spot one walking by, I’ll touch you, and it’ll open your spiritual eyes. They’re blue in nature.”

“Blue? What color am I?”

He smiles and gives an easy laugh as he gets up and reaches behind an old small shed.

“You, my love, will have to see that with your very own eyes. But not now.” He pulls two large, dirty wings out—giant—at least six by five feet each. I lay my hand on the soft downy wings. Bird wings, dove wings, real freaking wings. I can’t break my gaze, I’m so mesmerized.

“Here.” He clips them to the back of my top. I hold up the front so I don’t accidently expose myself from the weight of them.

Marshall helps me on the horse and instructs me to lie with my chest against its back. He arranges my hair so that it’s dangling all over, careful not to cover my face. I can feel the weight of the wings pressed against my back. They feel like a small body taking a nap between my shoulders. It feels so good like this, comfortable, natural.

He takes a million pictures, all with me locked in the same position. I don’t offer to do anything else other than lie there and blink.

***

After, I get dressed, and he leads me to the main house. Surprisingly the interior is quite normal, no death wings, or dragons, or anything else the outside might have implied.

“I’m going to help Brielle with her equations now.” He says it so matter of fact I almost believe him. “Make yourself at home. I’m aware you’re going to prowl. Try not to steal. I don’t look too kindly on thieves.” He averts his eyes as though he knows this too is inevitable.

Brielle giggles all the way upstairs.

It’s interesting. The house looks so common like a normal family could live here. No eerie heirlooms, no relics from the past, just plain everyday crap you see in people’s homes. I riffle through drawer after drawer, looking for anything that might incriminate him.

I slide open the drawer to the silverware with no real interest. A small crowd of screams emits from somewhere below then dulls out as I close it. I open the drawer again, and I hear the scream of a tiny crowd. I slowly shut the drawer, and the screaming muffles.

“What the?” I slide open the drawer to examine the silverware, and the noise stops. Faces. On each knife, fork, and spoon, a startled screaming face is etched into the handle. Weird. I comb through the stack, each one looks different—one of a beautiful girl, one of a disheveled man, each one more unique than the last. A knife catches my attention. The face would not have been so recognizable if it weren’t for the shag of wild metallic hair—it’s Ezrina. The image of her hanging from a noose a few weeks back blinks through my mind. She looks decidedly horrific, and the piece sets a wild shiver though me. I go to return the blade to the drawer, but end up burying it in my purse instead. There’s something mysterious about it, and I want more time to examine it later. I want to dig deeper into the drawer, but the mystery of the others unnerves me.

I riffle through cabinets and desk drawers—bills, checkbooks, old magnifying glasses, nothing of any great interest.

About an hour later, Brielle sails downstairs glowing like metal that was left in the fire too long.

“Thanks Mr. D.,” she says as we head out the front door. She trots over to the Jeep and stops to rummage through her purse for the keys.

“You find anything interesting?” He asks.

“Just one thing.” I don’t bother telling him what it is.

“Remember our little deal?” He twists his head down in my direction. He’s fresh from the shower, and the strong scent of soap clings to him.

“Yes.”

He reaches down and picks up my hand and sends a welcome vibration sizzling through my body. He kisses the tip of my middle finger and nods towards Brielle.

I look over and see her waving.

She’s blue.

28

Peril

Sunday after church, when Carly and Carson offer to hang out and drive me home, I don’t hesitate to take them up on the offer. If I have to listen to Tad balk about his ingrown toenail for another minute, I’m going heave all over his newly cleaned upholstery. Besides, I’m hoping I could get them to drop me off at the bowling alley, so I can tell Logan all about Brielle. It’s something I want to share with him in person.

Carson and Carly are both really nice. I guess Carson has totally overlooked that whole drama thing with the spiked lemonade. She said it was no big deal, and it wasn’t the first time she was called out on something stupid like that. She even apologized for my accidental foray into drunken debauchery.

They sit in the front seat and chatter amongst themselves on the drive home. I try to interject an opinion or share a thought, but mostly I’m overlooked.

“So where we going?” I ask as Carson turns down a dirt road that looks pretty endless. “You can just drop me off at the bowling alley. I know you guys live on the other side, so it’s no big deal. Gage can give me a ride the rest of the way.”

Hard silence slices through the air like razorblades. A heavy feeling settles over the three of us, and suddenly it doesn’t feel like a Sunday drive with friends anymore.

“Um, I can…” I try again.

In one quick motion, Carly twists her blonde head around.

“It’s a short cut,” she barks. The perennial kindness has evaporated, replaced with a cold anger that’s layered with something more malevolent.

Trees stream by—fog fills in the forest. It gets progressively darker the deeper we roll into the woods.

“Looks like we’re here.” Carson pulls into a narrow clearing that barely affords her the space to turn around and abruptly slams on the brakes.

“Shit!” I say as my face pushes into the passenger’s seat.

They eject themselves from the car simultaneously and open the door for me to get out on Carson’s side. It’s ice cold—damp as a bath. Carly snatches my cell from out of my jeans and sends it sailing into the thicket to our left.

“You bitch,” I say, taking a step in the direction of my now absent phone.

“Takes one to know one.” Carson shuts my door and gets back in the car.

“Tell Logan I said hi,” Carly says before ditching into the passenger’s seat.

Carson starts the engine and rolls down her window.

“I’d threaten you not to tell anybody, but we already know you’re a little snitch.” She turns the car around in a fit and misses me by inches.

“Have a nice hike!” Carly shouts out the window as they speed down the trail. A plume of dust follows the tires, filling the air with the sweet scent of earth.

Great.

I head off in the direction of my phone. Shadows fall from every direction. Thick branches weave themselves into a luminescent tapestry overhead, and I can hear the distinct baritone chirp of a bird emanating from behind.

It’s him. A tall black raven bends the bough of a low evergreen branch. His head twitches incessantly before settling its hollow eyes in my direction.

“Get Gage!” I shout, but it doesn’t move. Or was there some motion I’m supposed to do? I tap my lips then point hard towards the west. Nothing.

The soft crush of pine needles awakens the silence. A black shadow from up above, screams through the air. It’s the raven disintegrating in the thick blanket of fog, I hope, going to find Gage.

The sky dims, the clouds shift and tumble until it’s evident that the storm due for tonight is going to land sooner than anticipated. Another loud crushing noise emits from deep inside the forest floor, this time the distinct sound of crunching leaves, snapping twigs. Something heavy this way comes—a person, maybe a Fem.

My chest heaves as a steady stream of vapors drift in and out of my nostrils.

If you scream in the forest with no one around, do you really make a noise?

A cold sweat breaks out all over my body as I try to still myself and listen. I scan the ground manically for the phone. With my luck, it got caught up in a branch.

Footsteps—oh my God. It takes everything in me not to pass out.

I force myself to propel forward, taking in quick erratic breaths. My ears pulsate with the rush of adrenaline, deafening me with fear.

The footsteps quicken, stemming from the total pit of darkness to my left. I try to strain my eyes into the black hole. It’s like looking into the mouth of a deep and unknowable cave. I start to run, still staring in the direction of the footsteps, until I smack hard into an object with the back of my head. I jump back with my hands splayed out to protect me.

A shoe.

I look up.

I hit a shoe, attached to a body, attached to a noose…

A piercing scream escapes from my throat so primal it lights up the forest with a series of disruptive echoes. I back away and hit something hard that sways when I touch it. I turn around to find another body strung up on a tree. A locked scream lodges in my throat as I twirl for an escape. The forest is dotted with dangling corpses. Grey bloated flesh, pulling apart from the cinching of the noose, dripping blood with flies dousing them like black blankets.

If fear were an animal, a person, a thing, I could only hope to kill it. There is no escape from this paralyzing psychosis. I take in uneven breaths as I stagger in a lopsided circle.

Someone grabs my fingers—cold icy hands. I turn abruptly to see a familiar mass of red untamed hair, wild crimson eyes, skin as pale as snow, lips like a paper cut—Ezrina.

She clasps my hand. A quick band of metal falls like a silver rainbow over the inside of my left arm.

I struggle to get out from her grasp, pushing violently, as she hacks into my elbow with military precision.

I try to pull away and let out a scream.

She plunges the blade into the joint of my elbow and gives a wild yank.

With our fingers still interlaced, she clutches my disconnected bloodied arm close to her chest. She gives a peaceful smile. Then disappears.

The entire forest returns to fog and shadows, not a body on a tree—only me and my lifeblood quickly evaporating. The raven circles high above my head, it disorients me.

Footsteps trek forward—it’s Gage.

He stops to take me in. His face blanches out of all color, riddled with shock.

“Can you call my phone?” I ask, right before I black out.

29

Together

I vaguely remember being jostled around in Gage’s truck, him apologizing for being stubborn and not getting Logan, because he could have used the extra help applying pressure to my wound.

A cool hand squeezes my cheeks. The distinct odor of something strong pulls me into consciousness. I try to get up on my elbows, but I’m unable to move, there’s something strapped across my chest.

“Am I at the hospital?” I gasp for air. My eyes flutter open trying to force the world into focus.

“No. You’re here.” Dr. Oliver’s voice washes over me in waves.

I’m here… where’s here? I look back and forth at the cold sterile room.

“I’m at the morgue?” A shrill panic rattles through me. “I’m dead?”

“No.” He pats my forehead with a cool damp towel. “Are you in pain?” His forehead ignites in a row of deep-set wrinkles.

I shake my head. It smells disgusting in here, like catsup. I hate that smell.

“Are you going to be sick?” He holds up a small pink basin.

“No. But I need to sit up.” I feel dizzy, but I manage to withhold that tiny detail.

He pushes a pillow up under my head and squeezes another one under my back, unbuckling the belt that was holding me down.

“Oh my God!” I scream when I see it. The upper half of my arm bandaged out three times its size, the tip of it immersed in a tub of ice. “It’s gone.” I hiss. My fingers, my hand—it’s as though every memory I’ve ever had of my now absent appendage flashes through my mind and suddenly I’m grieving a long lost friend.

“It’s going to be OK, Skyla. Worse case scenario we can’t replace it.”

“Replace?” I’m dazed.

“If the transplant doesn’t take, we’ll have to get you to the hospital. But don’t worry about that, I have all of the instruments here to undergo the procedure. One of the Celestra gifts is selective restoration. Because you’re pure, you have a unique ability to heal—to reanimate—on occasion.”

“Reanimate.” I take in a deep breath and let it out in full. “Where are they? Logan and Gage.”

Something’s not right. They should be here with me. I remember the forest, the bodies, Ezrina and that peaceable smile with my arm tucked into her chest. I blink hard trying to erase the image from my mind.

“They’re in the cemetery.”

“What are they doing in the cemetery?” The words come out pressured, fearful.

He snaps on a pair of bright blue latex gloves and looks over at me as though I should know.

“They’re digging up the body.”

***

“Hey.” Teeth glimmer above me. I can’t make out the mouth, the face. My eyelids feel as though they’ve been pasted shut. “It’s me, Logan.”

I force myself to look up. His face is illuminated, over exposed from an ultra bright light, and for a second, only his eyes and teeth are visible. The powerful spotlight snaps off and I can see him better.

“You did great,” he assures me. “You’re going to play softball by spring.” He reassures.

“Christmas.” His uncle chimes in from behind.

A surge of adrenaline takes over, and I become fully alert.

“I want to sit up.” I spit the words out fast.

Logan and his uncle help prop me up on pillows. My entire left arm is bandaged, this time right past my fingertips.

Oh gross. Oh no.

Vomit rises to the back of my throat, but I manage to stave it off.

“Whose…” I’m afraid to formulate the rest of the question.

Gage emerges from the other side of the steel doors, and his entire face opens up with pleasure when he sees me.

“You’re doing great.” He says gliding in next to me. “I just got off the phone with your mom.”

My mouth falls open.

“Don’t panic. I told her you were doing some cheers, and your back went out and that you might have tweaked your elbow. I had my mom talk to her and say she’d chaperone us, so you don’t have to go home tonight.” A devilish smile digs into his left cheek.

“Oh.” I shift onto my right elbow. “So when she goes to look at my elbow that I tweaked, how do I explain the rotting flesh hanging off it?”

“You won’t.” Dr. Oliver slides over on his chair. “You’re going to be able to use your arm in a couple days. The flesh has already begun to heal, tissue’s good as new.”

“Whose tissue?” I look from Logan to Dr. Oliver. “Whose tissue is good as new?”

“The best match for you is another Celestra.” Says Dr. Oliver. “We had a few to choose from depending on the progress of the decomposition.”

Logan wipes the hair off my forehead and tucks it carefully behind my ear.

“So who’d you choose? Whose arm do I have?”

Logan eyes round out as he looks at me.

“It’s Chloe’s. You have Chloe’s arm.”

30

Life

Logan’s Aunt Emma has the downstairs guest bedroom all ready for me. Gage helps me move into the center of the queen-sized bed and helps prop up the pillows behind me. The room glows a gentle cream with a small floral border that circles around the room just under the ceiling.

Logan comes in with a tray of fresh baked cookies and a tall glass of milk that Emma baked when she heard I was coming to stay.

“If there’s anything you need, press this button.” She hands me a portable intercom. “I’ll be upstairs. Goodnight.” She waves before leaving.

“Thank you.” I feel surprisingly normal, save for the fact my left arm is bloated and immobile. Dr. Oliver strapped it to my chest in a splint. It really does look like I’ve just sprained my elbow.

“So, tell me what happened.” Logan lowers his voice as though he were trying to lure the details out of me.

“Carson and Carly…they offered to drive me home from church. They seemed nice and friendly until they dropped me off in the middle of nowhere and pitched my cell phone into the forest.” I look over at Gage trying to offer an explanation for my bizarre remark earlier. “Then there were these bodies hanging from the trees, and I was scared spitless,” I pause. “The next thing I knew, Ezrina was slicing through my flesh and, poof, she disappeared.” I turn towards Gage. “That’s when you came.”

Logan climbs on the bed and scoots in towards my good side.

“Fems.” He says mostly to himself. “As for Ezrina, she doesn’t come unless she’s called.”

“She sure came when I first got here—hung herself out my window, then took me to the chop shop.”

“That’s because the Counts summoned her after they stole your blood from the lab.” Logan picks up my hand and traces small round circles on the soft flesh of my palm.

“So who called her this time?” Gage directs it at Logan.

“Counts—they want me in pieces.” It’s obvious I’ll never be safe.

“No.” Logan shakes his head. “There’s something more specific. Besides you’re with Gage. As long as you’re not an active threat, they’ll let you live. They have some backwards code of ethics they work from.”

My left arm feels light and tingly. I try to twitch my fingers—Chloe’s fingers, from inside my bindings, and they move.

“I moved my fingers!”

“Great.” Logan’s face flushes with amazement. “I say we arm wrestle and put it to the test.”

“Ha.” A part of me wants to shoo them out of the room, so I can fall asleep and tell Chloe the great news, only it’s not so great if you’re Chloe.

“What’s wrong?” Gage sits gingerly on the edge of the bed. “You want something else to eat? A burger?”

“No thanks.” I shake the thought of Chloe out of my head. “Brielle’s a Count.”

I start in slow, explaining my modeling gig for Marshall. I let them know only the basic details before dropping the bomb about Marshall, a.k.a Mr. Dudley, being a Sector, touching me and letting me see Brielle for who she really is.

“Shit.” Gage mutters under his breath. He takes a small book off the end table and launches it into the wall.

“What? He’s completely harmless—so far. Besides, he has this strange ability to make you feel really good when he touches you. Oh, and he can read minds,” I turn to Logan. “Not ours,” I pause. “Gage, he can read yours to an extent. He says you run a porn reel during math class.” The tips of his ears turn bright red. “Also, he threatened to take me captive if I told.”

“Well then we don’t know anything, do we?” Logan gives a wry smile. “Use him. Have him show you who the Counts are.”

“It’s going to look bad. He’s a teacher,” I say.

“Doesn’t matter. He’s strange—eccentric, plus you’re working for him. It’s not that big a deal.”

Since when is playing with Sectors not that big a deal? I stare at him with an open mouth.

“I guess you’re right.” I snap out of it. My arm tingles. The flesh on my new forearm is starting to itch. “It’s itching.” I marvel. It’s like I’m brand new. Who knew I had all this powerful blood in me? A perfect Celestra can reanimate. No wonder I’m so…. I stop myself. “A perfect Celestra can reanimate,” I say out loud.

A cloud of deafening silence clots up the room. I can barely breathe from the excitement following this trail of knowledge.

“Where’s Chloe’s body?” It comes out robotic—restrained.

“In the refrigeration unit. We were too exhausted to put her back,” Gage offers.

“Don’t put her back. Keep her in the fridge.”

Logan leans in with a stern look across his face. He rolls the cut fabric of my unraveling sweater between his fingers.

“We can use my blood to bring her back,” I add.

They scoff in unison. It’s as though I’ve just suggested the most childish idea they’ve ever heard.

“I’ll donate my blood. A pint a week or whatever I can until we have enough to bring her back.”

“She’s full of formaldehyde,” Gage informs me.

“Pump it out of her.”

His face loosens. He’s shocked at how serious I am.

“I want to save my friend.” I would much rather tell Chloe I’m going to bring her back, than show off my new designer Bishop arm. I’m sure she’d be less than thrilled to see we’re using her for parts.

Gage bends over and lands a soft kiss on my forehead, says goodnight and heads up to bed.

It feels so safe here at the Oliver’s house. I wish I could live here permanently. A wave of fatigue washes over me, and I tuck my head in the crook of Logan’s neck.

My lids close without hope of opening again until morning and it puts me in the mood for a bedtime story.

“Why did Ezrina cut off my arm?”

Logan tightens his grip around my waist and pulls in close.

“Because she wanted to chop you up and kill you,” he says.

Perhaps not quite the bedtime story I was looking for.

31

Strange Love

Gage makes chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast. He’s showered and dressed beyond early, and we eat them in the kitchen with Logan who’s yet to get ready for anything. Logan gazes at me with a sweet boyishness about him. It’s like waking up in his arms has brought our relationship to whole new level.

Dr. Oliver changes my bandage before leaving for work and reduces me to a sling with a gauze sock over my arm.

“Skyla?” Emma rounds out the corner. “I hope you don’t mind, I took the liberty of washing your purse—it was covered in blood. I didn’t mean to pry or anything, but when I emptied it, I found this. Would you mind me asking what it is?” Her nose twitches as she examines the silver knife with the handle carved out. “Looks like…” She stops short of saying Ezrina’s name.

“I think it is,” I say.

Logan and Gage hover over the object equally perplexed.

“Where’d you get this?” Logan takes the knife from his mother and holds it out in the light. It glints unnaturally, stabbing us with its brilliance as we struggle to examine it.

“Mr. Dudley’s house. I was looking around while he was…” Emma’s still in the room and I don’t feel like exploiting Brielle’s sexual adventures. “Busy. I thought it was strange. I meant to show it to you.” I lean into it. “It’s her. No doubt.”

“It is her.” Logan tosses it in the air several inches before gripping it. “This is what did it.” He shoots a look to Gage.

“Did what?” If it’s capable of doing things, then I don’t even want to touch it.

“It called her.” Logan places it down on the kitchen island carefully. “It sort of works in the opposite manner of an amulet, and ironically, those don’t work at all. These do.” He flicks it, and it spins as though it were rabid. “You can call evil to yourself by simply having some kind of wicked effigy. It becomes the venue—the window into your world.”

“That makes no sense.” I look to Gage hoping he’ll side with me.

“It’s true.” Gage picks it up and examines the finer details of the sculpture by rubbing his thumb over it. “You ever hear of people buying antiques—old dolls and later claim they were haunted? Same thing. Ezrina must have been beyond happy when she saw it was you disrupting her.”

“Now she’s got my arm.”

The doorbell rings. Within seconds my mother’s voice mixes in the entry along with Emma’s before they both appear in the kitchen.

“Mom!” I’m not that thrilled to see her. I’m scared as hell she’s going to notice that I’m sporting a whole new freaking arm.

“Skyla.” She lays the sympathy on pretty thick, taking up my face in both her hands, giving my forehead a tender kiss. “Your arm!” she gasps. “Let’s see it.” She carefully unhooks the sling and starts pulling off the gauze.

“I don’t know….it’s real sore. I banged it up pretty ba—” Before I can finish, she’s removed the bandage and glossed over it. It’s surprisingly healed. Hardly a seam noticeable where it was attached. The only difference being the flesh is slightly more olive than my own.

“What’s this?” She runs her finger along a scar on the underbelly of Chloe’s arm, must be from when she was taken. Why didn’t that heal? Which reminds me, does she have all her organs for my halfcocked plan to work? Her brain?

“Fell in the yard.” I press my lips together hard, disappointed at how easy it is for me to lie to my mother.

“Well, I’ve got some vitamin E back home that might take care of that. Nice nails, by the way.” She holds up Chloe’s fingertips, bright red acrylics squared off at the tips.

Shit! I hide my other hand behind my back.

“Clothes are in your backpack.” She places it next to me on the floor. “I have to run. Can you catch a ride to school?”

Gage steps forward and places his arm around my shoulder. You can practically see his chest swell with pride that he gets to start his morning off as playing the part of super hero.

“I got it. I’ll make sure she gets home safe too,” he offers.

“Great. I’ll see you later.” She heads into the foyer. I can hear Mom tell Emma they should get together for coffee and what great kids she has.

Logan cuts a hard look at Gage with his arm still relaxed over my shoulder.

“Guess I’m off duty.” Gage lifts his hand defensively. But it’s the underlying hurt in his voice that wraps itself around my heart and breaks it.

***

It’s on the long drive to school that I make the decision that I’m going to commit myself to Gage. Obviously I’m not leaving Logan, but I’m not going to be faking it with Gage when he’s clearly one hundred percent committed to me. If he’s willing to be my boyfriend, I should be willing to be his girlfriend. I just won’t mention anything to Logan, and if he sees me with Gage and it looks beyond convincing…

The student parking lot is full, so we end up in the gravel patch that’s used for overflow.

Gage comes around as I’m getting out and tosses my backpack over his shoulder. The sun breaks through a sea of thick steel grey clouds, and I put my hand up over my eyes, so I can look up at him. He plucks something from his pocket and hands it over.

“My cell phone!”

“Couldn’t sleep, so I got up early and took a drive.” He shrugs.

“I’m really glad I have you.” I meant to say, in my life, but a giant knot constricts my vocal chords and doesn’t let the words pass. I lean forward and kiss him right there in the lot with nobody else to witness it—a long lingering kiss that says so much more than words.

I don’t plan on pretending with Gage anymore.

32

Blue, I See You

Marshall—Mr. Dudley, is late again—late, late, late. I’m surprised they haven’t fired his ass already.

He strolls in as though it were the most natural thing in the world to leave your class unattended for the first twenty minutes. I wonder if Michelle or Brielle or any other part of his high school harem has something to do with this. Then again, I don’t want to know.

“So what happen to your arm?” Ellis asks with his eyes glazed over. I can make out thousands of crimson tracks, which ironically really brings out the blue of his eyes. He’s all American that way—red, white, and blue eyes for all the wrong reasons.

“I fell.”

“That’s what they all say.” His chest puffs up as he scoffs over at Gage. “You beat her?”

“No, but I can beat you.” He blinks a quick smile.

“What’s this? War breaking out?” Marshall passes out papers before stopping abruptly. “What happened to your arm?”

“I fell.”

“That’s her story, and she’s sticking to it.” Ellis turns around.

I can smell the weed on his breath, or shirt—both.

I don’t believe you. Marshall places the paper on my desk and taps my hand.

I needed that. It’s like I’ve been craving him. I could have used him yesterday while I was having my body rearranged. I don’t think I’d mind having my head hacked off as long as Marshall was lounging all over me.

Gage waits until he’s clear across the room before leaning in. “I called him an asshole, at least a dozen times. I don’t think he heard me.”

Marshall’s body straightens. He turns and walks over briskly in our direction. The rest of the class is busy pulling out homework, shuffling worksheets to notice his agitated clip. He squats down next to Gage.

“I have remarkable hearing.” Marshall seethes the words out. “By the way, Mr. Oliver, I would never disrespect you by resorting to name calling. I more than heavily frown upon people who decide to errantly take my name in vain. From this moment forth, I shall refer to you as, asshole.”

A low gasp circles the room.

I can hardly breathe.

Can a teacher refer to a student as, asshole? Is he trying to lose his job?

For the next thirty minutes, he references Gage as asshole, on three different occasions eliciting a comedic response from the rest of the class.

I just glare at Marshall, shoot daggers at him, and each time he offers a sly smile in my direction.

I’m going to tell Ms. Rice, the principal. Maybe.

The bell rings, and the room starts to drain.

“I’m going to talk to him,” I say.

“Tell him the asshole says hi.” Gage takes my backpack from me and slings it over his shoulder. I wait until he clears the door before heading over.

Marshall holds up a hand. He’s rifling through his briefcase, organized as a recycling bin.

“Don’t bother. I know you’re not happy,” he says, pressing his hand flat inside the mess in an effort to help it close. “I thought I’d have a little fun with young Oliver. Should I make sport of Logan, too?”

“No.”

Michelle files in and lets her gaze linger before making her way towards the back of the room.

“Fine. I’ll take down one boyfriend at a time.” He winks. “Now I’m going to please you. Turn around.”

“What?” I don’t understand a thing about this man—creature.

“Turn around.”

I face the class. Half the seats are filled up with new faces and half are stragglers from second. Marshall steps around the desk and touches my new hand protruding from the sling.

I scan the faces. Everyone looks a deathly shade of grey, all except one.

It’s Ellis.

“He’s blue,” I whisper.

“And this isn’t your hand.”

***

I avoid Marshall the rest of the day—Ellis too. What do I say? You’re a Count, and I know it? What about Brielle?

She adjusts her shoelaces on the grass next to me. It’s damp, and I’m pretty sure my shorts are going to have a permanent green impression of my cheeks once the season’s over.

“So what’s up with Michelle?” she whispers.

“I don’t know.” Not that I haven’t noticed. She’s uber giddy and acts like everything you say is the funniest thing. We’re just about through with practice when she called for a break, and now she’s huddling with Emily and Lexy—probably giving them a play by play of her four-thirty running appointment.

“I hear she’s seeing Dudley,” Brielle announces as she slides her heel in and out of her shoe in an effort to adjust it.

“I heard that, too.” I don’t bother filling her in on the fact I’ve actually witnessed encounters.

“So funny.” Brielle breaks into a low gurgled laugh. “I hope she falls madly in love with him, and he completely smashes her heart—if she has one.”

The whistle blows, and Ms. Richards claps her hands. “Skyla, take care of that arm. I’ll see you girls tomorrow.” Her strawberry blonde hair does its best Einstein impression in the wind.

“Drake and I are headed to Devil’s Peak. It’s our one month anniversary.”

“So you’re jumping off to spare yourself the misery?” I ask.

“Very not funny.” She shakes her head with a look of apathy. “I still can’t believe you’re not with Logan. You were so perfect for each other.” She pulls my hair back from my face and gives a sweet smile.

Brielle seems genuine in everyway. It’s not possible that she hates me—Ellis either.

We stand and shake the grass off the back of our legs. Marshall comes strutting out in our direction. It’s as though the entire female population has ceased breathing, including Ms. Richards.

He takes her up by the elbow and whispers something right in her ear. Her eyelids flutter. She sways on her heels before nodding and giving a seductive smile.

“Looks like faculty is in for the ride.” Brielle’s not too fazed by this. It’s like she’s met her male counterpart, and sadly for Drake, it’s not him.

Brielle takes off towards the gym, but I linger. Bodies disperse, and Ms. Richards ducks into the gym with a majority of the girls. All except Michelle, she darts over to Marshall like he’s put her under some sort of a spell. I pretend to get a drink from the fountain while watching them through my peripheral vision.

He pulls a chain from out of his pocket—something small dangles from it. He leans in and whispers in her ear before placing it around her neck. Her color peaks like a flickering fire.

He put a freaking necklace on her, right here out in the open.

I gape disbelieving. He’s brazenly flirting with her as though he were a student. I’m so shocked I can’t move.

They part, and Michelle heads back to the gym. When she sees me she starts in on a fit of giggles and heads over like we’re suddenly BFF’s.

“He gave me a necklace.” She fingers the pendant.

“What is it?” I lean in. She drops it against her chest. It’s an old silver chain with a pendant of a small open rose stained black in the crevices. I’m not too sure I’d be thrilled with a black rose from anyone. “Nice.” It almost comes out a question.

“So I found out he’s not that much older than me, and he’s got this amazing horse ranch. I’m going to get a job there, so we can spend more time together.” She says, get a job with air quotes.

“Not good.” I can’t seem to muster any faux enthusiasm at the moment. I can lie to my mother, but I can’t lie to Michelle? What’s up with that?

“So you think he’s cute?” She lets the comment ride.

“Oh totally,” I shrug.

“I think he’s like a Greek god or something. It’s a miracle we met.”

“Or something.” I watch uneasy as she gives a stupid grin, twirling her head around in small circles like she’s having some kind of a lust induced seizure.

She heads towards the gym—skipping.

This is going to end badly.

I can feel it in my bones.

33

Chloe with the Blue Dress

I spend the better half of the night soaking my new fingers in acetate trying to get the acrylics off. I manage to get them whittled down part way until it looks like a rat’s been gnawing on the tips of my fingers.

As soon as I hit the sheets, I force myself to get to Chloe quick as I can. I can’t wait to tell her my plan.

My eyes flutter open, and I’m on her bed, only she’s not naked under the sheets, and I sit up quickly half expecting Logan to come out of the bathroom or something.

Two formal dresses hang like ghosts up over the door, a pale blue strapless and one the color of butter.

“You’re here!” She balls her fists and gives a mock cheer. “Tomorrow night’s homecoming.” She picks up both my hands and bows into me. “In which I shall be queen.” She mock curtseys, barely able to contain her excitement.

“You can’t know that.” She is going to be queen, but I’m not going to spoil it for her.

“Gage told me.” She rushes to the vanity and examines her complexion.

Homecoming. That’s the night Chloe disappears. My skin prickles. This is her last night on earth. The last time she’ll ever lay her head on the pillow, see the room in this light.

“Which one?” She takes down both dresses and airs them out on either side of her.

“I don’t know.” I can’t match her enthusiasm. “The yellow is nice, but I think I like the…” before I can finish, she rattles the pale dress in the air.

“I thought so, too. Yellow’s too formal—blue dress rocks.” She discards the yellow dress into a heap on the floor and places the light blue one around her neck by the hanger. “You think it’ll be me and Logan?” She sways holding out her dress like a little girl pretending to be a princess.

“No clue. I haven’t heard much about homecoming.” True—only the grim details that take place after. “Um, I can’t figure out how to save my dad.” Suddenly, I feel guilty even being here.

She stops cold from digging into her makeup bag. In one swift movement she throws down the glossy pouch and plucks the dress off her neck.

“Skyla.” Her long thin arm collapses over me.

I can’t help but note her fresh polished nails. It’s really screwing with my head that there are three of Chloe’s arms in this room.

“Your dad, he died in a fire.” She picks up my chin gently. “I’ve never heard of any way to retract that.”

“But you didn’t.” My affect brightens. “Chloe,” I pull her to the bed, and we sit down. “Don’t get upset. I had this crazy accident,” I pause trying to figure out how exactly my brain managed to classify this as an accident. “A run in with Ezrina.”

“Ezrina?” She purrs when she says her name. If I had time, I’d analyze that satisfied smile layered beneath her concern.

“Yes. She hacked my arm off.” I hold it out as though it proves a point.

“You look fine.” Her eyes sweep me up and down like she’s fearing for my sanity.

“I am fine—thanks to you.” I hold out my new arm as though I were bearing a gift. “This is your arm, Chloe. Dr. Oliver reconnected it, and, in a few short hours, I was able to move my fingers. I could pitch a baseball game if I wanted.”

Her features darken.

Shit. The last thing I wanted to do was depress the hell out her, and on this, her last night breathing.

“Chloe.” I grab a hold of her by the shoulders, but she shrugs me off. “I can do this for you. I can bring you back, with my blood.”

Her entire person relaxes. She stares off towards the closet as though she were seeing a series of tragic events unfold.

“I’ll be missing an arm.”

“I’ll give it back to you.” I’m incensed she isn’t jumping at the offer.

“What if my brain malfunctions?”

“It won’t.”

She slits her eyes in my direction and gives the slightest wicked grin.

“Then do it.”

34

Crazy for You

The dark sky lays over Paragon like an ashen wool blanket. The air is condensed so thick, you can’t move a foot without drenching yourself in dew.

Dr. Booth, the psychiatrist Tad and my mom forced upon me, has been on vacation, so my sessions were preempted accordingly. Mom leads me up to his office by the hand like I’m seven, but I let her. I think back to my dad and wonder if I ever shrugged him off—probably. If it’s one thing his death has taught me it is to appreciate the flesh and blood in front of you. You never know when it will disappear.

Dr. Booth sits with his hands stretched behind his neck, feet up on the desk. I don’t really mind seeing him since he confided he was a Levatio. This whole session thing is just a sham to please my parents more than anything else. At least, I think it is.

“So let me get this straight—you have a Sector leeching onto you, you’ve unearthed a dead body and harvested it for parts,” he nods towards my arm. “You’ve decided you’re not really leading on Gage because he too is your real boyfriend, and your best friend and some stoner from math class are both Counts.”

“Right,” I can’t tell whether or not he’s being sarcastic. “I didn’t actually partake in the unearthing of the body, and I offered to bring her back to life.” I’m quick to point out.

“Hmm.” His feet return to the floor, and he begins to straighten a pile of papers in front of him. “I have to tell you that last one blows me away. Do you know the ramifications of this? Once the Counts get a hold of this information…” he pauses plucking off his glasses. The look of concern melts off his face. “Skyla,” he whispers, never wavering his gaze from the wall in front of him. “Rest assured, they are monitoring you, and when they need you most, you’ll be gone.”

“Gone?” I don’t like gone.

“Captive.” He animates again clearing a space on his desk as he says it.

“When do you think they’ll need me most?” I swallow hard.

“No telling. Maybe when one of their leaders gets greedy and demands a supernatural infusion. It’s limitless what your blood can do. Once you reanimate Chloe, well, you’ll both be in danger.”

I never thought of it that way. What if she’s happy sitting on clouds and strumming on a harp? What if dead Chloe hates the fact I’m bringing her back, only to put her at risk of getting captured again?

“I have to do it. I’ve already promised.” I say it to satisfy myself mostly.

“Then do it.” He flicks his pen across the desk. “You know what I think?”

“What?”

“You’re the type of person who knows how to appreciate today. You don’t lose sight of the preciousness of life. So all this other stuff that’s cluttering up your existence is secondary. Enjoy your life, Skyla.” He relaxes into an easy smile. “While you have it.”

***

Thursday after school Gage drives us over to the morgue. Dr. Oliver walks us into the kitchen and waits for the door to close before connecting his fingers at the tips and letting out a diminished sigh.

“I think this could work. A person of your size and stature, and Chloe was,” he pauses, “has about ten to twelve units of blood. I can safely take about one unit every few months.”

“She needs ten?” I ask.

“At least,” Dr. Oliver squints into his thought. He has Gage’s exact same cobalt eyes. “And it will be years before we’ll have enough to begin.”

“Years?” I lean into Gage for support.

“We could try to speed up the process,” he continues. “I could narrow the donation window to once a month, and if you feel too weak we’ll expand the wait.”

“Yes, please, let’s do that.”

“Perfect.” He claps his hands together before reaching into a cabinet and pulling out a cerulean blue glass bottle. “I’ve already begun the unembalming process on Miss Bishop. I think we should introduce the tissue to something less toxic—saline will do. She’ll be fine as long as she’s stored at the proper temperature, no further decomposition.” He motions to the metal bed behind him.

A plastic sheet lies over a small vertical lump in the stainless bathtub. It must be her. Reflexively, my hand comes up and covers my mouth.

Chloe. I want know what she looks like, see her in real time.

Gage steps in behind me and grips my shoulders. His erratic breathing heats up the back of my neck.

“We don’t have to look,” I say.

“No, by all means look.” Dr. Oliver speeds over totally missing the point and swipes the sheet off in one aggressive swoop.

I turn and bury my face in Gage’s chest.

“She looks good. What’s wrong with her eye?” The words rumble out of Gage.

“Lost the eye, otherwise everything else is intact. I’ll open the Y incision tomorrow and inspect the organs. I’m assuming they’re fine.”

I turn just enough to see her outline. Turning in full, I take her in. Chloe—she lies there like a sleeping doll, all decked out in the pale yellow dress she showed off for me last night. I guess her mother chose this for the burial because they took her in the blue one.

Her right eyelid is sunk, but the rest of her looks like the Chloe I know. I catch a glimpse of her bloodied stump and bury my face in Gage’s chest once again. I can hear the rustle of the sheet sliding over her, feel the soft gust of wind hit my back, and I try not to breathe.

“We can draw the first unit of blood right now if you like.” Dr. Oliver plucks a pair of gloves from out of a box.

I walk over to the blue glass bottle and hold it in my hands.

“How will you keep it safe?” I ask.

“I’m taking it home with me. I have a refrigerated storage unit in an unsuspecting location.”

“In the basement?” Gage asks.

“No.” Dr. Oliver takes in a deep breath. “On the top shelf of the refrigerator.”

Its evident Chloe and I are in capable hands.

Worse case scenario, Logan or Gage go for a midnight snack and accidentally wash down a plate of cookies with a pint of my blood.

But that’s not going to happen.

Nothing is going to go wrong.

35

Wicked

I’m disrupted in my sleep by the glow. My lids flutter open and I find Marshall sitting way too close to me on the bed, trapping himself between my legs and the wall.

“Turn down the volume.” I sit up and shield my eyes.

The light dims, and I can easily make out his features.

“What’s with the hand?” He asks.

“As if you didn’t already know.” The room spins slightly. I’m so dizzy with fatigue I just go with it.

“I know the arm once belonged to Chloe Bishop.”

“Yes, it did.” I lie back down on the pillow and turn over. “I’m going to reanimate her with my blood.” I prop myself back on my elbows and stare him down. “But you know that too don’t you?”

“Why?” He doesn’t deny not knowing, just not understanding the reason behind it.

“I’ve decided to take it upon myself to revive the Celestra population.”

“And the Counts?”

“They can kiss off.”

“You like to live dangerously, I see.”

“Are you waiting for Dr. Oliver to drain my blood slowly for you? Because if you are, just take me now. I’m tired of all this crap.”

“Hey.” He pulls up besides me and caresses the side of my cheek with his forefinger. “Someone’s been sleeping on the wrong side of the bed. I’m not going to hurt you, I swear. It’s sort of a big deal for me to swear, do you understand?”

“What do you swear by?” Probably his useless self.

“By all that is holy.” He pushes in his chin. “Satisfied? I can do something else for you if you like.”

“Place a guardian to watch over me. The wicked witch of the east hacked my bloody arm off.” I say a little too loud while spreading my fingers in front of his face.

“Let me spend more time with you.” He touches my Chloe arm. It feels so good, like some stringed instrument is playing the most beautiful music, and I can understand it on a subconscious level from the vibrations alone.

“Don’t stop,” I say.

“Gage loves you.”

My eyelids fly open.

“Where’d that come from?”

“It’s true.” He removes his hand and scoots back.

“And Michelle loves you. It’s true.” I’m disturbed by the idea, and he should be, too.

“You see the present I gave her?”

“The demonic rose? How could I miss it?”

“It’s because of you.” He says, stern. “She seethes with hatred towards you. I’ve never heard such a maelstrom of viciousness. The plans she has for you my love…” He looks darn right pissed for me.

“And the necklace makes her my friend?” It makes sense on a rudimentary level and mildly explains the bizarre interaction I had with her on the field.

“No. It’s a portal—a training window for Fems. Let’s just say Michelle will undergo a rather violent string of nightmares or ‘night terrors’ as the lay ignorantly refer to them.”

“Training ground for Fems?”

“They tend to get rusty.” He muses with a wicked gleam in his eye.

I reach over on the floor and pluck the knife out of my purse. I hold it out, so I don’t have to look at it.

“I meant to give this to you in class.”

“You naughty little thief.” It sounds highly sexual the way he says it and suddenly I want him off my bed. “This, my love,” he wags the knife in the air, “is why I let her chop your arm off.” His features sharpen to just this side of anger. “I hope you learned your lesson. Never cross me again.” He evaporates until just the whites of his eyes remain.

He watches me all night long.

***

It’s freezing out—hard driving rain—smoldering soot-covered clouds wring out their wrath. The sidewalk bubbles fast and furious. It boils under the weight of the downpour. Paragon has turned into a cauldron, and at this rate we’re all going to drown.

I need to see you tonight.

Logan’s been texting all day. I wait until Gage is talking to someone else, riffles through his backpack, is in the bathroom, before I text him back in snippets.

Can’t wait. ~S

I’ve never seen Logan so thirsty for me. It’s nice to know he’s losing his mind a little. A part of me wants to strangle him for the peculiar break in our relationship.

Almost the entire student population sits under the tunnel-like awning that divides the two main buildings. I’m perched on the cold metal rail next to Brielle who, for whatever reason, is pissed off at Drake, something about speaking to Lexy Bakova during third.

Gage returns from the English building after pausing to chat with his coach.

“King High can’t make it tomorrow. Storm’s too rough—ferry’s down.”

I’m a little relieved to hear it. Watching them play in the rain was miserable enough, but entertaining the idea of an earth-churning downpour like today seemed a bit ridiculous—deadly, in fact.

“Bowling in the dark’s still on.” His teeth radiate a light all their own when he smiles.

“What’s bowling in the dark?” I can hardly bowl with the lights on.

“Pins and alleys are lit up. There’s just enough light to get around.”

“Mood lighting.” Brielle shakes her chest. “Speaking of mood, I heard Mr. Dudley and Ms. Rice are having a thing.”

“A thing, thing?” Mr. Dudley is having a thing with everybody, but I don’t share that bit of information.

“I heard it was Ms. Richards.” Ellis leans in behind her.

I look at the two of them next to one another, Ellis and Brielle. I would have never suspected.

“I guess sometimes people surprise you with their true colors,” I say.

Brielle shrugs it off, but Ellis drills me with a curious stare.

***

It’s late, and my body is racked from staying up the night before, keeping one eye open in the event Marshall felt the urge to slaughter me.

Logan wakes me in the butterfly room and presents me with a small bouquet of brilliant red roses.

“I love them!” I bring them up to my face and take them in. They don’t smell like anything. They’re holding back their scent like a secret from the rest of the world just like us.

His face warms to a nice shade of pink as he scoots in close.

“I miss you.” His jaw clenches when he says it and stays like that.

I take up his hands, but he slinks his arms around my waist instead.

“Does it creep you out that I have Chloe’s arm?”

“No.” He picks up my left hand and kisses it. “It’s your arm now.” There’s a gentleness about him tonight, a genuine vulnerability.

“So, what’s going on? Are you, like, jealous?” The words escape my throat before I have an opportunity to filter them. Logan is quite capable of being loving and showing affection without being jealous.

“Deathly.”

“Of Gage?”

“He’s disgusting.” He gives a hard stare at the wall. “This morning he put the cereal in the fridge and the milk in the pantry. He’s walking around with his head in the clouds.” His mood darkens.

Clearly this is not the path I should have taken. I want romantic, blushing Logan back, not slaughter the enemy, hostile Logan.

“Forget Gage.” I push his arms tight around my waist and scoot into him.

“I can’t forget Gage.” He says slowly as he rubs his cheek against mine. It bristles, feels like sandpaper and reminds me of my dad. “Gage is annoying. It’s like he’s completely forgotten he’s playing a part—faking.”

“He’s not faking anything.” A part of me wants to defend Gage. “Besides, I’m not faking it.” Did I just say that?

His eyes widen. I can see them glimmer a distinct shade of fear in this dim light.

“What aren’t you faking?”

Can of worms. Shut up Skyla. Shut up.

“Well, I like him. I don’t want to pretend to be with him when clearly I am with him. So I don’t.” I shrug. In this sorry state of fatigue I can’t seem to help but tell the truth.

“So you’re into Gage.” His body goes rigid as his head pushes back a notch.

“Yeah, I’m into Gage, but only when I’m with him.” Muzzle, I need a freaking muzzle.

A rather lengthy pause ensues as he ponders the finer points of my confession.

“Goodnight.” He practically dumps me out of his lap. There’s a marked look of sadness on his face, and he stuffs his hands into his jeans pocket and gives a dejected smile before opening the exit door.

“Wait.” I grab him by the arm. “I didn’t mean it like that.” I sort of did, but that’s not the point.

Then what’s the point? A clear look of frustration cuts across his face.

“I hate it when you do that.”

“I’m not doing anything” He removes my hand from his sleeve. “You’re forgetting that I can hear you, just like you’re forgetting about us.” With that he climbs out of the butterfly room.

I hope he hasn’t crawled out of my life completely.

36

Longing

The earth quakes with thunder, explosions of light ricochet through the night. The sky illuminates into a thousand shattered pieces, resembling lavender broken glass.

Gage and I arrive late to the bowling in the dark event because my mother has the habit of turning into a game show host each time he comes over. She pries into his life with the efficiency of an FBI detective while plying him with her questionable cooking and wands me over with her hands like I’m some sort of prize. It’s like she’s trying to extort information out of him while slowly poisoning him.

It’s beyond dark in the bowling alley. I’m not sure why this thrills me, but it does. Hot pink, yellow, and neon green light up the alleyways while the pins glow in varying shades of blue and purple. I love this. Logan should do this every night.

Bitch squad cackles openly at the first table to my left. Michelle ends her laugh with a yawn. I’m shocked to see giant pillow-like bags under her eyes. She looks sallow, sickly even. In a stray show of mercy I want to clue her in on the source of her misery, tell her in one breath who exactly Marshall is and what that black rose dangling from her neck means, but don’t.

Look who’s the bitch now, I muse to myself.

“Crap!” I pull Gage back by the hand. Marshall’s here, laughing with one of the girls who works for Logan. She’s a little more appropriate for him, considering she’s about thirty, but still, why is he constantly injecting himself in the student population? I pause to reflect on the sexual nature of my last thought.

Marshall swoops over before I have a chance to complain to Gage.

“I see you brought your asshole.” He slaps Gage on the shoulder.

“Enough.” Gage holds up a hand.

“I haven’t heard an apology.” Marshall looks sharp tonight in dark jeans, a black button down shirt and some form of cowboy boots tucked under his jeans.

“I’m sorry.” Gage averts his eyes. “I’m genuinely sorry. Now if you’ll excuse me, it looks like Logan needs help. Be right back.”

“Kind isn’t he.” His tone drips with sarcasm.

“He is.” I do a quick sweep of the premises for Brielle.

“How’s the arm?”

“Good as new.” I wiggle my fingers in the air.

“And operation Chloe?”

“Underway. I donated my first unit.”

“To be stored?”

I can’t tell whether or not he’s trying to pump me for information.

“In an undisclosed location. Besides, don’t you know everything?” I ask, irritated.

“I’m not God. And the fact you don’t want to brief me lets me know you don’t trust me. What else can I possibly do to prove myself to you?”

“I need an arm, possibly an eyeball.”

“She’s that bad, is she?” His eyes widen then retract. “At least you’re not looking for a heart, but then Chloe doesn’t need one because she never had one.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I didn’t realize he knew Chloe at all.

“She’s a piece of work, that one.” He says looking directly at Michelle, and now I have no clue who he’s talking about. “I’ll give you both the arm and the eye if you kiss me.”

“No.”

“Then no deal.”

“OK, maybe.”

“Say yes and I’ll make her eyes match.”

“Hazel, and OK, but it’s going to be over before you know it.”

“Count, hard left.” He picks up my hand and laces our fingers, natural as breathing.

Hard left. It’s difficult to concentrate with this heavy rush of physical gratification

flowing through my body.

“I swear, if people new how good you could make them feel, you’d be worth millions,” I whisper.

“That should make me all the more desirable to you. Count, four-thirty” He tries to reorient me.

“Which way is four-thirty?” I don’t really care. I’m too immersed in the gentle buzz rippling through my body, indulging in the way it echoes through my bones, fills me with a gentle rushing heat.

Ellis walks up glowing an ethereal shade of blue.

“That one I already know.” Although it still makes me sick.

“Behind him,” Marshall whispers.

Nat and Kate high five over a strike. Their faces look murky to begin with, both an odd shade of purple until they split and go their separate ways. Kate remains a dingy grey and Nat glows blue, crisp as Ellis.

It’s Nat.

Ellis plucks my hand away from Marshall’s and walks me over to a nearby table at a decent clip. I’m so shocked. I can’t drag my eyes off her.

“What’s with Mr. Dick?” He asks setting up the queue. “Wanna play a game?” He smiles up at me, a slow stoned smile that is so signature Ellis I want to cry.

I nod, but I wonder, what kind of game are we really playing?

***

Logan manages to avoid me the better part of the night. Gage ends up helping out until the very end, so I hang out with Ellis, Brielle, and a very-much-in-the-dog-house Drake.

“What’d I do?” Drake hisses while it’s Brielle’s turn to bowl.

“Why don’t you go over and ask your girlfriend?” I nod over in Lexy’s direction.

“I can’t even say two words to someone with functioning ovaries without her freaking out—other than you.” He adds that last bit, disappointed.

“Yeah well, look at the bright side, she’s really into you. People don’t get jealous like that unless they’ve completely lost their minds.”

Logan breezes in and sets down a pitcher of soda and cups.

“You need help?” I offer. “I can help.”

There’s a hard edge about him. He doesn’t bother giving me the polite placid smile I’ve grown accustomed to when we’re in public. Instead an underlying expression of hurt comes through. One he can’t seem to disguise. He doesn’t say a word and heads back to the kitchen.

“Take my turn,” I say to Drake.

I speed over to Logan, catching up with him just before he gets to the makeshift kitchen set up near the register.

“Did you just walk away from me?” My voice spikes.

His eyes narrow in before cutting away to Gage. He grabs Gage by the shirt and pulls him over.

“Your girlfriend’s got something she wants to say.”

I can’t tell whether this is part of the show or if he really means it—probably both.

“You wanna go home?” Gage looks confused.

“No.” I don’t bother taking my eyes off Logan. My heart’s pounding erratically. The music’s so loud, that coupled with the eerie neon colors illuminated against the black backdrop, makes this all feels like a suspended reality. “I wanna talk.” What I really want to do is shake him.

“Talk to your boyfriend.” Logan bolts over to an empty table and starts clearing off stray cups.

I thought I was.

37

I See You

Gage decides to stay late and help Logan lock up, so Ellis offers me a ride. Under normal circumstances, I would stay and wait for Gage, but I know that will only stoke the fire of Logan’s insane jealousy—and a part of me wanted to.

The rain quiets down to a sprinkle, dotting the windshield just enough to annoy us.

“So tell me something about yourself I don’t know,” I say, wondering why the hell I got into the car with someone known for being perpetually high and fully infected with a serious Count bloodline.

“I like all that vampire crap girls are into.” His hand flexes over the wheel.

I can’t tell whether he’s kidding or trying to hit on me, so I don’t say anything.

“So how you like Paragon?” He takes a lazy turn and pulls into the overlook at Devil’s Peak.

“Love it.” I’m not too thrilled at the moment, but…

“Is Chloe Bishop’s house haunted?”

“Yes,” I say matter-of-fact. I’m not sure, but at this point who cares? Truth is, I’m feeling a little haunted myself.

“Cool. I hear you have her room. You see the butterflies?”

“You know about that?” A surge of adrenaline rushes through me.

“I know all about Chloe.” His eyebrows twitch in the dark. “We were like that.” He crosses his fingers.

I want to say, take me home, but it comes out as, “I know who you are.”

“Who am I?” His demeanor shifts. His whole person loosens as a demented grin spreads across his face. I can smell the stench of pot clinging to his upholstery. Ellis Harrison is wasting away his youth by getting wasted. My lips twist at the irony.

“Is that what baby Counts in training do to whittle away the hours? Get stoned?”

A loud clap of a laugh belts from him. He smacks his hand against the steering wheel before attempting to compose himself.

“How’d you figure it out?” He looks jovial as though it were all a part of some game of hide, and seek and I tagged him.

“I just did.” I shrug, trying to play it off. “I’d reveal my source, but then I’d have to kill you—literally.”

“I surrender.” He holds up his hands. “Besides, I like you—a lot.”

“Like me enough to help me?” I don’t know if I can trust Ellis, or anybody else for that matter. “Hey, Brielle’s one too, right?”

“I don’t know. It’s like some secret society with their own version of don’t ask, don’t tell. We have to wait until we hit the age of enlightenment or some bull crap.”

“Oh, us too.”

“So is that why you blew me off? You know, when you first got here?” He asks.

When did I blow Ellis off?

“You ditched me for the twisted Oliver’s. You wouldn’t hang out with me ‘cause I was a Count.” The way he says it you’d think it has racial undertones.

“Do you know what I am?” I put it out there to see what he comes up with. I’m pretty good at detecting lies.

“I hear you’re the purest, most dangerous bad ass Celestra on the whole effing planet.” He lets out a loose string of laughter as his eyes reduce to slits.

“I need to know who all the Counts are. They’re trying to kill me, Ellis.” I feel like shaking that smile off his face. “I need your help.”

He pushes into the headrest, considering it. His mouth opens and he starts in on a word then closes it. He fires up the car up and takes me home, parking just shy of the mailbox at the base of the property.

“I’ll help you under one condition.” He wags a finger in the air breaking the silence. “We take a little light drive.”

***

Ellis is shocked at how willing I am to submit. I take him by the hand, and we fall through time and dimensions until our lids flutter open, and we look around. It’s night. We’re still sitting in his truck with our seatbelts fastened.

“Coo-oo-oo-ool! He slaps the steering wheel each time he draws out the word, for emphasis.

“Where are we? Usually I end up in Chloe’s bed.”

“Sweet, next time I’ll let you navigate.”

“Wait, you know how to do this?”

“I’ve gone a time or two.” He plucks the keys from the ignition. “Come on. It’s my favorite night—homecoming.”

It’s dark. The air is damp, the cheer of the crowd almost deafening. We haven’t had a great showing these past few weeks with all the rain we’ve been having, but on this night, the stands are brimming with spectators.

A parade of floats circles the inside of the field, and I pull Ellis to go faster until we’re out on the green. Instinctually, I take us over to the cheerleaders, Michelle, Lexy, Emily, Nat, Kate, and Brielle. It takes everything in me not to go over and say hi.

“Where’s Logan?” I ask. I’m so excited to see him; I can hardly contain myself.

A body collides with mine. I step back and stare wild eyed at the tall guy with thick dark hair.

“Excuse me.” He pushes through the crowd with his hands full of soda and a fast food bag.

“Brody, Chloe’s brother,” Ellis whispers.

“She’s got a brother? He must be Celestra.”

“Too diluted. Their lineage has some backwash. Chloe was close to clean, but nothing like you.”

“Oh, right, so you’re up on the who’s who of Celestrial bodies?”

“I know what they tell me, and yes, I know about Logan.”

“Oh. Well, he’s an ass. I don’t really care about him.” Crap! I’d hate to think I blew it all over some stupid comment I made to Ellis.

“The ass is right there.” He points over to a crowd amassing around a huge platform erected on the side of the field.

“And where’s my boyfriend?” I can never forget again that it’s Gage and not Logan.

Ellis leads me by the hand and takes me around the outskirts of the crowd. I see them! Gage and Logan both in uniform.

Four girls step up to the podium. Chloe glows in her sky colored dress. Her long hair flows in the wind, and she’s laughing, waving to the bitch squad front and center.

“Doesn’t the homecoming honor usually go to a senior?” I ask.

“No clue.”

There’s a bunch of pomp and circumstance before they initiate a dramatic drum roll and announce the king, Brett Foresman. He steps forward and accepts his crown. The drums start up again, a much longer and far more dramatic purr than the last. I watch Logan’s face.

“Chloe Bishop!” The announcer screams into the microphone.

Logan doesn’t flinch. Maybe Gage told him, too.

Ms. Richards places the tiara on an ecstatic Chloe. She beams bright as a star. The entire crowd cheers as she gets on the float and heads off on her victory lap.

We spend the rest of the night circulating within the mob of people. After the game, we head over to Ellis’ house.

***

“Right about now, I’m hooking up with some chick from East.” He seems rather bored by the fact.

“Nice,” I muse. We start heading up the driveway. “So you gonna go spy on yourself?” I’m not sure why Ellis thinks coming back here is so important.

“Great idea, but no. I thought hooking up with two girls on the same night would set some kind of metaphysical record. You know, a menage a trios, but there’s two of me.” He takes my hand. “And different locations.” He adds, waving to a group of guys as we move through the crowd. “I ran into myself once, and it messed with my head.”

“You and Chloe did this all the time, huh?”

“Yeah, but I don’t miss her. She put my balls in a blender.” We step into the house. “I’ll be back.” He darts into a dark swarming sea of bodies.

What am I supposed to do?

Logan and Gage.

I find Logan out back by the pool, sitting with Carly-leave-you-in-the-forest-to-get-your-arm hacked-off-Foster. I think I should have a little fun with Miss Foster myself tonight.

“Hey.” A deep voice comes from behind.

I turn around with a jump.

It’s Gage.

“Hi.” Does he know me?

“So you go to, East?”

“Totally.” I’m relived he gave me the out. “And you go to, West.” Now that I’ve shown off my brilliant deductive logic skills, I need to get out of this and quick.

Gage stares, wide-eyed and mesmerized. My heart picks up pace, and my ears fill with a rush of adrenaline drowning out the rest of the noise from the party. I’m shocked at how quickly he’s taken with me. There’s a delirium swirling around us, and for the better part, it seems to be contagious. I place my hand gently on his chest. The strong urge to kiss Gage bubbles up to the surface, so I do.

Kissing Gage is magic—it saturates me. Emotions funnel through him like an electrical current of throbbing anguish.

I pull back. Gage swallows hard and gives a slightly embarrassed stare before offering a nervous smile.

“Let’s get out of here.” Ellis snatches me by the arm and pulls me through a sea of bodies before I have a chance to say anything.

Outside the air is cool as we race down the driveway.

“Chloe’s car is gone.” He points out.

“Crap. I forgot all about helping Chloe.”

“That’s not why we’re here.” He hops over the short, slatted fence and helps as I try to navigate the splintered wood.

“Maybe not you, but maybe some of us have better intentions than hooking up with two girls at once.”

“The girls were a nice bonus—girl,” he corrects. “This is why I really came.” He plucks a bloated bag of crumpled herbs out from under his jacket.

“You’re kidding.”

“I stole my stash.” He grins, proud of his endeavor.

“Yeah, you’re freaking brilliant. Hey,” I ask looking around at the cars parked at every angle, “do you know if Carly has a car?”

“Foster? She’s got some red sedan with a sticker of kitten on the back. That’s it.” He points to a shiny new car parked on the down slope near Logan’s house.

I cross the street and pick up a softball sized rock off the side road.

“What the…” Before Ellis can sound off, I hurl the thing at the windshield. It bounces and tumbles off the front with the impact of a feather.

“That was useless,” I marvel.

Ellis’ laugh cuts through the still of the night.

I search the ground for a sharp rock and luck out with a piece of broken glass.

“I’ll be right back.” Ellis takes off across the street again.

In long smooth strokes, I carve a steady line around the circumference of her vehicle—a giant X on the hood.

Ellis comes back panting with a long handled hammer.

“That’s better.”

He hands it over, and I’m surprised by the heft of it. It takes three tries before the windshield shatters—tiny, pebbled sized pieces scatter around the street and catch the light like diamonds. I walk around to the driver’s side and open the door. Nobody believes in locking anything around here because Paragon is oh-so-freaking safe. I carve a line down the back of the driver’s seat, the soft tan leather, gives, easy as skin.

Ellis and I walk back to his truck and hop in.

“Remind me to never piss you off,” he says turning the engine.

I look up the driveway and linger for any sign of Logan or Gage, but nothing.

We drive down the road into the narrow void of darkness, the forest comes up around us like a wall thieves in trench coats. Chloe is somewhere right now. She left, and nobody knows why she would take off alone in the middle of the biggest party of the year, herself the guest of honor.

Then I see the most curious thing—Michelle. She emerges from the woods all alone fumbling and staggering her way back to the party.

And I wonder.

38

Haunted

After sixth, and a long hard hour of cheer torture, I’m more than thrilled to see Logan, of all people, trotting in my direction. The rest of the guys streamline hard left and head into the gym, not Logan, and he’s looking right at me.

“Hi.” I practically hop over to meet him.

“Why would you kiss Gage?”

My mouth falls open, my heart lets out a single thump, and I shrink into my shoes a little.

“You were with Carly.” It comes out defensive.

He averts his eyes as though trying to jog his memory.

“I wasn’t with her. She was nothing and still is. I sure didn’t stick my tongue down her throat. Or wait—let me guess—you wanted everyone to know you were together.”

The sarcasm isn’t lost on me as he turns to go.

“That’s not what happened,” I shout after him.

His neck jerks in my direction. Sweat beads down his temples and his helmet hangs low on his fingertips. He looks exhausted and heartbroken all at once. I don’t want to fight with Logan.

“I’m sorry about Gage,” I offer.

Logan struts off towards the gym—doesn’t look back.

“What was that about?” Brielle comes over securing her sweater around her waist.

“Noth—” Before I can get the word out, something sways in the wind from the low branch of the evergreen just beyond the field.

I suck in a deep breath and push my hands up over my mouth. A body in a tree—a man dressed in white wearing large black boots.

“What’s wrong?” Brielle panics turning around. “What?” Her forehead wrinkles with concern.

“Don’t you see it?” I point right at it. “In the tree!”

“See what?” She squints into it.

Kate walks up, her blonde hair disheveled from the breeze.

“Do you see something in the tree over there?” I ask her.

She glances at it before shielding her hand over her eyes.

“Nope.”

I spot Marshall briskly making his way over to the teacher’s parking lot.

“I gotta go,” I say, bolting in his direction. “Mr. Dudley!” I shout. It takes everything in me not to call him Marshall.

“Miss Messenger.” He twirls his briefcase in my direction. “What can I do you for?” He waits until I’m right next to him before adding, “I have your arm.”

“My arm?” It feels like a long lost child has been recovered.

“Yes, your arm.”

“That’s great!”

“Now what do you want? I’m running late.”

“That tree,” I look behind me. Thankfully, Brielle and Kate are already in the gym. “Do you see that?” It’s still there, dangling in the breeze, and nobody seems to notice.

Marshall rolls his head methodically to the side. He looks bored, needling it with a penetrative stare. “It’s October.” He says simply as though that were enough of an explanation. “Fems are on overdrive. If that bothers you, you won’t like this month very much.”

“That does bother me. I hate freaky things. I don’t even watch horror movies. Is it going to hurt me?”

“Maybe.” He motions for me to follow him into the storage unit that houses the schools giant trash bins. Unidentifiable waste litters the floor, and it smells like sour milk or vomit—both.

“I’m cashing in, Skyla” He gives a sly smile.

“The deal was an arm and an eye. Technically, I don’t have either.”

“I’ve already delivered the arm to the morgue. Dr. Oliver was more than thankful. Told him I stumbled upon it jogging in the woods. Personally, I wouldn’t go through the trouble of reattaching it. Give it to Chloe when the time comes.”

“So I’m going to bring her back? It’s going to work?”

“Something like that.” He steps forward. I can feel the heat from off his body. “And she’ll have an eye. I’m on my way now. Are you impressed?”

“Not really.”

He clasps me by the hand, and a jolt surges through me. I can’t see or smell the world, just feel his amazing rush. I lean in to give him the world’s quickest peck, and he devours me. He clasps onto me with both hands and engages in the longest, deepest kiss. It feels supernatural—nuclear, a supernova times one million. It’s staggering how good one human body can feel, but emotionally for him—still nothing.

I force myself to pull away. I could easily spend hours touching—kissing Marshall and this disturbs me.

The chirp of a car from the lot behind us catches my attention. It’s Michelle. She’s alone. I can feel her glowering over at me. Her pure beams of hatred assure me I’ve secured the number one spot on her shit list.

“Thanks,” I say, watching her get in the car and take off in a markedly pissed fashion.

“I might be in a little bit of trouble myself.” He laughs at the thought. “Oh Skyla,” he says, walking over to his car. “In the end none of this will matter. I promise.”

A hard thump lands on the lid of the metal dumpster behind me. It’s a body, bloodied and bruised, vacant eyes staring up at the sky.

I run like hell.

***

It’s family not-so-fun night at Landon castle. Tad’s got a pencil tucked behind his ear and keeps a running score of some stupid board game we’re forced to play. It’s Drake and I, against Mia and Melissa, against Tad and Mom, who are desperately trying to mime out a scene from a popular movie. This sucks.

A slight rumble erupts and shakes the house enough to make the windows rattle.

“Whoa,” I say, sliding to the edge of the couch. Back in L.A. we had earthquakes all the time, but my adrenaline’s got me all riled up like it was my first. “You guys feel that?” My hands tremble.

“Feel what?” Drake places his soda on the bare wood of the coffee table, a felony in my mother’s eyes.

“I thought I just felt an earthquake.”

Mia and Melissa both huddle in horror.

“Oh honey,” Mom breaks pace from the game. “Its just Tad acting like a warthog.”

“Lizbeth!” He shakes his head annoyed at the fact she gave away a major clue.

It happens again, this time jolting the entire house. I give a little squeal and brace myself against the back cushion.

“Skyla!” My mother watches me wild eyed. “Are you OK?”

“You didn’t feel that?” There is no way Tad was capable of rattling the entire freaking house.

“No.” She looks over at me apprehensively. “It’s raining. You probably heard thunder.”

I try to inventory how much caffeine I’ve managed to ingest this afternoon.

“Right.” I look out the window expecting nothing but a dark velvet night, a window moistened with raindrops, but….red?

I bolt from the couch and head over to the window behind the sofa my sisters are sitting on and touch the glass. Blood.

I run over to the back sliding door and face a crimson-stained world. Sliding it open an inch, the stench of rust comes in—clogs up my nostrils with a wild rancid odor. It’s everywhere.

“Why don’t you head upstairs and take a nap. I’ll call you for dinner.” My mother’s voice is swollen with concern.

I don’t argue. I take the stairs two by two, hit my bed fast, and text Logan.

Red rain? Bodies? He texts back. You know what’s stranger than that?

Does he think I’m joking?

What? ~S

Michelle swore to me she saw you with Marshall. Want to guess what she said you were doing?

Shit! Shit, shit, shit. I hate Marshall.

He found an arm for Chloe. MY arm. ~S

I can’t admit to him I agreed to do it, even if it was going to be less than a peck.

Logan doesn’t text me back.

He attacked me after school. He’s demented. He called me over and trapped me behind the dumpsters. I’m totally thinking about calling child services. ~S

Less than five seconds later. I heard you call his name. I saw you running over to him with my own eyes.

That’s because I saw a BODY! He’s a Sector. Remember? He saw it 2. BTW, I LOVE YOU!!! Please come over. ~S

The house starts in on a violent rattle. I drop the phone and hear it thump across the hardwood floor. The lights flicker on and off, then the whole room goes black with a palpable darkness. A strange buzzing fills my ears, and it feels like I’m falling.

A violent clap of light so brilliant ignites around me, and I’m momentarily blinded.

Then, in perfect clarity, I see.

39

Eye for an Eye

A viscous fog surrounds me. I inhale it, taste it, feel it coat my lungs like honey. A man with long black hair stares back at me. He’s seated on a rather ornate throne that looks like it’s made entirely of blue rock candy, and there’s a wild fire burning on either side of him. It’s not until I get over the shock of the grandeur of this strange room made of light that I notice his right eye socket is empty and gaping.

I have the distinct feeling Marshall has something to do with this.

“You’re almost more trouble than you’re worth.” His voice booms much deeper and stronger than expected, causing the room to vibrate in rhythm. “Almost.” His eye blazes like fire and I can’t tell whether or not it’s a reflection I’m seeing. A rotating wheel lifts from under his chair and levitates him off the ground. “I could kill you now. Would you like to die?” He says it so cool, so casual, like offering lemonade.

The fire jumps and ignites on either side of me—it’s so hot my skin stings, then in a puff, it disappears as quick as it came.

The intensity was hotter than an oven. It blistered my flesh in a split second, and I want to cry out at the thought of what my father endured.

“The Countenance has decreed your blood paramount to their existence. Everything else these days means precious little to them. Your loss or victory against them will change the tide of Nephilim supremacy.” He picks up a glowing hammer with a giant flat bottom and strikes it against a royal blue glass plate built into his armrest. “I ordain a civil war in thy name, Skyla Messenger, to commence in one fortnight. May you choose your allies wisely and find the fortitude to continue in battle when they turn against you in number. Godspeed.” He lifts the glowing hammer again before connecting it violently against the glass.

Everything evaporates under the intensity of an ever-growing white light.

***

Flat on my back on the softest sofa in the world, I stare up at the high-beamed ceiling thankful to be anywhere but wherever the hell I just was.

“Skyla.” Marshall’s voice booms from behind.

I sit up and find myself square in his living room.

“So what was that? Some stupid hallucination?”

“You just missed Michelle.” He ignores my question, offering me a sip of something thick and orange from his glass. “She’s not that miffed at me anymore. She’s a piece of work—firework.” He flops down on the sofa across from me and widens his grin. The fireplace is crackling. There’s a bunch of pillows lying around on the floor and suddenly I want to vomit.

“I went someplace. I saw this guy, and he had this hammer and now it’s ordained.” I stammer, still shaking. I relay the entire event in sequence and wait for explanation.

“The hammer was a gavel,” he nods. “The blue thingy made of glass was a sapphire plate. The fact he ordained a civil war in your name is not something I would brag about, and his newly missing eye is in the competent hands of your boyfriend’s father—uncle.” He throws his hand in the air. “Whatever.”

“You took his eye?” I ask horrified.

“The kiss was that good, Skyla. I had to rectify my end of the deal. Besides, it’s a good eye—sees through walls.”

“Crap.”

He holds a finger in the air.

“No language.”

“What happened?”

“Our kiss drew a little celestial attention. The Counts have upped the ante. They smell a powerful Celestra in the making, and now there’s a Sector by her side. It looks bad—leaves them shaking in their partially human boots.”

“Is that why I’m seeing Fems? The guy with one eye sicked them after me?”

He winces.

“Rothello—he has another name, but you wouldn’t understand it. Please, don’t refer to him as the guy with one eye.” He taps his fingertips together. “Skyla, choose me. All this will go away. No more nightmares, no wicked beings hovering, waiting to harm you. No more Ezrina.”

“I’m with…Gage,” I say, depleted.

“You’re not with Gage anymore than I’m with Michelle. The Counts are closing in. Ezrina was made to look like a fool brandishing your arm like a trophy, and here you’ve already got another one. Be my wife, and I’ll protect you forever.”

“Wife?”

“We could be so much more. We could start a race all our own. Sector and Celestra. We could live in both dimensional planes at once, and our children would have dominion.”

I shake my head in disbelief.

“What are you going to do?” He continues. “Remove the Countenance from power? You and that bumbling band of Olivers you hope to procreate with someday?”

“Ellis…he’s one of them. He’ll help.” It comes out flat, almost hopeless.

“You’re going to kill Ellis.”

“I’m not going to kill Ellis. I can’t.” The concept shocks me.

“I’ve seen this, Skyla. You can, and you do.”

I’m shaking. I need to get out of here and find Logan immediately.

“Logan and Gage are going to die. I can save one. Who would you like me to spare?” He asks with a pleasant smile on his face like we’re playing a game.

A breath gets caught in my throat. It’s another one of his stupid love tests. He’s trying to trip me up and make me say Logan.

“Neither.”

“One will die, and I’ll pardon the other. Your choice.” His demeanor changes, he looks deathly serious.

“I choose both Logan and Gage, and you can take their place.” I head to the door.

Marshall swoops over to meet me—catches me by the waist, and I relax into him.

“You can marry one. Who do you prefer?”

Love like a tuning fork. I close my eyes. Why does Marshall bother with words when his actions are so damn powerful?

“And if I choose you?” The words come out a shallow whisper.

“I spare them both and bring back your father.”

40

Forget You

I beg Dr. Oliver to take my blood twice a month. The human body can replenish its supply in twenty-four hours. His rationale to only take one pint a month doesn’t hold water.

“Skyla,” he takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes with frustration. “It takes months for your marrow to produce hemoglobin. Drinking fluids doesn’t magically create quality blood. You’ll be exhausted. We run the risk of a cardiac episode.”

“Absolutely not.” Gage interjects. “Forget it. Chloe will be here by summer. Trust me, that’s soon enough.”

“We need her. I need her. Didn’t you hear anything I said? A civil war in my name—in fourteen days. What if I’m gone by next summer? I’ve got Fems crawling around my house, at school, outside my window. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

“We’ll try two pints.” Dr. Oliver gives a mock smile. “If you excuse me, I’ve got a corpse that needs tending.” He disappears behind the metal doors.

“Why do you need Chloe so bad?” His dimples wink when he says it.

“I need Chloe and Marshall to fall in love.”

“You want to feed Chloe to Mr. Dudley?”

“Exactly.”

I don’t tell Gage, Marshall is easy to love, that after one touch it’s rather hard not to.

***

Marshall alluded to the fact there’s a way to bring back my father. It only makes sense. He’s alive right now in another time and space that I can easily visit. Gage agrees to go back with me, and we appear in my bedroom on the floor next to an old pile of socks.

“I want to help you.” Gage tugs at my hand.

“You can’t come downstairs. If my dad finds out I have a boy up here, he’ll kill us both, then die.”

He shakes his head. Gage looks are around the room as though he needs something.

“What?” If he has even the slightest plan, I want in on it.

“There’s a way to bring others back with you.”

“Like bring him with us? That’s perfect!” Why didn’t I think of that? Or Chloe for that matter? “Maybe we can bring Chloe back, and we don’t have to reanimate her?”

“From what I understand it’s easier to rebuild. But not your father, he needs another option.”

“I’ll explain everything to him.” My mind races with the possibilities. “Once he knows what’s waiting for him, he’ll gladly come with us.”

“It doesn’t work like that. If two come in, only two are allowed to go back.”

“So one of us will have to stay?”

“I think so.” He rubs my back. “I don’t exactly know the rules. Go back and ask Chloe. She might understand the ins and outs.”

“Did she tell you about these rules?” I ask.

“No, it wasn’t her. Anyway, I don’t think we should try anything today. Just go down and hangout with your dad.” He rubs my shoulders up and down in an effort to encourage me. “I’ll try and get some more details for you when we get back.”

“Who has the details?” My brows narrow in suspicion.

Gage doesn’t say anything, instead his lips press into a white solid line.

“Logan?”

He gives a hard exhale.

“He’s known how to bring my dad back all along and he wouldn’t tell me?” I can’t believe this.

“It’s not like that.”

“Easy for you to say. Your dad doesn’t die in a fire over and over each time you visit.”

“I know, I know.” His eyes oscillate beneath his lids. “Skyla, we need to be careful. We could all burn and it’ll be over. We have to do this right.”

***

I storm downstairs.

“Skyla?” My father calls.

I head into the dining room and fall into a tight embrace with my dad. I take in his scent, feel his stubble riddled face against my cheek. I hate this. More than anything, I hate it.

“You remember when I was little and you would pick me up and spin me really fast? I used to say it was like a carousel.” Maybe he’ll tell me. It can evolve naturally and we could all go back to Paragon today.

“Yup. I can still do it if you want to. Of course I’ll need a wheelchair after— permanently.” He pulls his cheek to the side. “What’s going on?”

“I miss that. I miss you. It feels like I’m growing up so fast, like my life here just blinked by.” I pick at a stain on my jeans.

“Well that’s sort of the way it is. And when you get to be my age, life starts going downhill at an amazing velocity.” He dive-bombs his hand through the air. “It’s all bills all the time, no room for fun.”

“Don’t you think our life together was fun?”

“What do you mean was? Of course it is.”

Two black figures move across the lawn in the backyard, tall as ladders. Long black whips trail after them, and I’m afraid they’re tails.

I take in a breath and forget to let go.

“You OK?”

I want to say, no. I want to say, I think I see giant scary Fems creeping around in the backyard, but don’t. Instead I say something that even surprises me. “I think I’m going to get some air.”

***

My first inclination is to run upstairs to Gage, get the heck out of this Fem riddled Dodge, and return to Paragon ASAP, but I don’t. If something happens to Gage because of my incessant need to visit my father, I’ll never forgive myself.

It’s warm outside. My flesh doesn’t know what to make of this luscious humid air. It feels like spring—like the summer that never was on Paragon. My heart melts when I see my mother’s lush, pink rose garden. There’s so much I’ve forgotten about, so much that I took for granted.

My old swing-set sits lank like a rusted out cadaver. Mia can hardly use it without the metal splitting or a piece falling apart.

Something thumps down hard on the lawn behind me. I turn my neck just enough, frozen at the thought of what it might be.

Two large humanoid panthers the color of a moonless sky squat with their arms spread out in front of them—claws like razors. Their tails cut through the air with ferocity.

Shit.

I can’t breathe, can’t move, and suddenly I badly regret not having Gage by my side.

I close my eyes and say his name. My eyes dart around searching the sky—the fence, hoping for his overgrown bird. I know in less than one minute I’m going to scream. I’m going to unleash all unholy hell, my father will see me, and we’ll both combust out of fear.

The beast on the left hisses and contorts his face into a heart-stopping grimace.

A flat nose shovel with a long yellow handle leans against the outside wall of the garage. I make a run for it. It’s funny the things that go through your mind when you’re convinced you’re going to die. I think of Ellis and how he went to get the hammer for me, so I could bash in Carly’s windshield.

I strangle the wooden stick, just as something with the heft of small vehicle thrashes me against the wall.

A series of primal groans emote from my chest. My skull feels fractured in multiple places.

It’s touching me!

I scream a gurgled cry. The putrid smell bites right through my open mouth and I taste it. Then I remember what the shovel was for. I tighten my grip on the shovel and squirm around and dig my foot into its stomach. I think of Carly and her Logan-loving ways, and push. The beast shoots back a good four feet, and I marvel. It’s just like that day at the pool when I sent her sailing.

Out from the left, the other one squats into position. I lunge forward and spear the shovel at its chest, but it moves and ditches my efforts. The shovel slips from out of my hands.

I can’t lose it. I can’t let my dad burn. I’ll never see Logan. I’ll never see anyone if I’m taken captive, or worse, eaten by Fems and regurgitated in pieces out on the lawn.

I don’t fight the Fem for the shovel. The flat steel tip nose comes at me and I duck just in time to miss my own decapitation. In my mind’s eye, I see Carly. Her fake innocent face, her legs wrapped around Logan by the pool, and I snap.

The Fem’s tail wraps around my arm like a lariat, and I clasp onto it, curl it into me like a dancer. I don’t mix words or ideas or any other crap. I dig my hands in its throat until my fingernails break through its rubberlike flesh, and it writhes in a series of quick jerking motions, scratching at the top of my head, opening my scalp like tearing through paper.

Green thick liquid runs down my hand, already partially congealed. I think of Carly and the way she flips her long blonde hair into Logan as I let the Fem fall to the ground, place my foot on his chest, and let out all of my jealousy inspired frustration by twisting its head around.

Staggering towards the center of the yard, I spin in a careful circle looking for the next one.

“I’m ready,” I hiss, full out of breath.

There’s a slight breeze, initiating the sound of rustling leaves from up in the oak tree with its hundred-year wingspan. Before I can look, he pounces on me—flat on my back with a thousand crushing pounds. I can’t breathe. No air. I squeeze my eyes shut and make myself feel like I’m falling, until I do.

Then I’m gone.

41

Gone

I jump out of bed and text Gage.

Where are you? ~S

A warm gush of liquid slides down the side of my face and my fingers press into it. Blood. I’ve brought my injuries back with me.

I wait with morbid patience for ten straight minutes before I decide to go back, but first I need to get Chloe.

I close my eyes and pray nothing happens to Gage in the meantime, after all it’s been two freaking years.

Chloe is busy dancing around her room with the dresses she’s going to be kidnapped and buried in.

“I really hate to break up the party, but you have to come with me, back to L.A.” I grip her by the shoulders. “I left Gage.”

***

Chloe and I head back immediately. My bedroom looks disrupted. The closet has vomited out its belongings all over the floor and my desk is turned upside down.

“Chloe?” My voice is strangely even keeled. “It wasn’t like this before. Gage wouldn’t do this.” I’m shaking now.

I burst into the hall with Chloe by my side.

“Dad?” I shout his name as I speed down the stairs. “Daddy?” It comes out a frightened cry. The dining room table is overturned, and his laptop is sprawled out on the floor.

My entire body seizes.

“It’s the Fem,” I say, looking up at the broken window in the living room. I make a mad dash out to the backyard and find the Fem I killed has disappeared, save for a patch of dead grass where I left him. It’s brittle and dry, but not one drop of green fluid, nothing.

“You think they’ve taken my dad and Gage?” I think back to the underground layer at Paragon where Ezrina took me all those weeks ago. “We’ll never find them,” I say just beneath a whisper.

“We’ll find them.”

“You think this changes things?” I ask.

“I think this changes everything.”

Chloe and I spend the entire morning and afternoon searching the neighborhood for clues, but all traces of Dad and Gage end inside the house.

In less than two minutes, the old me is going to come home from school pissed off about a boy who slipped his jockstrap in my backpack. It’s the last lucid memory I have before I learn about my father.

“Sit on the porch and explain the situation to me before I come inside,” I tell Chloe. “I’ll do the rest.”

“Are you insane? You’ll be in a mental institution before midnight. They’ll hop you up on so many meds you won’t remember your name, let alone the idea there were two of you.”

“True.” A flash from my brief stint at the psych ward races through my mind. “Then…just tell her your boyfriend is running around trying to get the people who ransacked my house. Tell her…me, that he’s nice, and to help him because he’s homeless.” Shit.

I watch through the window as the old me comes plodding down the street. I look so much younger, even my gait is lanky and awkward. Old me spots Chloe and approaches her with a hesitant interest. I can hear Chloe’s voice murmur through the window. There’s silence on my part as she tries to explain, then I see my hand cup over my mouth in horror.

A hard line creases my forehead as my eyes squint into half moons. That must have been what I looked like when they told me about my father. I see more of Mia in myself than I do in the me I know now. I look so frightened—desolate.

Chloe gets up and gives her a hug. I wish I could do the same.

So maybe I didn’t think through how I was going to get out of the house or Chloe was going to get back in. So I probably shouldn’t be too surprised when the old me hears a noise in the kitchen and snatches the baseball bat from out of the entry closet.

Shit. I’m going to get my brains bashed in, by me.

“I hear you,” she shouts. I can see my blonde hair crowning the corner before anything else.

The whack of the bat lands hard on the kitchen counter and bits of peach tile explode into shards.

“I’m not afraid to use this,” I hear me shout, thrashing the bat against cabinetry. I hear glass shatter—wild echoing thumps—water splashing all over the floor.

I make a mad dash out the broken window in the living room scraping the flesh on my new Chloe arm in the process. I land cockeyed on my foot and manage to twist my ankle hard on the concrete below, but I keep running.

“I see you!” I can hear myself scream from the back of the house. I run and dive onto the grass and watch as the bat goes flying through the air—tumbling over itself with gravity-defying fury. I watch in horror as it comes towards my head, dead on like a Tomahawk missile.

Chloe lands on top of me. I can feel the laughter bubbling out of her chest.

We wake up in her bed, and she’s still laughing.

42

I Can Explain

I really can’t explain why Gage has gone missing. So I don’t bother. Instead, I hitch a ride to school with Brielle and Drake, ignore the wild texting spree from Logan, and try to brush off Marshall’s incessant barrage of possibilities during math class. Sometimes ignorance is bliss—it’s difficult to imagine when that might be. But for today I have to pretend I’m someone else, not Skyla Messenger—most idiotic angel on earth who misplaced her boyfriend and inadvertently kills her father each times she visits.

I try to distract myself as I drag from class to class. I let Ellis act like a kook and gush over how much money I’m going to save his dope habit just by the sheer fact he can repeatedly steal his own stash.

“How are you able to steal it again and again?” I’m puzzled by this. “If it’s gone last year, that means you never smoked it, right? So if you smoke it now how is it still there a year ago?”

“You make less sense than I do, and I’m high.” He adjusts his backpack against the bench. Brielle and Drake have gone off campus for lunch because it’s finally not raining, and you can actually make out the road. Or they probably just wanted to make out, either or.

“I lost Gage,” I confess.

“He hooking up with Carly again?”

“What?” It comes out a shrill cry.

“Relax. It was like months before you got here. And I know how much you hate her.”

“Hate her more now.” I fold my arms across my chest.

“So where’s Gage?”

“In L.A. being eaten by overgrown panther’s with horrible human-like faces.”

“Remind me never to light drive with you again.”

“What about the stash?”

“Except then.”

Michelle walks by. Her entire face is pasty and swollen.

“Looks like she’s rotting.” Ellis says as she passes.

“She’s being bitch slapped by Fems.” I let out a hard sigh. It’s my fault everyone I know is suffering. “I hear that kind of activity picks up this time of year.”

“I’m counting on it. They liven up my Halloween party. It’s cheap, violent, wicked fun.” He gives a greasy smile.

A shadow falls over us. For a second I’m afraid to look up, afraid at what monstrous nightmare has decided to embellish the landscape, but I take a small peek.

“Logan.” I jump to my feet and give him a quick hug.

“Where is he?” His eyes round out to boyish circles, and for a moment I think he’s going to kiss me.

I’m afraid to say, so I bite down on my lip in an effort to stave the truth from vomiting out.

“Where is he?” He asks with a little more agitation. His amber eyes swirl like a kaleidoscope. There’s just enough real anger to fuel the conversation. I don’t think we’ll need to rely on any fake intensity here.

There are two ways I can do this—the truth and a lie.

“Maybe you pissed him off,” I say. I think the lie has more fortitude right now. “Maybe he couldn’t handle all the crap you give him and he swam off the island.” I don’t want to clue Ellis in on how desperate I am to have Logan help me, either.

It might work to my benefit to have Ellis think I’m over both Logan and Gage and into him. That way I could get him to deliver a list of Counts, in exchange for his stash.

Do I even hear myself?

I ponder the irony of how I’ve become a glorified drug dealer—the angelic vessel of all things illegal. If I’m going to do that, maybe I should have a fake relationship with Marshall and have him bring my father back.

The bell rings, and Ellis takes off.

“He’s stuck in L.A. We have to go back and get him,” I plead.

Logan’s eyes close, and he takes in a quick breath.

“I can’t.” He shakes away the thought.

“Yes, you can. If I can do it, anybody can,” I plead. “Are you afraid? Is this like some kind of phobia you have? Gage is afraid of Mastodons and you’re afraid of time travel?” A tiny part of me is thrilled that I might be braver at something than Logan.

“It’s not that.” He shifts uncomfortably and puts his hand over mine. If I time travel, there’s a good chance I won’t come back.

Yes you will. I swear I won’t lose you. I’m taken by the fact he’s holding my hand right here in the quad.

He shakes his head. A sad slow look spreads across his face.

A thin layer of clouds drag over the sun like a dirty veil and darkens the landscape.

Skyla, there’s something I have to tell you. He gives an uncertain smile. I’m not from this time. He closes his eyes briefly. I’m from the past.

43

Loaded

I waited all day for school to get out, then for his shift to finish at the bowling alley before he could meet me in the butterfly room.

So when my parents died... He pauses.

I rub the back of his hand with my thumb encouraging him to go on. Skyla, my Uncle Barron is really my brother… he and our older brother, Liam, came back to the day of the fire and rescued me. I was a baby in my mother’s arms, and he saved me. He ends his near hour-long narrative.

So your Uncle Barron is really your way older brother? Creepy.

I know. I’m sorry. I meant to tell you, but it never felt right. And when you think about it, I was brought here around the same time he had Gage, so I’ve been raised here. He pulls me closer and leans his head on my shoulder. I remember my time locked in that body, heavily disfigured. It was a prison, but here with you in this place, on Paragon, this is life.

So he saved you because your burns left you disabled. You lived that life for thirty-six years? I crawl over into his lap. I’m so glad he’s OK.

Liam and my Uncle Barron thought it’d be best to initiate the rescue before the burns incurred. That’s when they took me, but the rest of my life over there still left an impression.

What happened to your Uncle Liam? I ask.

He stayed behind, died a few years back. There are rules involved with time travel to prevent people from going back or forward and plucking people out at will. It’s a soul for a soul.

A soul for a soul. I repeat. Then Gage should have no problem coming back. I just need to find him. I hold my breath at horror of the Fems finding him first, if they haven’t already.

What’s your memory tell you? What happened that day your dad died?

I remember Chloe, and the intense panic I felt when I stepped inside the house—of course trying to kill future me with a baseball bat…but I never saw the boy she spoke of, and my father died in a car accident. It’s that last part that makes me cringe. It’s because of me he’s lived out his fate way more than anyone should. I perk up. Marshall says he could bring back my father, so it’s possible.

Logan lifts his head. He doesn’t think much of Marshall, so the thought of something good coming from him is doubtful.

If Marshall said it, then it must be true, he says.

So Sectors can’t lie?

He can if he wants, although it’s never referred to as lying. They’d refer to him as a deceiving spirit. What does this thing want from you anyway?

I’m startled to hear him refer to Marshall as a thing. A part of me doesn’t want to tell him about the whole super race hypothesis.

Super race. Logan sighs into the idea.

Crap.

Sorry, he folds our hands together. I keep surprising you like that.

I don’t mind that you know, although Marshall might have to kill you. I wish I were joking. There’s something else I’ve been meaning to tell you. He’s shown me two more Counts.

His eyes widen. I can’t tell whether he’s anxious or pissed.

“Who?” He says out loud.

“Nat and Ellis.” I take in a deep breath.

He mouths their names staggering in thought. His hand rakes through his hair a few times, perplexed by the news.

“I can’t believe Ellis,” he says. “I have to admit I wasn’t all that shocked when you told me about Brielle. I’m likely to believe just about anything about Brielle. But Ellis…” His thoughts wander. “We played little league, built dirt forts until the sun went down in the summer. Our families went on trips together a few times.” His head picks up a notch. “I bet the Harrison’s have known all along.”

“Ellis knew about me. But Brielle and Nat don’t seem to have a clue. Could it be possible they’re not aware of it?”

“Ellis Harrison is a Count.” Logan’s still trying to digest this. “Anything’s possible.”

***

Days drift by. The sad rhythm of the rain beats upon my bedroom window. I let my tears flow in silent concert. My heart breaks for Gage and the Oliver’s who I haven’t had the guts to face.

I go back each night with Chloe, but the results are the same.

Everybody at school asks how Gage is doing. I have to lie and say he’s getting better. The story is he’s got the flu.

If we can’t get him back, Logan says they’re going to have to file a missing persons report with the police and tell them he ran away.

Could he have lasted two years in L.A.? That is, if the Fems didn’t eat him? Chloe and I are going to try again tomorrow night after the game. I hope it works, and if it doesn’t I think it’s time to call in my last resort, Marshall. Although, I’m not above stealing money and hopping a plane to L.A.—shouting his name for miles before I sell my body to build a super race with anybody.

I lean over and grab a spiral bound notebook and a pen. I’m going to write him a poem and when he comes back I’ll read it to him.

I labor for hours, scratching out words, rewriting, adding and subtracting until I come up with something that remotely expresses the way I feel.

I let the spirit of the sad, sad, rain move me.

Long powerful strokes of anguish cut through me when I think of you.

Harrowing hurt, a mile wide, springs from deep inside.

I never knew I could feel this way about anybody—ever.

I hope you know the place you hold in my heart is real.

Come back to me and I’ll show you.

I’ll lead you right into that special place where we can be alone.

I can’t wait to speak these words to him, to see the look on his face when I say them. I try to imagine me tripping all over my apologies when I find him. Of course, knowing Gage, he would want me to forget all about it because he’s just that nice.

Then a very strange thought pops in my mind from out of nowhere.

I think Ellis Harrison and his light driving pot run may have just saved Gage.

44

Man Down, Man Up

It’s a crystal clear night, and the game is droning on forever. It’s painstaking, like watching erosion happen in real time. The moon shines down over us like a high beam. It rained yesterday, but not one drop today, so the playing conditions seem perfect.

It’s hard to cheer, not knowing whether or not Gage is safe—or alive. It’s the last quarter of the game, and we’re up by ten. Logan says the team’s playing for Gage tonight. I hope it’s the last night they’ll ever do that.

Five minutes left in the game. It feels as though my muscles are going to fail. I can’t live off of three hours of sleep a night. The human body isn’t built for this kind of speed, and neither is a Celestra’s.

I pan the bleachers for signs of Ellis. I see him intermittently, but he keeps disappearing, and I can’t keep track of him.

“I think that’s Logan.” Brielle leans into me.

“What’s Logan?” I give a puzzled look into the stands.

She clasps me by the shoulders and physically spins me around.

“Weren’t you paying attention? The whistle went off, he’s down.”

Whistles are constantly going off during the games. I’ve completely trained myself to ignore them for the most part.

A small army of EMTs roll a stretcher out onto the field.

“What happened?” I don’t bother waiting for a response. I grab Brielle by the arm and make her run down the field with me.

The ice-cold wind cuts through my lungs, makes them feel like they’re bleeding from the inside.

“What’s going on?” I fall on my knees next to Logan as close as I can get.

The coach is talking to him, slapping him gently before he gets up to brief the medics.

“What happened?” I lean over his face. His breathing is labored. He’s dripping with sweat and can’t keep his eyes opened.

“Hit my head.” His eyelids twitch. “Back hurts, can’t breathe.”

“Can I do something?”

He gives a wry smile and shakes his head just enough.

I clasp onto his forearm and close my eyes like I’m praying. I’m going to find Gage tonight with Chloe.

My Uncle has a connection that can help us. Don’t do it. Don’t go messing with the Fems. They can change things. Please, there are still things you don’t know.

The coach barks at Brielle and me to take off. I get up and brush the grass off my knees.

Why exactly are there still things I don’t know? Who does Logan think he is keeping these things from me? Of course I’m going to get Gage. I put him there, and I’m going to get him out.

I wait until they wheel him down the field before running over to him with the other cheerleaders. I rub his bare shin while Michelle whispers something right in his ear.

Feel better, and I love you, I say.

He raises his thumb as they wheel him away.

***

“Ellis!” I shout after him.

The crowd swirls in every direction and I hold up my hand until he sees me.

“What’s going on?” He clasps my hand in an awkward handshake.

“How’s your stash?” I ask, jumping on my toes.

“Down to the dregs.” He gives a nasty smile.

“Well let’s go. I’m up for an adventure. I’ve got enough adrenaline in me to knock a few more of Carly’s windows out.” I wrap my arm around his shoulder playfully.

“Cool. Let me go take care of something real quick, and I’ll be right back.” He jogs over to a group of girls howling with laughter.

“Where’s the party?” Marshall’s breath tickles my cheek.

“Don’t do that.” I jump back and pan the area for Michelle. If Marshall’s still here she can’t be far behind. “I don’t know where the party is. Ask your girlfriend.”

“Snippy.” He leans in. “I hope that’s jealousy. How is young Gage?” He twitches his nose with amusement.

“Very lost. Would you mind telling me how to bring him back?”

“Where is he?”

“Two years ago, L.A. And have I mentioned with Fems?” I’m so frustrated with him I want to push him clear across the field.

“Fems and Logan and Gage oh my.” He wiggles his fingers.

“I’m not laughing. Are you going to help?”

“Are you going to let me woo you?”

“No.”

“Then my answer’s the same.”

“I can’t believe you.” I shove him hard in the chest. The thread of a pleasurable current rustles up my arms and fills me momentarily with the urge to latch on. “You have the ability to save Gage and my dad, and you won’t do it!” I feel the heavy weight of tears building behind my lids. I’m so pissed I want to hit him over and over—beat him.

“I’ll have you arrested for assault if you do that again Miss Messenger.” He says in his most professional voice. “Should you change your mind, my services will be on standby this evening.”

Michelle appears by his side. The dark circles under her eyes are caked over with foundation making her look more than ten years older. She threads her arm inside his and scowls at me. They saunter off in the crowd like a bona fide couple.

Un-freaking-believable.

“Let’s do it,” Ellis says, catching up with me.

“I need to make a pit stop at Chloe’s first. You in?”

His eyes close with discontent.

“Here we go,” he mutters under his breath.

45

Blind

Chloe stops sweeping the floor with her dresses and lasers a storm of intense hostility in Ellis’ direction.

“Why him?” She growls.

“I thought it’d be fun. Besides, Logan hurt his back.” I don’t let on that he’s pretty sure he won’t get back to the right year and why. “So Ellis, explain to Chloe about your never ending stash trick.”

“Is that why you brought me here?”

“Yes. It might lead to my never-ending Gage trick. Just, help me,” I say exasperated. “I’d go alone if I could figure out how to land five minutes ahead of myself.”

“You can’t.” Chloe rakes a brush through her hair so violently that I hear some major breakage occur. I almost warn her she’s asking for split ends, but then a year in a coffin’s probably not too good for her glossy mane, either.

“We’re still going to the party, right?” Ellis asks.

I shoot him a vicious look of discontent. He knows what happens to Chloe at that party. How can he be so moronic to bring it up right in front of her? Are all Counts this stupid? The opposition’s suddenly not looking so bad.

“If you’re good, just you and I,” I whisper while Chloe snatches a pair of jeans off the floor and heads into the closet.

“Awesome. I’d do anything to keep this stash going. You know how much money I’m saving?”

Freaking frugal Ellis is what I’m going to call him from now on. I hate to break it to him, but I don’t really care about his financial situation, and plus it’d probably be really good for him if he got off the stuff anyway. He’s going to end up some loser Count and I’ll be partially responsible. Then a major light bulb goes off.

“I’ll do as many runs as you want in exchange for a favor.”

“You wanna upgrade to a sledge hammer?” His face smoothes out in anticipation.

“No, the hammer’s working out pretty good.” One of these days Carly is going to find out it was me, and Ellis is going to be behind it—most likely inadvertently. “Get me a list—something on paper of all the major Count players.”

He shakes his head gazing out the window.

“Or no stash?” He asks.

“No stash.”

***

The three of us arrive back in L.A. and my old room is still destroyed beyond recognition. I have no intention of hanging out with a plate of milk and cookies for my old self this time either. Who knew I was so kick-ass, even if it was me I was trying to kill?

“So let me get this straight, you’re using the same bag over and over?” Chloe looks doubtful.

“Yup.” Ellis seems curt with her.

“There’s no way. It’s got to be a treble.”

Chloe exudes confidence, so naturally I believe her.

“A treble…” I say. Like when I thought I had managed to escape from Ezrina only to end up back there again, treble? “That means we’re going to get sucked back into that situation?”

“Bingo.” She says without emotion, picking up my book of poems and making herself at home on the bed.

“So, how do we create a treble?” I’d do anything to get Gage.

“You can’t fix anything like this with a treble. It has to play out—the sooner the better.” Chloe picks up a pen off the nightstand and starts rearranging my poetry.

“So Ellis and his stash mean nothing?” I can’t believe this.

“Per usual,” she quips.

I want to take Ellis by the neck and bang his head into the wall. And why is Chloe so calm?

“Don’t just sit there, do something.” I feel like picking up a bra off the floor and flinging it at her.

“You have Ellis.” She glowers at him. “Besides, this whole time continuum thing is far too small a space to contain the two of us.”

The covers rumple, and she’s gone.

“Crap,” I hiss. “What did you do to piss her off so freaking bad?”

“Technically, I haven’t done anything yet.” He sits down at the computer and starts scrolling around.

“Ellis, there are Fems out there after Gage—eating Gage. Don’t you have a sense of urgency to get up and do something?”

“No.” He doesn’t bother looking up.

“What did Gage ever do to you?”

“With him out of the picture it ups my odds of hooking up with you.” He gives a lazy smile before pecking at the keyboard.

The room shakes. A loud bang comes from downstairs, and Ellis pops out of the seat.

“We gotta find Gage,” he says.

“Oh, now you wanna help.”

“No, actually I want him to protect me.”

The sound of shattering glass rattles the house.

“We need to go downstairs,” I say, pulling him towards the door.

“Anyone ever teach you to run away from danger?”

“Don’t be stupid, Ellis.” I open the door. “That’s where all the fun is.”

The room goes dark. The house starts in on a series of violent blows, and I lose a hold of him.

Loud thumping footsteps methodically climb the stairs.

The bedroom window explodes letting in the muted light from outside. A wild jolt picks up the house and drops it. Ellis tumbles backwards right out the new gaping hole.

“Ellis!” I try to move towards the window to see if he’s all right, but can’t.

I feel something secure itself to my right arm. It’s a long black tail connected to something coming from the hall.

Oh, fuck.

46

Repeat

I didn’t mean to leave Ellis. Once I saw that smooth as velvet fur on the leather whip of a tail, I began to black out and somehow ended back up in my bed safe on Paragon.

A slow drizzle forms little beads of rainbow pearls on the foggy glass of my bedroom window. I perch myself in the built-in seat beneath it and lay my hand on the cool of the glass.

Chloe went back enthused last night, only to meet her fate. Ellis wasn’t even that hot on going to save Gage, and I dragged him anyway, just like I dragged Gage, and now it’s all turned into a big pile of crap. I’ve got no choice but to figure this out on my own. I don’t think Logan will be too impressed when he finds out I went back and lost Ellis too. Technically I didn’t lose Ellis. Most likely he broke his back when he fell out the window and lay helpless as a wild herd of Fems plucked off his limbs.

I take in a ragged breath. What am I suppose to do? I feel stupid just sitting here. My gaze falls on the poem I wrote for Gage, the one I thought for sure I’d be reading to him by now. Maybe I should write Ellis a poem too? I could write one for each person whose life I smashed to pieces—poetry noir.

My phone buzzes. It’s a text from Brielle.

You hear about what happened last night?

Oh shit. I have no clue what she’s talking about and to tell the truth I’m too chicken to ask.

Is it Logan? ~S

Nope. Michelle jumped off Devils’ Peak.

I shake my head and mumble the word no over and over. I can’t handle this anymore. I need to put a stop to this madness. It’s like I’m spraying bad luck all over the place.

Is she dead? Of course she’s dead. Who survives a drop like that? It’s got to be hundreds of feet.

She’s in ICU.

I take in a deep breath. OK, she made it. All I have to do is give her some blood or something—I can fix this.

Who am I kidding? I can’t fix anything. In fact, I tend to make things worse.

I text Logan. How R U? ~S

Stiff, but OK. Where’s Ellis?

He knows. Someway, somehow he found out.

Home? ~S

Sheriff’s out searching. He left his truck at school. He’s not home. You know something.

Why would I know something? ~S

Because you tend to lose people.

Is this really the time and place for humor? Then it hits me—it’s a plain fact. There’s not one thing funny about it.

He’s with Gage. ~S I hate it when he’s right.

I hop off the bed, not waiting for a response. I’m going back to fix this right now—all by myself.

***

It occurs to me when the ground beneath me trembles and the Fem is wrapped around my arm, that Marshall might be someone good to have by my side at times like these. I mean, so what if it costs me my life, soul, being, whatever? How bad would it really be creating a super race with Marshall? Any time I feel like having a nervous breakdown over Logan or Gage, I’ll simply reflect on moments like this, and understand that I’d rather not turn into Fem vomit and...

I let out a bloodcurdling cry and don’t stop until my lungs beg to explode.

The beast comes in with its eerie grimace, strange humanlike features masked under a panther’s jet-black fur, creepy glowing eyes, and long catlike limbs.

“Skyla!” A male voice booms racing up the stairs.

The door opens in haste and refracts off the wall.

“Daddy!” I scream. Daddy was usually something I reserved for the tender moments of yesteryear, not the monster’s-going-to-twist-my-head-off-and-toss-it-out-the-window moments of today.

He’s armed with a baseball bat, same one I wielded at myself not too long ago. He gets in a violent series of blows to the back and side of the Fem’s head until a mess of green slime starts to gunk up the bat, and the Fem falls flat to the ground.

“Let’s go.” He helps me leap over its listless body. It reaches up and snatches my ankle before I can traverse it.

I scream, maneuvering towards the door as my father beats the living shit out of the writhing creature.

The grip around my ankle loosens, and we manage to reach the stairs. He leads me outside to the front of the house, opens the passenger door to his car, and instructs me to get inside.

“How’d you find the keys?” I ask as he lands in the driver’s seat and locks the doors.

“I don’t know where they are.” A bewildered look crosses his face. “It was unlocked.”

Right.

I’m in a car on this very day with my dad. I tick my head nervously.

“I guess you want some sort of explanation of what’s going on.” He looks straight ahead at the garage as though he were disappointed in himself for not doing it sooner.

“That we belong to a faction of angels called Celestra?” I ask. “That we have the amazing capability of pissing off a crooked group of angels called the Counts? That the Fem upstairs is nothing but a ball of air, which by the way I do not believe,” I say full of frustration. “Yeah, please tell me because I’m dying to know.”

I can’t believe I’m yelling at my dad, who, by the way, I’ve never even slightly freaked out on with the exception of today of all days, his death date.

“You know all this.” He folds his hands into his lap and turns over to me thoughtfully. “I didn’t think it was right to tell you. I wanted you to have normal childhood for as long as possible.”

“I did.” I pick up his hand. “And it was a happy one.”

“Was?” He presses into the headrest. “It’s still happening.”

“No it’s not.” It comes out feeble. “It’s not. You’re gone, Daddy, and I’m not doing so well without you.”

“I’m not following you.” His forehead creases. “I’ll work less. Sweetie, everything I do, I do for you and your sister. Believe me, I’d much rather spend time with the two of you.” His eyes fill with moisture.

The world slides from beneath us, feels like it sways on its heels, and, for a second, I want to say yes, spend more time with us, but I know that’s not going to happen.

“I’m not the Skyla you know.” I start in carefully. His skin looks thicker in this harsh light of day, and I can see the slight pocking of his flesh around his cheeks. He looks hardened by the world, not like the softer version I keep tucked away in my memory. “I’m Skyla from the future.”

A loud popping noise explodes from somewhere deep in the car. Flames shoot out from under the hood and lick dagger like spears high up over the windshield.

In less than three seconds, the entire car is engulfed in flames.

47

Wake

My eyes flutter open. The room slightly spins as I struggle to get up on my elbows. A wave of nausea washes over me, then the details of what happened flood back like a storm.

Two years ago my father died in a fiery crash in the driveway of our home. A young woman was reported to have fled the scene. That young woman was me.

I head downstairs, bumping into walls, stumbling over the carpet until I land on a barstool next to Drake.

“Skyla?” My mother zooms in on me so close she looks disfigured.

I give a series of hard blinks.

“I think maybe you should stay home from school today.” She slides over a glass of orange juice.

“School?” What the heck happened to Sunday?

“You need to rest. You had a pretty high fever when I checked last night.”

“You were delirious,” Drake says with a mouthful of cereal. Milk spurts out when he laughs.

“I’m fine.” The clock behind mom reads, seven-thirty. That’s less than five minutes before I need to shoot out the door. “Can I catch a ride with you guys?” I ask Drake.

He looks at me up and down with the spoon stuck in his mouth.

“I’m leaving in two minutes,” he mumbles.

“That’s all I need.”

Much to my mother’s protest I dress and pull my hair back in a ponytail. I snatch my makeup bag off the counter and toss it in my backpack.

“You’re going to relapse,” she insists.

That’s impossible, I want to tell her.

“I’m going to be fine. If I feel bad I’ll go to the nurse. I’ve got this huge test coming up in Algebra Two—if I miss one class I’m completely behind. It’s like missing a month of regular math.”

“I get it.” She gives a slow blink in frustration, before snapping her fingers. “Oh, is that Mr. Dudley’s class?”

“Yes.”

“Let him know I should have the ad complete this afternoon. He can come over later if he wants to see the proofs.”

“OK.”

“You know what?” She tucks a stray hair behind her ear. “Invite him for dinner.” She smiles shaking her head. “Don’t you just love living here? It’s like everybody’s family. We actually know our neighbors. And I can’t even imagine inviting one of your teachers back in L.A. over to the house, let alone for dinner. It’s just a different world here.”

“It’s different,” I muse. “I’ll let him know about dinner.”

“You think he’ll come?”

“I’m more than positive.” There’s no way he’ll let this opportunity slide by.

I walk down the driveway towards Brielle’s Jeep with Drake motioning for me to hurry.

I hop in the back and stare out in a vacant manner as the scenery starts to whiz by. I can’t focus on anything right now other than Gage and Ellis.

“Can you believe all this weird stuff that’s been happening?” Brielle switches off the radio. “First Michelle, now Ellis missing?”

“Yeah, I know. How’s Michelle?” I ask.

“No clue.” She clasps her hands on the wheel and focuses in on the road.

Things are getting weird all right. And it’s all my fault.

***

I see Logan on my way to second.

“You look great.” The words sail from my lips without my permission. I pull him into the dark underbelly of the stairwell.

He pushes a quick kiss on my lips. I’m so shocked I hold my breath for three solid seconds. This is serious. Maybe he’s got a brain injury.

“I miss you.” His lips twitch. There’s an inherent sadness in his eyes, like he means it, but it’s layered a little deeper than I understand.

“I’m so sorry about Gage.” I can barely get the words out.

“Nobody blames you. I don’t want you to stay away from the house because you think my aunt and uncle are mad. If anything they blame Gage.”

“Gage?” Obviously they’re too nice to put the blame where it really belongs.

Logan traces the outline of my lips with his finger. His eyes magnetize to mine and we let our gaze linger while the warning bell goes off.

“I’ve ruined everything.” Even my words aren’t powerful enough to break the spell of attraction. My breathing becomes erratic.

“You didn’t ruin anything.” He gives a bleak smile when he says it.

“Michelle’s in the hospital, Gage and Ellis are missing. Fems are spreading like a fungus, and we have to hide our relationship. I can’t think of one thing that’s working out right now.”

He kisses the back of my hand and pulls his cheek into a half smile.

“We are.”

***

“Ten minutes late, Miss Messenger,” Marshall says as I walk by on the way to my desk. “I was beginning to think your entire row was going to disappear.”

A series of gasps erupt.

“I apologize. That was in poor taste considering the dubious nature of Mr. Harrison’s disappearance.” Not that I’m crying myself to sleep at night, he adds for my benefit.

I don’t bother focusing on the lesson at hand. I gape at the open book in front of me and stare at the numbers in a daze. It’s hard to target my attention on equations with Gage and Ellis lost in some other time dimension. If they end up dying back there, what happens with the last two years? Did they ever really happen?

I totally get why Logan warned me not to time travel in the first place. I swear if I can somehow reverse this, I’ll never time travel again, well, probably never. I can’t promise myself anything. I’m so out of control, I can’t even control myself. How’s that for irony?

“Skyla,” Marshall sings over to me. Even his voice has the magical ability to soothe.

Most of the class is already gone. I collect my things and walk over to his desk.

“My mom wants to know if you can come to dinner. Ad’s ready.” I don’t come at it with quite as much enthusiasm as my mother.

“Yes.” His eyes widen instantly as though he’s been hoping—praying for this.

“Don’t seem so eager. It’s not becoming,” I say as I head towards the door.

He walks over swiftly and leans over my shoulder.

“Remember those words when you beg me to have you.”

“I’ll never do that.”

“I have the gift of knowing,” he reminds me. “You will.”

48

Behave

Emily and Lexy are lost children. They huddle together as tears stream down their faces. They don’t get up and practice during cheer; instead, they speak in hushed tones when they bother to speak at all.

At the end of the hour, Ms. Richards announces that Michelle has been downgraded from critical condition. Miraculously, her pencil dive off Devil’s Peak has managed to result in a mere broken leg. A wild scrub oak broke her fall.

“Can you believe it?” Brielle whispers.

“Yeah,” Nat shakes out her kinky hair. “She’s ruined the line, ‘Go jump off Devil’s Peak’. Sort of lost its punch.”

“Either that or she’s an immortal.” Kate laughs when she says it, and I wonder if she knows that Nat and Brielle are both Counts or if she’s the only one not in on this celestial joke.

Ms. Richards claps her hands one more time.

“I think, in the spirit of unity, we should all visit Michelle tonight at seven. Please wear your uniforms, and if you so wish, bring flowers.”

“Seven? Mr. Dudley’s coming over tonight for dinner.”

“Ooh…” Nat shakes her shoulders. “He so damn hot.”

“He’s interesting,” I say, lackluster.

“Are you blind?” Kate’s a little miffed at my non-responsiveness.

“No, I just like my boyfriend better.” I sort of mean both of them. A hot ball of fire cycles through my stomach.

What’s happening to Gage? There’s no doubt in my mind once this horribly drawn out day is over, I’ll have to go back. I have to get him. A small voice in the back of my mind repeats what Logan once said. Anything’s possible if I believed—and I do believe I’ll get Gage. I’m pretty sure Ellis will get back either way. He’s sort of a cockroach that way. Plus, he doesn’t have a stash, and I’m pretty sure you can’t smoke a Fem.

There is one thing that seems impossible—saving my father. After I undo all the damage I’ve done, I won’t bother trying ever again.

***

Marshall shows a little too early—a little too eager. I can smell the desperation oozing off of him. He’s like an older version of Gage on love-struck acid. Although right about now, I’d do anything to have Gage pour his love all over me. I’m pretty sure I’d shock the hell out of him and pour it all right back a thousand times over.

“Isn’t she beautiful? She’s like a real live angel.” He holds up the proofs up to the light. “Amazing,” he says under his breath.

“Trust me Skyla’s no angel, but even I’m fooled by this picture.” She coos, lost in some zombie-like trance at the black and white print.

My mother has her recipe books strewn out all over the counter. Stray opened cans lying around with crumpled napkins and soggy dishtowels fill up the volume of the kitchen island. If it were anyone else I’d actually be embarrassed at the state of unrest the house is in, but I’m glad we look like pigs. I hope we scare Marshall off with our unsanitary condition.

Tad walks in, and everyone plays nice while Mia and Melissa help me set the table.

“It’s so refreshing to see your domestic side.” Marshall’s lips curl into a barely-there smile.

Creepy.

“Skyla? Domestic? Ha!” My mother balks. “You should see her room.”

“Could I?” Marshall gives a sly grin in my direction.

No you cannot, you dunce, I feel like saying.

“I’ve always believed you can tell so much about a person by the natural state of their private space,” he continues.

“Sure, go on.” My mother sticks her head in the oven to check on the chicken. Obviously, she’s insane from the fumes or something.

He’s a teacher—a grown man no less. What the heck has gotten into her? It’s like he’s zapped her with his charm and now she’s defenseless to his every whim.

I sigh and lead him towards the hall. Tad looks at me as though I’ve just sprouted two heads. Even Tad thinks this is a bizarre turn of events. If Tad and I are on the same page then for sure this whole thing reeks of rotting corpses.

I take the steps two by two, but Marshall beats me to the top anyway and hisses, I win.

I open the door to the united kingdom of colorful underwear and let him take a gander. He steps deep inside before spinning in a long slow circle. Then he walks over to the bed and lies down, prompting me to slam my door shut and lock it.

“Would you get up? What’s this ‘see your room’ business?”

“I was bored.” He sniffs at the sheets. “Just taking in your scent. It’s not like I haven’t been here before, but it’s kind of nice to be invited.”

“You invited yourself.”

“Details.” He lies back and folds his hands across his chest. “Have you given us much thought?”

“No. No, us.”

“How about Gage? You found the poor boy yet?” His hand latches on to the post near the headboard, and he offers his best seductive stare.

“No.”

“Have you checked the excrement around the property? I understand Fems have a powerfully quick digestive system.”

“You’re sick.”

“I can make everything right for you, Skyla. Shall I?” He sits up in anticipation of my answer.

I have to admit, it’s getting more tempting by the minute. Although, however much I feel like sacrificing myself for Gage, I don’t feel as desperate to lose everything for Ellis.

“Your father would love Paragon.” He gets up and leaves the room.

He’s right.

***

We pretend to enjoy chicken cordon bleu, or black, as it is in its present state. My mother makes a mockery of herself, apologizing profusely for the charred disaster. You’d think she set his mother on fire the way she goes on.

“I’d don’t mind.” Marshall winks over at her. “What’s a little carcinogen every now and again?”

Tad looks appalled by his comment.

It’s true, though. I’ve always considered my mother’s cooking a slow form of suicide.

Mia and Melissa both seem equally taken by Marshall, giggling in concert at his brazen exposition.

“Mr. D?” Mia offers up her own nickname for him. “You think you’ll still be teaching when I get to West?”

“No, I’ll be old and married by then. But you can visit the horse ranch. Better yet, sign up for lessons at the new school.”

“Yes!” She explodes, nodding to Melissa. Looks like he just scored two pupils without effort from the ad.

“I’m going to have Alpacas shipped in. Isn’t that exciting?” He looks to me when he says it.

“Oh!” My mother saves the chicken from falling out of her mouth with her fingers and swallows hard. “I love Alpacas!” She chugs down a third of her lemon water. “Call me as soon as they get in.” It’s becoming painfully obvious my mother has joined in on the Marshall Dudley love-fest. She swoons over at him like a star struck schoolgirl, gets so lost in her spaced-out daze while peppering her food she has to sneeze her way back to reality.

She’s openly flirting with me, Skyla. Does that make you the slightest bit jealous? He asks.

“Yes,” I say out loud. Crap. It’s late and I’m tired. Speaking of which, I dart my eyes over to the clock, six-fifty.

“Yes, what?” Tad asks, stymied by my spontaneous affirmation.

“Um, I have to go visit Michelle. Ms. Richards wants the squad to show our solidarity.” Or was it unity?

“I heard all about that.” My mother takes in a deep worried breath.

At least something shot her down from her cloud.

“I’m headed there, too. I’ll give you a lift,” Marshall says.

“I’m going with Brielle.”

“I’ll extend the offer to her as well. We’ll be green.” He nods towards my mother. “It’s been lovely. I’ll return the favor at the ranch. I’m planning on having a community gathering to celebrate the opening. Of course, I can’t do it without my model in her wings.” He glides into a smile that reeks of sexual gratification.

“I think it’ll be a little chilly running around the ranch without any clothes on.” Tad huffs.

Thank you.

“She can wear a body suit.” My mom’s quick to save the moment, anything to please Mr. Studley.

“A body suit sounds disgusting,” I say getting up, and by the look on Marshall’s face, he agrees. “I gotta get my uniform on.”

“That’s perfect. Who wouldn’t like angel wings on an all American cheerleader?” He asks, pleased with the epiphany.

I can hear my mother agreeing with him, offering to make up posters just for the event.

It’s obvious Tad wanted to badly disfigure Marshall all night—stab him through the eye with a fork or something. Maybe my mother will end up having an affair with Marshall and that will end the monkey rein that’s taken over our lives?

That would be totally freaky.

Who knows, maybe some good will come from Marshall after all.

49

Stay

Michelle glows under the white-hot spotlight of faux somber attention. She’s magnetized to Marshall in an almost stalkerish way. Her parents and little sister head downstairs for dinner as soon as we arrive, so she could spend a little time with her friends, which is ironic since she only has the two, and the rest of us are glorified room décor.

Ms. Richards makes small talk before announcing it’s her bedtime. She winks over at Marshall before making a beeline for the door. Michelle catches on and grows uneasy. Her dark wavy hair rises high above her head in a bountiful birds nest, and her face is sallow as though she’s been dead a year herself.

“All I’ll need is a walking cast.” She espouses as though it were no big deal.

“Why’d you do it?” Nat doesn’t seem to have her mouth filter on.

I, for one, am glad she had the balls to ask because I’m dying to know.

“It’s called nocturnal something,” she says it dead serious as though it were an official medical term. “I was sleepwalking, and I got in the car and drove to the cliffs. I must have fallen off.” She fingers the rose around her neck in an effort to stabilize her shaking fingers. “I had a terrible nightmare.” Her lips turn a purplish-blue. She shakes her head. “I miss your class. Am I far behind?” She directs it at Marshall.

I can’t tell whether or not this is something sexual, or if she’s dead serious. Either way, she looks as if she were dropped off at the morgue, and death forgot to claim her.

“I’ll excuse you,” he says before nodding in my direction. “In fact, I was going to bring your assignments, but I was having dinner at the Messenger’s home.”

“Your house?” She pins me with her instant anger.

I’m not sure what Marshall’s motives are, but clearly pissing off Michelle for his sheer enjoyment is one of them.

“My mom…” I glance over at him. “My mom’s doing some work for him. He invited himself.”

“I would never do that.” He straightens.

“Michelle, you’ll get so much more rest with your jewelry off. Want me to help you with the necklace?” I offer. Despite the fact she’s a major bitch, I don’t really want her swan diving, or driving for that matter, in her sleep. Nor do I want to be forced to visit her in the hospital as an integral part of my grade.

“You guys mind leaving me and Messenger alone for a minute?” She doesn’t waver her immovable stare.

The room clears as quick as a blink.

“Dinner?” Her eyes flare up. Her olive skin brightens just beneath the surface of her wrath. “And now you want to steal my necklace?”

“I don’t want your boy-toy, and for sure I don’t want your necklace. But I promise you’ll feel better if you take it off.”

She slides the dirty rose along the chain, creating a sizzle of audible tension.

“No. I won’t take this off until the day I die.”

Might be quicker than she thinks. I purse my lips as I remember something.

“Hey,” I open my mouth in a fit of trepidation. “Ellis was telling me…” My stomach drops when I say his name. I keep forgetting he’s gone. “Um, that night at his party—homecoming last year…he says he saw you walking out of the forest, alone. He thought maybe you might have been the last one to see Chloe Bishop alive.”

“So now you’re accusing me of killing Chloe?” She asks as though it were ludicrous.

“No—not at all. It’s just that…I don’t know if you know, but Ellis is missing. They think it might be the same people that took her. You know, they might be responsible.”

Her face bleeds out all color. Her chest ceases to rise and fall. She’s completely stopped breathing.

“Michelle?”

She looks wearily towards the door and pulls the sheets up to her chin.

“I can’t sleep alone. Promise me you’ll stay with me.”

“What? What about Emily or Lexy? Or your mom?” All far more logical choices.

“Em and Lex can’t know I’m afraid.” She shakes her head in a panic. “They’ll never let me live it down, and my mom and dad won’t stay. They said I was a big girl and laughed at me for asking.”

“I have school tomorrow.” Plus, I need to be in L.A. and back before first period.

“You’ll stay, or I’ll tell everyone you’re sleeping with Mr. Dudley.”

“Everyone is sleeping with Mr. Dudley.” Except me, but I choose to excise the truth because apparently that’s how I roll these days.

“I’ll tell them you’re pregnant. I’ll tell them you had an abortion—ate your baby. Doesn’t matter, they’ll believe anything I want. Understand?”

“I’ll stay under one condition.”

“What?” Her teeth chatter, her voice is marked with a clear tremor.

“Tell me what you saw that night.”

“I saw…” Her eyes widen as she loses focus, just before she turns a hideous shade of grey and passes out.

50

L.A. Lady

The nurses decided Michelle is better off in ICU for the night where they can monitor her breathing, and not so unfortunately for me, that meant no overnight visitors.

I get straight to bed and feel myself sailing off into the past. I’ve become a master of heading off into whatever timeframe I want—master of disaster is a bit more accurate.

I give a hard blink and check out my surroundings. I’m in my cluttered up room back in L.A. Everything’s disheveled like before and the window’s shattered.

I bolt up and check down on the grass for signs of Ellis.

He’s there! He’s lying in a pool of silver glass with his hand up over his head like he’s trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

A chipped lattice trellis adheres to the wall outside my window. I climb out and try crawling down. It splinters under my weight and I dive two stories straight down, landing with my left leg below the knee splayed out unnaturally to the side.

A series of low gurgling moans escapes my throat as I try not to pass out from the sheer freaking horror of it all. Just the sight of my severely disjointed leg weakens me to the point of wanting to zoom back to Paragon.

“Is that painful?” Ellis says from over my shoulder.

This can go two ways as far as I see it. I panic and scream or man up and pop it back into joint—so I do both. I scream so loud it hardly sounds human. The tendons behind my knee feel severed, and the area swells instantly like a balloon. I pull back my jeans just enough.

This can be healed, I tell myself placing my hands over my knee with the utmost care. Maybe all I have to do is believe this is going to be OK?

I wait, but the swelling only seems to increase, and the adrenaline effect is wearing off, sending hot searing pain straight into my chest.

“Spit on it.” He commands.

“What?”

“See if that works. Spit on it.”

I spit in my hands and rub them over the hot spot on my leg. The swelling decreases a bit. My leg softens, and I can extend it again.

“It sort of worked. How’d you know that?”

“I didn’t. I just wanted to see if you’d spit on yourself.” He gives a tiny smirk of satisfaction. “Let’s get Gage and get the hell out of here. It feels like I’ve been down here for days.”

“More like years,” I say, attempting to get up on my feet and letting out a yelp. Still injured.

A loud thump emerges from inside the house, and my dad calls out my name.

“Come on.” Ellis takes me by the elbow, and we round out to the back of the house with me hobbling severely.

The side gate is wedged in dirt. We never used this gate, so it doesn’t surprise me. Ellis kicks it down, and helps me climb over the wreckage. The whole house has been destroyed—decimated. Just as my thoughts turn to what my neighbors might be thinking, a siren pierces through the thick humid air.

“Shit!” I mutter. “Gage!” I scream so loud it’s barely distinguishable. “Gage?”

The landscape darkens. Three moaning bodies with obvious knife wounds lie in the yard—all three of them male with long unkempt hair sporting dreadlocked beards of varying lengths. Pools of crimson spread beneath them. It’s so gruesome I can’t bear to look anymore.

A choir of hissing erupts.

“Time to go.” Ellis clasps onto my hand.

“Not without Gage.”

“Yes, without Gage.” Ellis scoops me up in his arms and traverses the series of bodies, running straight through the house and towards the front door.

“Skyla?” My dad calls chasing after us.

“He’s going to kill you.” I squirm out of Ellis’ arms. He snatches my hand, and we race to the end of the front lawn.

A brigade of police cars and fire trucks fill the streets.

“They’re going to think we slaughtered those Fems!” I panic.

Ellis shakes his head and points over towards the front door.

A police officer is talking to my father. Dad places a long bloodied kitchen knife down and places his hands up against the wall.

“They’re arresting my dad.” An air of disbelief cripples me.

A thick fog falls around us. It glows a subtle shade of blue.

“What’s happening?”

“We’re changing…”

“Changing what?”

“Dimensional planes.”

“What does that mean?” I’m not sure I want to know.

“It means, it’s on, and we need to get out of Dodge right the hell now.”

“What’s on?”

The ground trembles. A shadow falls over us thick as night. A bear-like Fem, tall as the house stomps in our direction.

Everything in me pulsates. I breathe in the congealed vapors that glaze my lungs like paste.

Its black eyes glisten. The red hole of its mouth yawns out a howl and his claw swipes down and cuts through Ellis’ midsection in one easy swipe.

“You’re bleeding,” I say stupidly.

I know that I should take Ellis and leave—never come back—beg the Oliver family to forgive me for losing Gage, but don’t. Instead I gather my strength and scream out the one name I never wanted to use.

“Marshall!”

With spirited precision he appears, clean, resplendent, radiating a light all his own. He reaches down into the fog and plucks one of the corpses from the yard.

“This is the best you can do?” He yells at it as though it could hear him. He pushes violently into the bear-like Fem, “Skyla, are you afraid of dead bodies? Over sized bears?”

“No.” Actually that’s not true, but a stubborn part of me refuses to say otherwise. I feel blindly for Ellis and grab onto his fingers.

“Useless.” He slams the body back to the ground. “You play on fears. She’s looking into resurrections, and you think she’ll cower from a little rotting flesh?”

It takes a moment for me to figure out he’s schooling the Fems on how best to frighten me.

“Where are your take downs? Body counts? Have you forgotten you have the authority to damage human flesh?” He swipes his hand through the air, and the giant bear-like Fem disappears.

“I thought you were on my side,” I yell.

“Until you choose me, I’m neither for you or against you.”

“I won’t make a good wife if I’m dead.” I pan the area. “Where’s Gage?”

He points just beyond the house. Right there in the ethereal plane, a meadow of fog and shadows, Gage is wrestling with a muscular lion-looking creature—he’s stretching its face with his hand, clasping at his throat.

“It’s a battle to the death. Entertaining as hell. We’re taking wagers. You want to guess who’ll win?” Marshall asks.

I walk over stunned. My footsteps move through the fog creating a series of hollow clicks.

“We shouldn’t really be messing with all this crap,” Ellis groans.

“Get in there and help him,” I say.

“I don’t think I…I don’t feel like…”

I don’t wait for Ellis to stammer through his laundry list of excuses. I move forward until the ground quakes beneath my feet from their tumbling. The air becomes alive with their fearful grunting.

It’s not a lion at all. It’s a half beast, just like the panthers from the backyard—something strangely human about it.

“Back up,” Gage growls.

I don’t see his mouth move when he says it. I hadn’t realized he knew I was watching.

Claws as long as butcher knives slice through his chest. Four glossy red ribbons bloom across his crisp white t-shirt. Gage cries out and releases his grasp on the beast’s throat. Another gash appears on his thigh, slices through his jeans easy as butter.

“I’ll do it.” It comes out feeble. “Marshall…” I can’t stand here and watch as Gage gets dissected.

I turn to see my father driving off in the back of a police car, just beyond the fog. I know they’ll never make it to the station, or if they do, he’ll burn later, somehow. “I choose you.” I look up, but it’s not Marshall standing there behind me, or Ellis.

“Logan!” I wrap my arms around his waist at Mach five.

“Stay back.” He drops a kiss on the top of my head and gently pulls away.

Logan looks different, noble—older.

He strides over to the lion and whips it off Gage by the tail. He helps a bloodied and bruised Gage back up onto his feet.

The lion creature surges. It pounces on Logan’s back and lands him flat on the ground. In a fit of wrestling and snarling, and with Gage trying to pluck the beast off of him, Logan manages to get a firm grip on its mane and gives a series of violent yanks until the neck of the lion snaps and its mouth is fully facing the wrong side of its body.

Gage gives Logan a hand upright.

It’s lifeless. The once ferocious creature, the size of a car, lays motionless with its broken body expelling a steady trickle of blood.

Logan walks over to it. I’m afraid the beast will animate and clamp its razor-like teeth into his leg, so I clutch onto Ellis as though that has the power to stop anything.

Almost as an afterthought Logan reaches down and claws a line down the center of the lion’s chest. The skin parts in two, creating a bright red seam down its chest. He stretches back the flesh and turns the beast over, shaking out its insides until they slosh out onto the velum-like floor. Intestines—long, coiled grey tubing, an enlarged liver, a bloated pink bag, gallons of blood, and yellow glimmering fat all slink out with a lazy swoosh.

Logan and Gage walk over to us, shoulders back, their gaze straight on. Logan clasps my left hand and Gage my right. Logan walks right through Ellis, and I feel myself falling.

51

Sublime

I’m not on my bed, but the sweet scent of cedars assures me I’m somewhere safely on Paragon. It’s cold and dark and the fog gently lifts revealing Gage bent over nursing his wounds.

“You’re hurt.” I place my hand over his stomach. The moonlight reveals a thick coat of dark liquid, warm and sticky. I think I’m going to be sick.

“I better get you home.” A voice booms over my shoulder. Logan steps in and places Gage’s arm around his shoulder. “You want to come?” He looks at me with those perfect amber eyes. They glimmer in this light and give him an otherworldly glow. It’s hard to tell under the cover of night, but he looks like his younger self again.

“I’ll get a ride with Ellis. Just get him help,” I say rubbing the back of my hand soft against Gage’s cheek.

Gage gives the impression of a smile, and they disappear.

“Let’s get out of here.” Ellis hops into his truck. It takes a minute to register we’re standing in the student parking lot of West—strange, but not half as strange as the last twenty-four hours, or two years combined have been.

I get in, still nursing my badly wounded knee. We drive for a good long while without saying a word.

“So, what’s up with that treble thing?” I’m too tired to piece that mystery together myself.

“It’s a loop that repeats until I dismiss it.”

“It’s not your typical treble, is it?” I keep thinking of that treble with Ezrina. I was back in her underground mausoleum within the hour. Something’s not right.

“I may have the knowledge to trip-set a certain scenario to my advantage, but I can’t do it without you.”

“Figures.” I’m not complaining. I think next time we’re there I’ll spend less time disfiguring Carly’s ride and more time in the forest chasing after Chloe and Michelle. I’m dying to know what has Michelle out of her mind with fear and what she was doing all alone.

He glides into the bottom of my driveway.

“Are you going to try to kill me?” I ask opening the door an inch. An icy breeze snakes its way inside inspiring a mean shiver to run through me.

“Maybe.” He huffs a tired laugh and shakes his head. “No. Are you going to try to kill me?”

My stomach cinches as I remember Marshall’s words. I don’t care if he does have the gift of knowing, I’m never going to kill Ellis.

“No.”

He holds up his fist and I bump into it with mine.

“See you tomorrow,” he says flinching as he grabs his abdomen.

“See you tomorrow.”

***

Gage picks me up in the morning.

“I can’t believe you’re driving,” I say, gingerly climbing into his truck.

He lifts his shirt just enough, exposing a thick band of gauze circling his abdomen.

“I survived.” He gives a sly grin.

“You wrestled a lion for like two years. You’ve officially achieved superhero status.”

“Right.” He pulls his cheek up on one side.

It hurts to see Gage doubtful of the things I say, always second guessing our relationship—holding Logan up like some sort of plumb line.

I lean in and kiss him. A sweet, joyful feeling laced with sorrow spears through me. He pulls back and pierces through me with those deep soulful eyes.

“I have something for you.” Originally I was going to read it to him, but the giant mass forming in my throat won’t let me, so I hand it over.

He reads the poem, two or three times.

A genuine smile spreads across his face. Something inside him blooms.

“It’s nice to be back.” He leans over and presses his lips against mine.

***

That night I wait to see Logan.

“Skyla?” My mother calls from the other side of my bedroom door.

It’s after nine, and I have to slide the dresser back to let her in. I want to make it quick because Logan’s on his way up to the butterfly room.

“Yeah?” I leave the lights off and manage to squint into the light for effect.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were sleeping. Some boy named Ellis dropped this off for you.” She hands over a purple gift-wrapped box. “He says it’s a thank you. What did you do?”

I’m speechless. I gingerly take the rectangular shaped box from her. It’s surprisingly heavy.

“I’m helping him out….at school.”

“Aren’t you going to open it?”

“Later,” I say.

“I get it.” She bats her hands at me. “You’re not changing boyfriends again, are you?”

“No. I’m keeping Gage.” And Logan.

“All right. Night,” she says, moving down the hall.

I close the door and carefully slide back the dresser.

I finger the lavender satin ribbon. I’m hoping it’s what I think it is.

***

Logan arrives and helps me up as I attempt to climb into the butterfly room with my not-so-great leg. In this good light I can see his face. His flawless skin shimmers, his sandy hair glows like the sun. He’s back to the way he should be, youthful and flawless.

“Ellis dropped this off,” I say, sitting Indian style across from him.

We stare down at the package with wonder, not breathing as though it holds the secret to a future we could only hope to have.

I pull off the ribbon and peel back the paper until all that’s left is a sturdy silver box. I hedge my fingers around the lid. Just as I’m about to lift it off, Logan presses his hand down softly against it.

He looks at me with a slightly confused expression on his face as though he were feeling both secure and vulnerable.

“I need you to know something,” he starts.

“Before you go on,” I press my hand in the air, “I want to say thank you for risking your life and for coming back. You saved Gage, and you saved me.” I shrug. “Ellis too.”

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

“So does this mean you can time travel?”

“Anyplace in particular you want to go?” He gives a seductive smile.

“I guess that’s a yes.” I bite down on my lip. I’d like to go back and change the fact I made my father look like a raging lunatic who murdered three vagrants just hours before he dies in a fiery car crash on the way to the precinct, but I shake the thought away. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to rectify that.

He picks up both my hands without breaking his gaze. His cheek pulls to the side. I’m sorry about your dad.

I give a tiny nod.

I guess I can’t change things like I thought I could, I say.

What about Marshall? He can bring back your father if you choose him. Logan studies my face with a steady look of benevolence.

“I don’t want Marshall. Not now not ever. I don’t think my dad would want that for me either.”

“Skyla.” His ears peak back and turn pink at the tips. A lengthy pause ensues. “I’ve never had anybody in my life that I care so much about. I have my aunt and uncle and Gage, yet I’ve never fully felt a part of their family. But with you I feel whole, like we belong. Now that I have you, I’ll do anything for you. Most of all, I just want to keep you safe, and if it means you being with Gage for now, then so be it.” He clenches his jaw and gives a hard blink. “Sorry I’m getting emotional, I never really do. It’s not like me. You do good things to me, Skyla.” He gives a careful smile. “I love you.”

A breath gets caught in my throat. Logan Oliver loves me. I thought I could feel it, but now I know. He leans in and kisses me—deep expressive kisses that match his powerful amazing words.

“I love you, too.” Gage’s face pops up uninvited in the back of my mind and my stomach turns. I try to shoo it away quick as it came, but I feel more confused than ever.

He taps the box. I stare down at the silver lid one more time.

“This better not be something stupid like a hot pink hammer to wreck Carly’s car in style,” I say.

“It was you! I’m impressed with your determination.” Logan’s face explodes in a wicked grin.

“It’s all that love I have for you. I can’t contain it.” I pick my shoulders up before plucking the lid off the box. There’s a note on top.

Need this back in the morning.

Beneath it lays a leather bound book embossed with the effigy of an angel with a sword in his hand. I pluck it out and scoot in next to Logan. The word Countenance is scrawled across the first page in flowery Victorian script. We thumb through it quickly—nothing but names—thousands upon thousands of names.

“I’ll take this home and go over it with my uncle.” He clutches at it with a death grip.

We stand, and I let him hold me with the book hard against my back. Our lives are going to change forever. We won’t have to hide anymore. We won’t have to live with Fems or deal with Sectors—after that whole faction war thing finishes—if we survive.

I give Logan a long drawn out kiss goodbye. I try to memorize the way it feels to have his chest beating up against mine, the brush of his lips against my skin, my hair.

“I’m going to be pouring over something tonight, too.” I open the tiny secret compartment that houses a small stack of books. I run my hand towards the back, and Chloe’s diary slides out. I brandish the small blue book in the air a moment before circling my free hand around Logan’s waist.

His lips twist as he gently takes it from me.

“What?” I ask tilting into him until our foreheads bump.

“I’m not thrilled with idea of you reading it.” He backs up and examines it with a heavy look of sadness.

“You didn’t seem to mind me reading it when you gave it to me.”

“Changed my mind.” A soft impression of a smile plays on his lips.

“Is it because of you and Chloe? I already know all that.” I stop shy of telling him I was practically there.

“No.” He gives it a subtle shake. “Gage.”

“Gage?” My head backs up a notch.

“He’s not a fan of you reading it either.”

“Really?” I say, plucking the book back out of his hand.

“But you’re going to read it.” He gives a soulful sigh acknowledging this. His eyes twitch with a hint of a smile.

“Of course I’m going to read it. What’s the big deal?” I lean forward and bounce a soft kiss off his lips.

His eyes close briefly as he caresses the back of my neck with his hand. His amber eyes glow in this light—glitter as they dance around my face. “Because Skyla,” He gives a sad knowing smile and a tender kiss before opening the exit, and leaving the butterfly room.

My hand caresses the only page of the diary that opens willingly.

Chloe Jessica Bishop

I run my fingers over her name, the place she warmed with her own hand. The pages of the diary still bound together with a thick milky film. I start chipping away at the glue in layers.

It’s time.

A small yellow piece of paper slips out from the first page I manage to peel back. It’s a note from Chloe.

Dear Skyla,

This changes everything.

Thank you for reading Tremble (Celestra Series Book 2). If you enjoyed this book please consider leaving a review at your point of purchase.

Acknowledgements

Thank you to my outrageously wonderful family for putting up with dirty dishes and laundry piles that touch the ceiling. I love you to the moon and back.

BIG thank you to Sarah Freese, Diane S., and Christina Kendler for helping me spit shine until the manuscript gleamed. I will forever appreciate your efforts!

To my wonderful readers, you bless me every day. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for all of your kindness and support. I love you like family.

To Him who holds the world in the palm of His hands—I owe you everything.

burn

Celestra Series Book 3

Addison Moore

Copyright © 2011 by Addison Moore

Edited by: Sarah Freese

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

All Rights Reserved.

Preface

The future wafts in and out of my world like a ghost—like a lumbering beast, begging to be tamed. For so long it sat locked in mystery, surrounding me, fickle as the wind. I see it now for the noose it is, the game that never satisfies, the warrior that always kills.

The past proved to be set in stone, the immovable rock of my existence that cast its shadow into the valley of death. But it is the future’s bright light that draws me in, the blinding rays that pull me forward with bionic, magnetic, force. They row me toward my destiny with indescribable power, to a fate questionably determined—washed in the patina of hope.

1

Chloe’s Diary

Brody the Nitwit,

You so much as turn another page, and I will let Mom, Dad, the Fosters, and the entire population of Paragon in on the fact that Carly left school in April to give birth to your quadruped spawn in New York, where it will be raised as her brother, by her drunk of a stepmother and questionably employed father. If you haven’t scampered already, I’ll make sure your son, whom I shall affectionately refer to as the ‘bastard’, knows what a coward both you and his mother are when the time is right, and trust me, that day will come, ready or not.

-Chloe

I close the covers and clutch the book near my chest. Carly has a baby? Bet Logan doesn’t know that.

I rub my finger against the hard lines of the plain powder blue diary—the pages glued shut long ago by Chloe herself. It’s like holding dynamite—an entire explosion of secrets—the shards refracting into people’s lives.

I pick up the personalized message Chloe left me that slipped out after the first page.

Dear Skyla,

This changes everything.

I must admit, I’m pretty happy with the changes so far. I mean, I don’t know Chloe’s brother at all, he graduated last year, but I know Carly plenty. Carly was the sole reason I was able to channel my hatred into a perfect funnel of angst and kill a Fem. Just the thought of her with Logan sends a rush of heated adrenaline up my spine.

I hop down out of the butterfly room and head over to bed. I cradle the diary as I get under the covers and pull my pillow up behind me. How am I going to read Chloe’s diary—thick as a bible, knowing she wanted Logan as much as I do? I guess my one consolation is the fact she’s dead, for now anyway.

I pull back another page, slow and careful like peeling off skin from a sunburn.

June 26,

Am I supposed to say Dear Diary? I think diaries are stupid. I think diaries belong in a thirteen-year-olds bedroom, tucked under the bed, with a balding one-eyed teddy bear keeping watch.

Let the record show, that this diary was forced upon me because my mother thinks it will help to get my feelings down on paper. I believe the word she used was cathartic. I told her I’d write down my genetic code in Latin, burn my soul onto parchment, like the Shroud of Turin, in exchange for never setting foot in Dr. Booth’s office again. If I never see that man’s face again it will be too soon. Nothing was a bigger waste of time than sitting in his overstuffed chair staring past him out the window for an hour straight.

It wasn’t helping, so I just stopped going. My mom even tried dragging me to the car. So Dr. Booth caved a little and suggested the diary. My mother picked it up on the way home from their private pow-wow, and now here you are, rubbing against my bare knees, a place Ellis would give his left testicle to be.

But I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad I can finally write down how I feel about things, like the love of my life, the friends that stab me in the back at least once a week, the reason I never forgot the way my hands looked that night last spring covered in blood. That last one still gives me nightmares. But I’m about to unlock all the secrets to this shithole, and I won’t have to die like she did. I’ll do anything not to die like that.

June 27,

So the day started with Michelle bitching about Lexy again. Honest to God, if she can’t figure out how to get a guy of her own, I’m going to feed her to the next rabid Fem that lands in front of me. I tried explaining girl code on the way to the mall where I picked up a hot pink two-piece that glows on my body. It’s straight up practically a g-string in the back, but it has this sort of whale tale thing—anyway, Michelle is on hormonal overdrive and I’m about to give her two black eyes to accessorize that horrific mono-kini she stuffed herself into. It makes her ass look twice its size, and her waist cinch abnormally, like you could stick a ring around it. Just looking at her in it, made me feel like I was staring in a fun house mirror. Maybe that’s why Michelle can’t get Logan away from Lexy? Maybe, it’s because she’s got friends like me who tell her she looks great in whatever her goofy sense of fashion dictates for her to wear.

I go back and reread Logan’s name twice. I’m pretty sure she meant someone else, like maybe Ellis? Although, Lexy with anyone is news to me.

So he was there. Of course he was there—it was at his house. I love going behind the gates, especially to the Oliver’s. I love Emma and Barron, Dr. O as I call him. I can’t wait until they’re my in-laws. They already feel like family since I’ve known them forever. Sometimes you just know who you’re going to be with. For me, it’s been the same person my entire life. I’ve grown up with him, hung out at parties and games, swam in the ocean with him brushing up against my skin. I want nothing more than to live out my days, safe, and loved by no one else but Gage.

2

Let’s Dance

Gage needs more time in the morning and asks if I can catch a ride to school with Drake and Brielle. I’d rather be late than have to listen to all the cooing that goes on between the two of them. They’re sickeningly in love and seemingly the perfect couple except for the fact Brielle seems to think it’s totally acceptable to cheat on him whenever the opportunity presents itself. I guess I should feel a little protective over Drake considering he’s my stepbrother, but something inside me can’t accept this new family— this new life without my father, so knowing that Brielle routinely sleeps around doesn’t seem to faze me much.

Brielle parks in the gravel overflow of the student parking lot and shoos Drake out of the car.

“Skyla and me have some serious girl talk to do.” She flutters her hand in the air until he scatters like a pigeon in the direction of the gym.

“What’s up?” I ask getting out of her blood red jeep, dirt high up on the sides. “I bet Drake would wash your car if you wanted him to,” I say adjusting my backpack, taking in a lungful of dewy morning air. Maybe that simple act of kindness on Drake’s part will help Brielle turn the corner and respect him a little bit more.

The evergreens stand tall around the periphery, dark and guarded. This island is rife with secrets. The thick black forest surrounds it like a garrison, the never-ending trail of fog lifts for no one—it attests to the island’s truths like a well-worn testimony.

“Yeah, I bet he would.” Brielle traces a heart with her finger onto the hood of the jeep, then rubs the muck off on her jeans. “So guess what?”

“What?” For a moment I think of telling her about Chloe’s diary, about Carly, and how Chloe obviously mixed up Gage and Logan’s names.

“Mr. Dudley offered me a job on his ranch, and I took it.”

“Great.” My lips twist as I contemplate the unholy arrangement. “So when do you start?” I don’t bother asking what she’ll be doing. I already know it has nothing to do with horses or any other scam he’s running while trying to look perfectly human.

“Saturday, and I want you to come with. I made him promise we could work all the same hours and days. It’ll be a total blast.”

“Plus, Drake won’t catch on about you spending too much time over there all by your lonesome.” Marshall, a.k.a. Studley Dudley, takes good looking to a whole new level.

She clicks her tongue and pushes hard into my shoulder as we head to first period. “You’re so funny. And did I ever mention, smart?” She shakes out her hair until it falls around her shoulders in dark copper waves.

“Yeah well, I don’t want a job at the ranch.” In truth, I want to stay as far apart from Marshall as possible. I’ve been a little weirded out ever since he confessed to wanting to procreate with me.

“Please Skyla.” She steps in front of me creating a barrier between me and the entrance to the English building. “Just the once and if you hate it, I’ll totally understand, and I won’t say another word.” She holds her hand in the air, pleading.

Something about Brielle, her bright green eyes, the open look of mischievous behavior written all over her face, everything about her draws me in. Well, everything except for the fact she’s a Count, and the Counts want my blood. I should never trust anyone even remotely associated with the Countenance. They’re the last people I should be hanging out with, or catching rides to school with, or even time traveling with like I have been with Ellis.

But all those things aside, I’ll do anything for Brielle.

“OK, I’ll go.”

***

Gage doesn’t show up for first. I’m anxious and keep checking my cell to see if he’s called or texted, but nothing. I stroll into second without bothering to acknowledge Marshall sitting at the desk impatiently tapping his fingers as if he expects me to be so enthused to be in his presence I should spontaneously break out into cartwheels or something.

“Hey,” I slide in behind Ellis. His dark blonde hair is slicked back in soft waves. He looks slightly more lucid than usual, which means he either got up too late to get stoned or he’s already burned through his stash.

“What’s up with Gage? You zap him back to the past?”

“Very not funny.” I lean forward to continue our conversation just as the bell rings.

Marshall claps his hands and strides into the center of the room in order to get our attention.

“Homecoming is upon us.” He gives a broad smile in my direction. I’ve got dibs on the last dance, Skyla.

Right. Like that’s going to happen. And what’s this ‘upon us’ business? Homecoming is not for like three weeks.

“On behalf of the school, I’ve taken the liberty to reserve the Paragon Beach Resort Hotel. This means no party at Ellis’s this year.” He says the word party and Ellis as though they were vile. “I’m sure you’re all aware of the tragic events that marred last years event.” He rasps his knuckles against the desk of an unsuspecting student.

Chloe. He’s talking about Chloe, how they, the Counts or Fems, kidnapped her during Ellis party, and a horrible feeling washes over me as though I were somehow responsible.

“There is a dress code for this event,” he continues. “Formal wear for ladies and suits for the gentlemen.”

Gage walks in interrupting Marshall’s dissertation on fashion. His dark brows lock in on me as his face breaks into a gentle smile that pushes in his dimples on either side. I clasp his hand briefly as he sits down behind me.

“So, for instance, Mr. Oliver,” Marshall directs his speech toward Gage. “Someone like you, whose wardrobe is comprised of football uniforms, jeans, overalls and Speedos, what have you.” The class explodes in a fit of quiet snickers. “You are going to have to don a dress shirt and slacks, shoes without those spikes you use to gain traction in God’s green earth, and, most definitely, a tie.” Which could double as a noose quite easily, he adds for my benefit. “And if you’ve outgrown the one you wore to the family’s latest and greatest funeral, perhaps your father would be kind enough to let you strip a corpse for the night.” The laughter morphs into gasps. He could dig up the entire cemetery in search for that perfect designer look. Marshall winks in my direction. Lord knows he’s an expert at unearthing the dead. And by the way, Skyla, I have the perfect dress for you.

Like I’m going to let some six thousand year old Sector dress me. Dream on. It’s probably some white robe that drops down to my ankles, fully equipped with a golden sash. No thanks. Or better yet, a tube top and Angel wings, probably sans the tube top this time. I bet he’d be thrilled to see me running around half nude.

I pull a face without meaning to.

He folds his arms across his chest, and bullets his gaze right at me.

It’s black, short, has chains, and is sexy as hell.

I shrink in my seat a little. I’m still not sure this whole telepathy thing is a one-way street with him.

3

Ride

Since Logan and Gage drove to school together, it means I get to drive home with both Logan and Gage. Even though Gage mentioned it in passing, this information buoyed my mood all day long.

I didn’t even respond to Michelle during cheer when she called me a bitch-faced snot for accidentally landing on her walking cast during one of our routines. I could hardly wait for that final bell to ring.

Logan’s already leaning against his white truck, waiting. He’s got on a faded red sweatshirt and jeans. His hair is wet, combed back in dark blonde strands from either the early onset of dew or showering after practice. I walk up and give him the world’s quickest hug. The strong scent of soap clings to him and his skin is polished to perfection—definitely shower.

“Hi,” I say. It comes out a little too eager.

“Hi.” There’s a slight sorrowful edge when he says it. I can’t find it in me to appreciate our game of keep away in public. It heightens the intensity of the time we get to spend alone—makes me long to be with him a thousand times more concentrated than the sun. I let that dull ache burn through me all the while we’re apart. Let it needle into me until I want to cry out from its smoldering oppression.

Gage pats me on the shoulder as he helps me inside, sandwiched in between the two of them. Suddenly it doesn’t feel so great anymore. There’s nothing in me that doesn’t like Gage any less than Logan, and even though I know this is wrong, strangely I don’t feel too horrible about it.

It’s the Count’s fault I’m sociopathic when it comes to love. If they weren’t after me, I could openly be with Logan and would never have even gotten involved with Gage.

“I have a surprise for you.” Logan digs into his cheek with a wicked grin. His brow arches into a perfect curve, and he takes my breath away with his beauty.

“Really?” I try not to sound like I’m flirting while Gage sits dutifully by my side. I’m never going to hurt Gage. I swear to myself I won’t let this happen. “Is that why you guys were late? What is it?”

“Yes, but it was worth being late. And let’s see…” He looks skyward for a second. “It’s big and hot, and desperately wants you to have your way with it.”

OK, so Logan is not against the idea of flirting in front of Gage. I face forward trying to ignore him, watching the scenery bleed by.

Gage places his hand over my thigh and shakes it as if letting me know it’s not a big deal.

“Please take your hand off her,” Logan says with a restrained anger, his eyes never leaving the road.

We drive another five minutes to the bowling alley.

Gage doesn’t listen.

***

“OK, close your eyes.” Logan’s enthusiasm has returned. He takes me by the hand and leads me through the parking lot. I keep my lids cracked so I don’t feel like I’m about to fall off a cliff with each step and let him take me around the building.

“Open,” he whispers.

The air is frosted with a milky layer of fog, coupled with the fact I’m creating a steady stream of smoke from my nostrils with each breath of anticipation.

“Where is it?” There’s nothing but a dumpster back here, a fractured bucket rolling around in the dirt, and some old car.

“This is it.” He glides into a huge grin, pulling me toward a dilapidated piece of junk. “Surprise.” He gives my shoulders a squeeze as he leans in and kisses me just above the ear.

“Surprise?” It’s a dull faded orange and as old as like Tad and my Mom combined. Wow, Logan’s lousy at surprises. I totally won’t hold it against him though. “What are you going to do with it? And why would I be surprised to see it?” Maybe it’s a monument, and it belongs in a museum somewhere? Obviously it must have some historic value that I’m not aware of.

“It’s for you. An early birthday present.” He wraps his arm around my waist.

“Oh no—that’s OK, you don’t have to do this. I don’t even have my license.” Dear God, just being seen in that thing could socially isolate me. Maybe that’s the point?

“Well, you’ll get it eventually.” There’s a mixture of hurt and hope in his eyes. “I can teach you. Besides, with a car of your own, you won’t need to rely on Gage to take you everywhere.” He leans in almost pleading.

“Oh, I get it.” It’s the keep-away-from-Gage-mobile. “I’m not sure,” I say, opening the door. It’s heavy—feels solid, not all light and plastic like new cars. It smells like cigarettes and bunch of illegal stuff I’m not even aware of. Who knows what people have done in this car—it was probably known as the sex-mobile.

I back up a notch.

“I sort of envisioned my first car as something…” I scratch at the back of my head searching for answers.

“Something more this century?” Gage interjects as he walks around the vehicle. “Nice ride, but it’s not you Skyla. And if you’re not ready to drive, don’t let this idiot bully you into doing something you don’t want.”

I’m not so sure we’re talking about cars and driving anymore, and, for sure, I’ve never heard Gage refer to Logan as an idiot before.

I look from Logan to Gage. There’s so much anger locked up in their eyes, so much newfound hate filling the gap between them. I feel horrible knowing it’s all because of me.

“So where did it come from?” I’m almost afraid to ask. Judging by the rust spots around the wheel well, it’s safe to say it could have been abandoned for years somewhere on the island.

“It was my dad’s,” Logan says rubbing the top of the car as though it were flesh.

“This belonged to your dad?” I step forward and pull him back gently by the shoulder. My insides melt at the thought he wants to give me something so special.

He pinches a smile and nods with glimmering eyes.

“I love it.” I pull him in. “Can I paint it pink?”

“No.” Both Logan and Gage answer in unison.

At least they agree on something.

4

Oh Baby

We leave Logan at the bowling alley and Gage drives me home. By the time we slide in at the bottom of my driveway, I’m pretty psyched about having my own set of wheels. Gage said it’s a 1966 Mustang with original paint and body, so I guess that was his nice way of letting me know why it wouldn’t really be a good idea for me to paint it pink or even reupholster the inside to that cool patent purple with glitter that my bicycle seat used to have. Evidently after Logan’s father died, it sat around collecting dust in the Oliver’s side yard, and Logan is more than happy to gift it to me. That, and it cuts down on my interaction time with Gage, which I know for a fact I don’t want to do.

Gage hops around and helps me out of his truck. My knee is still pissed off about that fall I took a few days ago out of a two story window trying to get Ellis and Gage back into the right year. That whole time travel thing has definitely bit me in the ass, knee, and quite a few other places—I’m not so hot on cruising around the time continuum anymore.

Gage takes my backpack and secures it over his shoulder. He tilts his head into me, his features lost in shadows. It’s only five-thirty and already it’s pitch black outside. I love autumn nights on Paragon. A dense layer of fog lies across the island like a thick blanket of sorrow. I love to let my emotions bleed into the weather here. It leaves room in my heart for the joy of having someone as spectacular as Gage around.

He wraps his arms around my waist and rubs his cheek softly against mine. I want to tell him to stop, not to get so close, but I can’t find the words or actions to go along with that rationale.

He brushes along my face until his lips find mine and offers a deep, luxurious kiss. My stomach bottoms out over and over until he gently pulls away.

I want to say it’s wrong, but my tongue is tied up in knots at the moment.

“I know,” he whispers. “I’m going to talk to Logan and tell him how I feel.”

“I think he’s got a pretty good idea.” This is going to end up in a pile of crap. I can feel it.

“I need to do it.” He chews the inside of his cheek and gets lost staring into the forest behind me. His black hair blends into the shadows. The deep blue of his eyes, glow in the night like luminaries. “I’m not trying to put you in any kind of weird position, but I need for Logan to hear what I’ve got to say.”

“OK.” I tighten my arms around him and sigh into his chest.

He leans in and offers me another kiss, slow at first as though he were asking permission this time, waiting for me to shove him away, tell him it isn’t right. Then comes the strength, the wave—an entire ocean of kisses, a circle that never ends, a seamless loop that could easily slide us across eternity.

Something’s got to give. I already know this.

***

The house glows an eerie orange. I race inside and toss my backpack on the floor. Everyone is seated at the dining room table, which is suspiciously complete with pressed linens, my mother’s wedding china from her marriage to my father, and my grandmother’s good silverware—never a good sign.

“Just in time for dinner!” My mother takes me by the shoulders and guides me to an empty seat at the end of the table.

“What’s going on?” I examine the gourmet offerings. Looks great. “You make this?” I marvel at the Mexican food buffet sprawled before us.

“I went downtown to that cute restaurant we went to for Melissa’s birthday and picked it up.” She scoops some rice onto my plate before taking a seat.

It’s quiet as we eat. The strange gaps of silence are filled in with the clank of our forks butting up against the dishes, the ice sloshing around in our glasses. I look over at Drake, and he shrugs as though he suspects something as well.

“Let’s get to this, shall we?” Tad wipes his face while addressing my mother. His hair is fluffed out a good three inches longer than usual, and he’s starting to look a bit more portly than when he first married Mom six months ago. I still don’t see what drew my mother in. It’s like he’s got her under some sort of a spell. Now that I know I’m an angel from the Celestra faction, nothing seems outside of the realm of possibility.

“First, huge announcement,” Mom taps her hands on the table doing her version of a budding drum roll. “Mia has decided to legally change her last name to Landon.” She annunciates her point with an open-mouth smile.

“What?” I can’t believe this. “You can’t change your last name,” I say examining her up and down. Mia has slowly morphed into the mirror image of me with wavy blond hair, grey eyes as clear as velum.

“Yes I can.” She picks up a glass of water and starts chugging without elaborating.

“No, you can’t.” I leave off the part about our last name being the final connection to our deceased father. “You’re a Messenger.”

“And soon-to-be Landon.” She shoots over a curt look. “Look, it’s not a big deal, I’m tired of explaining to everyone why Melissa and me have different last names, and this way we can be real sisters. It’s not like I’m keeping it forever, I’ll change it again when I’m married. Relax, Skyla.” She sets her glass back on the table hard. “You make a big deal out of everything,” she adds, “drama queen.”

“What?” I’m stupefied by this.

“Enough you two,” my mother scolds, clapping her hands together once.

I haven’t argued with Mia since before Tad and my mother started dating. It’s like having Melissa in her life demoted me to a distant family member you don’t really care about and pretty much ignore. I rather like that status.

“Next big announcement.” My mother lets a lazy grin linger as she gazes over at Tad like a lovesick teenager. “You wanna?”

“No you.” He motions.

They banter back and forth until Drake knocks his knife up against the rim of his glass.

“OK,” my mother starts. “Your father and I have decided to conceive a child.”

“You’re going to have a kid?” Drake’s face explodes with shock.

“Yes.” She giggles into Tad like a schoolgirl. “What better way to bring this family together in a circle of unity than the two of us having a child together?”

“So when are you having the baby?” Mia is clearly overjoyed with the idea.

“Oh Honey, we’re not having the baby yet, we’re in the planning stages. As soon as it happens we’ll let you know.”

“So you’re telling us,” Drake cuts a look over to me briefly before continuing, “you’ll be actively participating in the necessary relations in order to procure an offspring.” Drake’s features disintegrate into a clear look of disgust.

“Yes.” My mother beams as she takes Tad’s hand up in the air and waves it victoriously.

Oh gross.

“I’ll have a brief ovulation window each month, and—”

I start hitting the air brakes with my hands.

“I’m going to go vomit now, thanks for dinner,” I say, speeding down the hallway faster than my mother can react. Truth is, I wanted to bolt after Mia’s big news, and now that my mom and Tad are trying to have a baby, it’s sort of the last nail in the coffin of our old family—the one we had with my dad. I’d rather be alone in my room than celebrating, or pretending to smile while we discuss ovulation windows.

Drake comes up alongside me as we bolt up the stairs.

“You hear them rocking, don’t come a knocking,” he ditches into his room and shuts the door.

“Thanks for the visual,” I shout as I pass his room.

5

Off with Her Head

I wake up to a dull, silent Saturday. In a few hours I’ll be at Marshall’s with Brielle. The only bright spot in my day, will be going over to the bowling alley afterwards to visit Logan and Gage, although if Gage had his little talk with Logan that might not prove to be such a bright spot after all.

I roll over in bed and pluck Chloe’s diary from under the mattress. I must have read the last entry wrong. How could Gage be the love of her life when she was so into Logan? Sleeping with Logan?

I open it up again—nope still says Gage. I turn the page.

Days and days of boring shit. And this is something everyone was so worried about me reading?

July 4th,

The fireworks were beyond awesome! There was a bonfire tonight out by East so naturally there were too many people clustered in one tiny space. I can’t wait to get off this island. As soon as I hit 18, I’m taking a boat to the mainland and never coming back.

So Lexy and Michelle got in a near fistfight over Logan—so stupid. I had to threaten Michelle to keep her claws to herself. I swear that girl is insane. I’m going to have to tell Lex I can’t help her anymore. I know I had an “arrangement with her”, that I’d keep Michelle as far away forever, but oh well. It’s not like she delivered fully on her end of the deal. I’m still having HUGE problems with the brat pack.

I’m going to beg Gage for help. His dad’s way more active with the faction meetings. My parents could give a shit less if I end up in a body bag dumped off at the side of the road. Anyway, didn’t kiss Gage like I planned. Going over to his house tomorrow, see how it goes. Wish me better luck tomorrow!

With less than ten minutes to meet Brielle downstairs, I shut the book and hit the shower. The thought of Chloe kissing Gage turns my stomach. It’s bad enough she was with Logan.

***

Before we head to Marshall’s, I ask Brielle to drive me over to the mortuary where I give another pint of blood for project resurrect Chloe. It seemed like a good idea at the time, bringing Chloe back to throw her in Marshall’s tank to see if he’ll bite, but something about the whole thing is starting to make me uneasy. By the time we pull into Mr. Studley’s palatial estate, I’m feeling completely drained and weak.

The fresh morning air cuts sharp into my lungs. It’s heavily scented with the sweet smell of moist earth, the juniper bushes with their fragrant star shaped flowers expelling their sweetness.

We circle around back to the barn where Marshall instructs Brielle on how to shovel through hay and filter out all the horse crap. He pulls a giant waste bin between the stalls and lets her know there’s another one out back when that one gets full.

“Looks like fun.” I give a dry smile in her direction. It was her big idea to work here. She could have easily gotten a job at the bowling alley. I’m sure Logan would have been thrilled to have her—but no.

“And you, Ms. Messenger.” His eyes twinkle when he says my name—for a brief moment I remember the dark reality that I’ll soon be the only remaining Ms. Messenger in our leg of the family. “Follow me.”

Marshall’s not hard to follow anywhere. He’s tall, impossibly gorgeous, and carries himself with an unreasonable amount of self-confidence that adds to his majestic flair.

He leads me out of the barn and over to the house. Marshall’s home looks a little more like a bachelor pad today than during any of my previous visits, what with the discarded pizza boxes stacked on top of one another creating an unsteady tower, endless empty grocery bags floating around, and an assortment of drinks from fast food places springing up all over.

“You want me to clean the pigpen?” I’m not really offering. “Sorry, but I’m just here to support Brielle. I think a small part of her is actually afraid to be alone with you,” I say, making my way into the den and flipping on the TV.

“Nonsense. You’re here because you miss our alone time.” He pins me against the wall and gives a quick peck behind my ear. An intense rush of pleasure only Marshall is capable of dispensing rushes through me.

“No, really I don’t.” I circle around just outside of his grasp.

“You haven’t let me woo you yet.”

“I’m not into wooing. Need I remind you I have a boyfriend? More than one—I’ve caught my limit.”

Marshall moves forward with lightning precision and wraps his arms around my waist. Before I can react, I catch a blur racing past the window with my peripheral vision.

Carefully, I remove his hands from my hips. It feels so amazing to touch him—a relaxing, fibrillating sensation.

“Stop. Brielle’s going to see,” I hiss.

“Very well.” He flattens his palms in the air. “But I’m going to win. You’ll be spending time with me. I won’t take no for an answer. Be sure to pencil me in for the downtime between the dolts. It’ll be my pleasure to show up the both of them. I’m going to expose you to something so spectacular that they wouldn’t be able to give you in twelve lifetimes.” He presses into me an intense smoldering stare.

A loud clanging noise erupts outside, startling the both of us to attention.

“I didn’t think she could hurt anything,” he says, craning his neck in the direction of the barn. “Looks like Brielle is quite capable of defying the odds.”

Marshall heads out toward the back.

She’s probably writhing around on the floor due to a self-inflicted pitchfork injury. I know for a fact she had no intention of filling waste bins with horse crap while she was here.

Outside the front window I see a figure move into the bushes.

What the…

I head over to the front door and step outside. It’s icy out today. A nasty wind is unleashing its fury on Paragon, ushering in a cover of storm clouds that have been lingering over the island for hours—dark clouds spreading like a slow malignant tumor.

“Brielle?” I ask, taking a cautious step out onto the porch. I crush a pile of fat maple leaves—they disintegrate under my feet in a series of dry satisfying crackles. The wind whips around my ankles as though it were alive, as though it were frantically trying to warn me of whatever it is I sense out here.

“Brielle?” I try and sing her name out as though I wasn’t afraid of whatever that thing was ducking into the bushes, as though there were no possibility it could have been a Fem, or—

A hand plasters itself up over my mouth, muffling my cries as I’m knocked backward. The cold feel of metal pressing against my neck, ignites a whole new level of panic in me. I try to pluck it off me, and my finger slips through something sharp. I bring it up over my eyes to see the tip of my finger covered in blood. Then, the very distinct feeling of a clean slash runs from ear to ear.

Shit!

My flesh burns as I try to process what the hell just happened. I bite down hard on the hand slipping inside my mouth.

I’m lifted and pushed. A hard shove lands me face down in Marshall’s entry and the door slams shut behind me.

I let out a guttural groan in lieu of a scream. My head spins with panic and a strong jolt of nausea rolls through me.

My blood sprays out like a violent splat of paint against the white marble floor.

I’m going to die.

I try to crawl up on all fours, but my hands slide out from under me, slipping in the never-ending torrent of red streaming from my throat.

Can’t breathe.

Oh shit.

6

Breathing Lessons

Stark white walls are littered with my crimson fingerprints. A trail of thick red gloss runs all over my clothes, my hair—blurring my vision. I swing violently at the vases covering the sofa table, listen to them smash as they hit the floor in order to get Marshall’s attention. The tiniest breath escapes me, igniting a sizzle of electric pain in my throat. I thrash wildly, knocking over a bench in the entry, plucking the mirror off the wall and smashing it to pieces against the grand piano. Only seconds remain before blacking out becomes a real possibility.

The world spins, the room turns a filtered shade of grey. From the back window I can see Marshall examining Brielle’s hand and I pound erratically against the glass. His head turns sharply in my direction as he begins to sprint back over to the house. A look of intense worry crosses his face. The hard line of his jaw defines itself as he exerts himself to get to me. Suddenly it feels safe to melt into a black unconsciousness.

“Skyla!” He shouts my name loud as a gunshot, louder than any human voice is capable of, I’m sure.

I feel him scoop me up off the rug and jostle me across the room—many rooms.

“Stay with me!” He commands.

Brielle screams from somewhere in the distance.

“Call Dr. Oliver,” he booms over to her.

“It’s superficial. You’ll be fine,” he snaps as though he were angry.

The back of my head clunks down abruptly on a hard surface. My eyes struggle to briefly analyze the surroundings—kitchen counter—island to be exact.

Can’t breathe. Shit. Shit. Shit.

I flex my hand just above my throat wildly. I sit up, and hit my head on a pot dangling from above.

“Relax,” he barks, throwing down the copper pans that hang from the ceiling in a clanging fit of frustration.

The white-hot sting of the incision dances all the way across my neck as I try to take a breath. I clutch up at his chest and wrench his shirt in knots to get my point across.

“You can’t breathe.” It comes out calm. He reaches over me and snatches up something metallic, then picks up a plastic cup the size of a small bucket with a fat blue straw sticking out of it. “I’m going to cut you now.” He pins my arms down with one hand and fondles my neck just below where I was sliced. “Easy.”

I try to fight him, but it’s like having a tractor lay over you. Lucky for the both of us he feels good to the touch. His soothing vibrations radiate through me and I end up clutching onto him rather than letting go.

A quick stab of pain flashes through me, forcing me to open my eyes.

He plunges the knife into my throat one more time and gives a quick smile of relief.

“There.” He removes the blade and plucks the cobalt straw from out of the drink. A trail of brown liquid dispenses before he injects the straw into my neck. “Breathe, Skyla,” he demands. “Right now, breathe.”

I take in a breath—a ragged, feeble, interrupted breath, but a breath nonetheless full of sweet, sweet air. I clutch at his shirt again, and my lips curve in approval.

“Oh my, God!” Brielle screams so loud that the entire kitchen vibrates with her shrill cry.

“This isn’t for you, leave the room,” he says with relaxed authority.

Gage appears in the kitchen.

“Shit!” He stumbles backward. His face bleaches white as paper. I flail my bloodied hand out to grasp him. I want Gage to hold me, tell me everything is going to be alright as I lay here breathing through a fat, blue, straw, sticking erect from the center of my neck.

He steadies himself against the counter before turning and retching into the skink. A river of brown vomit spurts out of him causing me to dart my eyes back toward Marshall.

Dr. Oliver and Logan burst into the room. Dr. Oliver with his warm apathetic smile, Logan with his eyes rounded out in horror.

Logan comes up alongside of me and gently wipes the hair off my forehead.

“It’s going to be OK,” he whispers directly into my ear. I close my eyes briefly and let his voice wash over me.

“It looked superficial, and the girls insisted I call you,” Marshall explains. “Brielle mentioned Skyla hates hospitals.”

I look over at him, standing there with his hands waving through the air as though it were true. I had never told Marshall anything about hating hospitals before, had I?

“How’s your breathing?” Dr. Oliver twitches a flashlight over my eyes.

I try to nod, but can’t bear the pain.

Logan clasps his hand over mine. Do you want to go to the hospital?

Thank God for Logan. I can hear anyone telepathically if I touch them, but he’s the only one who can hear me speak in return.

Not if I don’t have to.

“She says no.”

I need Marshall to touch me.

Logan compresses his lips. “Mr. Dudley, I think maybe it would help if you held her other hand.” He increases his grip as he says it.

“Done.” Marshall glides over with pride and picks up my injured finger. “This too.” He holds it out for everyone to see.

“Good Lord, Skyla. What the hell happened?” Dr. Oliver plucks bottles of ointment, gloves, and an array of tools from out of his giant black bag of tricks.

You can’t let on that you know Marshall’s a Sector, I say to Logan in a mild panic. That will drag this day into a whole other direction for me.

Marshall threatened to capture me if I told. Of course I told, but Marshall’s the last person who should be in on that secret.

I won’t say a word. Logan looks to his uncle. “No use in asking her questions. You’re only going to frustrate her.” He returns his attention back to me. “I’ll get you something to write on later.”

Marshall squeezes my hand ever so slightly.

Fantastic, Marshall marvels. Logan thinks that I don’t know he’s a Celestra. Go ahead and converse with him all you want. I’ll play dumb.

I squint over at him. It hurts to move even a micro millimeter. Not even Marshall’s good vibrations are enough to quell this dull burning pain.

“I don’t have the proper filament. All I have is black and it’s going to stick out like a sore thumb against your ivory skin,” Dr. Oliver says adjusting a spool of thread.

I look up in time to see a fat silver needle catch the light.

Oh God. A shiver runs through me and suddenly I have the urge to bolt.

He threads it with what looks like the thickest black chord known to man—a rope.

“I’m going to stitch you up now,” Dr. Oliver announces.

That’s what I was afraid of.

7

Out and About

Good thing Halloween is coming up.

I admire myself in the mirror while convalescing on the Oliver’s couch. A row of uneven x’s scissor across my neck in a very distinct Frankenstein-like fashion.

Dr. Oliver left to take Brielle home—Brielle who herself couldn’t breathe due to the trauma. Speaking of breathing, Dr. Oliver removed the straw from my neck and coaxed me into taking slow deep breaths on my own. After I stopped inhaling my own blood and choking, everything was fine—everything but my voice.

I feel like I’ve run a marathon. I squeeze Logan’s hand.

“You lost a ton of blood.”

Gage sits next to me. “I want to talk to her too.” He picks up my other hand and gives a weak smile.

“What’s that Skyla?” Logan exaggerates his tone. “You don’t want to speak to Gage? You wish he would disappear forever?” A sarcastic smile slides up the side of his cheek.

“Very funny,” Gage shakes his head over at him, before directing his attention back to me. Don’t listen to him he’s an idiot.

“I can hear you, too.” Logan shoots daggers at Gage. “See?” He holds up my hand. “We’re all connected.”

Enough. I glare at the two of them momentarily. Who the hell slit my throat?

“Skyla wants to know what the hell you’re still doing here.” Logan restrains a wicked grin.

Gage shakes his head over at him. I know you’re not thinking those things. There’s a gentleness in his eyes and it warms me. I’m gonna run up and take a quick shower. I’ll be right back. I don’t want Logan upsetting you anymore than he has. He glares over at him before heading upstairs.

“She says, she’s glad you’re gone,” he shouts up after him.

You’re not funny, I say.

Logan’s features smooth out. He relaxes into a calm, measured nod. I apologize.

So did Gage have a certain conversation with you? I have an inkling.

Logan glances around with a heavy gaze.

I’m sorry I ever suggested he be with you. Does that make me selfish? There’s a genuine sadness in his eyes.

Why would that make you selfish? You did it to protect me. I lean into his shoulder. It feels good to be here, safe at the Oliver’s.

He picks up my hand and kisses my bandaged finger. And now look at you.

Did you give the book back to Ellis? I’m dying to know what names graced the pages of that bloated roll call of Counts.

He nods. Walked it across the street that next morning.

So I guess now we know who to slaughter. I give a weak playful smile.

We’re not killing. The goal is not to kill, he counters.

Reality check. I point up to my throat. I will kill whoever or whatever I have to, not to breathe through a straw like that again. And by the way, I think they have a lot worse planned for me. I’ll kill them by the heard if I have to—for you and for me.

And what about for us? His features soften. Am I losing you?

My mouth falls open at the thought. Before I can formulate anything coherent to say, he adds, Well, then, his amber eyes light up like flames. I’ll have to get you back.

***

Logan’s Aunt Emma helps me wash off the blood that’s already rusted onto my body. She loans me a pink and red scarf, carefully wrapping it around my neck just before Gage drives me home.

This can’t go well. My Mom and Tad are going to freak if they see what’s under this scarf.

I shoot Gage a look of discontent as we head through the front door.

“Here he is,” Tad balks as he passes us on the way upstairs. “Someone warn the refrigerator.”

Only once has he ever seen Gage get anything from the fridge, and on that day it was a water bottle. Water. Tad’s so cheap he can’t share water.

My mother rushes up after him.

“Hey you two.” She speeds past us in a tizzy.

“You mind if we study up in Skyla’s room?” Gage calls after her.

I can’t believe how brazen he is. Of course she’s going to mind, she—

“Nope. I trust you.” And with that, she’s out of sight.

My father would have answered with the blast of a shotgun.

Gage helps me upstairs and I briskly shut and lock my door in the event my mother’s sanity decides to restore itself.

I grab a notepad and a pen and make myself comfy on the bed with Gage slouching down next to me.

They’re going to rut. I spell out.

“Nice.” He folds his hands. “Should we?”

No.

He shakes his head slightly while brushing his thumb up against my cheek. “I know.” He presses his lips together. “I don’t want you to be alone right now.”

I’m glad you’re here. Which reminds me, this was once Chloe’s bedroom and the fact she oddly named Gage as the love of her life still confuses the hell out of me. You ever kiss Chloe? I scrawl across the page.

He squints in to read it as though it were written in some foreign language.

“Nope.” His cheeks turn pink as he answers.

I drop the pen and take up his hand, press it against my lips. There’s definitely something developing here, a progression, something linear pulling me toward Gage. I wish I didn’t feel it. I wish I didn’t make Logan feel like he had to do something to win me back because he still has me so completely, and I wonder how it could be that my heart has found itself strangely settled in two places at once.

Gage penetrates me with those crystalline blue eyes. He wishes he could read my thoughts as easily as Logan. But it’s my face that says it all. He leans in and presses a soft kiss against my forehead. I think he already knows my heart is lying in two very distinct pieces.

8

Read On

I plan on spending all of Sunday in bed losing myself in Chloe’s diary. With my newfound sore throat, Mom pretty much agreed I should stay under the covers and simultaneously ignored me all morning. Instead of plying me with hot tea and soup, like old Mom would have done, she’s busy holing up in her room coupling with Tad like some baby hungry cougar.

July 5th,

This is going to be tougher than I thought. It’s like Gage repels from me the minute I stand beside him. It’s really starting to irritate me, so I let Ellis slobber all over me in order to fill him with regret.

I took Ellis on a light drive after. Ellis is like a good little pet, always around when I need him. Too bad I’m not into Ellis. That would make life so much easier in a way, but then, it would suck the fun out of everything too.

I don’t know. I haven’t really ever had my feelings reciprocated. It’s usually me using somebody or somebody using me. I guess you could say I’m unlucky in love. It sort of seems to be this scary theme in my life.

Speaking of scary, I told Lexy I can’t deal with Michelle anymore. You would have thought I pushed her in a pool of piranhas the way she freaked out. It’s not like losing Logan is going to restructure the landscape of her world. She was never in his league to begin with. So, I told her he was just being nice by hanging out with her. I told her he probably felt sorry for her and couldn’t figure out how to ditch her so he just went with it. That’s when she slapped me. Yes. Let the record show, Lexy Bakova sealed her own fate by whacking me with an open hand in the Oliver’s living room right in front of Gage.

Of course I didn’t retaliate. I have something far more interesting in mind.

After the dust settled, Michelle started to arm wrestle with Logan in the backyard, which by the way evolved to include their entire half clothed bodies. Leave it to Michelle to do something like that right in front of Lex.

I took Lexy and left. I told her I felt really bad and would do anything to restore our “friendship”. So of course she suggested I help her get Logan back.

You should have seen her, all red with snot dripping down her face, complete with heartbroken tears! I wish I had taken a picture. I’d love to throw darts through her snot riddled face any day, or better yet plaster it all over the walls at West. Anyway, she landed right where I wanted her. I made her promise she’d teach me how to bind Fems without lifting a finger. And she pinky swore she’d do it.

I can’t believe Lexy knows about Fems—about binding Fems, which I didn’t even know was possible. That must mean Lexy is one of them—us, whatever. What if she’s Celestra like Chloe and I, like Logan? Maybe that’s what attracted her to Logan?

July 6th,

Brushed my teeth.

July 7th,

Found Ellis and some girl from East in a closet at his party tonight. It actually bothered me to see him with someone else. Isn’t that weird? I totally thought I didn’t care about him. Funny how life surprises you that way. I told him, if he didn’t hook up with her, I’d have a treat for him later. He totally thought it was light driving, which I think is quickly becoming one of his many addictions. Anyway, I gave him instructions on how to come through the room in my attic and let himself into my bedroom. I padlocked the door like a Fem was on the other side and let him have his way with me for hours.

I still can’t believe I did it. It feels strange knowing I’ll never get something like that back, but then again it’s over and I don’t have to think about it. Plus, it was with Ellis Stoner Harrison, which I don’t think really counts. Get it? He’s a Count? He’s really just a twerp.

July 8th,

Totally regret letting Ellis violate my body that way. At the beach today, he panted by my side all day long. When I showed up at Devil’s Peak to hang out, he brought me flowers! It made me want to jump off the cliff.

Obviously sleeping with Ellis has sent the wrong message. Plus, it depressed the hell out of me because no matter how hard I pretended—he didn’t magically morph into Gage. Now I’m probably going to have some Count slash Celestra lovechild because I was too freaking stupid to use protection!!! I swear, I never thought I’d be as stupid as Carly baby-mama-Foster.

So I spent the rest of the night blubbering in a corner to Emily. Honestly, she’s like my only one true friend.

July 28th,

OK, so I’ve let Ellis in a bunch more times. After I got my period and stopped jumping up and down like an idiot who just won some sort of ovulation lottery, I decided that being with Ellis could happen again so long as he brought the proper gear.

Em hacked off all her long black hair today! She totally looks like a guy now, but it’s sort of my fault because I encouraged her to do it. That’s what friends are for, right?

Anyway. On the Gage front, I went over to hang out tonight. Ellis went somewhere with his family and plus Lexy is out of town, so Michelle practically begged me.

We watched a movie, and after I went outside to hang out by the pool with Gage. We just dipped our feet in the water and sat next to each other real quiet. It was nice. I still wish it were Gage coming down through my attic.

August 2nd,

Ms. Richards knows. Oh freaking shit! I want to strangle Lexy and her big, fat, stupid, mouth!

So I get to sixth period and she goes all psych teacher on me and starts asking about my lineage and shit. Who the heck does Lexy think she is letting people in on our secret? Anyway, Ms. Richards invited me over to her house to check something out that belonged to her great, great, grandmother, like I’m some sort of extra terrestrial expert all of a sudden. The strangest part is that Ms. Richards believed everything Lexy told her. Isn’t that weird? Wouldn’t a normal person just brush off something like that as though it were coming from a whack job? I don’t get it. I really don’t.

I’m tired, and it’s beyond late, but it’s too addicting to stop, so I read through a couple more before turning out the lights. But this is the one that lingers in my mind long after I go to sleep.

August 5th,

So I begged Lexy and Em to come with me to Ms. Richards house, but they both bailed. Lucky for me we just sat on her porch. She gave me sweet tea and had me look through some old family pictures. She mentioned something about stuff in the safe, but thankfully it was blocked with a bunch of crap, so she couldn’t get to it.

Anyway, her great, great, grandmother was a freaky looking version of Ms. Richards, but I swear I’ve seen her somewhere before. Long, red, crazy hair that looked like it was made from copper wires. I bet they put her in the nut house just for looking so bizarre.

In one picture, it was like she was looking straight through me, like she was actually alive and looking at me with her scary bulging eyes. Of course I asked if I could take one of the pictures home, but she said no. So I when she got up to go inside for more tea, I snaked one. Ms. Richards said she was told never to say her great, great grandmother’s name. The one I took was marked in chicken scratch on the back. So, of course I said the name like ten times—too funny.

I carefully peel back the next page and a picture slides out. It’s of a woman standing in an open field with a familiar wild shag of hair and a solemn, haunting expression on her face. I turn it over and see scrawled in rickety handwriting the name—Ezrina.

9

Friday Night Fight

I’m getting more mileage than I ever imagined from getting my throat slit. On Friday, Gage actually lets me brush my leg up against his and cheat on my Algebra Two test. He was staunchly against the idea just a few weeks ago. You would have thought I had asked him to turn his dog into hamburger, but not this time.

Skyla.

I look up. It’s Marshall’s voice in the background while Gage is busy processing number nine out of twenty on the chapter test.

I tilt my head at him.

I see you touching Gage. He raises his brows completely unamused. I’m going to let you slide, but just this once. He presses his finger to his lips. I had to hire a cleaning crew to scrub down the house after the near massacre you incurred. I’m glad to see you’re feeling better. He gives a short-lived smile. Michelle has been asking a whole slew of questions about you as of late.

Me? I give a puzzled look.

Why don’t you meet me here at four-thirty? He gives a sly grin. It would be my pleasure to go over her concerns with you.

No, I mouth over at him.

Suit yourself. Don’t coming running to me when you receive your next mortal infliction. He turns toward the blackboard.

Next mortal infliction?

Consider yourself warned.

***

Friday night, Ms. Richards is well aware of my severely sore throat, so she lets me cheer minus the actual cheering, while wearing a white fuzzy scarf that matches my uniform. I don’t dare even think of Ezrina when I’m around Ms. Richards. I’m afraid to tell anybody what I read—afraid I might accidentally call her to me with that stupid picture and she might chop off my other arm or my head. Oh my, God, what if it was Ezrina who slit my throat? What if just picking up Chloe’s diary was enough to call her? Shit!

The crowd starts to boo. Everyone rises to their feet. Something is happening on the field, but I can’t tell what.

“They’re brawling!” Brielle shouts, clapping her hands like this is great news.

The air is smoky, filled with the perpetual dense fog that settles over the island night after night. I see bodies streaming in a steady pile, then slowly they get plucked off of one another until just two are left, both in royal blue and white uniforms—number 12 and 44. Logan and Gage.

I cup my hand up over my mouth.

The coach kicks them both about a dozen times before they roll apart and get up.

They cut death rays at one another before walking in opposite directions. I’m pretty sure this has nothing to with the visiting team, the ball, or the game in general. I feel pretty crappy about the whole thing. I’m going to have to figure out a way to put an end to this, but how?

A light drizzle starts in, and we finish the game, frosted with microscopic droplets of water.

We stand in line formation waiting to high-five the team as they run on by. Logan comes first with his lip cut and bloodied. I need to see you, he says as we connect. His eyes are filled with sorrow and a part of me wants to run off with him right now.

Gage comes up dead last with nothing to show for the fight, at least not on his face.

“Everyone is hanging out at the falls tonight. Wanna go?” He looks hopeful.

“Falls?” It comes out a little louder than a whisper. I’ve been trying to use my voice all week like Dr. Oliver instructed. Right after, he broke the news the reason I wasn’t healing so well was because I’ve offed so much blood between the donations for Chloe and having my throat slit. “Is Logan going?”

His eyes dip down with a brief look of disappointment.

My heart sinks at the thought of hurting Gage with my words. I was only asking because Logan mentioned he wanted to see me.

“Of course I’ll go.”

“Great.” He starts running backward toward the gym. “You’ll need a bathing suit.” He shrugs. “Or not.”

Right, like I’m going to skinny dip with all the kids on Paragon.

***

So technically, I’m wearing my ridiculous white fuzzy scarf, so I’m not really skinny dipping. Plus, it’s like pitch black out, sans the full moon, and plus…oh shit, I’m skinny dipping with all the kids on Paragon.

The reality hits me that I actually let Brielle talk me into stripping down and jumping in without any clothes in order to prove that I didn’t care what people thought of my body—a demonstration of sheer stupidity on my part. Thank God, Gage and the guys are all jumping off the cliff side, way up the hill, screaming like idiots, or I never would have agreed to it.

“I’m getting out.” My teeth chatter in rhythm. My skin is numb from the shock of icy water. You’d think, by the way the rest of the girls lounge around and laugh, that we were sitting in a hot tub.

“Relax. Besides, it’s dark out there. Someone might be waiting to hack your head off.” She lets out a high-pitched laugh.

“Right, that’s not funny.” I don’t know how she can sit there and joke about it, when she’s the one who swore she would never be able to look at a straw the same way again.

Brielle seems unfazed by the sting of lake. She dips down under the water line and reemerges with her hair washed back, spitting a perfect stream into my face.

“I swear, Skyla, you take life so seriously. For all you know, you might be swimming with the person who did it.” She pushes off the rocks and strokes effortlessly into the distance.

What the hell was that supposed to mean? I watch as she shifts onto her back exposing her bare chest. The moonlight casts its glossy high beam over her pale naked body. Brielle has no shame, no remorse for cheating on Drake, and she’s a Count. Maybe I am swimming with the one who did it?

I back out of the water slowly and head into a thicket of weeds that comes up to my waist. I watch as Kate bumps into Brielle in the middle of the water, and they start to drown each other while laughing. A small part of me wants to warn Kate, tell her Brielle is capable of anything.

The sound of someone clearing their throat startles me to attention, and I spin around creating an x across my chest with my arms.

Logan!

A slow spreading wicked grin appears on his face. He plucks a hand from his pocket and points over at me.

I look down briefly.

Crap! I’ve managed to flex my arms expertly over my chest to cover up, well— nothing.

He takes off his shirt and tosses it over just shy of where I’m standing.

I snatch it off the ground quick as thief. I can feel the weight of his stare as I pull it on.

“I think that body should be illegal in all 50 states,” he says it in a low husky growl.

“Was that an insult?” I slip into my cheer shorts at super sonic speed.

“Why don’t we go into the woods, and you can figure it out.” There’s something hauntingly seductive about Logan under this full squatting moon—something in his eyes, that suggests there are still so many more layers to this person than I could ever imagine.

I circle his waist and rub his bare stomach with my hand—hitch my thumb in through the belt loop of his jeans.

So many more layers, I plan on removing.

10

Alone

Logan rubs his hand up and down over my arm as we make our way into the wall of pine trees just beyond the border of the lake. I remember coming here with him in the summer, back when we were free to be together out in the open—at least we thought.

The forest is heavily scented. The pines release their oils into the night air creating a dramatic, sweet, woodsy scent that awakens your memory, reminds you of all the things you cherish.

Logan’s T-shirt and my cheer shorts cling to me like a second skin. I turn to face him and my hair whips around in sopping thick tendrils.

I love being alone with Logan, lost in the shadows, nobody around to distract us from one another. In the distance we hear errant screams, voices sounding off like a riot in some other dimension.

“I miss this,” he whispers warm in my ear.

I push him against the trunk of a tree and examine him in this blue filtered light. Logan looks amazing, like he belongs to some noble race.

He gives the slight huff of a laugh and holds our conjoined hands up. He heard, and this makes me suppress a nervous smile.

He pulls me in and offers a sweet kiss. Logan gives powerful kisses. There is nothing that Marshall’s body can pulse through me with his feel good vibrations that could ever compare to a moment like this. It more than feels good. With Logan I can feel the love behind it.

“Skyla,” he whispers pulling me close.

“Yeah?” I like holding Logan like this.

“You read the diary?” He pulls back a bit. I can see the question circulating in his eyes.

“Just a little. I found out Lexy knows a way to bind Fems.”

“What?” He looks disbelieving. “Really? I don’t think she’s one of us.”

“She must be. She told Chloe she’d tell her how to do it.”

“Did she?”

“I haven’t gotten that far, but if Chloe was taken by Fems probably not.”

The whites of his eyes dart around in the dark.

“You think there’s a way to bind Fems? She said she could do it without lifting a finger,” I say.

“I don’t know, but if there is, we need to figure it out fast. That could save us—you.”

“She said you were with Lexy.” I shrug. It’s stupid to hurt over something that’s ancient history.

“With Lexy,” he says it like a fact. “We hung out.” He shakes his head. “But she was never anything more than a friend. I’ll try and talk to Lex, see what she can tell me about binding Fems.”

I don’t like the way he sinks effortlessly into calling her Lex.

“OK. I’ll try and see if the diary has anything else to say about it.”

The loud shrill cry of a female voice reverberates all around us. Then the very distinct sound of two guys yelling.

“That’s Gage.” Logan leans in to listen as the shouting intensifies. “I better go see what he’s gotten himself into.”

We head out of the forest at a decent clip.

“I’ll go get my clothes,” I say, parting ways with him at the south end of the lake.

It’s so still here, scary. Even though I can hear the volatile voices from a thousand manic teenagers, it’s freaky being on the dead end of the lake—just me and the moon, an owl sounding off in the distance. I make my way over to the giant rock where Brielle and me left our belongings. It looks like the girls all took off toward the cliffs. Not one soul lingering down at this end of the water, unless of course Brielle drowned them all.

I pluck through the pile of cheer uniforms and pull my skirt over my kick-pants.

“Don’t I know you?” A male voice disrupts the silence from behind.

I turn around and take in a sharp gasp.

Shit!

It’s a thing! It’s covered in mud, or crap, or maybe that’s just the texture of its freaking skin?

“I don’t think so.” The words stutter out of me as I try and make my way around him. I lunge toward the edge of the waterline in an effort to make a break for it, but he snatches me up by the wrist and pulls me in hard.

He bears his teeth and hisses with an awkward smile.

Fuck! It’s a Fem.

“Lo—” It clasps its hand tight over my mouth and drags me backward into the overgrown brush. I give a swift hard knock to its stomach with my elbow, four or five times, before it clasps both my hands behind my back. Dark slime rubs off all over Logan’s white T-shirt and down my legs, thick as grease.

It swipes my feet from underneath me and lands itself on top of my chest, hard.

Can’t breathe! I try pushing it off as it crushes me under the weight of its body. I open my mouth to gasp for air as it impales me with its tongue.

A warbled scream gets caught in my throat. Instinctually I bite down hard causing it to writhe and twist away. I try to slither out of its slimy grasp as it struggles to restrain me.

Its eyes glow an eerie shade of yellow as they squint out in pain. I try to harness my anger against Carly, for fuel to fight him like I did when I killed that last Fem, but now that I know she’s somebody’s mother, it doesn’t yield the same effect on me.

My father’s face brims to the surface.

I remember the way they accused him of killing those vagrants, the way the Counts had him burn, and I gouge into the Fem’s soft neck with my hands, dig in with my nails, and rip at its flesh, shredding it with my fingers.

It gurgles and groans beneath me. I can feel my thumbs connecting in the sinews of his body, touch his spinal cord, feel its veins wrap around my fingers like spaghetti. Logan is right, anger magnifies my strength, turns me into a rabid beast, hungry for the blood of this creature.

Its hands wrap around mine in an effort to pluck me off, but its efforts wane quickly. I’ve honed in my wrath. I want this to be a warning to others like him. I hope they think twice before trying to violate me. Lexy may know how to bind a Fem, but I know how to kill them.

It falls limp, and I crawl away until I can get back on my feet.

I dart over toward the voices, now jovial and laughing as though the fight that was breaking out had never happened, as though there weren’t a dead Fem lying fifty feet away. I scan the crowd for Logan and Gage as everybody starts to move down toward the south end of the lake to gather their things.

Michelle backs into me and turns around. She studies my arms as I hold them out like a surgeon prepped for duty.

“What the hell happened to you?” Her face flickers in disgust. The rose pendant Marshall gave her hangs around her neck from a thin silver chain, catching the sparkle of moonlight like a fractured shard of glass.

If I were nicer, I’d yank it off her. Judging from the severe dark circles under her eyes, she’s still having Fem terrors in her sleep unlike me who has them right here in the open.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” I ask searching the vicinity. It wouldn’t entirely surprise me to see Marshall lingering in the crowd somewhere—nude.

A series of piercing screams erupt from behind.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” the words jackknife through her. She slams hard into my shoulder as she makes her way back into the crowd.

“Yes, I would,” I whisper as my teeth give way to a hard chatter. Marshall could help me get rid of a dead Fem if I needed him to.

The crowd drains in the direction of the deceased creature. Another round of cries and gasps erupts.

Oh crap. Judging by the look of horror on people’s faces he didn’t disappear.

Logan and Gage emerge from the mass of onlookers gawking at the Fem.

“Did you see it?” I jog over, fogging up the air with my heavy panting.

“Shit,” Gage moans as he inspects my bloodied hands. The moonlight bleeds out all color, leaving a dark, glossy, residue on my skin.

Logan gives a depleted smile.

Someone in the distance shouts that the paramedics are on their way.

“They’re going to take the Fem!” My fingers come just shy of covering my lips.

Logan scoops me into his arms and runs us over to the peak just above the deepest portion of the falls.

“What’s going on?” I ask. There’s something written on his face, a tension I’m not familiar with.

He gives a bleak smile.

“It wasn’t a Fem,” he says out of breath. “You killed him, Skyla, and now we’re going to wash the blood off.”

He plunges us both into the icy biting waters.

11

Police

The smoky air illuminates in spasms with alternating shades of soft blue and red. With an escort of flashing black and whites—an entire army of police cars—each one of us is instructed to follow them down to the Paragon precinct for questioning. Dozens of vehicles commence in a line that clogs up the main artery of the island—they even shut down the other side of the highway to accommodate us.

“There are two ways we can do this,” Logan says, over the phone.

I’m riding with Gage, but I have Logan on speaker.

“The truth and a lie?” Gage says running his hand over the steering wheel as we wade through traffic.

“Exactly,” Logan states.

“I choose the lie.” I raise my hand slightly. “It’s not like anybody saw me, plus I’m dripping wet, there’s not an ounce of blood on me. And it’s not like anybody’s going to understand what the hell I’m talking about when I say I thought I was being attacked by a Fem.”

“If I saw him attacking you, I would have killed him myself,” Logan adds.

“Right,” I whisper. I sort of wish he did. “Maybe we should hang up now. With my luck this will accidently get keyed in over the radio,” I say, eyeing the barrage of cop cars escorting us like a funeral procession.

“See you there,” Logan’s line goes dead.

I slip down in the seat and watch the fog swim by like an apparition.

“It’s gonna be OK.” Gage cups his hand over mine.

“Is it?” I spike up hopeful. Gage has the gift of knowing. He knows all kinds of strange things about the future.

“No, I mean, I’m pretty sure it’s going to be OK.”

“Oh.”

I slump back into my seat.

I don’t think it’s going to be OK. I don’t think you can just kill somebody and have it be OK.

***

At the station, mass confusion erupts over who exactly the dead body was. Apparently a bunch of guys from East decided to crash the party and douse themselves in mud, because apparently, they’re idiots.

I hear names whispered all the way down the long hall as Logan, Gage, and I try and find a place to sit.

“Logan Oliver?” I hear Michelle say as we come up behind her. She turns around and lunges at him with a hug, Lexy follows suit.

“We heard it was you!” Lexy cries in a panic. Her arm lingers up over his shoulder as she cups the side of his face.

“Wasn’t me.” He turns a bright shade of red from the attention.

Lexy’s hair has turned into a giant ball of frizz, her mascara is dripping down the sides of her cheeks and she looks darn right scary. I don’t like the way she’s letting her arm gather dust on Logan’s shoulder, so I squeeze in between the two of them pretending to get out of the way of the crowd.

I’ve never thought of Lexy as anything special before. Sure she’s pretty in her own way, but I’ve always classified her as more of a bitch than anything human or female.

“Anyway…” She looks over my shoulder at him as though I were invisible. “I’m glad you’re OK.”

I can see it now, that sad underlying spark in her eyes wishing he was still with her, and it makes me want to vomit on her shoes.

The clock ticks away in morbid slow motion. They have four staging areas set up. We wait impatiently until they finally seat Logan, Gage, and me in a room with the bitch squad where we wait another twenty minutes. Michelle keeps nodding off, hitting her head against the back wall from exhaustion. Strangely, I find this the highlight of my evening. I watch her eyes bolt open as she inhales a scream—all the while that black rose gleams under the harsh light from above.

A woman officer with her hair pulled back in a shiny dark knot asks banal questions about our connection to one another, the party, the location of where each of us were before the body was discovered.

Logan was plucking Gage off some guy from East, the bitch squad was swimming under the third tower of the falls, and I was wandering out by the forest with my hands buried deep in someone’s neck. Of course that’s not what I say.

“I was over there, too,” I say in a whisper, “by the falls.”

“No you weren’t.” Michelle moans half asleep. “I saw you by yourself. You were all dirty wearing some guy’s shirt with weeds in your hair. Cheating on Gage much?”

Great. She’s perfectly lucid now.

“So why were you dirty, and whose shirt did you have on?” The officer makes a notation in her journal.

“Well, let’s see…” Emily bears her canines in my direction. Her dark hair has shrunk four inches and sits on her head like a slimy black helmet. It’s hard to imagine Emily with long flowing hair the way Chloe described. “You’ve got on a guy’s T-shit, and Logan is shirtless under his jacket, which is hot, but weird, and, oh yeah? Weren’t you with Logan before you hooked up with Gage?” She dips her finger in her mouth. Her emerald eyes light up from the pleasure of it all.

“That’s right.” I cut her a long hard look before turning my attention back to the officer. “I was…” My eyes close. I can’t look at Gage—Gage who is holding me right at this very moment, nudging me to go on. I’m not going to smash his heart into a million little pieces, in a room full of people, just to save myself from the possibility of prison. And with that reality looming, I say, “I was naked, and I ran into Logan, so he gave me his shirt. Then he took off, and I fell in a puddle. That’s when I saw you.” I nod over to Michelle. “And then everyone started running around, and the next thing I knew, some jerk pushed me in the water.”

Logan raises a brow over at me.

There. I give a big sigh of relief. It feels safe here in the lie, so good. I recline into Gage and relax.

“OK.” The female officer taps her pen down on the table. “Now I’m going to have each of you phone your parents, and then you’ll be released.”

Shit.

I knew this wasn’t going to end well.

***

The bitch squad disbands pretty quickly. Turns out none of their parents wanted to crawl out of bed at three in the morning, dead body or not. I was able to hear Michelle’s dad scream over the phone that he wanted her ass home pronto.

Of course, my mother insists on coming down herself to see what all this debauchery is about. And since Dr. Oliver gave Logan and Gage the OK to drive home, they hang out until we hear the wild ruckus, which is undoubtedly Mom and Tad, erupting in the hall.

My mother frantically pokes her head into the room.

“She’s in here,” she shouts. Before I know it, her arms are squeezing the life out of me. “God! You’re OK! I’m so glad you’re OK.” She runs her fingers through my hair. “You’re wet.”

“You two jokers,” Tad jabs his fingers at Logan and Gage. “Get out now.”

“See you later.” Logan pats my leg as he and Gage disappear into the hall.

“What the hell is going on? You kill somebody?” Tad asks, gripped in a purple-faced tirade. He’s wearing pink and white pinstriped pajamas, so it’s hard to take him seriously.

“No.” Technically yes.

“Let’s get out of here.” Mom tries to pluck me off the bench just as Tad steps between us, examining me with a curious stare.

“Lizbeth, go get her cleared with the front desk. I’ll stay here.” His eyes remain locked on mine. Soon as she steps over the threshold he yanks down my scarf.

“Holy shit!” He jumps back. It takes him a full three seconds to catch his breath. “I don’t know what the hell kind of satanic crap you’ve managed to get yourself into, or if this is some new dress in black, stick an earring through every orifice in your body to piss off your parents stage you’re going through, but while you’re under my roof you’re going to knock this shit off. You can save this experimental phase for college for all I care. Got it?”

I pull the scarf back up to cover the tiny neat row of X’s that skip across my neck.

He thinks it’s some kind of weird piercing I’ve inflicted upon myself.

“If I see you prancing around with your face made up like a corpse, wearing thigh-high boots and your hair frozen up like the Statue of Liberty, I’m shipping you off to nearest boarding school.” He adjusts the invisible tie on his nightshirt in a fit of frustration. “They can deal with you,” he mutters mostly to himself.

My mouth falls open. Mom swoops back in and helps usher me into the hall. Something tells me Tad would love for me to be at that boarding school anyway.

He speeds down ahead of us, pushes the door to the precinct open so hard the glass considers shattering from the violent jolt. A frigid blast of air pours over me, reminds me with its bitter fingers that my hair is still wet in the back.

“And that boy you’re seeing?” His face ignites with color. “That ends tonight!”

12

Sorrow

His name was Holden.

I carefully peel back another page of Chloe’s diary, trying to push away the idea that I was responsible for removing a soul from this planet—that a family was locked in grief over something I had done.

August 7th,

Gage is SO mine. We talked for HOURS at a party, then walked down the road and sat under the stars. I love the fact we can talk about all this angel crap. It’s such a relief to talk to someone nice, who’s not going to go all psycho or octopus on me any second. I swear Ellis is like some hormonal grenade. Just being near him is enough to pull the pin. Anyway, I think Gage and me are about to have a breakthrough. Something about tonight tells me that we’ve turned a corner in our relationship. I’m going to give him something. I don’t know what, but something special that he’ll always have just from me.

Oh, and Lexy the liar reneged on her offer, looks like binding Fems is not in my future. No surprise there.

Lexy is going to have to learn the hard way that paybacks a bitch.

August 11th,

I had three late night conversations with Gage that lingered into the wee hours of the morning. I can tell he’s just about ready to take that next step. I told him I wanted to have a picnic down by the dunes this weekend and he said YES! I can’t wait. Come September when school starts, we’ll totally be together. I can feel it.

A light knock erupts at my door. My mother peers in and gives an uneasy smile.

“There’s someone down here to see you.”

***

I follow close behind as she leads me to the kitchen. Tad is there with his arms folded tight, staring down Gage like he’s some kind of fugitive.

“Skyla?” Tad’s eyes oval out like two giant eggs. “I’d like to talk to you alone a moment,” he says ushering me out to the back patio.

The sun is already starting to set, and it’s just barely after four. I rub my hands up over my bare arms as the chill grips me.

“I want to take this opportunity to make it clear that...” His words get strangled in his throat as he points hard back toward the house, “that hulk of a person…that the two of you are nothing more than friends. The last thing I need is you saddled with a kid before graduation.” He turns to head back in then stops abruptly. “Oh, and if I were you, I’d remove that necklace of horror as soon as humanly possible. I don’t care if you have to wear a scarf the rest of your natural life. Your mother and sisters are never to see that atrocity.” His finger comes just shy of digging into my chest. “Got it?” His eyes bug out, furious and wild.

“Got it,” I mouth the words and walk back in the house. “I’m going out with Gage,” I announce.

“That’s great, Hon. You need some air, you’ve been stuck in bed all day.” My mother lets the paper she’s holding slip through her fingers while looking suggestively over at Tad.

Come to think of it, Drake is probably out with Bree, and the girls were at a sleep over last night and still haven’t been picked up—OK the implications are pretty gross.

“Don’t worry.” I restrain myself from picking up the phonebook next to her and swatting her over the head for wanting to procreate with such a moron. “You can have the house to yourself. Gage and I have got things to discuss.” I look over at Tad to see if he’s buying this load. The only thing we’ll be discussing with great sorrow is the fact Tad is in my life—that, and the awful fact I killed someone.

***

Gage drives us to the base of Devil’s Peak. I’ve never been down at the bottom before. A few cars are parked along the rocky shore facing the ocean. The white caps swirl in a massive fit of destruction, and it reminds me of the night Marshall saved me, as I was getting ready to drown.

“What’cha thinking?” Gage wraps a blanket around my shoulders as we as head over to an embankment.

“About death.” And selfishly, not Holden’s. I still can’t seem to wrap my head around the fact I ended someone’s life yesterday all because I mistook him for a Fem. I’m a danger to society—welcome to my new reality.

“He attacked you.” Gage guides me high up on a dirt patch and tosses down a towel for us to sit on. We land softly, and I let him hold me while we stare out the angry, boiling sea. “What were you supposed to do? Let him overpower you just because he wasn’t a Fem? You did the right thing.”

“I ran my fingers through his esophagus like it was rotten fruit. I went overboard,” I say, closing my eyes in disbelief.

“Sorry. I don’t know what to say,” he whispers into my ear.

I turn to face him. Even in this dim light his eyes radiate a brilliant electric blue. His dimples tremble as though they might ignite full and deep at any moment. I don’t really know why I’m here with Gage. He should be my friend when we’re not around other people, but something in me wants more. Eventually I’ll have to stop blaming Logan for this, whatever it is, and start taking responsibility for my feelings.

“So,” I sigh, “Brielle texted me this morning and said it was a kid from East named Holden.” I shrug looking down at my fingers.

“Holden Kragger,” Gage nods. “He’s got a twin brother, Pierce. They weren’t identical though. I think Pierce goes out with Nat off and on, not sure.”

“Oh.” I didn’t even know Nat had a boyfriend. “So they’re twins—were.” A horrible feeling comes over me to know that someone has to bury their brother, a son because of me.

“I don’t think you should dwell on this.” He studies my face intently. “It’s not like it was intentional. Even if you confessed, you’d be found innocent.”

“What are the police saying?”

“They ruled it a homicide. They think someone hopped up on drugs did it. My dad said it looks like he was mauled by a wild animal.”

My fingers come up over my neck. He was struggling to get away. I could have let him go.

“He was forcing himself on me.” I can still feel his tongue slithering down my throat like a barbed, rabid snake.

“Don’t upset yourself. And don’t worry about the cops. My dad said the last person in the world they’re going to suspect is a sixteen-year old girl.” He rubs his hands gently up and down my back.  “Um…I talked to Logan.” His voice drops down into his chest.

It seems so trivial now. Me with Logan, me with Gage—none of it matters because we’re all still alive and breathing.

“He’s pissed.” One of his dimples ignite as he gives a slight grin.

“What exactly did you say?” A part of me doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want to get sucked down further by the undertow of our blossoming relationship.

“I told him I thought you were beautiful.” His eyes round out. “That I can’t stop thinking about you.” He stares me down with those cobalt spheres. “That I don’t think I can pretend to be your anything, and that I want to start seeing you.” His Adam’s Apple rises and falls dramatically as though he were unsure of what my reaction might be. “I know you have feelings for Logan. I’m not asking you to deny them or tell me you’re leaving him. All I want is a chance.” It comes out as a fact, but beneath the surface there’s a layer of desperation. “Skyla,” My name comes out broken, just shy of a whisper. “I’d do anything to be with you. And if that means giving you all the time in the world to make up your mind, I’ll do that.”

I lean in and press my lips soft against his. We start in with slow, deep kisses—then it erupts into an entire desolate exchange of passion.

Choosing between Logan and Gage would require more time than the world could possibly afford. I’d need two lifetimes, and two of me—both of which reality could ever hope to give me.

13

One Count Down

Monday, on the way to second period, I pass Logan in the hall. He not only smiles in my direction—he holds out his hand to high five me.

Butterfly room at ten? He asks.

It’s on, I give a sly smile as I head into Marshall’s class.

Gage pretends not to notice the whole skin slapping exchange. I spent all day yesterday trying to figure out how to see one Oliver, without cheating on the other—turns out there’s no possible way. I’m going to have to do something, rather drastic and painful, like choose, but I think I’d rather pluck off my fingernails.

I contemplate the finer skills I’ve picked up since moving to the island—liar, cheat, thief, oh yeah—murderer. At least Paragon is molding me into a well-rounded asshole.

I plop down in my seat. It takes all of my effort not to put my head down, I’m so tired and it’s only nine in the morning. Marshall whistles happily while passing out the tests from last week. I find this extremely annoying so I don’t bother acknowledging him.

He glides a paper onto my desk with a giant red F scrawled across the top.

That’s impossible.

“What did you get?” I lean over to Gage whose paper is sporting a neat little A in the corner. I scan the sheets side by side and none of the numbers match.

“Maybe I confused you when I was repeating the problems,” he whispers.

Marshall swoops over to the two of us. “Maybe what confused you, Ms. Messenger, is that you didn’t know the answers.” His brows sharpen. “I took the liberty of discussing your disposition with your mother this morning.”

“What? You said you were going to let me slide.” Did I just say that out loud?

“She has agreed to procure my tutoring services.” I charge four hundred dollars a month, and with that I can practically guarantee an A. Oh the fun we’re going to have. He bites down on his lower lip suggestively.

Mom and Tad don’t have a spare four hundred lying around. It might just be cheaper for Tad to ship me off to boarding school. And, of course, he’ll use me as an excuse to deny Mia and Melissa their self-entitled weekly shopping sprees. Soon, I’ll be to blame for all things debt related.

“When do we start?” I spear him with my anger.

“Soon as possible.” His cheek pulls into a half smile as he walks away. And Skyla? Feisty becomes you.

***

“I don’t like the thought of you hanging around him,” Gage whispers, while holding me under the awning at lunch.

A downpour ignited as soon as the bell rang, which leaves ninety percent of the student body huddling en mass like ants under a leaf. You would think with all the rain they get on Paragon, they would offer us more shelter.

Ellis comes over, spilling his backpack onto the ground. “You guys hear they caught some kids going at it on top of the English building?” He laughs into the words. This is obviously the trivia he lives for.

“It was Nat.” Brielle closes in our circle. “Pierce came up. He’s all freaked out about losing his brother. He lost his sister like a year ago, and now he’s the only child. Anyway, I guess Nat has been suspended for three whole days.”

My heart sinks. Of course he’s all freaked out about losing his brother—dead is pretty much forever, unless you’re Chloe.

“Funeral is Friday.” Brielle smirks when she says it. “Isn’t that weird?”

“Why would that be weird?” I ask.

“It’s Halloween,” she whispers as though it were top secret. “I don’t know, it’s just wrong.”

“Yeah well, I’m not calling off the party.” Ellis growls. “I’m not letting some murderous lunatic ruin life for the rest of us.”

Ellis is right—ever since I moved here, I’ve been ruining life for the rest of them and flat out ending it for others.

“Don’t go there,” Gage says it hot in my ear. “You made so many things right.”

It amazes me sometimes that Gage doesn’t have to read my mind to know what I’m thinking. I pull in closer and let my head dip down over his chest. A violent clap of thunder explodes above us, rattling the windows of the surrounding buildings. I tighten my grip around his waist so hard I think I’m going to push through.

I look back and both Brielle and Ellis have disappeared.

“I don’t feel right about going to a party that night—any night ever again to be exact.” I should voluntarily ban myself from ever having fun again.

“We have to.” He tickles my ribs gently. “It’s the best party of the year.” He rests his lips on the top of my head momentarily. “I’ll even wear a costume if you want.”

“Really?”

“Really. Anything.”

“OK, how about a vampire?”

“Except that.” He averts his eyes as though he were rethinking the situation.

“Come on, vampires are cool and super sexy. It’s what I really want you to be. I’ll be Frankenstein’s daughter. I’ve got the neck, remember?”

“Yeah, well, my dad wanted me to let you know it’s time for the stitches to come out.”

“I’ll leave ‘em in until Saturday.” I shrug. “Tad saw them and thinks they’re some Goth experimental stage I’m going through.” I feel better talking to Gage—being with him. He has a way of removing the grime from the world and letting me see things clean and new the way he wants me to, if only for a moment.

Gage leans in and kisses me without reservation. He pulls back and his eyes linger into mine.

“I think I’m falling in love with you, Skyla.” His dimples dig into the sides of his cheeks, as though somehow highlighting the importance of what he’s saying.

The sky ignites with splinters of lightning that spider across the sky in pink and lavender hues.

I pull him in and lean my head up against his shoulder. Logan catches my eye from the doorway of the building across the way. Lexy is talking to him, but his full attention is locked in my direction.

I close my eyes and listen to the thunder roar over Paragon like a lion on fire.

“I love you,” Gage whispers directly into my ear.

“I know.” I can feel it, deep, in the marrow of my bones.

***

As soon as I get home, my mother whisks me away downtown. Turns out I’m magnificently late, as she phrased it, for my appointment with Dr. Booth.

Branches whip across the window of his office as we sit across from one another with matching folded hands, somber expressions, which I’m sure reflect boredom more than any other emotion.

“There’s rumor of a killer roaming free on the island.” He leans back without perforating his bleak expression. Dr. Booth is the psychiatrist I pretend to see in order to appease my mother and Tad.

His dark mat of hair, coupled with his squared off glasses gives him a comical quality I can’t quite pinpoint.

“Are you the killer, Skyla?” There’s no change in his affect. He may as well have asked if my mother and I plan on picking up fast food on the way home.

I don’t say anything, don’t dare posture myself, or so much as blink.

His fingers press together at the tips as he rocks back into his seat. “Thought so.”

***

I’m still reeling from my appointment with Dr. Booth. He saw right through me. It’s like I have the word killer etched on my forehead or something.

I run my fingers over the tiny paper butterflies pinned to the wall as I wait for Logan. I remember how Gage made them come to life for me, how he let one go and it flew to the ceiling like magic.

Logan shows up close to ten-thirty. For a while, I thought he wasn’t coming and started to fall asleep on the floor.

“Hey, sorry I’m late.” He gets on his elbows and lies down beside me.

His cologne smells fresh as he brushes my lips with a quick tender kiss.

“I had someone quit tonight, so I had to close.” He gives my back a gentle rub. “Heard Gage made his move. He came home and threw the L word around all over the place.” He looks startled, afraid, as though it rocked his very existence to witness it.

I don’t know what to say to that. Gage is diving in deep, and he’s starting to pull me down with him.

“Anyway, I’m not here to talk about Gage.” He lets out a heavy sigh. “Just wanted to let you know that I found out a little more about Holden Kragger.”

“What?” I’m thirsty to know anything.

“Their family owns a coffee shop out by Rockaway Point. They were always there. That, and the fact he and his brother were infamous for the way they treated girls.”

“I heard Nat is dating his brother.”

“Sort of. Lots of people are dating Pierce.” His fingers twitch in air quotes when he says the word dating. “Turns out, there’s an entire list of girls from East he toys with on a regular basis.”

“Oh,” I say, just taking him in. It feels strange with Logan sometimes. As if all this time I’ve spent with Gage has severely punctured something in our relationship.

“Is that all you have on Holden and Pierce?” I ask biting the tip of my finger then tracing his lips with it.

Logan leans in and gives a slow lingering kiss. His features soften as he pulls away. He studies me with an infinite sadness masked by the weakest smile. “One more thing. I’ve been combing through the copies from the book of Counts with my uncle. We’re able to see some kind of hierarchy. It has a list of regional leaders and locations in the back. There’s an infrastructure in place, that’s for sure.”

“Locations? Like Paragon?” A spike of adrenaline shoots through me.

“Like Paragon,” he says without blinking.

“Who’s in charge of the Countenance here?”

“A man named Arson.”

“Arson? What the hell kind of name is that?”

Logan shakes his head just barely. “Father of Holden and Pierce.”

“Oh no, I killed a Count.”

“Oh yes, Skyla.” He looks at me with a magnetic intensity that seems to weld our souls together. “Looks like our holy war is well underway.”

14

My Ride

Driving rain strums relentlessly against my window, vexing me with its wild tapping thumps, until I manage to crawl out of bed and head downstairs for breakfast.

The lights flicker in rhythm to the storm as the steady hum of a thousand drummers penetrates the walls with its insistent frenetic pace. There won’t be any peace in our world today.

“Morning.” My mother yawns and stretches, exposing her pink lace negligee from beneath her terry robe. Mia and Melissa speed past me upstairs, already done with their breakfast. “Hey,” Mom leans into me as I head to the fridge. “I don’t want to say anything around your sisters, but apparently that kid that died the other night was murdered.”

“Murdered?” The word feels rugged coming from my lips like corrugated cardboard.

“Yes!” Her eyes widen. “I don’t want you going off alone. Make sure to stick with Brielle or Gage.”

“Gage?” I ask sarcastically plucking the juice from the counter and filling a glass. “Taddy wants me to break up with him remember?”

She glances in the direction of his office. “I know you really care about Gage—I like him too. Just for the sake of maintaining household sanity, would you please let Tad think you’ve cooled it on the relationship?”

I examine her up and down. Is this what she’s become? Why are we sneaking around behind Tad’s back with my relationship status? Shouldn’t she stand up for me and tell him I can see whomever the hell I want?

“OK,” I reply. Maybe the two of us keeping a secret from Tad is a good thing, in a bonding sort of way.

Tad and Drake meander into the kitchen. I’ve never noticed until now how much they look alike. Something about this early morning disheveled state makes Drake look like a thinner, younger version of his father.

“Anyway, guess whose seventeenth birthday is right around the corner?” My mother chirps in an effort to change the subject.

Somehow I’ve managed to push my birthday as far out of my mind as possible. I’m too numb with the recent horrific developments in my life to have any genuine excitement over it. Then a thought hits me, and I take an emotional U-turn.

“You know what?” My mood spikes a little. “I think I’m finally going to get my license. Have I mentioned I already have a car?” I restrain myself from jumping when I say it.

“A car?” Tad echoes, disbelieving. His disapproving tone comes in clear—the one he seems to reserve just for me.

“Yeah, Logan and Gage have some old beat up car they want to get rid of and they offered to give it to me.”

“That’s right, Skyla,” Tad starts in sarcastically. “Let boys run around giving you expensive things, and see if they expect nothing in return. That’s exactly how you want to start off in life.” He shags out his paper.

“Honey,” my mother bites her lip. “He’s right. It’s not a good idea. I don’t think I can let you accept that kind of gift. I don’t care how old or beat up it is.”

“And who’s going to pay for insurance?” Tad cocks his head. “It’s bad enough we need to fit Drake on our policy.”

“What?” I look over at Drake shoveling in his cereal.

“I found an old hatchback for like two thousand bucks,” he mumbles through a mouth full of food. “Plus, I already have my license, so it’s a no brainer.”

“So Drake can get a car, and you’re going to pay for the insurance, but I can’t?”

Tad shakes his head with exasperation. “Look, you don’t need a car. You don’t have anywhere to go that you can’t have that giant of a football player take you.”

“Oh, so now you want me to use Gage for a ride? He’s suddenly become economically convenient to you?” My blood races through my veins, amping me up to the point I could knock a wall out if I wanted.

“You’re always with him, anyway.” My mother stirs the leftover pancake batter trying to sound impartial.

“My situation is totally different,” Drake interjects. “I got a job doing paperwork for Brielle’s mom.”

I glare over at him. We both know damn well the only thing he’ll be doing is Brielle.

“I’m paying Mom and Dad back for the loan they gave me with interest,” he continues.

Mom? Since when did he start calling her Mom?

“You gave him two thousand dollars?” I place my hand over my mother’s in an effort to stop her frantic mixing.

“We’re lending,” she corrects.

“I’ll get a job and pay for my own insurance,” I offer. I can feel my heart drop when I say it. If Drake isn’t paying for his own insurance, it doesn’t seem fair that I have to. I don’t ever remember my mother treating me like a second-class citizen before Tad came along.

“If you can get a job and pay for your own insurance,” my mother starts off hesitantly, exchanging glances with Tad as if asking permission to continue. “I don’t really see the problem.”

“Still don’t like the idea,” Tad breathes. “The island is not that big—you can catch a ride with friends or Drake to get around. Besides, now that there’s some serial killer on the loose, I don’t know if I want you driving places alone.” Tad flexes the paper in front of him.

“Serial killer?” I can barely get the words out.

“They think there’s a link between that kid that died and that girl who was killed before we got here.” Tad casts a sharp look. “You two watch where you’re going. I don’t want to be the one to point out the obvious, but you’re right smack in this lunatic’s demographic.”

Drake’s face smoothes over with fear.

“I’d better keep Gage around just to be safe.” I give a sly smile in my mother’s direction.

And I’ll get that car and a job. I’ll gladly spend more time away from this place. I’m sure Logan will be more than happy to employ me.

“Guess we’re going to have to start locking our doors again.” Tad says before losing himself in an article.

I wonder what he would think if he knew the raging lunatic, so-called serial killer, were standing within five feet of him.

“It’s all going to be fine.” My mother wipes her forehead with the back of her hand.

“I don’t know, Lizbeth.” Tad moves his gaze over to me and grips me in a fixed burning stare. “You never know who they’ll go after next.”

15

Get a Job

Marshall insists we begin our first tutoring session at four-thirty, right after I finish up with cheer. I know exactly what kind of tutoring goes on in his classroom at four-thirty, ever since I accidentally exposed myself to Michelle Miller’s boobs after walking in on one of his sessions.

I shake out my umbrella and leave it by the door. I find Marshall hunched at his desk, pouring over his laptop. The glow of the screen is the only light available, so I flick the switch and illuminate the classroom.

“Ms. Messenger.” He straightens. “You’re punctual—precisely the reason I think you’d make a great employee. Are you willing to reconsider the position?”

I look around suspiciously wondering why Marshall bothers to act so strange with no one around to entertain.

“I do need a job, but I’m gunning for something with a little less of you in it.” I head over and slide a chair up beside him. The ad for the equestrian school is displayed on his laptop, complete with the picture of me looking very, well, almost naked with the exception of angel wings while lying on a horse.

“I’m inviting the community over in a few weeks to celebrate the opening. Fifty pupils have already singed up.” He closes the lid to his laptop. “I stood outside the grocery store with flyers and shook the hand of every mother I could.”

“I bet you did.” I pull out my Algebra Two book. “My sisters are among the throngs. Don’t you dare touch them.” I’ll find a way to torment Marshall if he even so much as offers a wayward glance.

“I wouldn’t dream of such vile things. Besides, the equestrian school comes equipped with competent instructors, none of which include yours truly. I need a stream of real income—teaching provides just enough to keep me on a steady diet of cat food, and I prefer quality meals such as sushi.”

“Sushi is cat food, glorified as it may be.” I say flipping the pages of my textbook. God, I miss sushi. I haven’t had any since I moved from L.A. “You know, I just realized, I don’t know all that much about you.”

“That’s where the disconnect is. Tell you what, I’m going to introduce you to my world. Once you see how wonderful it is, it’s doubtful you’ll want to leave.”

“What’s doubtful is the fact I’ll be going with you. Besides, isn’t death some kind of prerequisite to getting in?” I close the book over my hand and lean into him. “Did you hear about the boy that was killed out by the falls?” I study the blank expression on his face. “It was me…I killed him,” my voice shakes when I say it, and suddenly I find myself fighting tears.

His features sharpen. “It was made known to me.” He gives a hard blink. “Skyla, it’s not your strength or your blood that will ultimately usher your downfall, it’s that pit in the center of your face you insist on vocalizing with.”

“Then I’ll keep it shut.” Obviously, I shouldn’t have said anything.

“You’re incapable.” He presses into me with a hard look. “It’s your mortal flaw.”

I open my mouth to say something, but can’t find the words. I’ve already told both Logan and Gage he’s a Sector. If Marshall finds out, he’ll hand me over to the Counts. I don’t like where this runaway train is headed.

He reaches over and touches my face gently with the back of his hand. That sweet rush I anticipate ripples through me—makes me ache to keep him there just a little bit longer.

I’m so much trouble in this world—maybe it’s not the one I really belong in. Maybe, before I kill another human being, I should weigh all my options.

“Does the thought of bringing back your father still intrigue you?”

“Always.” But not enough to eternally unite with a Sector.

“Look beyond your hormones, Skyla, before you rack up a body count. You will kill again, and the list grows rather rapidly. If you knew whose blood you were ultimately responsible for, I don’t think you’d sit here with that look of indecision on your face.” He pauses to clasp my other hand. “I could end this war for you. It’s better to decide now than wish you could take it all back once you’ve fed the grave. There will come a day that you’ll wish it were you supine in a casket rather than the ones you put there.” He studies my face with an underlying look of malice. “Especially, one in particular.”

***

After the faux tutoring session is over, I convince Gage to drive me to the bowling alley in hopes of seeking employment. Of course, he tries unsuccessfully to talk me out of the idea.

We arrive just as a group of construction workers are taking off. Two of them leer at me openly. Maybe hanging out with a bunch of construction workers for a five-hour shift isn’t the greatest idea.

Logan’s kitchen remodel is well under way. The floors are done in chalky orange tiles, new stainless appliances are in place with the plastic wrap hanging partially off, and a giant brick oven looks ready to be filled with pizza.

“Nice!” I beam over at Logan. “Guess you’ll be needing an extra pair of hands.”

“You signing up?” He tilts his head thoughtfully, flirting with me ever so slightly with those sundrenched eyes.

I give a quick nod.

“You’re hired.” He lets out a smug grin of satisfaction directed at Gage. “Of course, employees aren’t allowed to date, but I’ll make some allowances.” Logan doesn’t bother hiding his sarcasm.

“Let me guess, they have something to do with scheduling,” Gage says, nodding me over to the table.

“You’re a bright boy. That’s why I keep you around.”

The three of us take a seat.

“He’s my ride.” I have to work with Gage, besides I want to.

“I’ll still bring you, pick you up,” Gage offers. “I’m not going anywhere.” He slits a quick glance at Logan.

Must change subject.

“Marshall keeps burrowing into my life. How am I going to get rid of him?” I don’t tell them that I’ve added being captured by him to my growing list of paranoia.

“Request a transfer,” Gage suggests.

“No… don’t.” Logan looks lost in thought. “See if you can get him to tell you how to bind a Fem. I’m not getting far with Lexy.”

“I guess I can. I just don’t like the thought of him wooing me. His words not mine.”

“I don’t either.” Gage picks up my hand and entwines our fingers right in front of Logan.

A distant smile curls the sides of Logan’s lips as he glares over at Gage.

“I don’t like the thought of anybody wooing you.” He doesn’t waver his stare from Gage. There’s a blackness in Logan I haven’t seen before as he intensifies his discontent. His chest rises and falls at a quickened pace. “Celestras are known for erratic behavior when provoked to anger.” He leans in a little toward Gage. “We’re often justified and rarely caught.”

“So you’re saying I should watch my back?” Gage clenches his jaw at the idea.

“I’m saying you shouldn’t justify my anger.”

I wonder how far Logan would take this—if he could do to Gage what I did to Holden. Doubtful. Although something unfamiliar boils deep behind his eyes, and it makes me think just maybe he could.

16

Worlds Collide

Paragon’s landscape is dotted with pumpkins—bodies are strung up in trees like Christmas ornaments, and miniature graveyards have cropped up on every other front lawn. There’s something about filling this island with all of the glory and horror of wickedness that just feels right.

“You mind if I drive?” I ask Gage on the way home.

“You have your license?” He knows full well I don’t.

“No, but I will.”

“It’s against the law.”

His sudden sense of loyalty to law enforcement amuses me.

“Look, this is a tiny island with like two lanes. It’s not like I’m asking you to let me zip down an L.A. freeway with a blindfold on. Who’s going to care?”

“I’m going to care, and you’re going to care when things go wrong.”

“Nothing is going to go wrong.” I place my hand over his and bat my lashes.

Gage pulls over, and we switch seats.

“Just straight home,” he says.

OK, so he’s not that enthused with the idea.

“Home—got it.” I drive to the intersection where we would usually make a right, and turn left instead.

“Skyla.”

“What? I’m taking the long way.” I stop abruptly as the light turns yellow.

“Geez,” he says, bracing himself against the dashboard. “Ease into it, will you?”

“You wanna go to Devil’s Peak?” It feels so freeing to be behind the wheel. I can go anywhere—do anything.

“No. You might accidently drive us over the edge.”

“Then let’s go to the beach.”

The light changes, and I pump the gas a few times, sputtering the truck forward in a series of staccato jerks. Then something loosens in the pedal, and it’s almost like the car is driving itself.

It takes about three good miles before Gage looks over with a mischievous half smile.

“I don’t know what happened,” he starts, “but you’ve improved drastically. I think I might actually start to breathe again.”

“Told you it’d be fine. I’m totally getting the hang of this.”

The pedal depresses beneath my foot, and the truck slides into the opposing lane. The truck speeds up unnaturally, and I pass up three minivans in a row and glide right in front of them and back into the proper lane.

“Holy shit!” Gage digs his fingers into the dashboard. “That was an incline, Skyla! There is no way you could have seen if there was a car coming.” He lays a hand over the wheel. “Pull over.”

My heart races feverishly as the gas pedal sinks beneath my foot again. The light at the intersection turns yellow and I try to pump the brake, but the accelerator is sticking.

“Something is wrong.” I try to steady the wheel, but it twists and turns, rotating powerfully beneath my fingers as though its got a mind of its own. “Oh my, God!” I close my eyes as the car sails into the intersection just as cross traffic begins to speed into the street.

“Skyla!” Gage takes off his seatbelt and tries hopping over on top of me to gain control of the wheel.

I look up in time to see the whites of someone’s eyes just as a dark green Hummer slams into the corner of the hood and sends us spinning out of control. I grab a hold of Gage by the shirt and try to hang onto to him. Another car plows into us just behind the passenger side and stops all movement. Gage explodes through the windshield, through a million tiny fragments of pebble-sized glass, and rolls over to the hood of the Hummer. A trail of blood fills the interim.

“Gage!” I scream, as I snap off my seatbelt. I try to open the driver’s side door, but it’s jammed. Blue bits of glass litter the seat as I crawl over and get out of the passenger side. “Gage?” It comes out a startled cry as I try to reach his bloodied body.

I’m numb—the world feels as though it’s shaking. A light rain begins to pelt me, and I can’t feel a thing.

His face…oh God…his face!

Splinters of glass glitter off his forehead, his cheeks. Blood trickles from a thousand different places, covering his flesh completely, despite the rain’s best effort to wash it all away.

“Can you hear me?” I say it quieter than intended.

Gage lets out a soft moan and tries unsuccessfully to sit up, only to land back on the hood with a hard thump.

“Don’t move!” I hear somebody shout. A woman pulls me to the side.

Sirens cut through the air, as a steady pulse of red and yellow flickering lights blink through the night like a seizure.

I move toward Gage as the air around me turns an ashen shade of grey. I can feel myself falling. The asphalt comes in quick—then the world, and everything in it, disappears.

***

I struggle to open my lids, the shock of commotion around me is drowned out by a banging headache that pulsates through my ears—it all floods back to me.

“Gage?” I sit up fighting a wave of nausea.

“You OK?” A lady wearing purple-rimmed glasses and a worried expression tries to stop me from getting up.

Gage is being lifted onto a gurney. I can see his eyes moving around frantically.

“Gage!” I bolt over, filled with relief. His face is still covered with pink swirls of blood that dilute with the rain.

“I’m OK.” He groans as they load him into the ambulance. I don’t wait for anybody to ask if I want to come along, I just hop inside and take a seat near the back where they position his head.

“I’m so sorry. I swear I lost control.”

“Incoming!” shouts the EMT as he flexes another body on a gurney into the ambulance.

“I’m not hurt.” A boy around our age raises his hand. His face is cut, and there’s blood all over. “You driving that car?” His expression darkens as he bores into me with an accusing stare.

I don’t say anything, just sit there wondering how many ambulances are going to be filled and if I’ve managed to kill anybody in the process.

“This is my girlfriend,” Gage hitches his thumb at me. “She was just learning to drive.”

“Female drivers, no survivors.” He swipes the blood from his mouth. He looks back at me and runs his eyes up and down quickly. “Pierce Kragger.”

Gage and I exchange glances.

Oh my, God. I almost killed another one.

“My dad’s a lawyer. He’ll fix it so you’ll never want to sit behind the wheel again.” He gives a little laugh before lying back down. “He’s good at keeping idiots off the street.”

The fact that I killed his brother sails through my brain and I excuse his rude behavior.

Gage reaches back and touches my hand as the ambulance begins to wail down the street.

Did you say you lost control of the wheel? He asks.

“And the gas and the brakes,” I say out loud. I don’t care how insane I look to Pierce or the EMT sitting at the far end.

I’m starting to think this wasn’t an accident, Gage says.

I look over at Pierce lying there—Holden’s brother.

Just what are the odds?

17

Survivor

“Well, you’re a pair.” Dr. Oliver walks into the hospital room as Gage and me inspect ourselves in a hand held mirror. I quickly replace the scarf around my neck.

“Look at you.” The horror jumps off his face as he takes in his son’s intensely sliced up features. “The intern says it’s all superficial with the exception of your shoulder.”

“He has a concussion,” I add. Not that I should be adding anything. I should be running for the exit—subtracting myself from the equation. I wouldn’t blame Dr. Oliver for wanting to throw me out a window.

Emma and Logan come in winded. Her hands fly up to her mouth as she lets out a wild gasp.

“What happened?” Logan’s anger with Gage has clearly dissipated—although I wouldn’t be surprised if it reprised itself in my direction at any moment.

“I didn’t see him coming.” Gage groans as he attempts to sit up.

“Nice try, but the police report says it was a female driver.” Dr. Oliver tilts his head to the side expecting an explanation.

“I think the truck might be haunted,” I say. It’s true.

The three of them stare back at me as though I had just slapped them all in unison.

“Something was definitely off.” Gage scoots in and clasps my hand. “One minute she was stuttering down the road, and the next thing I knew she was ditching in and out of traffic at eighty miles an hour.”

God—was I doing eighty?

A great look of sadness comes over Emma as she collapses her hands up near temples. “It may not have been her,” she whispers, “but it was because of her.”

***

In a rare and dangerous moment, Logan offers to give me a ride back home.

“Your aunt hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you. I thought she was going to cry when she apologized for like the hundredth time.”

“I know, but that’s because she’s too nice to say what she really means,” I pause. “I almost killed her son.”

“You didn’t.” He smoothes his hand over my knee. “If you want, I’ll teach you how to drive.”

“You will?”

“Yeah, I’ll take you to the Black Forest one day, there’s a nice clearing. The only thing you’ll be remotely capable of hitting is a tree.” He flexes a mock smile.

Nice—great time for humor. Then it occurs to me that plenty of people get killed each year by ramming their cars into trees, and I’m perfectly capable of including myself in that statistic.

“There’s a party at the bowling alley Saturday night,” Logan says, passing my house and pulling in alongside the evergreens that stand guard at the base of our street. The moon is covered in a heavy vale of storm clouds, and if it weren’t for the fact Logan’s truck is white, we’d blend perfectly into the shadows. Chloe chose a lousy color for his truck.

“Sort of like an after party to Ellis’s Halloween bash?” That was stupid. Ellis’s party is on Friday.

It feels awkward here with Logan. I haven’t been with him alone like this in so long, it feels unnatural.

“Lexy invited me to go on Halloween,” he says.

“And you’re going to do it?”

“I’ll just meet her there.” He shakes his head and looks despondent out the window.

A surge of relief pulses through me.

“That party at the bowling alley?” He picks up my hand and pulls me toward him. “It’s private.”

“Oh, another Lexy event?” Just add it to the list of growing horrors.

“It’s very private.” He gives the impression of a wicked grin.

“Oh, for me. Of course, I’ll be there.”

“If you want you can hang out after your shift while I close up. Then we can start the party.” The contours of his face are laced with shadows—they define him, make him look strong, hard as marble.

My heart picks up pace. I’m not sure what kind of party Logan has in mind, but I’ll definitely be hanging around to find out.

“Sounds like we’re dating on the job,” I bite down on my lip.

“You know what they say—there’s an exception to every rule.” And with that he leans in and kisses me, makes me forget rules and accidents and boys named Pierce.

***

August 12th,

I took Nevermore with me down to the dunes. I had him sit in a tree and wait until Gage met up with me. He was working so I agreed to meet him, plus I didn’t want him to see Nev until the big reveal.

Of course, I brought all kinds of great food and was way too nervous to take one bite in front of him. I sat and watched as he ate, as he swallowed, I swear everything that boy does is perfect. Anyway, I had Nevermore come down and Gage tried to shoo him away. Too freaking funny!

I told him it was OK, that it was the guardian my father gave me when I was eight. I took his hand and placed it over Nev. I held them both while I pulled out my knife and cut them. That’s the way I remember my father doing it. I remember how my blood beaded on the blade. Now Nev has Levatio and Celestra blood circulating inside of him. He’s a prince among birds, literally. Doesn’t matter though, he’s impressed onto Gage now. I’ve given Nev to him as a gift. He’s Gage’s bird now. I hope Gage knows how much it means for me to give up Nevermore. I love that bird more than my brother, hell, more than my mother.

So things didn’t go so great after that. I tried to lean in and kiss him and he backed away like I had cooties or something. He says he’s real sorry because he’s not trying to lead me on, but he’s saving himself for someone else. Who the fuck saves kisses? And for some girl he hasn’t even met yet! He must think I’m repulsive. I’m so stupid for giving him my heart, my bird, my anything.

I miss Nev. I think he was the only one capable of loving me.

-Chloe

Rain beats down against my window. I clutch Chloe’s diary against my chest and press my hand up against the cool of the glass, watch as the window lights up in a fog around my fingers.

That was me. I was the girl Gage waited for, and I’ll probably be the one to accidentally kill him one day.

A sizzle of lightning electrifies the sky. It slaps against the palm of my hand like a hammer and then produces a violent shatter.

In a moment, the room is lit up with supernatural light and an explosion of flying glass.

18

Follow

Second period Algebra Two.

Outside, it’s heaving water like vomit from heaven. It’s as though the clouds have malfunctioned and somehow harnessed the power to suction water from the ocean in large, inconsiderate vats.

The entire class sits around talking and shouting while we wait for Dudley the no-show. Oddly, Marshall strolling in late has increasingly become the norm.

“So,” I lean into Ellis and Gage, “it didn’t go over very well with Tad, that a freak of nature completely destroyed my window.”

Gage looks great save for the stray maroon lines dotting his face, and the fact his arm is in a sling.

“So lightning struck your window after you got into a major collision?” Ellis ticks his head at me. “I’m officially revoking your invite to the party.”

“Yeah, right. Just having me in the vicinity increases the percentile of Fems that will show up.” What’s sad about that is it’s actually proven to be factual.

Marshall strides in, slams his briefcase on the desk and claps his hands. The entire room falls silent. Something about Marshall today—he looks irritated, maudlin, not his usual annoyingly chipper self.

“Sit quiet for an hour.” He gives a dry smile. “Do whatever the hell you like.” He snatches up his briefcase before bolting out the door.

“What the heck?” Ellis looks dazed.

The room booms with a mix of laughter and voices. I don’t bother saying anything. I just get up and speed down the hall after Marshall, catching up with him as he taps down the stairs.

“Wait, what’s going on?”

“This doesn’t involve you, Skyla.” He bursts through the double doors, popping open his umbrella, cutting through the storm at superhuman speeds.

“Oh, something is definitely happening. And if it’s crappy, it usually involves me,” I shout, running in an effort to keep up with him.

“Don’t flatter yourself. There’s plenty of misery in this world that has nothing to do with, Skyla Messenger.”

Before I know it, we’re in the teacher’s parking lot, and Marshall is getting into his car. I sit down on the passenger’s side before he has a chance to protest, and we speed away.

***

Marshall is flying—we’re air born—hydroplaning, all of the above. We pass three police cars and not one of them cares to stop us.

“You drive like a bat out of hell,” I say, watching the windshield wipers fight a losing battle as I twist and turn with Marshall’s erratic driving.

“Really, Skyla? That’s so cliché. Sometimes I wonder why I bother with people.”

“Cliché? Try accurate.” I brace myself against the dash like Gage did yesterday and start pumping the air brakes with my foot.

“Try something a little more original. How about, you drive like an atomic collision?” He grits his teeth as we take a sharp turn. “Or you drive like a sound wave that reaches its destination before the first vibration is felt by the human ear, or…” He drives down the dirt path below Devil’s Peak and slows to a crawl as we approach the sheer cliff side. “Hang on.” He backs the car up violently before throwing it into drive again and races toward the granite wall as fast as the pedal with allow.

“No!” I scream covering my head with my arms. Turn left is my last paralyzing thought before the sheer slate wall approaches. The car starts vibrating in that strange tuning fork manner that Marshall is capable of emitting. We drive right through the granite and land somewhere dark as night, on a forest floor with a low hung moon that gives off a lavender glow.

Marshall gets out in haste. I unbuckle and follow him.

“Where are we?” Looks like Paragon—feels like Paragon, until I see him lift a latch out of the dirt. A brightly lit stairwell blinds me from beneath the ground. It leads straight down into the earth and looks more than vaguely familiar. “Oh no.” I try to pull him away from it. “I remember this place. It’s that freaky white labyrinth Ezrina took me to. She had me strapped to a metal bathtub and was going to suck all of the blood out of me with a big fat needle.”

“You’re with me.” He continues down the stairs.

“I won’t go,” I shout after him. My adrenaline picks up, as a spike of perspiration erupts all over me at once.

“Well, I doubt you’ll be safe up there,” he shouts, disappearing from my line of vision.

Shit!

I run down the stairs, and catch up with Marshall speeding down the hall. I clutch at his waist with both hands. “This is Ezrina’s freaking lair,” I say in a panic.

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” He eases my arms off and picks up my hand. He’s still bulleting down the hall, briefly looking in rooms that have their doors open.

“Here you are,” he says to someone curled over the counter with a bevy of glass bottles lying around.

It’s her! Shit!

Ezrina straightens and turns around with that dried blood of a thin-lipped smile. She frowns as she observes me from over her glasses.

Marshall lets go of my hand and hops up on the counter next to the clutter.

“I’ve made a mess of things,” he laments. He looks boyish and charming in a humble sort of way.

Damn right I want to say. Get me the hell out of here is next on my list, but my vocal chords don’t seem to be functioning at the moment.

“You want me to chop off her other arm?” She asks casually while rolling a vial of blue solution between the palms of her hands.

“No, she followed me. I can’t shake her—she’s like a pet I’ve come to appreciate.” He winks over at me.

“I want to go home.” The words stutter out of me as I back into a wall.

“Relax, nobody is going to hurt you, Skyla.” Marshall steadies himself. “Remember how I told you the world didn’t revolve around you? This is one of those rare moments. I’m the one with the problem.”

I study Marshall’s face, then look over at Ezrina who doesn’t seemed fazed at all by our strange visit. She continues to pick over samples and play with Petri dishes as though it were standard procedure to have me looking over her shoulder.

“What did you do this time?” She asks pulling a long white tube out of a metal hole in the sink with tongs. Smoke rises from the pit as though it were coming from a frozen environment.

“I’ve impregnated a human.” The glass drops from her hand onto the floor and shatters.

My hand rises up over my mouth, and I find myself choking for air.

“Michelle’s pregnant?” The words barely escape my lips.

“I’m not here to start rumors, Skyla.” He looks annoyed with me for the very first time.

“You’ll have an offspring then.” Ezrina secures her hands at the hips.

“I will.” He drops his gaze to the floor.

This is so freaking insane. I step forward toward Marshall for the first time unafraid of Ezrina until I notice that the bathtub of death is filled with a body. I jump back, startled to see a leg sticking out from underneath a black sheet of plastic and let out a scream.

“Is this the boy?” Marshall asks.

“There’s Celestra blood involved.” Ezrina plucks the gloves off her fingers. “It’s confirmed.”

“Well, Skyla,” Marshall’s mood brightens. “Looks like you’ve managed to prove your theory correct. All signs of trouble can be directly linked back to you.” He hops down from the counter. “You’re in more trouble than I am. I feel better already.”

“Glad I can help,” I whisper.

“Shall I take her now?” Ezrina’s wild red mane pulsates as her voice hits the slightest echo.

“Not yet, my love.” Marshall glides over to me. “She’s mine yet a little while more.”

19

Vampire for Sale

I feel rather catatonic the rest of the afternoon. After school, Gage tries to cheer me up by taking me shopping for Halloween costumes. He seems to have completely accepted the fact I was taken to Ezrina’s lair as though it were something natural—expected.

“Look, I can tell you’re pretty shaken up.” He brushes the hair from my face. “Stay away from Dudley. The guy is bad news.”

Paragon glows a luminescent orange, as a magnificent sunset tries to penetrate the puff of fog lying over us thick as wool. It gives the impression that inside this mist, the island is on fire—a strange fire that envelopes you, forgets to let you burn.

Gage helps me out of his mother’s two-seat convertible. It feels weird driving so low to the ground after mounting over the road for weeks in his tank of a truck.

“So is it totaled?” I feel bad for not asking before.

“Nope. Needs bodywork and some windows. I might get rid of it, though.”

“I feel terrible,” I say, walking past him as he holds a door laden with fake spider webs open for me.

It’s dark in the store. Odd noises emit from the speakers in the form of creaking doors, wild cackles that more than remotely sound like Michelle, and a woman expertly screaming. A strobe light goes off in spasms to our left as a layer of artificial fog drifts around our feet. Gage points up as an entire row of corpses greets us hanging from the ceiling. Probably employees. I’d consider hanging myself if I had to be subjected to this for more than five minutes—seems reasonable.

“You sure you want to do this?” I ask, as Gage speeds us down aisle after aisle.

“I’m sure.” He plucks a vampire costume off the rack and holds it up against himself. “I’ll let you dress me,” He examines the cape at arms length. “Maybe just this once.”

“I’m a sucker for a hot vampire. Thank you for being so nice.” I circle my arms around his waist. “That’s exactly why I love you.” I bite down on my bottom lip hard. Crap! I may have accidentally told Gage that I love him while sandwiched between a witch and a scarecrow.

“You love me?” His lips curl as his dimples depress themselves an inch on either side.

Of course I love Gage in the loose sense of the word, but I’m not ready to love, love Gage, am I?

“I do.” My lips feel as though they’re on fire as I give way to a huge grin. I do love Gage. There’s a certain relief in hearing myself say it. It feels right.

The air dissipates around us, suffocates us in the reality of our words. Gage stares back at me with wide-eyed anticipation of what it all means.

He pulls me in, rubs his cheek up against mine. “I’m glad you’re OK. I’m glad you weren’t hurt in the accident,” he punctuates it with a quick kiss.

“Me? I’m glad you weren’t hurt. I’m glad you’re alive.”

“I’m glad you’re alive.” He pecks another kiss. “And I’m alive.” He pushes in another quick one. “And that you and I are alive together standing in this tiny space, right here, right now.”

My stomach bottoms out, and my heart races for Gage. He presses in with a heartfelt kiss.

It must be real if he can make me feel this way—if I don’t want to stop his kisses from lingering.

***

Gage drops me off at home and I find Brielle lying on my bed helping herself to Chloe’s diary.

I snatch it out from underneath her. “What the hell are you doing?”

The window to my bedroom has been boarded up, and it looks like Mom has washed and replaced my bedding.

“Relax. I already knew half that stuff.” She rolls over and stretches out her limbs like a lazy cat.

I open it to where I left off and see that the pages thereafter are still sealed shut.

“What are you doing here?” I try to stifle my insane annoyance with Brielle at the moment.

“Drake is getting ready to take me to dinner. I thought I’d come and hang out. Got his new car today, you see it?”

“No.” I feel like I’ve just been bitch slapped. For sure it’s starting to feel like Drake is the golden child of the family. If the car was in the driveway, I didn’t notice, but then it was dark and I’m still mental from seeing Ezrina.

“Well good for him.” I bury Chloe’s diary in my underwear drawer before plopping on the bed. “Guess what I heard today?”

“What?” Her eyes widen with expectation.

“Michelle is gonna have a baby.”

“Are you freaking serious?” There’s a burst of excitement in her voice.

“I shit thee not. And I suppose you know about Carly now.” I tick my head back to the underwear drawer.

“I knew about Carly, but Michelle?” Her hands and feet pound the bed with excitement.

“Wait, does everyone know about Carly?” I’m stunned by this.

“I don’t think so. I heard Chloe threatening her once in the gym about a baby carriage, plus when she started to sport tents day after day, I got suspicious,” she pauses. “So when she left school early, I figured she was going to lay her egg.”

“Egg?”

“Yeah, you’re full of them. You didn’t know that?” Brielle rolls her eyes then burst into laughter.

“Michelle is going to have Dudley’s baby. Is that freaking wild?”

“Yeah, that’s wild.” Brielle gets up on her elbows and gazes out at the wall in front of us. “So,” her tone softens, “what are you wearing tomorrow night?”

“Gage picked out a French maid costume for me. Only I won’t have to wear that choker thing.” I yank down my scarf.

She winces at the sight of my neck.

“That’s beyond disgusting.” She sticks out her tongue.

“How about you guys?”

“I’m a nun, and he’s a priest.”

“Oh, I get it—Mr. and Mrs. Blasphemy.” I roll over onto my stomach. “So what do you think is gonna to happen to Michelle?”

“Let’s see, she’ll be wishing she were dead in about nine months when she’s trying to squeeze a watermelon out of her ass, then after that, Dudley will wish that he was.” She gives a big toothy grin.

It’s comfortable lying here with Brielle. Strange how she knew that stuff about Carly and didn’t mention it.

I look at her chestnut brown hair falling over her shoulders, her perfect features, that porcelain white skin.

Hanging out with Brielle feels natural, like if she ever did lose her mind and marry Drake one day, I could totally see her as my sister. I sort of already do. There’s no way she knows she’s a Count or understands the fact she’s supposed to oppress me simply because of my lineage. I don’t know how I could have ever suspected Brielle of slitting my throat.

She dips her hand down onto the floor and reemerges with a sickle shape piece of glass.

Brielle locks eyes with me, lost in a cold isolated stare. The light refracts off the shard, spraying pale blue dots and shadows all across the room.

“Are you afraid of me, Skyla?” She asks with a slow whisper. There’s not a hint of laughter in her eyes, nothing that suggests she might be teasing.

“No.” I lie, rubbing my fingers across my stitches. “Should I be?”

“I think you should fear just about everybody.”

20

Boo

Halloween morning on Paragon is dark, damp, and blustery. No game tonight, but I decide to wear my cheer uniform to school anyway, minus the scarf I’ve been wrapping around my neck like a second skin.

Mom gasps as I enter the kitchen.

“What is that?” She makes her way over and taps my stitches with the pads of her fingers. “Looks so real.”

“Like it? Gage and me went and got a bunch of cool stuff at the Halloween store yesterday.” I turn around toward the fridge so she won’t see my face light up like a flame.

Shit! What was I thinking? For sure I wasn’t thinking she was going to touch it. Hell, I didn’t even think she’d notice.

“So what are you?” Mia comes around the corner and ogles at my neck. Her face contorts in a repulsive manner, and she backs off as though it might be contagious.

“I’m a cheerleader who got her throat slit.” I walk over and pull a banana off the counter while considering the irony.

“So how’s the baby making going?” Mia asks as she picks her backpack off the floor.

I hold my hand up and shield my face from Mom so I can retch freely in Mia’s direction.

Why would she ask that? That’s totally disgusting. I’d rather have my throat slashed a thousand times than ever bring up the subject of baby making with Mom.

“You know. It just seems like it was a whole lot less work when you were born.” She starts slicing into a grapefruit.

I can’t breathe. This is sick.

“Excuse me,” I sigh into my words. “It’s neither normal nor healthy to be discussing this at breakfast, or quite frankly at any meal with your children.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Skyla,” Mom’s voice is laden with sarcasm. “Has my desire to produce a beautiful baby brother or sister ruined the digestive process for you?”

“Completely.” I push a box of Drake’s cereal away to prove a point. “You know, maybe it’s just not meant to be.”

Her mouth gapes open, and she stands there staring at me in disbelief.

She stops cutting her fruit and walks over at an uneven clip with the knife still in her hand.

“Just because you’re rooting for this not to happen, doesn’t mean I’m willing take whatever you feel like dishing. I’ve got time and money working against me. The last thing I need is your attitude.”

“What the hell is going on?” Tad scampers over at a brisk pace. “Is she upsetting you again?”

“What do you mean again? I haven’t been upsetting her,” I say taking a giant step back. It’s too late, I’ve lit the fuse—I can feel it.

“I’m fine,” my mother whispers, shuddering in his arms. The drama is so thick, for a moment I think I missed something.

Tad’s eyes hook onto Dr. Oliver’s handy work braided across my neck and his face explodes in a crimson ball of anger.

“I thought I told you not to expose this family to the graffiti you’ve inflicted upon yourself.” There’s a renewed calm in him.

“It’s for Halloween,” I say, quietly running my finger across the incision.

“You are pushing the both of us to the outer limits.” His voice shakes as efforts to control himself begin to wane. “Is this family some kind of joke to you?” His voice booms across the house creating an unnatural echo. It’s deathly silent in the void.

There it is. The explosion.

I can feel Drake pulling up a seat beside me eagerly anticipating the rest of the show.

“Because if you think you’re too good for us, we’ll be happy to make other arrangements.” There is something more than anger inside of him—it’s as though the aftertaste of genuine hatred is layered just beneath. Then it hits me. Tad really does hate me. He doesn’t want me as a part of this family.

“Mom?” I want to ask if she’s going to stand there and let him talk to me like this, but she cowers into him almost as if she agrees.

“Skyla.” She pushes her fingers into her forehead and closes her eyes. “Just get to school. We’ll start fresh later.”

“Right.” I take off upstairs.

Something tells me we can never start fresh again.

***

Gage is all hopped up on the heels of our love as we stand in the overflow parking lot.

There’s something charming about the way he smiles and gazes openly, but something alarming about the fact that we’ve let a fake relationship get so far while I’m still in the midst of a real one. The good thing about being with Gage is that I made a promise to myself that whenever we’re in public I’ll never pretend my feelings for him. The bad thing is, during moments like this, when it’s just the two of us in the woods and there’s not another soul around, I should feel far guiltier than I do.

“I dreamed about you,” he says. The smile melts off his face ever so slightly.

“Was I naked?” I bite down on my lip and give a playful smile.

“Nope.” He loosens into a grin. “Very much clothed.”

“So, what happened?” I give a light massage to the back of his neck.

“Can’t tell you. It was one of my special dreams.”

“Special? As in code for dirty?”

“No.” His eyes widen into two large pools. “Special as in prophetic.”

“You know something?” I cease all movement and gaze into him. His dark hair lies in thick wet strands—it curls up around his temples and at the base of his neck in neat little coils.

“I know lots of things.” He looks down briefly. “Anyway, I like dreaming about you, seeing you even when you’re not with me.”

I wrap my arms around his waist and sway with him in the breeze.

“I want to know the things you know. Will you tell me what you saw?”

“It’s not important what I saw.” He gives an apprehensive smile as if trying to hide a mild thread of panic.

“It’s important to me. If it concerns my future, I want to know.”

“I’ve done that before, and I swore I’d never do it again.”

“So it wasn’t good—the dream.” My hands drop to my sides.

“I never said that. It was fine, I just…I think we’re going to be late.” He picks up my hand, and we start in toward the English building.

“Just promise me something.” I step in front of him, blocking his path.

“What’s that?” His dimples dig in on either side, and I get the urge to drag him into the thicket again.

“One day you’ll tell me everything.”

He takes in a ragged breath. “Trust me, Skyla, there will never be a day you will want to know everything. Sometimes it’s just better to let life surprise you.”

21

Oh Wicked Night

Drake drives Brielle and me over to Ellis’s party in his newly acquired death mobile. I’m starting to think maybe Mom and Tad aren’t so hot on Drake after all. This thing is rife with engine problems, torn upholstery, stinks like a cigarette burial ground, and I swear it hobbles. It has three-car pileup written all over it.

As soon as we hit the driveway, I bounce out of the car.

I tug at my skirt as I make my way up the driveway. Instead of showing off my French maid costume in front of Mom and Tad, and trying to escape their clutches as they attempt to strangle me with my fishnet stockings, I changed over at Brielle’s.

Brielle’s mom, Darla, lent me a pair of four inch spiked heels with metal studs running down the back. They’re totally cute, but hurt like hell to walk in. Darla kept saying they were her favorite pair of FM’s, and when I asked what FM’s were, both Brielle and Darla laughed.

It’s annoying when I don’t know things. They’ve totally lived their lives cloistered on an island—they’re the ones who shouldn’t know things. I’m from L.A. for God’s sake. I’m almost positive I was exposed to every vile thing possible before I was nine, and somehow an entire group of people sequestered from society know more than I do.

Ellis’s front yard is littered with gravestones, unearthed caskets, and about a dozen groaning corpses that I’m not entirely sure aren’t Fems. I’m expecting anything tonight, and a part of me feels ready—the other part suggests I find either Gage or Logan and hide.

“Knock knock,” I say. The front door sits wide open, so I step on in. The house is empty.  The hollow click of my heels creates an echo as I traipse over the glossy marble floor in the direction of the kitchen. The thick scent of something baking permeates the air. It definitely doesn’t smell like Ellis’s house.

I meander on, until I find Ellis himself pulling a gallon of milk from the fridge. It doesn’t take long for Brielle and Drake to wander in behind me and make themselves at home on the couch.

“Wow, what’s this?” A glass pan of brownies sits cooling on the stove. “You bake?”

“Yes, I bake. All good men bake.” He’s wearing a football uniform with a tire track across the front of his chest and things that actually look like bloodied entrails hang out of his jeans. “You want one?” He offers me a brownie.

“Sure, I guess. Hey, wait…” I tilt my head suspiciously. “You put your stash in these.” I think I just nailed precisely why Ellis Harrison bakes—why he does anything in fact.

“What are you on? I don’t share my stash in its natural form, let alone grind it up and waste it on a dozen different people. I just thought it’d be nice to have something around, plus my mom bought the mix.”

I wave my hand over the dish. “Ooh, still warm. They’re so my favorite when they’re warm.”

He pours us each a glass of milk in tall cobalt glasses before cutting long rows several inches thick into the pan. We each pick up a strip and indulge.

“These are really good. You should go into business,” I muse.

“Check out at the nun and the priest.” He flicks a finger over at Brielle and Drake. They’ve gone horizontal and are pushing their faces into one another. “Looks brutal.”

“I think it’s a part of their costume. You know, sort of a performance piece.”

We just sit there stuffing our faces and watch them like it’s some sick show on TV until a stream of people filter in through the main entry.

“I better shut the lights off.” Ellis takes off and starts flicking switches. Rows and rows of candles are set out in various places all over the house that I hadn’t noticed until now.

Ellis’s brownies are really freaking good. We’ve managed to polish off half the pan already, so there’s no point in cutting them up and setting them out. I’m practically doing him a favor by downing the rest. Truth is, I only like brownies and cookies if they’re fresh out of the oven. There’s something about warm gooey chocolate melting in my mouth that I find intensely satisfying.

A swarm moves in. The bitch squad cackles up a storm in my direction. There she is—Mama Michelle. Her hair is curled in tight little ringlets that spring up near her face. She’s got on a deep velvet cape that, in this devoid lighting, looks a dark shade of bloody crimson. Of course, she’s fully equipped with a clunky walking cast from that flying leap she took off Devil’s Peak a few weeks ago. Little red mommy hood. I press my lips together to keep the comment from vomiting out.

Emily looks like a questionable Alice in Wonderland, her fake long blonde hair and overdone face makes it look like she’s in drag more than anything else.

Then there’s Lexy. Actually Lexy looks good—too good. She’s supposed to be the queen of hearts judging by the glorified leotard, mini tutu, and a thousand glittering hearts sprinkled all over. A giant heart on her chest cradles her boobs, sort of gives the impression they’re sitting on a tray. She’s got her feet pressed into heels twice as high as mine, and they totally look like FM’s, and…oh freaking shit. I think I just figured out what FM’s stand for, and I don’t like those words having anything to do with Lexy on a night when Logan’s going to try and get some info out of her.

“And what are you supposed to be?” Emily pulls her bloodstained lips into a snarl while examining me up and down.

“French maid.” I point to my neck. “Who just got her throat slit.”

The three of them sit and gawk with their arms folded tight.

“It’s supposed to be sexy with a Goth flare,” I add stupidly.

“You just keep believing that.” Lexy swivels her head over her neck and for a brief moment, I’m hopeful it’s going to glide right off.

“I don’t think you’d know sexy if it walked up and bit you in the face—which I’m sure bears a striking resemblance to your ass.” Michelle high fives Emily.

“So where’s the big bad wolf?” I ignore her quip, looking behind her, fully expecting to see Marshall. Showing up at a student party isn’t beneath him. Apparently knocking them up isn’t either.

“Is he coming?” She fingers the rose around her neck.

“How would I know? I’m not his keeper.”

Lexy and Emily take off toward the cauldron of bubbling liquid that Ellis just set out, surrounded by towers of red plastic cups that act as an inebriation warning system.

“I saw you.” Michelle jabs her finger into my chest with each word.

I slap her hand away. “Saw me what?”

“Get in the car and take off during second. You think your shit doesn’t stink? You come into town, steal Logan, break his heart, then take Gage. You disgust me. And now you think you can sleep around with Dudley on the side? I’ve known Logan and Gage all my life. I’m not going to stand by and watch you slut around while grinding everyone to pieces. I bet that’s why you moved from L.A. You slept around town so damn much, they threw you out.”

“First of all…” I go to point my finger, and my entire hand feels lighter than air.

Ellis turns on the music, and it’s some song I haven’t heard in like forever.

“God I love this song!” I really, really love this song. “Anyway, I don’t break hearts, and I’m not a slut,” I pause as I make my way past her. “Besides, they would never kick you out of L.A. for sleeping around. They erect statues and throw parades for shit like that.”

22

Bite Me

I start scanning the crowd for either Logan or Gage. It feels so lonely without them. I’m so sick of wanting Logan, wishing I could be with him, stealing a moment just to be together, and never having enough of him. But then there’s Gage, those eyes that see right into my soul, the way he protects me, and he just so happens to have the face of a thousand underwear models rolled into one. He’s the paragon of perfect. I laugh at my own pun. That is actually pretty damn funny.

Ellis comes down the hall with that scary clown mask he terrorized me with a few weeks back.

I suck in a lungful of air as he charges at me and tries to nip at my neck.

“Get away!” I push him off. I hate clowns, almost as much as I’m hating Ellis right now.

He snatches the mask off and laughs. And strangely I find myself laughing right along with him. Freaking stupid Ellis.

Ellis. I’ve never noticed before how cute he is in his own right. In fact if I wasn’t with Logan and Gage, I could totally see myself with Ellis. I laugh a little louder at the thought. It’s sort of gross the way he’s always stoned, but I could probably change him if I wanted.

“Would you give up pot for me?” I giggle into him as he wraps an arm around my waist. He’s smiling wildly with his seductive half closed eyes—then I see him—Gage.

A tall sexy vampire stands near the roaring fire. I hadn’t even noticed how magnificent the fire is, how ferocious the flames look as they lick outside the confines of the hearth, and for a second, I’m mesmerized by the taunting orange blaze.

Gage heads toward me. I push Ellis away, and he drifts effortlessly into a group of girls.

I can’t believe this. Gage has his entire face done up—sickly pale skin offset by his dark peaked brows, lips as black as death. God, he’s got lipstick on—I’m transfixed by this.

He gives a devilish smile and pulls me along by the hand down the long hall at a quickened clip. We end up in a dark corridor, nothing but rows of closed doors one after another. Gage opens the one at the end with caution before ushering us inside.

It’s quiet in here. My ears pulsate in protest to the powerful silence. I stretch my arms in front of me and flail around in the shadows. It feels like I’m about to fall, like the whole world has inverted into an alternate dimension for just Gage and me, and now we’re here alone.

I run my hands down his chest and rest my fingers on the rim of his pants. I can feel him brushes his lips over my face, light as a feather, and it makes me want him even more.

“Kiss me,” I say.

A tremor of laughter rumbles deep inside his chest. He darts a kiss behind my ear and it tickles me mercilessly.

“Stop.” I giggle the word out unintelligibly.

He bites down on my earlobe hard. The pain spears through me—hot, like an errant ember, then dissipates into something softer, a more manageable ache.

I gasp for breath as he makes his way down my neck. He grazes and gnaws on my flesh until it feels like I’m being invaded by razor blades.

“Your teeth.” I manage the words in a spasm. “So sharp.”

“You like that?” He rumbles. “I had them filed.” He leans his head back and a thin seam of moonlight catches the tips of his canines.

“That’s so hot.” I close my eyes as he lunges back at my throat. “Hey.” I want to tell him that it hurts, but the words get jumbled in a series of moans. Gage suckles off my neck, pretending to drink deeply. My entire person responds in spasms alternating between pleasure and pain, and I’m starting to feel light headed. I give a halfhearted struggle to push him away, but he lingers for several more minutes before finally coming up for air.

He whispers hot in my ear, “Gotcha.”

***

Gage leaves in a hurry—probably has to get to a restroom fast. Lord knows I’ve been there.

I filter through the crowd. The party is still going strong when I finally make my way out of the maze of hallways. I swear these houses behind the gates are like self-contained labyrinths.

Finally, I spot Logan and Gage sitting by themselves near the pool and head on over. The backyard is lit up with hundreds of jack-o-lanterns. That must be Ellis’s other talent, aside from baking, because each one is expertly carved up with an intricate design.

“We were just thinking you got eaten by Fems. Where’ve you been?” Gage pulls me into a giant hug.

“I was…” I jerk my hand back at the house and start to laugh. “I was with you, and you took off.”

“When were you with me?” His forehead creases, and I realize he doesn’t have a stitch of makeup on.

“Just now.” Is this like some stupid prank? “What are you guys doing out here? It’s freezing.” I rub at my arms vigorously—it feels as though my entire body is vibrating from each little goose bump. It almost feels as though Marshall were touching me.

“I was just telling Gage how much I like his dress.” Logan nods over to his cape.

“And I was just telling Logan my girlfriend asked me to wear it.”

“Nice. Hey, where’s your make-up?” I’m starting to think that really wasn’t Gage back there. Shit. I probably just hooked up with some drunk guy form East. Everyone at West knows I’m with Gage, right?

“I draw the line at face painting.” He tightens his grip around my waist and glares over at Logan. “Your strategy of forcing me listen to your big bad plan of how you’re going to battle the Counts, just so I would miss half the party—backfired. And now she was molested by some idiot in a cape.” He looks to me. “You remember what this guy looked like? His name?”

“I thought it was you.” I shake my head over at Gage.

“What did he do to you?” Logan stands and gently rubs my arm up and down as his eyes widen with horror. It’s only then I notice he’s in jeans and wearing his football jersey, looking like his scary hot self.

“He took me in the back room and kissed my neck.” I tilt my head to the side.

Logan looks from me to Gage with a clear look of hurt.

Great. Now he’s going to think that’s all we do when we’re alone. Then it occurs to me it sort of is and I feel like shit.

“Here you are!” Lexy comes up from behind Logan. She swings him by the waist, and they both sail into the pool with a giant splash that drenches me from the waist down.

Logan pops up like a cork and shakes back his hair. His teeth glow as he offers me a soft sad grin, but the moment passes too quickly.

Lexy charges at him with open arms and he stops her midflight by playfully dunking her under water. I hope he holds her down at least a good four minutes.

A steady rise of steam drifts on the surface of the pool.

“Feels warm.” Gage shakes the water off his hands. He gently lifts my hair back and examines my neck under the paper lantern, wincing. “That’s looks like one mean bruise. I’m gonna kill this guy. Are you sure you’re OK? Did he do anything else?” His face lights up with worry.

“No. I don’t think so.” I bite down on my lip to stop the river of laughter trying to bubble out of me.

“It’s not funny,” he says quietly. “I don’t like the idea of some guy laying his hands all over you. You could have been killed.”

I set off on a long stretch of titters before holding my stomach and engaging in a full-blown hacking laugh.

“Are you OK?”

I gasp at the one lucid thought that sails through my mind.

“Ellis fed me brownies.”

Gage gives an exasperated blink before leading me toward the house.

“Make that two people I’m going to kill.”

I look over at the pool and see Lexy ruffling up Logan’s hair in the deep end as he attempts to climb out.

I might kill Lexy just for fun. And I laugh.

23

Fight Night

Gage is in a fury. He subdues my incessant need to giggle by vexing me with the truth of what Ellis has done. His rage builds as he pushes through the crowd looking for the perpetrator of my inadvertent high.

The house is crowded, dark—it sways in rhythm to the boisterous music blaring from the speakers. I see Brielle and Drake, gyrating, letting loose on a table with another girl I don’t recognize.

The fireplace captures me again. Low blue flames sweep through the air, calling out to me lethargically. They spit out an occasional spark that spears across the hearth like an errant shooting star.

“This him?” Gage thrashes some kid in a vampire costume hard against the metal railing. “Skyla?”

My mouth falls open. He’s got the right face paint and the cape…

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” Gage pushes him to the ground and walks deeper into the house.

“You can’t go knocking people around.” I try to keep up with him. “You’re gonna to hurt somebody.”

“That’s the plan.”

I’ve never seen him caged in so much fury. We scan the living room, kitchen— pan all of the downstairs vicinity.

“Never mind.” I pull him back by the elbow trying to abort the mission. “I swear it was probably a misunderstanding. I thought it was you, and maybe he thought I was someone else.” I cup his face gently with my hands. Gage is staggeringly attractive with his eyes blazing, his heart thumping wild for revenge. “I want to enjoy the party. Can’t we just have a good time?”

“Are you sure you’re OK?” His hard expression gives a little.

“Yes, I’m fine. I feel weird, but that’s Ellis’s fault.” I can’t believe he lied to me.

Outside the open double doors we hear the faint sound of Ellis’ very distinct laughter. It doesn’t take long for Gage to bolt in that direction.

I try to trail after him at top speed, but end up flailing and turning my ankles every step of the way. It’s strange the way my body feels—relaxed and yet unusually aware of every movement.

I spot Michelle stooped over the porch with her head between her knees. Emily is stroking her back as though she were a cat. I pause to see if she’s about to puke or something. Her back jerks in a series of vibrations until it becomes clear Michelle is crying.

“What’s going on?” I ask Emily rather impulsively. We are all on the squad together. I did visit her in the hospital after she dove off Devil’s Peak, plus evidently I’m stoned, so it reasons with logic that I should inquire about Michelle’s almost humanlike behavior.

“Dudley broke up with her.” Emily divulges without giving it much thought.

“What?” I’m stunned. “Didn’t the Mayans predict this?” A shiver of laughter gets locked in my chest as I try to digest my own absurdity. No sooner do the words fly out of my mouth than Michelle appears in my face. She shoves her fist through my abdomen, knocking the air out of my lungs. I roll into the planter bed—face down. Michelle lands on my back and begins pulling violently at my hair. She maneuvers me around like puppet causing the incision on my neck to stretch every which way, and suddenly I’m acutely aware of the sharp line of pain.

I let out a shrill cry. Before I can turn, or grab her, or close my mouth, she plunges my face into the dirt and grinds it in for good measure.

“Don’t let me catch you near him again.” Her hot breath sears against the back of my neck.

I roll over in time to see Michelle and Emily ditch into the house. I scan the porch and I’m alone save for a scarecrow sitting on a rocking chair. It seems the entire exchange was witnessed by nobody. I get up and spit into the flowerbed over and over— pretend it’s Michelle’s face every single time.

She picked a lousy time to get knocked up. I’d love to grind her into the dirt myself, six feet under to be exact.

I see Gage at the bottom of the driveway and run over to him. My ankle gives and twists as I hit the bottom, landing me hard on Ellis.

“I guess she likes me better,” Ellis says, helping me upright. “You saved me. He was just about to beat the shit out of me.”

“Beat him later,” I say toppling over to Gage. “Will you take me to see Dudley?”

The moon squats down low behind him, kisses his black hair with an unearthly glow. He really does look like an angel.

A clear look of exasperation crosses his face as he reaches over and digs his finger into Ellis’s chest.

“This isn’t over.”

Ellis pins him with an evil look I didn’t know he was capable of—makes me feel as though I don’t know Ellis at all.

***

Gage is nice enough to drive me over to Marshall’s house, in order to help stave off the manslaughter charge I was about to incur.

“Skyla.” Marshall pinches at his eyes as though he just woke up. I brush past him, making my way into the house. “Not you.” He pushes his hand into Gage. “I choose the guests—and you happen to be the wrong gender. Goodnight.” He shoves him outside and begins to shut the door.

“I’m not leaving.” Gage swoops back in and appears by my side.

“I don’t play this game.” Marshall snatches a bowl full of candy from off a small table. “But if you want cavities, I believe you’re to stand outside and speak in verse—cast a spell or something.” A mild look of annoyance whisks across his face.

“If it’s OK, I’d like to talk to Mr. Dudley,” I say to Gage. I let him know in the car ride over that I wanted to grill Marshall on leaving Michelle—to let him know it’s only going to make my life worse as evidenced by the fertilizer still lodged in my nose.

“I’ll wait outside.” Gage glowers as he heads out the door.

“Look at you,” Marshall marvels at me. “You’re filthy and vexingly beautiful.” He concludes with a lascivious smile before bolting the door.

“Take Michelle back.”

“No.” His cheek rises on one side.

“You have to.” I take a bold step forward. “I want to kill her—probably will. And if I don’t, she’s going to put me through a living hell.”

“Not my concern.” He holds out the dish of candy and rattles it in my direction. “No one showed up tonight.”

“It’s because you live in the boonies and your porch light isn’t on.” I push it away indignantly. “Listen, I have enough trouble without adding Michelle to the equation. Just do me a favor, keep doing whatever it is you do with her. It makes her happy.” I swallow hard at the thought of concerning myself with Michelle’s happiness, but, then again, it directly relates to mine.

“I can’t do that. Besides, it’s been brought to my attention that it’s no way to win you over, so I let her know I’ve moved on.” He gives a devilish smile. “That I’m interested in another student body.”

I seize at the thought. “What the hell’d you do that for?”

“Because, Skyla.” He lets the candy dish drop rather violently to his feet. “It’s the direction I choose to venture in.” He gives a hard look. “Now send the twit home, so I can convince you of the same.” His sharp features startle me with their beauty in this dim light. Even with all of his fury, there is an amazing attraction he exudes. It feels almost deliberate as though he’s trying to seduce me.

I circle around him and make my way to the door.

“You don’t tell me what to do,” I hiss. “If you’re going to turn my life into bloody hell, I’ll return the favor.”

“There you go, Skyla.” His tone sharpens. “Grab the tiger by the tail. See how fast I turn around to bite you.”

I open the door and step out into the crisp night air.

“And Skyla?” His voice sails past me, gets lost in the thicket just beyond the property. “I’ve been to bloody hell. I used to grease the gates.”

“Gage?” I call out. His mother’s car sits abandoned in the driveway, but he’s nowhere to be found. A wild panic surges through me. “Where’s Gage?” I ask accusingly.

“I’ve sent him.” There’s a challenge in his voice.

“Sent him where?”

“To hell of course.”

24

Hot Date

I’m forced to endure an entire session of Marshall’s attempt at romance. He promised to return Gage unharmed if I spent the next twenty minutes with him.

I watch as he meticulously lights up row after row of candles.

“How does that look?” He steps back admiring his efforts.

“Great. When’s the séance?” I try to ignore the fact he looks glorious in this pale flickering light.

“You slay me.” He doesn’t look amused.

At his command, the sound of a symphony starts to play from somewhere overhead. He takes up my hand and we start to sway to the music.

“You know,” I start, “this would totally be illegal if you were human. Attempted kidnapping, forcing yourself upon a minor—impregnating a minor.” Thank God that last one has nothing to do with me. Just as I’m about to continue with his budding list of felonies, he presses his lips against mine and startles me with a kiss filled with ripples of shivering passion.

A vision races through my mind—me with wings, a horse beside me. I’m holding a shield with a marked crack down the center. I see Logan and Gage fighting a war, muddied and tired, as sopping wet clothes cling to their bodies. Logan throws me a long black gun and I dip down to my knees from the heft of it.

Marshall pulls away and leaves me breathless.

“What was that?” I pant.

“Some kiss,” he muses with his eyes half closed.

“I saw something.” I scrutinize him in his lust-filled glory. “What was it?”

“The future.”

“My future?” I’m perplexed. It’s only then I realize we’re no longer in his home—we’re outside somewhere underneath the fat belly of a lavender moon standing on a cobblestone street. “Where are we?”

“Just this side of heaven. Don’t worry, you’re allowed. I thought I’d give you a taste of my world. Do you like it?”

“Is this some kind of alternate plane?” I try to keep up with him as he moves toward a small shop with tables and chairs set out on the sidewalk.

We take a seat, and a young man appears with two steaming cups of coffee.

“What’s going to happen when I drink this?”

“You’re going to shrink, and a giant fluffy bunny will begin to chase you,” he muses before taking a careful sip. There’s a certain charm about Marshall that pulls me in, keeps me interested just enough to keep from strangling him.

“What kind of future was that? I saw Logan and Gage. We were in some kind of war.”

“It was the heat of battle. Did you forget you’re in the midst of faction upheaval?”

“No.” Sort of.

“Are you aware of the fact you’ve procured a spiritual appendage?”

“A what?”

“You have a ghost, Skyla, lingering by your side. He wants revenge.” He motions to my left.

“Crap!” I let out a little scream and bounce my seat closer to Marshall. I see him clear as velum—looks a lot like Pierce, with the exception that his throat is gouged out.

“Relax, he has no dominion here. He’s spatial. It’s an earth thing. You can bet he’s going to manipulate your world, but say the word, and I’ll bind him for you.”

“It’s him.” I don’t dare say Holden’s name. “I’ve killed him, and now he’s going to haunt me.”

“That might be the case, but I don’t want him ruining our date.” Marshall points in his direction and he vanishes. “He says he’ll meet you in your bedroom.”

I straighten in my seat. “He drove Gage’s truck didn’t he? He’s the reason we crashed.”

“You’re a bright girl.”

“How do I get you to bind him? No wait—don’t tell me. If I choose to become a part of your childbearing harem, you call off the haunting?”

“You’re much sharper at logic than you are math.” He gives a crooked grin.

“There’s no logic here.” Chloe’s face blinks through my mind. I’m going to give blood tomorrow. I’m going to bring her back and she’ll fall hard for Marshall. Then he’ll owe me. It feels more like a question than a fact at this point. “So when I kissed you and saw the future, was that a fluke?” I’ve kissed Marshall before and don’t remember having any kind of vision.

“It’s my gift to you. Anytime you wish to sneak a peek, it’s my pleasure.” His eyes widen with delight.

“How do I know it’s not some fake future you’re implanting in my brain to manipulate me?”

“Let’s test this theory, shall we? I’ll give you a glimpse of something guaranteed to happen within the next twenty-four hours, and when it does, you’ll know the power I’ve laid before you.”

How do I know he’s not manipulating reality as well? He’s a Sector. I don’t even get what he’s capable of.

“Maybe.”

“Here.” He helps me to my feet, and we begin to make our way down the street. “I’ll show you something of interest while you weigh your options.”

That tuning fork feeling, that good vibration that sends my toes curling, jettisons through me, only this time it’s not through the hand that Marshall is holding, it feels like it’s coming from…the atmosphere?

“This feels so good. What is it?”

“Fruit of the spirit in concentrate. Amazing isn’t it? I’ve let go of it just once to see what it’s truly like to inhabit the earth, feels like a car wreck every waking minute.”

“I guess it would. Is Gage really in hell?” I squeeze his hand as if to threaten him into telling the truth.

“He’s in a holding tank. I’ll send him home bright and early in the morning. He won’t be happy. I’d stay away.”

“I’m sure you’d like me to stay away in general.” I’m not going to. I’ll never stay away from either Logan or Gage, not for Marshall, Tad or anyone.

He pauses in front of a large cave-like structure. A group of men at least nine feet tall stand outside the mouth looking over me with curious stares. A pale like sheath moves behind them and I notice one of them has wings.

“He—” I pant the word out.

“Yes, Skyla, let’s not cause a scene.”

“That is so weird.” And amazingly hot. “Hey, why aren’t there any women here?” I pull in closer to Marshall. I don’t like to be the center of attention or leered at like a novelty.

“Pure angels are male. We can breed with women, but it’s heavily frowned upon. The practice was nixed just after a few of my brothers took up with the daughters of men. Old news—happened ages past. Still does now and again.” He brushes his hand in the air. “Transport tunnels.” He slaps the outside of the cave. “Made of pure Jasper, carved from one solid block.” The inside looks black from this perspective. “You know what’s marvelous about the dark?” He pauses gazing inside with a lost vegetative stare. “The way it allows the light to magnify itself.”

I peer in closer and see light in the form of translucent people.

“Fascinating.” I run my finger over the soft red wall. “So then, who are you supposed to be with?” Obviously Sectors have a sexual nature, unless of course Marshall is some sort of defect.

“The deceased.” He points inside the cave. Two disembodied women appear, both with startled expressions. The man in the cave lets them know they’ll be carried upwards momentarily. “Or the Caelestis,” Marshall says, flicking a finger skyward as though I should know what he’s talking about.

“What’s a Caelestis?”

“Angels are men who serve in the divine armed forces, and Caelestis…” He squints into the moon as though trying to figure out the best way to describe them. “They’re on the decision council. They make suggestions and assist in the mapping out of peoples lives.”

“So the men fight wars and the women decide what to do? How original.”

“They decide what should to be done,” he corrects. “When dealing with humans, always lower expectation, then lower it some more.”

“Gee thanks.” I roll my eyes at the thought. “So are they beautiful?”

“They are, but you my love, are stunning.” Marshall takes me in and swallows hard. “Anyway,” he says tapping the side of the rock wall. “Transport duty is grueling,” he whispers looking back inside the cave.

Another group of disembodied people appear. Two of them go down, the rest go up.

“They’re dying?” I’m fascinated by this.

“Dead.” Marshall turns to face me, brushes my hair back with his fingers. “I’ve made arrangements to be on transport duty the day you arrive in that tunnel. I’m going to be the one to bring you safe to your final destination, Skyla.” His eyes circle around my face, in a soft sad manner.

Something warms inside me. The thought of death scares me, but knowing Marshall will be there somehow makes it feel all right—safe.

“Thank you.”

“Would you like that kiss now?” The words purr out of him. The pale moonlight glides across his face and smoothes away any malfeasance.

“Yes.”

Marshall gently cups my cheeks and indulges in a greedy lust-soaked kiss.

In my mind, I see Logan speaking to me. He looks intent on something—sad.  I see myself turn away and start to cry. He tries to comfort me, but I shake my head, bring my hands to my eyes and cover my face.

I pull back and stare into Marshall. “What does it mean?” I say out of breath.

“It means you’re one step closer to being my wife.”

25

This Kiss

All night I ruminate over Gage in hell, and that vision Marshall gave me, until my sanity begins to erode.

In the morning, I beg Drake to drive me over to the Oliver’s house. I tell Mom and Tad it’s mandatory cheer practice, and that afterwards, I’m starting my new job at the bowling alley.

I ring the bell impatiently as Drake backs sloppily out of the driveway taking out an entire row of purple flowers that, moments ago, happily dotted the periphery.

A storm is rolling in. The dark sky looms overhead heavy as a battleship. There’s something about the lavender afterglow inside the clouds that reminds me of that kiss from Marshall. A shiver runs through me. I don’t dare advertise the fact to either Logan or Gage that I let him near me for a hypothetical glimpse into the future.

The door opens slowly. Dr. Oliver’s face brightens as he extends his hand for me to come inside.

“Here to give another pint?”

“Sure. Mostly I’m here to see Gage.” I leave out the part about him going to hell.

“He’s having a late start today, still in bed. If you want I can take it now. I’m leaving in a few minutes for a meeting.”

“OK.” I follow Dr. Oliver in the kitchen where he pulls his equipment out from a side pantry and begins to drain my blood into a soft plastic bag. “So this is number five or six?” I’m starting to lose count.

“I believe it’s five. Are you feeling alright?” He presses the back of his hand to my forehead. “You look ghastly pale.”

“I feel fine.” Truth is I’m beyond exhausted. Last night was more than my body could handle.

“There.” He removes the needle and quickly replaces it with a band-aid. “Let’s remove the stitches shall we?”

“Please.” I pluck off my scarf and roll it into a pile next to me.

“What’s this?” He gently turns my head to the side and groans. “Which one of my boys assaulted you this way?”

I’m assuming he’s looking at the purple hickey the size of Mount Rushmore just below my cut.

“Actually…” God, how do I say neither? “It was an accident.”

He rubs his finger gently against my neck and sighs before removing the stitches.

“Skyla, tell the truth, what happened?” His eyes rove over my face deep with concern.

“I thought it was Gage. It was some guy, he…it felt like—”

“You have a puncture wound—several actually, right over your jugular.”

“Are you saying I was bit…” I don’t believe in vampires, so I stop the thought midflight.

“I’m saying someone, most likely someone who knows you’re a Celestra, punctured your neck. Did it feel like they were suckling blood from you?”

I wince when he says the word suckling. Dr. Oliver reminds me of my own dad and it just sounds wrong even if it is in a quasi-medical context.

“Yes.”

“I thought you looked pale. I wish I had known—I would never have taken more blood. Do you feel faint?”

“No, I’m fine.” Suddenly I feel like shit, but I chalk it up to the thought of someone actually drinking my blood. “You mind if I go up and see Gage?”

“Go right ahead.”

I make my way toward the stairwell.

“Skyla?”

I turn around.

“Whoever did this will undoubtedly be back. Prepare to defend yourself.”

“I will.”

I’m so weak it takes all my strength to make it up the stairs.

***

I knock gently on his door before entering.

“Morning,” Gage says, groggy, pulling a shirt from his dresser. His hair is slicked back, shiny and wet from the shower. He’s got on a pair of grey sweats with a small hole near his hip. I’m trying to remember whether or not I’ve seen Gage shirtless before because I’m perplexed by the hard outline of his abdominals. He tosses the shirt over his shoulder and groans. “I feel horrible.” He walks over to his bed and falls back against the pillow, covering his eyes with the back of his arm.

I make my way over and lie beside him.

“What happened?” I pull his arm off his face, and he drapes it over my shoulders instead.

“I was just standing out front, and the next thing I knew I was in this dirt pit at least ten feet under. It felt like I fell in an oven. I kept thinking I was going to combust.” He grips his hair. “And there was all this moaning and screaming…anyway, there was this iron grate up over me and I couldn’t get out. I woke up in my bed this morning. When I looked out the window, sure enough my mom’s car was in the driveway.”

“I bet Marshall wants you to think it was a dream. Remember, he’s not a Sector to you, he’s just your Algebra Two teacher,” I pause. “I’m so sorry. Did you try teleporting yourself out of there?”

“All night. It was useless. Don’t worry it’s not your fault.” He surprises me with a sudden burst of energy and pulls me over on top of him. “You know what I thought of?” There’s a seductive quality to his voice. His eyes look a deep indigo in this dull morning light as they warm over me.

“What?” My breathing grows erratic. Something about Gage, something powerfully attractive about the way he seduces me with those barely there dimples, with that hidden beneath the surface smile he refuses to give so freely.

“What you said the other day. That you loved me.”

Everything in me clinches. It’s true I had said it and I meant it—still do.

I dip down and kiss him ever so slightly. His chest beats under mine in a series of merciless thumps.

“Do you love me, Skyla?”

“Yes,” it comes out an inaudible whisper.

His hand pushes in softly against the back of my neck. Gage gives a deep heated kiss that accentuates our feelings. I may be afraid to say it, hesitant to repeat those words, but I feel it, and I know with everything in me that it’s true. I really do love Gage.

We lose ourselves in a series of lingering kisses. Gage runs his hands through my hair, down my back, over my jeans. I pull my lips down along his neck and across his chest.  He lets out a soft groan and pulls me up until we’re sitting. The room spins slightly, and he stops me from falling backward.

“You OK?”

“Yeah.” I pull him into another explosive kiss. I’m more than OK.

26

Prophesy

Gage and me arrive at the bowling alley where, evidently, Logan is busy creating a dust cloud with a dust mop.

It’s strange to be here so early. The lanes are lit up, and music echoes throughout the establishment, but there’s not a patron in sight.

“Morning.” I go over and give him a brief hug. I feel so damn guilty about what just happened, I can’t look him in the eye. It’s like my feelings for Gage just took over. I’d love to blame it on the fact I was worried sick that Marshall had him roasting on a spit, but I’m not sure I could. I’m not sure about anything anymore.

“I’ve got something for you.” Logan gives a soft smile and plucks a nametag off his clipboard. “Ready to work?” Something about Logan feels different this morning. He’s melancholy—the spark in his eyes has dissipated.

“Yes! Is the pay decent?” I’d work here for free if wanted.

“Minimum wage.” He presses right into me with those expressive amber eyes, reaches in and wrenches me with a look of infinite sadness.

“Minimum wage is totally fine.” I’m just glad to be out of the house. I pick up the gold embossed tag that reads Skyla Messenger. “It feels official,” I say pinning it up on my shirt.

“What are you still doing here?” His voice hardens over at Gage.

Gage doesn’t say anything, just keeps his hands folded tight across his chest.

“Pick you up at seven?” Gage comes over and drops a kiss on the top of my head.

Everything in me freezes. I can’t have Gage kissing me in front of Logan. I can’t be kissing Gage behind Logan’s back. Suddenly, I feel like a giant bag of crap because apparently I am one.

“I’ll bring her home.” There’s a marked aggression in Logan’s tone and it racks up the tension in the room immeasurably.

The two of them stand there, staring one another down like they’re about to have some high noon showdown, until Gage says goodbye and leaves.

“That was awkward,” I whisper.

“Yeah.” Logan motions for me to take a seat at the table with him. “Things are getting a bit awkward.” He pulls a face.

“So you guys aren’t really getting along.” As evidenced by every single time they’re together.

He shakes his head. “No, but that’s not important. I got off the phone with my uncle a few minutes ago.” Logan wears a sobering expression. He looks lonely and distant and it badly makes me want to touch him. “He told me about your neck.” He presses out a sad smile. “Any idea who it could have been?”

“So I’m guessing, it wasn’t you,” I say, in a lame attempt to put a cute spin on it.

“My uncle thought maybe a Fem.”

“A Fem?” I’m almost amused. “What does that mean?”

“Counts still want them tormenting you—us.” He reaches over and brushes his hand over mine for a moment. “What happened to you last night? Michelle said she hurt you.”

“She thought it’d be entertaining if she made me eat worms.” I can just picture her running around telling everybody she kicked my ass. If she wasn’t with child, I would have beat the crap out of her.

An abrupt wave of nausea rolls through me. The room starts to feel like it’s spinning as a heavy feeling settles over my bones. I hang onto the edge of the table in order to catch my breath.

“You OK?” He helps steady me.

“I’m fine.” I try to shake the feeling away.

Logan rushes and gets me a glass of ice water.

“Skyla, my uncle said he discovered the puncture on your neck after he drew more blood for Chloe. He says your blood levels are way too low, that you’re running off minimal reserves. Let me take you home.”

“No. It’s my first day. Besides, I need the money for insurance and I want to pay for the car.”

An easy grin glides across his face.

“Monetarily,” I add.

“Of course.”

“So did you find out how to bind a Fem?” The thought of Logan hanging out with Lexy makes me sick. “Did she kiss you?”

The smile melts off his face. Something in him darkens before he answers. “No. I wouldn’t let her. And no, she didn’t tell me, but I made progress.”

“What did she say?”

“She said there is a way. It was made known to her by her dad. I guess they’re part Nephilim.” He shakes his head. “She said she would tell me if…” He looks away briefly. “Anyway, I’m not going to find out. We’re back to square one.”

“If what?” I think I know, but I want to hear it from him.

The table starts in on a violent rattle.

“What the heck?” Logan struggles to press it down before he stops its erratic quaking.

“Holden Kragger’s ghost,” I say.

I tell him what Marshall said about my new spiritual attachment and share my theory on the crash.

He lets out a hard breath.

“Marshall said he could get rid of him if I wanted.”

“I think I know what he wants in return.” Logan doesn’t look impressed with Marshall’s tactics.

“Is it the same thing Lexy wants?”

“Yes, but I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want a race of Celestra, Deorsum children running around.”

I twist my lips at the thought. “So Lexy is Deorsum. She never said anything before?”

“She didn’t know I was Celestra until after we weren’t together anymore.”

My stomach sinks when he says it. Lexy and Logan were together once. It’s probably only natural for him to still have feelings for her.

“The reason my uncle called was to let me know there’s an emergency faction meeting scheduled at Nicholas Havar’s tomorrow night.”

“What’s the emergency?” I’m almost afraid to ask.

“Something tells me you are.”

***

I hang out for three hours after my shift ends and help Logan close up the bowling alley. I’m beyond exhausted—my arms and legs feel like they’re going to fall off, and my head feels as heavy as a bowling ball itself.

Logan locks the main exit and turns off the florescent ceiling lights, leaving the alleyways glowing in soft purples and blues.

“You should always keep it like this.” I wrap my arms around his neck and peck a quick kiss on his cheek.

He leans in and relaxes into me. His face dims and his brows rise as though he were getting ready to ask me something.

“Well?” A small laugh rumbles from his chest.

“Well what?”

He looks intensely from one eye to the next. “You can’t hear me, can you?”

I straighten. I try my hardest to hear him telepathically, but nothing. I study his face intently and shake my head.

“What does this mean?” I’m panicked.

“I don’t know. We’ll have to ask my uncle.” A look of worry slowly dissipates. Logan draws me in and holds me, rocking me safe in his arms. “It’ll be OK.” He sighs into me and presses a kiss against the top of my head. “You ready to start our date?” A seductive half-smile plays on his lips.

Logan busies himself setting up a picnic right there on lane number five. The music is soft, and the lighting is perfectly enchanting as we take a seat Indian style across from one another with our knees touching.

“Since we had dinner a few hours ago, I thought maybe we could skip right to dessert.”

“Was dinner the pizza you catered in and sold to your customers for five dollars extra a box?” I tease.

“That’s how I stay in business.” He winks. “Kitchen opens near the end of the month.”

“Just in time for my birthday.”

“And what’s the date again?” He brightens as he pulls a mini chocolate éclair from out of the basket.

“Twenty-second.”

“Really?” He deflates a little. “I guess you know Gage is the twenty-third.”

“No, I didn’t know that.” I’m surprised, actually. “When’s yours?”

“It was the week before you came.” He takes up my hand and gently traces my fingers. “You were the perfect present.” There’s a familiar looking sadness in his eyes. “So you and Gage seem to have a lot in common. How are you getting along?” He massages my hands with his thumbs, staring down at them intently.

Logan is perfect—he glows from the inside with his own special light. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone as majestic as Logan.

“Gage is fine.” I don’t like where this might be going.

“I don’t want to ruin our time together, but I want to let you know…” His eyes shimmer with moisture as he looks over at me. “Um, I walked into his room this morning and saw you with Gage.” His features smooth over as he depresses out a sigh.

A visual of what he must have seen runs through my mind, me kissing Gage, me on top of Gage. “I…” Shit. “I thought he was hurt. He said he was tired, and he went to lay down, so I—”

“It’s OK.” He presses his fingers to his lips. “There’s nobody to blame, but me.”

A spring of tears comes up unexpectedly and I blink them away. I want to say that nothing happened, that it didn’t mean anything, but my vocal chords clamp shut, forcing me to swallow the lies.

“I’m not being fair to you or Gage,” he starts. “I threw you together and this is something that I’m going to have to live with.” Logan nods into this as though he’s already considered it.

“You don’t have to live with anything. I won’t kiss him, I won’t be with him.”

He tilts his head a little. “I’m not asking you to do that. You need Gage to protect you. I’m not going to give the Counts any extra excuse to hurt you.” He swallows hard. “I’ve been thinking.” His eyes light up like sorrowful embers. “I don’t think you need the added pressure of me hanging around.”

“What are you talking about? Everything is about us. That’s why I’m with Gage, so we can be together in private—that’s why there’s a faction war, so we can knock the Counts off their pedestal and be free to be together. It’s going to be you and me, Logan.” It comes out more of a question.

“I know that’s what we planned and I really do believe you still want that,” he pauses pushing into me with an unwavering look of despair. “But I think Gage and I have confused you. I should’ve known Gage would fall in love with you. It’s hard not to.” He gives a short-lived smile. “I can’t have you with the both of us—it’s not right. I’m the one that suggested you be with him, and I think I should be the one to step away, remove myself from the situation. I don’t think it’s OK for the both of us to pursue you.”

“Yes it is.” It speeds out of me.

“No.” He tugs at my fingers playfully and gives a slow smile. “I love you, but I think your feelings for Gage…” He shrugs. “I think maybe they blossomed unexpectedly.” He floats his thumbs over the back of my hands in an even sweeping motion. “It’s me you need to keep away from, Skyla, not him. I’m the one who could cost you everything.” His eyes glitter with tears as he offers a hesitant smile. “I think maybe for now—we should just be friends.”

27

Heartbreak

Alone in my bed that night, I drench myself in tears. It all unfolded just like the vision Marshall had given me.

Logan’s rationale meant nothing. They were empty words on a nonexistent platform. He wouldn’t admit the real reason he was leaving me was because I cheated. Instead, he shouldered the majority of our demise and pinned the rest on the Countenance.

I apologized beyond reason for ever touching Gage, for ever thinking I might have loved him, but Logan was emphatic we part ways—and that once the faction war was over we could see how things go.

A war. I have to fight a war to even hope to have Logan as a part of my life again. I pull the covers up around my blotchy face, hot from rivers of tears, my chest still heaving with ragged sighs and hiccups.

I listen to the sad drizzle of rain patter against the wood-covered window as I nestle deeper in my bed, feel the arctic breeze snake its way in through the cracks, and meditate on what a mess my life’s become.

Unsteady dreams take me captive. Seductive images fed to me in pieces. An entire catalog of events unfold in random order, each one beseeching the next.

I can hear Logan’s voice, the tenor lost in perfect octave—the rumble of his chest as he whispers hot into my ear. I am enslaved by his presence. He is magnified by an aura of irrational calm, an undeniable peace as easy as dying.

I can feel his lips. Hear him tell me that it’s going to be all right, just breathe. He restrains the sweet ache in my chest to kiss him. It’s a temptation beyond understanding.

***

In the morning I tell Mom I can’t go to church, that I’m too tired from working the late shift. Truth is, my wearied body doesn’t compare to the Mack truck Logan drove over my emotions last night. It is heartache in acres, trying to imagine my days without Logan.

I fish out Chloe’s diary from my underwear drawer and land back on the bed in a heap.

August 14th,

Last time I embarrass myself with a boy. Ever. I’ve never felt so insecure, immobilized with grief over the way Gage made me feel when he shut me down. Gage said his mystery girl would sail into town soon. I’ll be sure to pull out the welcome mat, make her feel like she’s my new best friend before I accidently knock her off Devil’s Peak. Oops! People are prone to drinking too much around here and accidents happen.

August 15th,

Perfect night! Carly had a party. Lame as usual. Of course she asked about Brody one zillion times until I finally made something up about him seeing Zoe Topherman. It was priceless to see Carly take off crying upstairs during her own get together. To top it off, Zoe has hair that covers her body like an ape, so of course this really pissed off miss tan and beautiful. It must hurt to think you’ve been replaced by a circus animal, sort of like it hurts to be replaced by the invisible woman. For all I know she might be a figment of his imagination—wishful thinking.

Anyway, Gage was there, stringing me along with one of his “discussions”. I let him fill me in on how Nevermore was doing. I wish I would have cut a little deeper when I plunged that knife into his hand—impaled him two or three times, severed an artery. You should have seen his face drop like a brick when I stopped listening midsentence and went over to talk to Logan. With Michelle and Lex both on vacation, this won’t even be a challenge.

August 16th,

I picked up Logan and we went to the south side today over by Rockaway Point. I told him I forgot my bathing suit and stripped down to nothing right in front of him. I swear he’s just like Gage. He didn’t even try to make a move. He just acted like I was fully clothed and we went out swimming like it was no big deal. There’s obviously something wrong with the both of them.

August 17th,

Ellis is driving me insane with these constant midnight visits, not that I’m turning him away. Besides we go light driving after and do fun things like change test scores at school and mess around with Dr. Oliver’s corpses. He suggested I mess with Gage, but I have something bigger planned. It involves his BFF Logan Oliver. It is a thing of beauty I tell you.

August 21st,

Look at me. I can’t keep you up on things for two days straight. I guess it’s not a secret that I have a hard time being faithful. I finally got Logan to kiss me! Turns out there’s no invisible girl in his future. Well, Logan doesn’t have the curse of ‘knowing’ so we’ll go with the idea that I’m the girl of his dreams. Besides, he’s sweet. I like the way he takes up my hand and kisses it.

His aunt and uncle are buying them both trucks. Can you believe it? They are so spoiled rotten. I’ll be driving around in that beat up old hatchback for the rest of my natural life and they get brand new wheels right out the gate.

August 22nd,

I think Logan is in love with me. Tonight at the bowling alley I thought Gage was going to piss his pants when he saw Logan and me sucking face for like five minutes straight. Of course, he wasn’t the only one having a seizure over the situation, Lexy and Michelle freaked out on me, like I was caught lighting their hair on fire. It’s every girl for herself. Don’t they know that already?

August 23rd,

Shit hit the fan! Had an encounter with a full-blown army of Fems and I thought I was a goner. Thank God my dad came around and helped me get away. He broke his arm in two places and was in surgery getting pins put in this afternoon. Dad says he doesn’t know what they want or what we did to cause this sort of trouble in our lives. Mom thinks we should move, but Dad says they’ll just follow us wherever we go. They wanted to know if I did anything to piss off the Counts. I kept my lips shut tight. Good thing dead men (or should I say dead girls) tell no tales. Too bad their brothers do—or threaten to anyway. Maybe I should slaughter their whole family and put myself out of my misery.

There’s something to think about.

August 24th,

After cheer practice I got in a knock down drag out fight with Lex, trying to get her to tell me how to bind a Fem. I’m afraid my entire family is going to die if she doesn’t spit it out soon.

I bashed her head into my locker so hard it left a dent (my locker not her head). She did get a nasty cut that bled profusely and ruined both our uniforms. Hopefully lockjaw will set in, or she’ll hemorrhage internally in her sleep, because she won’t tell me a thing. She said she’d die before she did that. I might take her to the mat on that one.

August 25th,

I love that Logan is a Celestra. For a long time I thought he was this stuck-up pretty boy, but he’s actually really nice, and kind of shy and quiet. I told him what happened with the Fems and he GAVE me his grandmother’s pendant to protect me. I don’t think anyone has ever been so kind to me before.

I wish I could get over Gage. Carly swooped in now that Brody and her broke up. OK, I might have had something to do with that, but how was I supposed to know I’d push Carly-let’s-have-a-baby-Foster into Gage’s arms? Anyway. I asked him if we could get together and talk sometime. I’m hoping there’s still a chance for us.

August 27th,

Met up with Gage yesterday after practice and just hung out on the senior lawn. We talked for hours. I finally broke down and told him about how I felt, about how scared I was because of what’s been happening with Ms. Richards’ grandmother—how I’ve been seeing her everywhere like a ghost, how she feels so real to me. I think I’m going insane. She actually spoke to me and said it was ‘almost time’. Almost time for what?

I feel like I’m losing my mind. Maybe I should go back to Dr. Booth? Obviously giving the Ceslestra files to Holden was a mistake. Maybe telling them they could taste my blood and see how strong it makes them, or how they could read minds and time travel if only for a moment, wasn’t the most brilliant idea in order to save my freaking ass. I’ll be paying for her death the rest of my natural life. They made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, pinned me to a wall and now I’m just fucked.

Oh and have I mentioned I lost Logan’s necklace again? Welcome to my wonderful life.

I wonder what kind of deal Holden made with Chloe? She said them—I bet his brother knew all about it. What the hell were they doing with Celestra files? Don’t the Counts keep track of us anyway? Unless Holden and Pierce were going off on their own, starting their own demonic junior council, with no rules, and no backward code of ethics.

I touch the top of my neck, still swollen and bruised. I wonder what kind of an offer they made her? What could possibly make Chloe whore out her blood to them? And who the hell did she kill?

28

Calling All Angels

“What kind of company meeting?” Tad balks when I tell him and Mom that I’m going out for a few hours and why.

“I don’t know. Logan wants to talk to the staff. It’s like a production meeting or something. He’s buying dinner, so I didn’t ask too many questions.” Actually I don’t know if we’re even having dinner. Besides, I can’t eat knowing Logan doesn’t feel we should be together anymore. The only bright spot in my day is that he’ll be at the faction meeting tonight.

A light knock erupts at the door.

“That’s for me.” I head toward the door with both Mom and Tad hot on my heels.

“Ready?” Gage offers a private smile before saying hello to the two of them.

“So where is this meeting?” Tad cranes his neck looking down the driveway.

Gage presses his lips together. I can tell he’s shocked that I might have said anything about the faction meeting.

“At the bowling alley,” I say, picking up Gage by the hand and heading into the frigid night air before things get too involved. The last thing I want is to drag Gage into my bed of lies.

“Your friend has a nice ride.” Tad ticks his head down toward Logan sitting in the orange beat-up mustang.

“That’s actually Skyla’s ride,” Gage says, as we move down toward the driveway.

“That’s the car they want to give you?” Tad rushes past Gage and trots down the stairs to get a better look. “That’s a 66 mustang!” He slaps the sides of his heavily pleated chinos. “Lizbeth!” He motions for my mother to come down in her bathrobe.

Logan gets out from the driver’s seat and politely says hello.

Tad ignores him. He’s too busy asking Gage faux permission before popping up the hood.

“It’s got a 289!” Tad’s voice echoes through the forest like a boomerang. “Shit!” He smacks his head on the inside of the hood before backing up. “What the hell are you thinking giving her a car like this?”

“I’m going to pay for it,” I offer.

“We’re working something out.” Logan looks back at me and relaxes into a smile.

It crushes me—everything around me stops as our eyes linger. All of the madness of Tad and his bizarre commotion, my mother’s bare breast nearly exposed, the fact Drake has appeared and is pulling at his hair like a cartoon character, none of it fazes me.

Logan gets behind the wheel, while Gage and I banter about who’s going to sit in the back, but I insist.

I take Logan in, as we head out on the road—drink him down like water. His long muscular arms, his chiseled to perfection features, the strong assurance he exudes without having to say a word, and my heart shatters like glass over and over until it’s ground down, fine as sand.

***

Nicholas Haver lives behind the gates, much further down the road than Logan and Gage. We drive through miles cloaked in darkness, with no streetlamps, and no moon to illuminate our path, just the sterile headlights igniting the evergreens, surprising the world around us with their artificial beams.

Logan parks high on the ridge behind an entire row of SUVs, minivans and sports cars. It’s amazing how many people have showed up for this meeting. I crashed one of these meetings this past summer, or tried to, until I was caught sneaking around the periphery with Ellis. Note to self, including Ellis in just about anything will consistently result in deep regret and quite possibly end with me getting stoned.

We get out of the car, and the icy November air slices through my sweater, makes me wish I had the forethought to throw on a jacket. Jackets were something you didn’t need in L.A., and rain was something we didn’t have. I’m still trying to get used to the violent weather here on Paragon. Between the constant shroud of dark clouds and the continual layer of fog that permeates our world, it’s starting to feel like the sun is just a rumor, something that warms the rest of the planet but strategically passes us by.

We make our way to a barnlike structure, lit up like a flame, far behind the main house. The three of us remain unnaturally quiet, dipped in morbid silence until we’re just shy of the entry.

“So they know we’re coming?” I ask twisting my finger around my hair repetitively.

“They’re expecting us.” Logan presses his hand into the small of my back ushering me into the well-lit room.

It’s probably the last thing I should be thinking, that Logan is touching me, the last thing I need to be doing is focusing in on the electrical impulses that race from his fingertips all the way to my scalp, but my mind refuses to consider anything else. Once again he’s the forbidden fruit, not just according to the Countenance, but according to Logan himself.

Nicholas Havar is a heavyset man with a triple chin and pillow-like bags tucked under his eyes. He scoffs when he sees us then gets back to reciting roll call from which the three of us are omitted.

I notice Dr. Oliver and Emma and wave. It’s an empty, cavernous room, with chairs set in a giant circle that creates an equitable environment. The strong scent of fresh brewed coffee is thick in the air and I see pastries laid out on a small round table near the back.

“Let’s get down to the matter at hand.” Mr. Havar leans in, scoops together a loose stack of papers and glosses over them. “In the last four days we’ve had sixteen brothers who’ve lost their lives under suspicious circumstances. It’s not unusual to have this sort of thing happen, as it does from time to time, but the curious nature of their demise, coupled with the fact the deaths were quarantined to one particular faction, brings this matter to the forefront.” He pauses to take a few quick swigs from his water bottle.

“Which faction?” Dr. Oliver asks, adjusting his glasses.

“Celestra,” Nicholas answers.

Shit.

I try to make contact with Logan, but his eyes are glued to the front.

“Eleven in suspect fires,” Mr. Havar continues, “three auto accidents, and two beheaded.”

A series of gasps coil around the room.

I take a deep breath and bow my head.

“It has also come to our attention that someone in this room has access to a Sector,” Mr. Havar pauses to allow for another series of echoing gasps. “And I have also been informed that a Civil War has been ordained.” He bounces his water bottle on the table as if to affirm the statement. “The Countenance has clearly taken a progressive step in the conflict already. The C.R.L. has discussed the matter and we feel the potential loss outweighs the devastation that has already taken place. We move to accede for the time being until we can further assess the strategy of the enemy—at that time, we will consider seeking retribution.”

A hushed silence penetrates the room. Nothing but somber faces and dull eyes liter the assembly.

“What’s the C.R.L.?” I ask Gage. I’m afraid if I ask Logan he won’t respond. Although he’s not officially giving me the cold shoulder, I can definitely feel the arctic breeze.

“Council of Regional Leaders. Basically leaders like him from all over the world, excluding Countenance of course.”

“Of course.”

“Excuse me.” A man in a plaid sweater and purple tie knotted just below his chin stands. “Who has access to this Sector? Isn’t there a chasm in place to keep this sort of thing from happening?”

“Chasms are temporal. The Sector involved has expressed interest in one of our own. The young woman’s family has requested we not place any focus on her.”

About a dozen heads turn in my direction. My cheeks start to burn from the attention.

Of course it’s me. Logan, Gage, and I are the only ones under thirty in this entire assembly. And suddenly the overwhelming urge to strangle Marshall seems like a good idea.

“Any questions?” Mr. Havar impatiently pans the crowd. “Meeting is adjourned. Godspeed until we meet again.”

A mingling of bodies explodes as the crowd bleeds toward the door.

That’s it?

Dr. Oliver and Emma come over and offer me a hug.

“I hope you don’t mind that we referred to you as family.” Emma rubs my back when she says it.

“No, I don’t mind.” I cast a heavy glance over at Logan. It feels terrible being separated like this from him. This is way worse than being forced to live a million miles apart. It’s an emotional separation, and it’s mincing me from the inside.

I hate the brutal awareness that Logan doesn’t think we should be together right now. Blaming himself was just a rouse to keep from pointing the finger at me and say that I cheated.

Gage pops up beside me and wraps his arm around my waist. It’s beyond uncomfortable knowing that Logan can see—knowing that it’s not an act, that there’s not a Count around for miles.

“So why aren’t they going after whoever did this?” I direct my question at Dr. Oliver.

“It would only incur more deaths.” He shrugs as though it were obvious.

“But they killed sixteen Celestra. We’re on the verge of extinction as it is,” I say.

“Yes,” Nicholas Havar steps in. “But they can eradicate the Celestra in an instant given the proper nudging. They’re posturing, hoping that a full-scale war will break out so they can have the excuse they’ve been waiting for, to indulge in genocide. We can’t give them that option.”

“If this war was fought a long time ago, maybe my father wouldn’t have died. It’s hard to believe the solution is to do nothing.” I try to restrain my anger.

“Peace is a powerful tool.” Mr. Haver picks up my hand and cups it between the both of his before walking over to small crowd.

“Peace is an impotent weapon,” I say quietly once he’s gone.

Dr. Oliver and Emma migrate over to an older gentleman standing near the door.

“You don’t like peace?” Gage gives a dry smile.

“I don’t like death.” A thought comes to me. “We should fight death with death.”

Logan steps over and steadies his eyes on me. “And who’s going to kill them?”

I give a placid smile. “I am.”

29

Struggle

After the faction meeting, Logan drives us back to their house. He asked if I wanted to come hang out for a while, and, of course, I said yes.

In the kitchen Dr. Oliver examines my pupils, my pulse, heart rate.

“You’re extremely anemic. It would be irresponsible to extract any more blood for the next several months.”

An unexpected sense of relief washes over me. The feeling catches me off guard. Isn’t the entire point of donating dangerous amounts of blood, to bring Chloe back, and introduce her to Marshall?

Her diary runs through my mind in snippets. So she has a prickly personality—who doesn’t? Anyway, I’m totally relieved.

“She doesn’t have her powers anymore,” Logan points out.

“Mm hmm,” Dr. Oliver throws his stethoscope into his black leather bag. “She’s depleted at the moment. Celestra strength lies in the concentration of hemoglobin, and since she’s in short supply, she’ll need to wait for the bone marrow to generate a fresh inventory. In time, all will return.”

“How long?” I pull down my sleeves, almost afraid to ask.

“Could be weeks, but they’ll trickle back slowly. I wouldn’t recommend time travel unless you’re with Logan. You might only have enough to get you one way.” He pats the top of my head. “You’ll be fine.” He says a brief goodnight and heads upstairs.

“I’m not going to be fine.” I look from Logan to Gage. “If a Fem comes after me I’m dust.”

“Ask Mr. Dudley for some kind of protective hedge.” Logan looks serious, and this alarms me.

“I’m not asking Dudley. The only way he’ll protect me is if I gift myself to him.”

“No.” Gage helps me up and pulls me in. “I’ll protect you.”

“You’re not always with her. They’ll wait until she’s alone,” Logan glares over at him.

“Then she won’t be alone.”

They bear into one another with something just this side of hatred until finally Logan gives.

“I’m going to bed. Goodnight Skyla.”

He leaves the room and takes my heart with him.

***

Gage and I head out to the pool. The Jacuzzi is bubbling and sweating into the night so we take our shoes off and roll up our jeans while sitting on the edge. It feels good to have my flesh immersed in a bath of scalding water. It reflects perfectly how Logan scalded my heart.

A blank darkness has settled over Paragon, the light blue glow from deep inside the pool only seems to amplify this.

“I talked to Logan.” Gage scoots in until our thighs are touching and drapes an arm around my shoulder. “I know you’re hurting. I’m sorry.”

It takes everything in me not to sob into him. Hurting would be the tip of this necrotic iceberg, if only hurting were as simple and minimal as it sounds. It’s more like I’m regurgitating—eating up the flesh that was our relationship and vomiting it out over and over in one long emotional cycle.

“I guess this is the part where I’m supposed to do the noble thing and step down, too.” He nods into the pool.

I take a deep breath and ready myself for it. I’ve lost Logan, my powers, in a sense the Chloe who I thought knew, and now Gage.

“But I’m not going to.” He pushes into me gently. “I’m going to be with you at school and when we’re out, and I meant what I said in the kitchen. I want to protect you.”

“Thank you.” I wrap my arms around him and give a tight squeeze. “I can’t do this by myself. And I love having you around. It would kill me if you shut me out.”

“I’d never shut you out.” He picks up his class ring dangling from the silver chain around my neck and fingers it before placing it gently back down. “I don’t want to scare you, but I really feel like you are my girlfriend—always have been.”

I pick up the ring and swivel it in between my fingers while darting a glance up toward Logan’s window.

“I am your girlfriend.” I can’t bring myself to add, and I always will be because my throat seems to have solidified with grief. Instead, I lean up and offer a tender kiss that says it so much better.

Gage rubs up against my leg under water and we just sit listening to an owl vibrate through the night with a string of magnetic calls. I never want this peaceful moment—this melancholy magic covered in the shadow of day, to end.

“I read Chloe’s diary,” I whisper. “Part of it.”

“Oh.”

“Did you find Chloe attractive?” Maybe he was just using me as an excuse.

“Chloe was gorgeous—it was hard not to look at her.”

A spike of heat explodes all over me. I’d rather not hear how gorgeous she was from Gage, but I guess I asked. “So why didn’t you go out with her?”

“I went out with her.” He relaxes back onto his hands. “Just as friends. It never went anywhere.”

“Just friends.” I parrot his words, catching his gaze. “She said you rejected her because you were waiting for someone.”

His mouth opens then closes. “I was.” His lips press together. “I was waiting for you.”

Silence cuts through our conversation as obtrusive as thunder.

“Do you regret waiting for me?”

“Why would I regret it?” He reaches over and circles my waist. “You’re better than Chloe, better than anyone in every way. I knew that before I met you.”

“But how did you know that? Was it a vision?” I’m dying to know if it was the same kind of thing I experienced with Marshall.

“Yes. A whole series of them, sometimes I would dream about you,” He examines me for a moment. “Clean dreams, I promise. OK some dreams were a little racy, but that was after you moved here.” He gives a tiny grin.

“So your gift of knowing works that way? In snippets?”

“Snippets is a good way to put it. I don’t know everything.”

“Am I going to kill the Counts responsible for the Celestra deaths?” My blood boils just thinking about the way they tortured my father, and equally that the faction leaders think it’s fine to sit back and let this continue to happen. You don’t look at cancer and hope it goes away. You cut it out.

“You are,” he whispers. “You’ll kill many.”

My stomach explodes in a hot ball of acid.

“Will you come with me?” I ask.

“I’ll always be with you.”

30

Down and Dirty

Monday morning, the fog floats around the student parking lot, thick as a cemetery teeming with ghosts. I wonder about Holden as I get out of the car—what havoc he’s waiting to inflict on me next, and what it’s going to take to get him out of my life completely. That’s when I see them.

Logan and Lexy. Even their names are nauseatingly cute together. He holds her backpack as she climbs out of his truck. She pinches down her miniskirt from just above her crotch and laughs into him.

“Disgusting,” I mouth the word.

“What?” Gage turns in time to catch the show, and lets out a sigh. “You know it’s all an act.”

“Yeah, so were we,” I say under my breath.

We make our way to the English building in slow easy strides. I’ve managed to trade my bulky white scarf for a thin metallic grey one that Brielle lent me. The scar still whips across my neck like a thick seam of flesh, looks like it’s never going to heal.

Without warning my head plunges backward. A cold hand has me by the hair and gives a few wild yanks before letting go.

“Hey!” Gage barks as he pulls me over to him.

I spin around to see Michelle’s swollen, blotchy face. It’s evident she’s been crying—her makeup is wrecked, and she looks beyond exhausted. She looks exactly how I feel.

Before I can figure out how to respond, she shoves Gage aside and strikes me across the face with an open-palmed slap. The sound echoes through the quad with a deafening finality.

“You bitch,” is all I can manage before she takes off toward the parking lot. I don’t care if she is having Marshall’s baby. I don’t care if she’s having twelve angelic beings at once. What the hell gives her the right to assault me whenever she’s in the mood?

Logan and Lexy walk past me. She’s got her hand over his shoulder. Logan’s features darken with anger at the scene he just witnessed.

It hurts more to see them together—touching. Michelle could peel the skin right off of me, and it wouldn’t hurt half as bad as losing Logan.

***

I’m fixated on the blackboard behind Marshall. I can’t focus in on the lecture or the manic examples he strings out fervently every few seconds. All of this crap with Michelle, and of course the spike Logan drove to my heart is just killing me. Gage reaches forward and traces slow relaxing circles onto my back with his fingers. I can feel his sympathy, but it’s drenched in an agony of his own. I’m sure I’ve made him doubt my feelings for him, while I openly ache for Logan.

What’s the matter? Marshall asks, after giving the class an assignment.

I can still hear him, I marvel.

Of course you can hear me, but why can I hear you? He looks perplexed by this.

Crap.

I lost too much blood. Everything is gone. I’m practically less than human. I’m anemic—one step in the grave, all because I wanted to help Chloe. Something in me wanted to blame her. It’s as though I’ve been looking for an excuse to pin all of the problems in the world right on her dead shoulders. He dumped me. The swollen river of my heart has finally crested and I want to blabber everything to, of all people, Marshall.

He’s touching you. He looks rather smitten, and wait…oh yes, he’s fornicating mentally as we speak.

Really? Right now? I turn around and look accusingly at Gage.

It’s the male species, Skyla, you have no idea what you’re up against. Marshall smolders in my direction.

I have some idea. I picture Logan and Lexy together, her face crammed up against his and it enrages me.

So it’s the other Oliver. I can torment him if you like. He offers.

No thanks, but you can torment Lexy. Do you have any other demonic necklaces you’d like to dole out? I’d love to sick an entire legion of Fems on her. And by the way she knows how to bind them, or so she claims. It’s the only reason he’s letting her drool all over him.

Marshall leans against his desk and squints into me as though he’s considering this.

Is it possible to bind a Fem? I ask.

It can be done. He slouches a bit as his features darken.

What’s wrong?

Bad memory. His eyes glaze over momentarily. He turns his head as though distracted. Well then, He shoots a predatory smile in my direction. Just had a rather disturbing glimpse into your future.

I don’t like disturbing.

Rain pounds against the wall of windows in the back of the room as though a mass of lunatics were beating their fists to get inside.

Michelle has taken to bitch slapping me on a regular basis, I’ve lost all my strength, my speed—the Fems could take me if they wanted. Perhaps that’s what Marshall knows? If he were to tell me, I could prepare myself—do something to outsmart the situation.

Will you tell me? I’m so desperate to know I feel as though I could break.

You know how to get the information. His head dips down into his chest as he bores into me.

The bell rings. I gather my things and head out into the hall with Gage.

“You know what? I left my History book in the car.” I look at the ground when I say it.

“No problem, I’ll run out and get it.” Gage trots down the hall and makes his way down the stairs.

I step back inside to an empty classroom. Marshall turns around just in time to see me bolt in his direction. I crash my lips into his. Marshall goes off like a radiant bliss-filled grenade, exploding through me with that intense pleasurable sensation.

A picture emerges. I’m with Gage, holding a short silver spear. The blade is covered in blood, and I wipe it down with my finger.

I pull away and stagger back.

“When will this happen?”

“Sooner than later,” he says rather soberly.

“Whose blood was on the knife?”

“Whose blood do you want it to be?” There’s a challenge in his eyes.

Instinctually, I want to say Lexy’s.

“The Counts.”

“Which Counts?” There’s a slight curve to his lips.

“The ones who killed my father.”

“It won’t be.” His tone sharpens. “The blood on the knife was your own.”

31

Animal Attraction

I hate Lexy Bakova. I repeat it like a mantra as I sit at the kitchen counter next to Drake just before dinner.

The strong scent of garlic offensively clots up the air—once again, Mom is abusing the food chain.

Mom and Tad have called us together for another spectacular family meeting. No doubt, to inform us of their procreating schedule or go over graphs they’ve charted of which positions are the least useful in their impotent endeavors. Or perhaps, it’s the big reveal and they’ll expose us to Mom’s swelling uterus, Tad’s microscopic balls. Nothing surprises me anymore.

“Ta-da!” Tad whisks something from out of a baseball cap and places it into Melissa’s lap.

Both Mia and Melissa break out into a wild fit of joy.

“Oh my God! It’s so cute!” Melissa howls.

Drake and I swoop over to check it out.

I gasp at the sight of it. It’s a rail thin looking rat-thing and I can clearly see its ribcage. Maybe those weren’t cries of joy. Maybe they’re scared shitless.

“What is it?” I ask.

“It’s a pocket puppy.” Tad’s shoulders pull back with pride.

“I think he means a purse puppy,” Mom corrects.

“Does it have rickets?” There’s not an ounce of sarcasm coming from Drake.

“It needs food,” I offer. Sympathy is building within me for the badly neglected creature. Obviously Tad picked it up off the side of the road because he’s too cheap to drop a grand on a ball of purebred fuzz, and, for once, I’m glad he’s cheap. I reach over and stroke its back. The thin skin moves as I pet it. Its brown frightened eyes dilate with fear as they stare back at me.

“What’s the occasion?” I seriously doubt Tad’s good intentions.

“I thought this would be a great way for the family to start grasping the kind of responsibility a baby brings into the house.” There’s something mocking in his tone. I can’t put my finger on it, but I can tell it’s there.

“So essentially you’re readying us for an extremely malnourished child,” Drake quips.

“Or maybe they’re warning us it won’t look human.” These are Tad’s genes we’re talking about. I think my mother should voluntarily pull her ovaries out of the simian polluted gene pool while there’s still time.  Messing with nature like this is bound to have its side effects. She’s in very real danger of spawning an anthropoid.

“I won’t be disrespected like that, Skyla.” Tad’s nostrils flare as he says it.

“Drake started it.” Lame, but true.

“Both of you upstairs.” Tad flicks a finger to the ceiling in annoyance.

“But I’m hungry.” And I’m willing to subject myself to Mom’s garlic gruel to prove it.

“Now!” His voice explodes in an unexpected fit of anger.

“Tad,” my mother chides softly in the background.

I race Drake up the stairwell and he motions me into his room.

“What?”

“Brielle’s coming over.” He swipes a pair of his jeans up off the floor and sniffs at the ass. “She says you’ve got a hole in your ceiling where you shuttle guys in all night long.”

Crap.

“Bring her to my room about eleven, or I’ll tell the sperminator downstairs, and he’ll have both the hole in your closet and the one between your legs on lockdown by the weekend.” He gives a greasy smile.

“Real nice.” I leave the room. The butterfly room is being turned into a portal for Drake and Brielle’s sexcapades.

The house is officially part brothel, part infertility clinic.

A riot of wild yapping erupts from downstairs.

Add animal shelter to the list.

***

Gage suggests we ditch all our classes and hang out for the day.

“Where should we go?” I’m thrilled at the thought of not having to lay eyes on Lexy another minute. I’m so sick of hearing her coo Logan’s name during cheer like a song she butchers for an hour straight. Not to mention the mind-numbing hatred I’m starting to feel for Michelle.

“How about I surprise you?” He leans in with a careful kiss.

A warm rush cycles through my stomach. I like this romantic yet naughty side of Gage.

A part of me feels awful, like I’m cheating on Logan. Ironic, since when I was with Logan I didn’t think twice about kissing Gage—twisted, I know.

We drive down the road, the opposite direction of school. Fog drifts by in a series of elongated strips. It’s as though Paragon is unveiling itself to us, removing its mysterious layers one at a time like the unraveling of a mummy. It’s the revelation I wait for. The aftermath of what it means.

Gage takes a turn down a familiar looking dirt road.

“Oh no, not here.” It’s where Carly and Carson abandoned me a few weeks back and I got my arm chopped off by Ezrina. It’s a virtual playground for Fems.

“You’ll be fine. Besides it’s secluded, and that way no one will see us.”

“Who cares if anyone sees us? We can go to the beach, or the Falls.” Come to think of it, I almost drowned the last time Gage and I went to the beach, and I killed a guy at the falls. It’s like I’ve dusted every location on the island with some sort of demonic patina.

“We’ll be needing privacy.” He raises his brows suggestively.

The car thumps along the path riddled with branches as we gyrate over every hill and valley.

“I think your mom’s car needs shocks,” I shout over the sound of the tires grinding their way through the dirt.

We pull into the clearing, and he kills the engine.

“I think I need my truck back,” he says, unbuckling himself. “Come on.”

We head out as the dust plume settles in our wake. The earth smells sweet and the pines give off their fresh scented oils as an offering to the morning.

“So?” I lean in. “Why the need for privacy?” I bite down on my lower lip, trying to hide the fact I’m reveling in this.

“I thought I’d take advantage of you real quick, then take you out for breakfast.” He cocks his head to side.

“Oh? You’ll take me right here in the dirt?”

“I was thinking more of that mud puddle over there.” His cobalt eyes burn through me like a dare.

“Too bad it has to be real quick.” The smile melts from my face as I step forward and graze him with my lips.

“Mmm,” He gives a soft groan. “Maybe not here.”

“Chicken?” It sort of ruins the moment throwing poultry into a conversation laced with sexual innuendo.

“I think we should save our first time for a special occasion.”

“Like our almost shared birthday?”

He presses his lips together and gives a mock smile.

I like testing the limits with Gage this way. It’s my new favorite game.

“Like our wedding night,” he says.

And I thought I was spoiling the mood with poultry. Then it hits me. This isn’t a game to him. He has the gift of knowing, and he’s already informed me we’re getting married.

Panic rips through me. If I marry Gage that means I lose Logan forever, and now I’m completely derailed from the conversation.

I want to ask him more about the future—everything. But innately I know it will only lead to more questions, an entire ocean of inquiry, a world without end.

I lock onto his eyes, the broad even space between them, his flat forehead, the straight bridge of his nose. In every way Gage is perfect.

He bends over and pecks a kiss on my lips. He pulls me in and does his best rendition of the most romantic kiss known to man while Logan’s face brands itself into the recesses of my mind. Logan floats behind my eyelids, settles over my body, adheres to my skin like the scalding hot wax of a candle. He steals the moment from Gage and this infuriates me.

“That’s not really why I brought you here.” His arm dips in through the open window and he pulls out a rather long knife. He glides it out of the sheath exposing a gleaming pewter blade.

“What are you going to do with it?” I touch the chilled steel tongue of the dagger.

“I’m going to cut you with it.”

32

Slash

Gage pierces the solitude with a sharp whistle.

The raven—his bird comes quickly to his shoulder in all its dark glory. It purrs and fidgets a moment before settling down, still as stone.

“Chloe gave her to you.” I reach up and stroke its soft black feathers with the back of my hand. It’s as tall as a table lamp, and this startles me.

“It’s a he—his name is Nevermore.” He holds out his arm and the bird bounces down. “I’m giving him to you.” Gage gives a soft smile just enough to light up his dimples and spear me with those glowing eyes. “A little nick is all we need.”

Marshall’s vision makes sense now. I feel sort of jipped with that whole prediction thing. It’s obvious he’s taking advantage of me. There’s nothing disturbing about the blood on the knife being my own. Gage is offering me something beautiful.

“So you cut me and the bird?”

“I promise I won’t hurt you.”

“Why such a big knife?” Not that I don’t like the drama associated with the weaponry. In fact, I wouldn’t mind having it around since I’m ready to take on the Counts myself if I have to.

“It’s a sacred blade. Chloe gave it to me. Came with the bird.” He hands over the knife, and I examine it. It’s heavy. The metal handle is carved to look like a rope that wraps around in a smooth coiling pattern. The entire dagger is made of one piece of metal.

“Careful, it’s sharp. It’ll cut your fingers off before you notice.” He reaches for the handle, placing his hand over mine, and the knife begins to wiggle. “Don’t do that,” he warns.

“I’m not doing that. I thought you were doing that.”

The knife twists violently between us—a force so powerful that the two of us start to lose our footing.

“I’m gonna let go,” I scream, plucking my hand free from underneath his.

Gage grasps the handle with both hands as it continues to seize combatively in the air. The tip of the blade rises and points in my direction.

“Run,” he instructs.

It’s a scene from a bad movie playing out before me. Me running from Gage, Gage groaning, slashing through the air to keep from stabbing me relentlessly. My foot catches on an errant branch and I land face first in the dirt. I’m too exhausted to move another inch. It takes everything in me to turn my head so I don’t inhale the forest floor and choke to death.

The silver steely blade swipes down next to me. It plunges with the heft of an anvil right through the center of the back of my hand, pinning me to the earth with a forceful thrust.

I squeeze my eyes shut and let out a harrowing scream. The blade is pushed so far down that the base of the handle is the only thing rising up out of my flesh. I’m so thoroughly nailed into the ground it takes Gage standing over me with both hands to yank the knife free.

Nevermore goes wild, pecking and clawing at seemingly nothing but the air nearby.

“Shit!” Gage’s voice booms all around us. “What the fuck was that?”

“It’s my ghost—Holden Kragger.” I say his name accusingly. “He’s here.” I moan nursing my fresh new wound. “He caused the accident too, I’m pretty sure of it.”

Nevermore lets out a series of harsh cries before settling back down the ground not too far away from me.

Gage circles me with his eyes like I’ve got the plague.

“Looks like Nev just sent him packing,” he says. “But how are we going to get rid of him permanently?”

“No clue. With my luck I’ll need an exorcism.” I try to stop the blood from streaming free from my hand. I press my palm into my jeans and watch the red flower of my existence expand by inches every second.

“Nev.” His tone is sharp as he calls the bird.

I pick up the blade and watch my blood rise up on the sides. I swipe my finger down over it and realize I just fulfilled Marshall’s prophecy. I look up at Gage as a thought runs through my mind. What if I knew what was coming and refused to comply? Could I change things?

Gage takes the knife and punctures the bird at the base of his wing. Gently he rubs my wound over Nevermore.

“You’re bonded now.”

“So that’s it? Last one bleeding gets the prize?” I ask as the bird hops onto my shoulder.

“Something like that. It understands what you need from it and does what it can to help you, like with Kragger’s ghost. It’s more of a messenger than a guardian.” Gage takes off his shirt and wraps it around my hand, tight.

“Sort of a prehistoric 911.”

“He can’t do everything, but he’s trained pretty well.” He holds out his arm and Nevermore hops over to him. “Say Skyla.”

“Say Skyla.” It repeats crackled and broken.

“That’s amazing!” For a moment I forget about my throbbing bloodied hand.

“I love you, Skyla.” Gage says sternly to the bird.

“I love you, Skyla.” Nevermore looks right at me when he says it then bolts up toward the upper branches of an evergreen.

“That’s sweet,” I say. His sincerity and loyalty take my breath away. “Thank you.”

“Let’s get my dad to look at that.” Gage places the knife back into its sheath.

“So is Nev enchanted or something? What’s with the whole blood brother thing?”

“It’s a bound spirit. It’s trapped. Your blood controls its actions. Nothing can happen to that bird while you’re still alive.”

“What kind of spirit?”

“It could be anything but human. It’s a punishment.”

“So basically its punishment is hanging around with me? Figures.” I lean into Gage. Everything about me feels like a punishment lately.

***

The morgue is teeming with people. One of the viewing rooms has a crowd nine deep, and it doesn’t register until I see Carly Foster twirling her finger around her long blonde hair that everyone here is a teenager.

“Who died?” I whisper to Gage.

“Don’t know.” He floats me back toward the kitchen in a hurry.

“Skyla.” Dr. Oliver sounds disappointed as he adjust his glasses. He picks up my hand and removes the blood-soaked shirt. “You’re bleeding again. What happened? A Fem?”

“Holden Kragger happened.” Gage says filling him in on the bizarre string of events.

“You need stitches, but I think I’m going to glue you. It’s a fixative I use to keep peoples eyes shut, but it’ll work just the same. Are you taking vitamins? If not, do. Load up on iron.” He cleans the wound before pumping a thin line of fixative on the palm of my hand and pressing the flesh together. “East High is here on a field trip.”

“We won’t keep you,” Gage says.

“I could use your help if you like.”

“Doing what?” Gage helps steady my hand while he glues the other side.

“I need one of you to be a corpse—just lie in the bathtub, and pretend you’re dead. It packs more punch if it’s someone their own age, and I’m fresh out of youths,” he says serenely.

“I’ll do it,” I offer.

***

Gage stands guard nearby in the event someone decides to pierce a scalpel through my flesh, oh wait—that already happened today.

I keep my eyes shut and take in slow even breaths. I can feel them amassing around me—feel the warmth from their bodies, hear their soft whispers.

I wonder if it really hits home to see someone your own age in the bathtub of death, then I remember the first time I saw Chloe lying here, then seeing Holden in Ezrina’s lair. Death happens. It just does. It reminds us of how ephemeral these coats of flesh really are, especially when there’s someone your own age involved.

“That’s Skyla Messenger!” I recognize Carly’s two-year old whine. “She’s dead? No freaking way.”

“Look at all that blood. Was she like, shot in the leg?” Someone asks.

Laughter begs to bubble out of me, but I manage to resist the urge.

“I never really liked her,” Carly says it as a fact.

Before I can pin her with my anger, a shadow falls over me—a dark presence that instinctually makes me want to shiver with fear.

“Too bad.” A male voice whispers from just above my head. “I was hoping to kill her myself.”

33

I’ll Stumble for You

Gage comes into the house and diverts my mother while I run upstairs to change. After, I find him in the family room with Mia and Melissa petting their new dog.

“Does he have a name yet?” I pull my fingerless gloves up toward my wrist. What with the scarf and all, you’d think a blizzard was coming.

“It’s between Sprinkles and Cupcake.” Melissa picks him up and strokes his back carefully. Her hair is pulled back in a headband, and for the first time, I notice the prominent widows peak on her forehead just like Drake’s.

“I suggested Killer,” Gage says playfully.

“I like Killer.” I bite down on my bottom lip and tickle him under the ribcage with my uninjured hand.

“Oh, come on.” My mother breezes into the room. “Girls, don’t listen to them.” She sets a laundry basket full of clothes on the coffee table. “I hear homecoming is on Friday. You two going?”

“Yes.” Gage rubs my back when he says it.

“Great,” Mom says. “If you want I can take you shopping, Skyla. I’ve got at least an hour before dinner.” She beams as though she’s been waiting for this moment all her life.

“Actually, I’m late for work.” That, and the fact she’ll want to see me in it without my scarf and gloves on. I know her. She’ll strip me down herself if she has to.

“Well, I’m going out with the girls to drop the dog off at the vet. I might hit the mall. If I see anything, I’ll pick it up. We can always take it back.”

“Good idea.” Right. Can’t wait to see what pink frosted confection makes its way into my closet. “Make sure you keep the receipt.” For sure we’ll be taking it back.

Tad walks in and glowers over at Gage before heading into the kitchen. “You two have a good day?”

A sickening feeling comes over me.

“You don’t need to worry about a dress.” Tad pulls a soda out of the fridge and migrates back over. “I just got a message from the school. Skyla wasn’t there today. Guess where else you’re not going?” His lips stretch across his face before retracting.

***

I tried to talk my way out of the fact I was very, very late to school to Mom and Tad. I even showed them the cut on my hand and told them I fell on a metal rod sticking out in the student parking lot. I told them I needed to go to the hospital to get it fixed. Who knew Tad would demand to see medical records? So there’s that.

Gage drops me off at the bowling alley almost an hour late.

I’m glad I have the chance to show Logan how dependable I can be. He’s probably looking forward to firing me. Getting me out of his life once and for all in every way possible.

“You’re fired,” Logan says looking over at Gage.

“She’s the one who’s late,” Gage says mockingly.

“Why the gloves?” Logan is immediately suspicious.

I tell him about our time in the forest while he inspects the damage.

“Are you feeling better?” There’s a marked look of concern written all over him.

“I’m tired.” Even the words come out weak.

Gage takes off, leaving Logan and me enveloped in an awkward silence.

“So, I called someone to cover your shift.” He nods in toward the kitchen where I see two older women scrubbing down the stainless steel appliances. “And I called someone to cover mine.” He glides over to me with a gentle smile and wraps an arm around my shoulder. “Let’s get out of here.”

***

Logan leads us out the backdoor. It’s heavily wooded out here, the air is dense with fog, and it feels like we’ve stepped into some alternate world that belongs exclusively to us.

He flexes a smile in my direction as we head down a dirt path. There’s something solemn about him, something quietly accepting, but not too thrilled about the current status of our relationship.

“How are things going?” He asks cloaked in an otherworldly light. It feels as though I’m drifting with Logan’s ghost, like he died, and all I have left are memories—makes me miss him even more.

“Lousy. And you?”

“Not good.” He dips his gaze to the ground. He pours out all his tenderness in one forlorn smile. “I talked to Gage—he told me that you love him. I know you wouldn’t tell him that unless you meant it.”

A burst of heat ripples through my body. If I wasn’t so achingly tired I’d run all the way home.

He stops and sighs, touches me with his eyes.

“I didn’t bring you here to put you on the spot.” He takes up both my hands carefully. “Actually I brought you here because I want to teach you to defend yourself.”

“Against Fems?”

“Against Gage.” He pulls his cheek to the side sarcastically. “And Fems.”

Logan spends the next hour teaching me how to get out of headlocks, showing me how to knock someone to the ground by swiping out their feet, kicking them in their balls. It’s like cage fighting with Logan, a guy I’d rather wrestle with horizontally in a much more passionate manner.

“Do Fems have balls?” Words I never thought would come out of my mouth.

“We’re back to Gage.” Logan gives a huff of a laugh and motions for me to take a seat next to him on a patch of pine needles.

I lean up against him for support.

“Your uncle says I need vitamins. I know my mom has some floating around the house.” Correction, she’s got an entire pharmacy floating around the house.

We lay down on the ground, resting our heads next to one another facing the opposite direction. I snuggle into Logan’s shoulder as a pillow. I could easily fall asleep like this.

It’s nice. It feels like the old Logan and Skyla.

I look over and see Logan’s eyes gleam like melted pools of liquid sunshine.

“I thought he’d back off.” He pants the words, still out of breath from our workout.

“He’s not going to. Should I?” I throw it out there. I don’t know what I would do if Logan said yes.

“No. I know you have strong feelings for him.” He exudes a heavy sadness. “And I want to be sure that if you choose me in the end, that you and Gage…that you know, you’re over.”

How could I ever be over Gage? I roll the thought around in my mind.

“What do you think of his prophecy? About me marrying him? How could that be possible if I feel so strongly connected to you?”

“It’s more than possible—part of the reason I backed off.”

“So you don’t think we’re meant to be together?”

“I do.” He reaches over and picks up my hand. “That’s what I find so wildly confusing about this.”

“I think you’re turning this into some kind of self-fulfilling prophecy. Is that possible?” Or maybe it’s Gage who’s doing that?

“I don’t think so, but even if it were, how could we test the theory?”

Marshall’s face blinks through my mind.

“You’re probably right.” I try to fuzz out the thought of me kissing Dudley for a glimpse of the future. I won’t do that again…unless of course I want to test the theory. “Hey…” I turn to look at him. “You never really mentioned that book of Counts. Anyone we know in there?”

“Brielle, Ellis, Natalie.” His eyes widen unexpectedly.

“Yeah,” I bite down on my lip and consider it. “I’d like the names of those leaders who OK’d the killing of the Celestras.”

“What for?”

“I just want to know.”

“I highly advise you don’t go around trying to off anybody. Especially since the other factions agreed to stay out of it for now.”

“It’s my holy war.”

“Civil war,” he leans over and mitigates me with a soft penetrating grin. “Ours. Yours and mine.”

“Well, war and death go hand in hand. Don’t you watch the news?”

“Yes, I realize that, and no, I don’t watch the news. Say you kill a few Counts, then what? What if they come after you—your family? Nicholas Havar was right—the risk outweighs the benefit.”

“They killed my father.” The words float out like a morbid song. “I want the names, Logan. I want to know who they are and what kind of lives they live. I’m just curious, that’s all. At least let me educate myself on what I’m up against.”

“OK.” He looks down introspectively. “My uncle was forwarded the names of those who were killed and their locations—we’ll work from there in figuring out who was responsible—for educational purposes.” He looks mournfully at me before staring off into the ever-darkening sky masked with a veil of precipitation.

A comfortable silence wraps itself around us. The light is swallowed in shadows and the temperature drops, sharpening the air into icy bites.

“I never should have sent you to, Gage,” he whispers with his eyes wide open as though he were sharing a private thought. “I really fucked things up.”

I place my arm across his chest and hold back tears.

“There was no other way, you couldn’t have kept me away from you.”

“I don’t know about that. I can be pretty creative if I have to.” He rolls over and wraps his arm around my shoulders. I can see the hard edge of his jaw clench with frustration. “But it’s too late for that. This is how it’s going down. You’re going to marry Gage, and I drove you right to him.”

34

Tutor Time

After school on Thursday, my mother drives me straight to Mr. Dudley’s house for a tutoring session. I’m shocked to see Michelle walking a horse back to the barn.

“I stopped seeing her. I didn’t fire her.” Marshall comes near the window. “You think I’d keep her around for kicks then unemploy her because she’s no longer capable of satisfying me? That’s Draconian.”

“You should marry her. Make an honest woman out of her.” Too bad she’s wicked. Come to think of it, he’s not too far off the mark. “What’s this?” I walk over to a silver blade suspended over the fireplace. It has the same metal handle fashioned to look like a rope—it’s a twin to the one that stabbed me.

He picks it up and fondles it briefly before presenting it to me.

“Special issue from the King of Glory.”

“What does special issue mean?”

“It means not everyone in the celestial sphere is running around with one of these.” He points to the back of the handle, at the symbol of a hand. “Tap it, just once, and think about igniting it.”

I do, and the knife glows a soft shade of blue.

“Wow. I hate to break it to you, but they sell these things at the mall. I think Drake has a light up sword in his room.” In fact, I’m fairly certain.

“Satan is the great imitator isn’t he? This isn’t light, Skyla—it’s power.”

“Like a laser beam or something?”

“Like a fry you from the inside out, or something,” he mimics. “It’s made for spiritual warfare not humans, but works either way. Disempowers a spirit for days—it’s fatal when it comes to people.” He takes the dagger from me. “Only the original set contains this power. It’s a spirit sword.” He places it back over the fireplace.

“What if you accidentally touch it the wrong way and it goes off and kills you?”

“It won’t. First, you have to know it’s there and use it intentionally. It’s a living thing. The spirit sword won’t kill you—its aim is the enemy.”

“Is it a painful death?”

“Quick and complete. Almost instant.”

“You fight in a lot of wars?”

“Everyday is a different battle, Skyla. I’m fighting one right now.” He arches his brows at me.

“You won’t win. Gage wins.” I continue to gaze up at the dagger.

“How do you know Gage isn’t telling you stories?” He steps in front of me, too close for comfort.

I hadn’t thought of that before. What if this whole self-fulfilling prophecy thing is something conceived by his imagination? Doubtful.

“Are you ready to see your dress?” His eyes reduce to smoldering slits.

“I can’t go to homecoming. Tad says so.”

“You’ll be there.” He motions for me to follow him up the wide sweeping staircase. A set of double doors off the main hall leads to an enormous room with a giant bed. The furniture is black and heavily lacquered.

I fall onto his bed backward as he disappears deep inside the closet. Stretching my arms out, I fan them, making an impression of angel wings on the soft brown comforter. Brielle and Michelle have both been up here—so weird. It feels strange being in a teacher’s room, even if he is a Sector.

“I was going to have you try on the dress, but looks like you have a much better idea in mind.” He lands hard next to me.

There’s a light knock at the door, and Michelle steps in looking like she got in a fight with a bale of hay. Her hair is frazzled, and her clothes are covered with pale yellow and green sticks. The look really completes that bat-shit crazy attitude of hers.

“I thought maybe I could use the shower.” She just stands there looking as though I had slapped her from all the way across the room.

“That would be inappropriate,” Marshall snips. “Would you mind shutting the door? We’re a bit busy.”

She whips out the room, quick as a poltergeist, doesn’t bother shutting the door.

“Doesn’t follow directions well, does she?” He muses.

“You’re brutal.”

He lays the dress over me like a blanket and I think I could fall asleep.

“Save a dance for me,” he whispers.

“Don’t you think it’ll look bad? You dancing with a student?”

“Nonsense, I’ll be dancing with students all night. You’ll simply be one of many.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Well then, there’s always hell to pay.”

***

My mother comes into my room in the morning as I’m getting dressed. I’ve barely had time to pull on my jeans. I snatch the scarf off my bed and fling it around my neck, and hide my swollen hand behind me to ensure no hospital visit lies in my future. I can hardly move my fingers today.

“Morning.” She comes in, closes the door behind her. “Just wanted to apologize. Everyone is under so much stress these days, and it’s hard when you’re trying to have a baby and things aren’t moving as quickly as you’d like.”

“Does everyone include Tad?”

“Yes,” she whispers as if it were a well-kept secret before sitting on the bed. “I know how hard it’s been for you, and I know you were really looking forward to homecoming. First year at a new school, great boyfriend, new job… a lot of things are changing for you right now.”

She’s going to cave! A spike of adrenaline bursts through me.

“I swear if you let me go, I’ll never ditch school again. Honest.” I hold my hand out like I’m making a pledge.

“I’m sorry, Honey. Tad is firm on this.”

“What about you? Are you firm on this?”

“You left school without permission.” She shrugs. “You hurt yourself, Skyla.” She motions toward my hand. “And what were you and Gage doing anyway? Were the two of you having sex?” Her head tilts to the side as she presses me with those petal green eyes.

Oh my, God.

I’d rather die than have this conversation.

“No.” My voice hikes up higher than it needs to. “I’ve never even done anything. Believe me, I’m as innocent as you can get.”

“I don’t need details. I just want to make sure you’re using protection.” Her eyes narrow into mine.

“Geez.” I throw my hands up over my ears and close my eyes. “I said I’m not doing it. I don’t need protection because there’s nothing to protect me from.” The only thing I need protection from is Fems, and blood sucking Counts, but that’s a different story.

“Well good, I’m glad to hear that. I think a girl your age needs to think long and hard before inviting someone into her body.”

A tremble of laughter swells in my chest.

Invite? I picture myself handing Gage a formal invitation with the letters S-E-X embossed in some swirly font across the front.

“I will.” I bite down hard on my lip. “I’ll think long and hard.” And now I want to explode with laughter because I just included the words long and hard in a conversation about sex with my mother. “I will totally do it.” Shit! I press my lips together unable to hide the stupid grin on my face.

She gets up and gives me a warm, lingering hug.

“There is so precious little we can save of ourselves, better to save it for that perfect person. Just think about waiting.” She makes it to the door. “And I wouldn’t be surprised if your special person was Gage. I think I can really see this.” She gives a mischievous smile. “Engaged.”

“Funny.” My features smooth out at the lack of humor in it.

She shuts the door tight behind her.

I press my hand against the plywood that covers the hole where my window once stood. I can feel the world come alive on the other side, the rain needling its intense vibrations.

Even my mother thinks I’m going to marry Gage. It’s beginning to feel like a conspiracy.

35

Homecoming

The field is damp from the shower we had earlier, but tonight there’s not a veil of fog, not a dark cloud up above, just the crisp arctic chill I’ve become accustomed to.

Ms. Richards lets us do free style for the rest of the game. It’s the end of the second quarter, and the West Paragon Dawgs are up by six. There’s only one more game in the season, and it’s an away game. I’m so psyched about this I can hardly stand it. Away, as in away from Mom and Tad, away from conversations about weird sexual invites. I totally need to get away.

The homecoming floats are driven onto the field. It’s surreal being here knowing I’ve time traveled to last year’s homecoming game with Ellis on more than one occasion. I half expect Chloe to step up on that platform in her powder blue dress.

I’m so winded I stop moving. My arms and legs feel like rubber and it takes everything in me not to collapse on the field.

Principal Rice taps the microphone and a loud obtrusive hum threatens to blow our eardrums out from over the speakers.

She starts in and introduces a row of girls in frilly dresses.

God—my mother could have dressed them. I don’t really know who they are, mostly seniors. The principal crowns a king, some guy I don’t know either but everyone screams for, then with a bit more fanfare a queen. All the while I can’t stop thinking about Chloe. Ellis wants to go back tonight and refresh his stash—odd day to go, if you ask me.

Michelle motions for us to pick up the free kicks, so we do. It takes everything in me to rotate and bounce for the crowd, even a smile seems impossible to produce with this drenching fatigue.

Skyla. Marshall waves briefly from the front row bleachers. Kick higher, I can’t see your panties.

I turn away from him abruptly. Can’t see my panties? What an ass. I’m wearing kick-pants, but information like that seems beside the point with someone like him.

I’ve offended you. I apologize. Kick-pants aside, I have another vision I’d like to share.

I keep forgetting he can hear me now that I’ve bled down to a simpleton. I hate the fact I’ve ebbed away my powers.

No thanks. The last thing I need to be doing is kissing Marshall on a regular basis.

It’s about the one who dumped you. It’s a rather intriguing scenario I think you’d better see for yourself.

I think I’ll pass.

I look across the field and see Logan getting ready to put back on his helmet. He lasers through me with a penetrating stare. I stop all movement and gaze right back at him. Just looking at Logan makes everything else melt away like a bad dream.

The coach whistles, and he’s gone, lost in the crowd of bodies once again.

Everything feels so temporary.

I start to feel weak again, the ground feels like it’s rolling in waves and I steady myself a minute so I don’t pass out. My hands loosen and the pom-poms slip right through my fingers, just like Logan.

Come to me, Skyla. This vision brings you peace, not to mention the pleasure of my company.

No. If Logan would rather I be with Gage then that’s what he’s going to get.

***

After the game, Brielle insists on changing at my house for the homecoming dance.

“Brought you something!” She barks out a laugh as though it were hysterical.

“Keep it down.” She’s already wasted, and it’s just barely nine.

Mom and Tad think I’m alone, that I’m already tucked in bed crying over the fact I’m not going to the dance. Brielle screeching and screaming isn’t going to help me sneak out any faster. I swear, teaching Brielle how to navigate the wonderful world of the butterfly room has brought me nothing but sleepless nights and well, this.

“Here.” She produces a black velvet choker sprayed with smoky grey rhinestones. “It’s totally hot, plus it’ll cover that thing that looks like a zipper on your neck.”

“I got the stitches out,” I say, taking off my scarf and trading it for said hot necklace thingy. “This is so awesome!” It glitters with the slightest movement.

I pull on the dress Marshall gave me and turn to look in the full-length mirror attached to my closet door.

“Skyla!” She gasps.

It’s form fitting. To call it short would underestimate the actual breathtaking length that cuts off just below my underwear.

“This is not good,” I lament.

“Didn’t you try it on?”

“No.” I give a hard exhale.

“Here.” Brielle tugs a little, and it gives enough to look semi-decent.

“At least I won’t get arrested.” I turn in the mirror and take a look at it from behind. It’s backless as far down as it can go, save for rows and rows of dark metallic chains crisscrossing from one side to the other.

“It is so freaking hot on you!” Brielle slaps her mouth after she shrieks the words out.

“It’s going to get freaking shitty when my mom busts through the door.” I push my finger up to my lips. “Let’s get out of here.”

Drake left an hour ago, giving Mom and Tad yet more false assurance I wasn’t going. Really he’s just next door. He parked around the corner to hide his car and he’s watching TV with Bree’s mom.

We call Drake and let him know we’re coming. I push the dresser securely in front of the door before helping Brielle up into the butterfly room.

It’s freezing outside. The cold fingers of the wind coil themselves around the chains on my back, and turn them into ice against my bare flesh.

“Hey.” She points down to my feet. “You forgot your shoes.”

“Crap.” That means I have to hurdle three rooflines and crawl all the way back into the attic.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got the perfect pair to lend you.” Brielle’s whole person ignites with a burst of energy. “I wore them my first time. Maybe you’ll get lucky?”

“Doubtful.” I haven’t sent out the invitation yet.

Logan cycles through my mind. Then again, he probably doesn’t want it. I thought he’d at least fight for me—I thought he’d die trying.

36

Put on Your Red Shoes

Red patent leather pumps with four-inch heels. I feel ridiculous.

Drake drives us down to the Paragon Beach Resort through a moonless night. A harsh wind has evicted the fog, and thousands upon thousands of crystalline stars pour out their glory in a choir of radiant luminescence.

The resort is lit up like a jewel, glowing and polished. A trail of limos stretch a half a block long, but in an effort to avoid valet and parking fees, Drake parks at the Jack-in-the-Box across the street.

I pull Brielle in tight as we make our way over to the cobbled pathway that leads to the entrance of the hotel. “There are tons of people here!”

“They’re from East. We do all the big stuff like prom and shit on the same night.”

“Nice.” My stomach does a harsh roll.

The entry is comprised of ornate carved marble. Giant stone lions keep watch on either side with their fixed sterile gaze.

The thick scent of perfume and cologne explode in the lobby and it makes me feel lightheaded as we enter a room marked Grand Ballroom to our left. A dim cavernous hall is lit up with thousands of twinkle lights, sheer fabric cascades across an army of chandeliers high up on the ceiling, like rolling waves of pink gossamer.

“Hi!” Brielle screams at someone buried in the sea of bodies before taking off. Drake follows her like the puppy he is and I’m left alone in my ever-shrinking dress and glossy red hooker shoes. Maybe my mother dressing me wouldn’t have been such a bad idea after all.

Faces, too many faces—I pan the crowd then pause when I spot Logan standing just shy of the dance floor—a still life in the midst of a riot.

He bows his head slightly and offers a seductive smile. His hair picks up the color from a blue spotlight up above, and it highlights him in an otherworldly way. I’m paralyzed by all his gorgeous glory.

Just as I contemplate going over, someone tickles my ribs from behind and I almost break an ankle jumping in my clown heels.

Gage swoops around, “Good God. This dress should be illegal. You are smokin’! Are you sure you don’t want to wear my jacket?” He looks beyond gorgeous in his suit. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in one.

“Thanks. And it might be illegal. Marshall gave it to me.” I’m pretty sure he didn’t buy it. Probably plucked it off some celestial vixen or a corpse.

“Normally I wouldn’t want you to take things from him, but this happens to be a homerun.” He places his hand against my back and I can feel his skin against mine. It feels so intimate a wave of guilt washes over me.

“How’s the injury?” He picks up my bloated purple hand and pulls a face. “My dad taught me a few tricks to help get your muscles back into shape once the swelling goes down. He says if it gets any worse, he’s got some antibiotics for you.”

“I love the way you take care of me. It’s so sweet.” I pull his gaze into mine.

The music switches gears, slow and steady as the bodies on the dance floor begin to sway hypnotically.

“Come on.” Gage leads us onto the crowded wooden platform and digs us deep into the center of the crowd.

He cages me in with those blue flames staring back at me. My stomach bottoms out as he pulls me in, places his warm arm low across my back. The sweet scent of cologne drifts softly from him and the very distinct scent of minty toothpaste escapes his lips.

He grazes me with a kiss, then pulls away to see if it’s wanted.

I’m not sure why being this close to Gage makes me nervous, sends butterflies to my stomach—Gage, who I’ve been melting all over for weeks to prove a point to all of Paragon and the Counts, that we’re together.

He comes in again, presses his mouth against mine, and our teeth bump accidentally. I can’t hear the music, or feel my feet on the floor, or remember to breathe—I just float in the soft sea of his kisses.

“Break it up.” Marshall pushes Gage back rather violently and takes his place. A quick smile appears as he pulls me in tight. An entire orchestra of intense vibrations fills me, and I can’t find the strength to protest.

I watch as Gage drifts off the dance floor over to Logan.

“Sunday, the population of Paragon will drain onto my property. Will you wear the wings for me?” Marshall looks past me as though he weren’t speaking to me at all.

“No.”

“I’ll give you five hundred dollars.”

“Done.” My eyes spring open. I’d wear nothing but wings if he wanted me to, for less.

“I can hold you to that.”

“Forget it. I’m not that desperate for money.” I lay my head upon his chest. I’m so exhausted it takes everything in me to keep up with the rhythm. It feels like a major workout wearing heels like this. I’m not so sure I’m cut out to be a girl.

“Not the shoes I would have chosen,” he says, “but it gives you that edgy flair so many young women gravitate toward these days. They’ll be a dozen dressed just like you at winter formal—wait and see.”

“It’s slut fashion. They’re Brielle’s.”

“That explains it. If I knew you were shoeless, I would have gladly given you a pair.”

“Yeah, but they’d probably be magical.” As in magically landing me in his bed—more like cursed. “I’m powerless—can you give me an infusion?” I pull back, hopeful.

“I can give you lots of things, Skyla, but that’s not necessary. Your blood will reconstitute in time, shortly in fact.”

Marshall looks cutthroat handsome in this shadow-filled room. His entire person sparks like a flame. If I chose Marshall—become his wife—my father could live again. If there weren’t Logan or Gage…

“You would choose me.” His expression sobers.

“Well, don’t kill them. I love them.”

“You love them both?” He ticks his head to the side considering this. “You know the entire universe frowns on such arrangements. They never work—always someone with a bitter heart. Of course, in this case it wouldn’t be you. The single gender is always the victor. Who’s the bitter heart? Logan or Gage?”

“Logan.” I breathe his name in a demonic whisper.

“I see.” His lips twitch. “And that’s the one you favor.”

My heart breaks for Gage.

“I don’t favor anyone.” It’s true.

“Well, you don’t favor me, and that makes you a rare breed.” He pulls back a notch, rakes his eyes all over me. “How is this?” His features morph, just barely. They take him across the finish line until he completely replicates Logan in his exact eminence.

“You’re still you,” it comes out breathless.

Here I am, swaying to the droning rhythm of a very sad love song with a replica of Logan. A small part of it feels right—feels real. My heart tries to reject the idea, but I won’t let it. I want this moment anyway I can get it.

Gage taps on his shoulder and evicts Marshall by way of his elbow.

“Thank you for rescuing me,” I say, pecking a quick kiss on his cheek.

His dimples push in without a smile. I take in his clean scent as we finish up the tail end of the song. From behind his shoulder, I see Logan leaning up against the table pretending to hear whatever Lexy is saying, all the while staring right at us. To his left Michelle claws at Marshall for attention as desperate as ice in a fire.

Marshall looks over and gives a wicked grin.

He still looks suspiciously a lot like Logan.

37

One Enchanted Evening

“Shit!” Carly drops her compact to the floor and slaps her hand over her mouth.

I roll my eyes at Brielle and push past her into the ladies room.

Napkins are laid out on a granite counter with the hotel initials embossed in gold, along with an assortment of perfume and a bin of hair products. A huge burgundy sofa sits nestled against the back wall. I love it when an entire living room acts as the entry to the actual restroom.

“I thought you were dead!” Carly’s face bleeds out all color.

“I am,” I say, examining myself in the mirror.

“File that under who gives a shit,” Carson, the one who served toxic lemonade at her party a few weeks ago, swoops by in a creamy pink birthday cake of a dress that would make my mother proud. “Skank,” she hisses as they make their way out the door.

“I hate them,” I say staring blankly at myself in the mirror.

Brielle does her lips, then passes me her strawberry gloss. I not only managed to forget my shoes, but my purse and my cell, too.

Brielle’s phone goes off, and she squints into it.

“It’s Drake.” She pulls a face before heading back into the lobby.

I should go out there and talk to Logan. I should ask for the Count file, or see what my hours are next week, or at least say hi, or maybe fall on him in these prostitute specials I’ve pressed my feet into and accidently dance with him.

I open the door that leads into the actual restroom and choose a stall near the back. A lengthy battle with the paper seat covers ensues. I swear sometimes it sucks being a woman. Why couldn’t God make us so we stand up when we pee? Was that asking too much?

The lights go out, and there’s a palpable black silence.

“Hello?” I say stupidly. Obviously someone turned out the lights and left. But wasn’t I the only one in here? “This isn’t funny.” My voice produces a stale echo.

I close my eyes and open them, same effect—it’s beyond dark. I hold out my hand and swipe at the air as I try and reach for the stall door.

It’s probably just an innocent mistake. There’s probably a switch at the entrance that any moron can lean up against or flip on their way out the door. Or maybe the entire facility lost power? I bet they’re all out there freaking out—girls screaming, guys scheming. I bet Michelle is taking advantage of this and dry humping Marshall, or worse, Lexy on Logan.

I try to calm my nerves by thinking about how funny this is going to be once I finally make it outside. I clasp onto the metal latch, and the door swings open.

Baby steps. That’s all I need to take. I swing my arms out wildly. Every step feels like I’m about to fall down a flight of stairs.

Breathing? I hear breathing!

“Hello?” My arm is yanked hard until I slam into something—a person. The waft of bitter cologne takes over, and before I realize it, my hands are both restrained behind my back.

Lips graze against my choker. One of my hands is violently snatched from behind, and a mouth clamps down hard over my wrist. A sharp injection of pain slides across in a clean line. I can hear him slurping, sucking off my flesh like a bloodthirsty savage.

“Stop!” I try to remember how Logan taught me to take someone down. Who knew it would be in the freaking dark? “Get off!” I end the last word in a shrill scream that rattles the windows. “I’m going to rip your balls off, swear to God, if you don’t get off of me!” I’m pinned so perfectly against the cold tiles behind me, it leaves me shivering—nauseated.

He bangs my head hard against the wall, pushes his fingers into my cheeks.

“You going to tell?” He says mockingly. “You let out my little secret, I’ll let out yours. The Counts want to know what Celestra on this planet killed my brother. I can make them leave it alone—save you from prison. Or maybe you want to go? Maybe you’re up for a jumpsuit vacation?”

It’s, Pierce!

I can hear him feeling around his person before a piece of paper gets shoved in my hand.

“That’s a copy of the letter I stopped my dad from sending out,” he sears the words into the side of my face. “You can thank me later. And you will.”

He takes off, leaving a vacuum in his wake. I can hear the roar of the crowd liven then die down as the door opens and closes. I make wild strides toward the exit, slamming into a wall before flicking on the lights.

A big yellow sign sits outside the bathroom, that reads, Cleaning, do not enter. I give it a swift kick before heading back into the crowd.

***

I spot Logan first—embedded three deep in the bitch squad. I try to circumvent the head-on collision by rounding out to the other side, but there’s a barrier of tables and chairs interlocked with people, so I turn to face them.

“You’re bleeding.” He rushes over and picks up my arm.

“Oh my, God! She slit her wrist!” Lexy screams. There’s a clear look of disgust on her face, and she starts to retch. Emily pulls her to the side, and they continue to gawk over at me from a safe distance.

“Holy Shit!” Michelle plunges the black rose on her necklace back and forth like a nervous twitch. That single action alone is probably calling an entire army of Fems. She’s a magnet for them now, sort of like me.

“Ouch,” I yell as Logan straps his tie around my wrist, tight as noose. “You’re cutting off the circulation.”

He tilts his head at the irony. Logan has a calm way about him. Something noble, it’s as though he’s living out his true age in this younger teenage version of himself.

“How old are you again?” The words swim from my mouth dreamy. It’s fuzzy math that involves another place, another time, and I really can’t remember.

“Too old for you.” His brows peak briefly. “Let’s get you out of here. What happened?” he whispers, as we make our way out of the main entry of the resort, into the brisk night air.

I look around suspiciously.

“I don’t want to tell you, not here.”

He plucks his phone out and texts Gage.

“It didn’t look that deep.” His eyes sweep up and down. “You look beautiful.” He rubs my shoulders, and pulls me in a little.

“I don’t feel beautiful.” I hold up my hands, revealing the fact I’m still clenching the paper.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a love letter from my attacker.” I hold it close to my chest. “What’s taking Gage so long?” My muscles quiver from the cold.

Logan takes off his jacket and swings it around my shoulders. It carries his scent—all of his warmth.

“It’s too hard to be away from you,” I say. There isn’t anything more true in this entire world.

He presses his lips together and leans in close to my ear.

“When the faction war is over, we can be together if that’s what you want.” He pulls back and lets me see the heaviness in his eyes. He presses out a dry smile. “But according to Gage, you won’t choose me.”

38

Lead Me

Dr. Oliver is already in bed when we get to the house. Logan runs up to get him as Gage settles me at the breakfast table, the usual spot where I pay my medical visits. I’m starting to think of this place less as Gage or Logan’s house, and more like the Oliver free clinic.

“Another infliction?” Dr. Oliver is wearing white and blue striped flannel pajamas and now he’s really starting to feel like my own dad—definitely more of a dad than Tad will ever be.

He pulls off the blood-encrusted tie and glances briefly at the slanted incision.

“I’m going to glue you. I like that better than stitches. Let’s see the hand.”

I raise my other arm.

“It’s not infected, just banged up a bit. Skins healing nicely.” He pulls down my choker to inspect the wound on my neck. “Skyla, you’re incredibly anemic.”

“Put some of my blood back in me.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. Besides, your body is working hard to regenerate, just keep out of trouble.”

Gage looks at me wild-eyed as though that were impossible.

“I will,” I say it with authority. I can believe almost any of my own lies.

Once he finishes pressing my skin back together, he says goodnight and heads upstairs.

Gage helps me over to the family room and onto the navy corduroy couch. I love sitting here, comfortable and warm next to Gage, listening to his steady breathing.

Logan breezes in with a clipboard and wags it in the air before handing it to Gage.

Attached is the crinkled piece of paper I was clutching, complete with bloodied fingerprints.

“What is this?” I’m too far gone with fatigue to read the tiny font, too many letters crammed on one page.

“It’s from Arson Kragger’s office, Attorney at Law,” Logan says that last part drawn out in a sarcastic drawl. “They know you crashed the truck into Kragger’s Hummer, or at least believe you did, and they’re threatening to take legal action against your parents. They’re threatening them with the loss of their home.” Logan taps near the line that reads equity at or below five hundred thousand dollars.

“Are you serious?” My entire body goes numb with shock. “It was Pierce. He said he knew I killed his brother, and if I told, he’d turn me in.”

“You think he messed with things to keep you out of jail?” Gage doesn’t sound convinced.

“That day with Marshall, we went to see Ezrina…she had Holden’s body, she found Celestra DNA. Yeah, I think Pierce might be the key to keeping me out of cell block five.” I stare into the carpet.

“Crap.” Gage pulls me in, warms my shoulder with his hand.

Logan kneels down beside me. He pulls the bloodied paper off the top of the clipboard exposing a list of names, towns, provinces.

“The list you wanted. I did some research and found out where the Celestra that were killed lived.” He flicks his finger at the paper. “Regional leaders.”

“They’re the ones that needed to approve the bloodshed?” I ask.

“Yup.” Logan’s jaw tightens. He doesn’t take his eyes off me, or offer me an out to his bionic stare. There’s something surging here, a distinct emotion pulsating between the two of us, and I’m not quite sure how to read it.

“Give me the regional leader’s name for the Los Angeles council.” I want to nail the bastard who thought it was a good idea to burn my father.

Logan pushes the page back and strums his fingers against the board.

“I’m one step ahead of you.”

It reads, D. Edinger

***

I finally manage to crawl into bed. I don’t bother to take off the shoes or the dress two sizes too small, instead, I greedily close my eyes and start floating off to sleep—glorious sleep. A loud hissing sound erupts, and I flip my light on in a panic only to find Ellis standing in my room.

“I thought you were a Fem. You scared the crap out me!” I snap.

“We have a date.”

“Why would I want to go back with you? Why would I go anywhere with you after you fed me pot-laced brownies?” Honestly, I’d take Ellis on a light drive, but already this has been one freaking long ass day.

“Nobody forced them down your throat.” Ellis gives a low guttural laugh.

People have been forcing a lot of things down my throat lately, like knives, and straws, and fangs, but I guess Ellis is right—the brownies sort of went down voluntarily.

“Come on, we’ll be quick,” he whispers.

“I don’t think I can do it. I’ve had my superpowers revoked.” I try and push him away with my foot.

“What’s the matter?” He gives a critical stare.

“I’m anemic.”

“Let’s try,” he insists.

Ellis and his unsinkable spirit. I shake my head and I look over at Chloe’s diary sitting there, in all of its malevolent splendor.

“OK, Let’s try.” I get out of bed and hold Ellis by the hand.

Maybe if I can somehow get us there, Chloe herself can give me the answers I’m looking for.

***

The night air on Paragon, albeit one-year stale, spears through my dress, turns the chains across my back into icicles.

It all feels rather déjà vu-ish. I don’t know if that’s because we’ve been here for what feels like a gazillion times or if it’s because only a few hours ago homecoming was reprising itself.

“Give me your hand.” I take him by the arm and touch his flesh, not waiting for him to respond. “Say something.” I’m so shocked that I managed to land us here—I’m hoping everything is back in working order. I hone in on him and focus on hearing his thoughts.

Ellis raises his brows in a seductive manner.

“You didn’t hear me.” He rakes his fingers through his hair before taking off.

Ellis goes straight to work. He doesn’t bother drawing me into conversations about his duplicate self, hooking up with some girl, or multiple girls from East.

I walk through the darkened house full of partially inebriated bodies.

Usually, while Ellis gets his stash, I’m cowering in the back staring at Logan while he talks to Carly or watching Gage from a safe distance, in the event he tries to make out with me again—although I wouldn’t really mind.

The fireplace hisses like a whispering lion. The mouth—the opening is enormous, easily a person can fall in, burn just like my father did, like those Celestras.

The family room expands before me and I see her sitting on the couch with her bare legs hanging over the edge, bright red polish on her toes.

“Skyla?” Chloe crinkles her nose in amusement. “How’s it going?” The tiara dangles crooked in her hair.

“Congratulations.” I don’t bother answering her question.

A boisterous crowd rushes in. Chloe’s eyes widen at something behind me, and she spins herself to an upright position.

“What’s going on?” A guy with brown wavy hair and giant bee-stung lips, appears by my side.

“Private conversation.” Chloe gets up and pushes him away.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” His eyes are dull as coal.

“Holden.” She stretches her hand over him.

Shit!

He looks boyish, harmless, and, of all the things I don’t want him to be—nice.

“And who is this mouth-watering piece of ass?” He sneers in my direction.

That’s better. I’m glad he was able to eradicate some of my guilt, not that I’m looking for justification. It was a total accident. Or, at least, I believe it was.

“No one you need to know.” Chloe sinks her hands in his chest. “Get lost. I think Ellis is running low on supplies, maybe you can conduct business and leave us the hell alone.”

Perfect. He’s a dealer, too. Add that to his growing list of charming traits. Not that Ellis has needed his services for a good long while. That’s what I’m for now.

“I must be dead.” He sweeps his eyes over me while circling me slowly. “Because I think I’m looking at an angel.”

Right on both counts. “I’m not from around here,” I say.

Chloe holds up a finger, advising me to be quiet.

“Alright.” He holds his arms out and backs away.

Chloe turns to collect her shoes from off the floor. She bunches up her baby blue gown and it gives the illusion she’s encapsulated in a giant storm cloud. Chloe is her own weather system—a hurricane—somehow I find this plausible.

Holden comes in tight, grabs my wrist and massages the incision his brother inflicted.

“So nice to see you, Skyla.” He gives the slight hint of a laugh. “We must meet like this again.” He pushes his face into mine and presses his lips on the side of my face.

Chloe barrels over and pulls me out toward  the door. I turn around and he’s gone—vanished like smoke.

39

Into the Woods

I follow Chloe outside as the fog breathes over us in cold jagged sighs. My teeth start in on a violent chatter—I’m not sure if it’s because I’m suddenly beyond freezing or the fact I think I just had a formal introduction to Holden Kragger’s ghost.

We round out the side of the fence and drift toward the thicket of trees to the left of the house.

“What are you doing?” I break free from her grasp. I know what happens in these woods, and I know damn well I can’t stop her from dying thanks to my father’s unfortunate demise.

“Are you crazy walking around in there?” Her eyes flash. “You’re going to impress yourself on all those people.” She continues deeper into the forest.

The shadows of the branches fall to the ground like battling swords.

“I wanted to talk about your diary.” My whisper comes out in a series of hisses.

“You didn’t finish it,” she says knowingly.

“I know you loved Gage.”

“Old news.” She shrugs into the dark. “Does he love you?” The question floats up in the air and circles my head like a wreath. There’s a long pause. “I thought so. I guess the million dollar question is, do you love him back?” There’s a hard glint in her eyes.

I can see Chloe a little clearer now that I’ve read her diary. She’s not the kind of person I thought she was, not even close.

“He gave me Nevermore.”

“How clever of you to avoid the question by letting me know you stole someone else from underneath me.”

“You’re not with us anymore.” There’s just not one nice way to say you’re dead.

“I will be.”

I cast a glance into the forest. I wonder if I should tell Chloe that I’m too weak to give anymore blood—that I’m afraid I won’t be able to bring Ellis and me home tonight.

“You said, Lexy Bakova knew how to bind a Fem,” I say.

“So that’s what you want?” Chloe creates a steady stream of fog with her sigh. “I promise, you will never be able to bind a Fem, Skyla.”

“If it’s possible, then I will.”

“She won’t tell. She’ll take it to the grave.” She progresses deeper into the dark, crushing the brush beneath her feet.

“What do the Kragger’s have on you? Why are you letting them do the things they’re doing to you? Did you kill someone?”

She turns and breathes a steady fog of frustration from her lips.

“Turn the page, Skyla.”

“And what did you mean that this was going to change everything?” If she only answered one question, I’d like for it to be this one.

Chloe reaches up and caresses the side of my face with her hand. Her warm fingers tug down slowly against my cheek as if she were trying to pull my skin off.

“I know that you’ll piece it all together. You’re a smart girl and I’m sure you’ll figure things out. You love me right now and that’s all that matters,” she whispers. “Sometimes you have to take the affection others are willing to give you at that precise moment, before they learn the truth about you and revoke it.”

My name echoes in the distance. It’s Ellis.

“I don’t know if I’ll get back,” I say mostly to myself. “I’ve lost too much blood.”

She pulls her dress up and produces a small pocketknife from a pink frilly garter around her thigh. The blade catches a glint of moonlight before she slits her left arm right up the middle. Without warning, she reopens the slit on my wrist—it peels back effortlessly as though it were thinking of reopening anyway. She rubs our arms together hard, creating an uncomfortable friction. It feels unnaturally intimate, obtrusive, horribly invading. A warm rush pushes through me. Something supernatural is happening, I can feel it.

I hear a hiss just beyond the rim of the forest.

“Run, Chloe,” I shout as I head out toward Ellis. “Run!” I scream.

I don’t hear her footsteps behind me.

***

Alone in my bed on Paragon, I’m relieved to hear the rain batter down on my wood-covered window as I shrink beneath the sheets. My arm is covered in dried blood, but miraculously I feel better, stronger—infused. I remember that cut from Chloe’s arm, the one I wear now as my own. I run my finger over the scar that never healed. It was for me, this one.

I flip the light on and pull out Chloe’s diary. Turn the page, she says. So many damn pages to turn and a part of me just wants to go to sleep.

September 7th,

School starts tomorrow. Bleh. Went to the bonfire and made out with Logan like the world was going to end tomorrow. I saw Gage shoot daggers at us from across the way. I hope it burned for him to see me with someone else. I know on some level he must care. There was something in his eyes, although with my luck, it was probably smoke.

Pierce texted me. Today was Emerson’s birthday, would have been anyway. Wish I never knew her—any of them.

OK, so who’s Emerson?

September 9th,

Ellis freaked out. It wouldn’t have been all that bad if he didn’t choose to unleash his tirade in the quad, in front of Gage and Logan. He totally made me look like a royal bitch when he accused me of cheating. Can you believe it? I don’t cheat. I was never with Ellis. You have to be with somebody to cheat.

He pulled me back by the elbow when I tried to flee the scene, told me it was killing him to see me running around with other guys, like there’s some long list of people I’ve been with or something. I think he’s got like this competition thing with Logan. Well, anyway, he lost. But really, he didn’t, I was never his to begin with.

September 12,

I met up with Gage at the mall of all places. He was at the bookstore reading a magazine and I saw that gorgeous onyx hair that puts the color of Nevermore’s feathers to shame. So, of course I stopped in and asked how Nev was doing. We ordered coffee and went out to sit by the fountain out back.

I can hardly breathe. I’ve been bawling ever since I left. I don’t know what happened, but I completely lost it and tried to make him admit to a bunch of stupid shit. I practically begged him to tell me that he wanted me, that he was jealous of the fact I was with Logan of all people, who’s like his freaking brother, but he was relentless.

He said he had a vision of the invisible girl—that he was going to marry her. He thinks he cares about her and that he isn’t really interested in anybody else right now. Right now, as in me I suppose. How could I be so stupid to fall for the one guy on the planet who wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot pole?

So I asked if he ever had any visions about me, and holy shit was I ever sorry! Get this; I DIE. SOON.

Gage said I was like a caterpillar going into a cocoon. Great. I hope I come back as a zombie butterfly and eat his brain for breakfast.

September 17th,

Mad rush to find another pure me. Handed everything I had, over to Holden, and what I didn’t want to give, he took—couldn’t resist anyway. I’ll always have Emerson to thank for that.

September 18th,

Gage came over. He said he had this vision of my attic room. We sat cutting out butterflies all night long and pinned them to the wall. He says I shouldn’t be afraid, that I would be back, stronger, better.

I cried and told him I loved him. I’m such a loser.

So that’s how the butterfly room came to be. It was Gage’s idea. He made the vision happen.

September 19th,

Finished the butterflies tonight with Gage. He made them flutter and come to life for me. He feels horrible about letting me in on my impending doom—AS HE SHOULD! But, I think I’ve found a unique way to punish him. He will never see it coming.

Thanx to the crazy Kraggers I’ve got a plan in motion, one that involves time and space, a death or two, and of course, the ‘butterfly’ room.

September 20th,

Ellis came crawling into my bedroom to ‘talk’.  It’s official, I guess. I have a stalker. He just barged in and sat on my bed like it was no big deal. Said he wanted to hang out a while, see if we’d go on a light drive. I took him to L.A. Couldn’t find Demetri. What a freaking waste of time.

What the heck was Chloe doing in L.A.? And who’s Demetri?

September22nd,

Guess who paid me a visit? The sacred queen herself. Clocked her a good one. If you’re reading this BOO!

Oh yeah, guess who got to pick out the color of Gage and Logan’s trucks? That would be me. Too bad I can’t pick out who I’ll spend the rest of my short-lived life with. Maybe, I’ll spear both their hearts the second time around.

It was me she punched in the face—clocked me. That was the night of my first visit. I’m the sacred queen. Huh.

September 29th,

Major air gap, since the last entry, I know. SO much has happened. I’m losing control of everything.

Sometimes I wonder if I have it all backwards. If I’m really taking revenge out on someone to prove a point or if the future is just playing out the way it should be. One thing’s for sure, I’m determined to change my future and there’s not a damn thing anybody is going to do about it.

40

Gather

Marshall’s community get together in honor of his equestrian school draws the attention of the entire island. The smoky scent of barbeque ignites the air with dreams of summertime, it smells so good—the food alone is reason enough to be here.

“Feeding the masses.” He winks over at me while we walk a decent clip toward the outskirts of his property. “That’s my specialty.”

Miraculously, there’s not a cloud in the sky and the temperature has ratcheted up at least ten degrees. For Paragon, that’s practically a heat wave.

Tad and Mom are fascinated by his estate, and, of course, Mia and Melissa find the horses irresistible. It’s nauseating the way the entire community drools at Marshall’s feet.

“So, I saw Chloe last night, right before she got taken by Fems or Ezrina or Michelle—or whatever the heck happened to her,” I say to Marshall.

“Why do you insist on meddling with the past? You’ll never change the outcome.”

“Can I ask you a question?” I shield my eyes from the sun while looking up at him. “Was she was ordained to die that day?”

“Chloe was at a juncture with destiny.”

“A juncture with destiny,” I whisper, trying to swallow the meaning of his words.

“Your father was ordained—not much of a difference if you ask me. But, I could very well bring him back. It’s a soul for a soul. You could take his place.”

“Me?” Not the answer I was looking for.

“I could immortalize you.”

“Meaning?”

“You die temporarily and I bring you back, then we can proceed with our family. You could have dominion over this world and ours,” Marshall clasps my hand now that we’re alone in the woods.

“This world is my world. I’m not a part of your world and never will be.” I free my fingers from his grip. “And no thanks to the offer. Besides, my dad wants me to be happy.”

“You’d be more than happy with me.” He morphs into Logan just enough for me to see it.

“Stop that. You’re making me uncomfortable.”

We walk along until we hit a small thicket of trees.

“Are you ready to receive your vision?”

“Nope, not going there.” I turn around and see Michelle stalking us from a distance.

“Will the child she’s carrying have dominion?” Maybe he could live out his psychotic fantasies with Michelle of all people.

“No. Any other child of mine is a useless human spawn.”

“You’re going to make a great father,” I exude the necessary sarcastic inflection.

“I will—and your children are the ones who will reap the benefits.”

***

OK, I don’t want to say that Marshall is starting to creep me out just a little bit more than usual, but his whole kiss me MO, coupled with the suggestion I die to marry him and procreate posthumous is a bit unnerving.

Michelle descends on him like a fly, so I rush back and dive into the crowd looking for just about anybody I know, and the first person I know is Logan.

“Skyla.” He actually looks happy to see me. It’s the first time in a long while he doesn’t greet me with a heavy look. “How’s your arm?”

“Gashed it open again, but it was sealed shut when I woke up this morning.” I leave out the gory detail about there being a giant brown scab covering the area. I’m wearing long sleeves that come down to my thumbs, so the gauze strip I wrapped myself wouldn’t be so obvious. I’m ready to ask Dr. Oliver for a bottle of that adhesive he uses to glue me back together so I can set up a do-it-yourself shop in my bathroom.

Logan clenches his teeth, as if considering how I might have gashed it open again.

“I went time traveling with Ellis—to get his stash.” I add that last part, as if now, everything should make perfect sense. Of course it was innocent, albeit illegal, but that’s beside the point.

We walk until we hit the wall of pine trees, and we’re presented with a labyrinth of overgrown trunks.

“Logan?” I run my fingers over his arm in an effort to slow him down. “Um,” I look back to see if Michelle or anyone else saw us ditch into the woods. For all I know, this place is crawling with Counts. “I know you felt like I was cheating on you.”

“I would never say that.” He places his arm gently over my shoulders. “But as much as I don’t like it, I do think you should be with Gage. He’s able to protect you.”

“How can you want that? Doesn’t it kill you that I’m with Gage? That he kisses me?” It would kill me to see someone kissing Logan. A tight knot builds in my throat.

“Yes, it kills me.” There’s a marked strain in his voice. “But I can’t control the facts. The Counts are loose cannons. They want Celestra blood, and they’re not looking too hard for reasons to kill,” he says in a sorrowful whisper.

“We should kill the ones who did this, send a message to other regional leaders weighing the same decisions.” I start to shake just thinking about the Counts in question, Counts just like the ones who destroyed my family.

“Do you really want to kill people?” Logan walks us in between a pair of twin pines, creating the perfect barrier between us and the rest of the world.

“No, but it’s a war. People die in wars. It’s a given.”

“What if they come after someone you love?” he asks, with a sweet depth of concern. “What if you’re responsible for the death of someone close to you? At that point you couldn’t go back and change it, but you could now.”

His words remind me of Chloe’s last entry.

“Do you think we shape the future, or does the future shape us?”

“You mean, are there circumstances steering us toward a predetermined destiny? Yes,” he says, unwavering. “But I think along the way, we’re allowed to make choices, and sometimes we veer off course—badly. I think if we stay on course we’ll be OK in the end.”

“Do you think we’re staying on course? Me with Gage, you with Lexy?”

“You with Gage, yes. As for me, I’m not with Lexy.” He sweeps the floor with a solemn gaze. “She gave me a clue.”

“About binding Fems?” A burst of adrenaline surges through me. “Tell me.”

“She says it has something to do with the stress in your gut.”

“The stress in my gut?” I repeat. “And what did you have to do to extract that pearl of wisdom?” I’m not sure I want to know.

He doesn’t say anything, just examines me with those eyes of burning fire.

“You kissed her.” It comes out a broken whisper. I bite down hard on my lower lip in an effort to hold back tears. A horrible sadness coats me from the inside, heavy as lead.

Logan catches me in a lingering gaze. He doesn’t let up, just lets the tension build until I think my insides are going to explode to the four corners of the island.

He shakes his head just barely. “Didn’t kiss her. I would never do that.”

I blink back the tears that fight to come. He let me think he kissed her just long enough to torment me.

“I let you go, Skyla, because I love you.” His eyes glisten with moisture.

“You want me to let you go?” Maybe that’s what this is all about, he wants me to free his conscious, so the next time Lexy lunges at him he can go for it like nobody’s business.

“I don’t want you to hurt anymore because of me.” Logan doesn’t crack a smile. Instead, he looks at me intently as though there were only one right answer.

I turn and walk out of the forest.

41

If I Leave You Now

Mom and Tad decide the whole family should go on one of Marshall’s self-guided horseback tours—only we’re not capable of guiding ourselves on six-foot high moving pedestals so Marshall agrees to lead the pack. Drake happens to be M.I.A. so of course Mom insists that Gage come along, especially since she’s been having all these weird engagement vibes.

“Disorient Tad’s horse,” I whisper to Marshall as he helps me mount the horse.

“I’m one Oliver away from winning the grand prize. Consider it done.”

He hops on a white pristine mare and trots to the front of our group.

Everything is a game to him. I’m some stupid prize who he thinks will push out babies like a Pez dispenser. Isn’t that right? I shout over at him mentally.

Right? I try again. Marshall? He can’t hear me. Chloe’s blood has brought back my capabilities, kicked-started me like some old engine. I’ll sleep with you tonight if you turn around and wink at me right now! I wait for him, but he doesn’t turn.

Nothing. Ha! I’m back!

I’m so thrilled, I shoot Gage a huge beaming smile.

The coast emerges as we cross the threshold of what feels like rows of never-ending pines. The sky is so crisp, so surreal today. I don’t remember having a single day this beautiful since we’ve been on Paragon. In fact, it reminds me a lot of L.A., well except for the forest meeting the rocky shore, the Sector, and the horses.

I look over at Gage. His eyes shine with pleasure in my direction.

He ticks his head over to me, and his horse veers off the trail. I pull the reins until my horse goes over and follows suit.

“We’ll catch up,” Gage shouts over at Marshall.

Not one of them turns around. We we’re already lagging, barely keeping up at the back of the train.

“They’ll figure it out,” he says.

Gage slides his leg over and gets down. He helps me off my horse and we tether them to a sturdy branch nearby.

“Saw you talking to him,” Gage says picking up my hand gingerly.

I’m not sure which him he’s referring to so I shrug it off. It’s not important at this point anyway.

He steps in front of me and I press into him with a tight hug.

Gage wants me—with everything in him.

I still can’t believe that Logan is breaking up with me for my own good. It sounds wrong. Maybe it’s just some excuse. How do I know for sure that the flame he had with Lexy ever burnt out?

Not Gage. There was nobody else for him, but me. And now here I am. I’m sure I’m nothing like he imagined. I wonder if he had to do it over again if he would.

“I wasn’t worth the wait,” I whisper.

“You were more than worth the wait.” He gives a quick kiss to my forehead. “This is why I didn’t really want you reading the diary. I don’t know what’s in it, but if she recorded things accurately, even semi-accurately…” He lets his words trail off.

“You’re afraid I would see how you waited for me?”

His cheeks fill in with color.

“It makes me love you more.” I tighten my arms around him. Then it hits me like a thunderbolt. It was for that exact reason Logan didn’t want me reading it either—because it would endear me further to Gage.

A filtering sadness ebbs through me, spreads slow like a storm looming on the horizon. I think I know what this means. Chloe’s diary is shaping my feelings for Gage, which, in turn, will shape our future, which, in turn, will make his prophecy come to fruition.

I don’t know if we have any control. I don’t know if Logan was right about that.

Something in me flexes into compliance. I turn and look up at Gage. Those sad watery stones stare back at me. He knows. I can’t hide anything from him.

“I want to be all yours. Help me,” I whisper. I want to say, help me forget about Logan, but I’m not sure I could ever push those words through my vocal chords. What if I never really get over Logan? I don’t like this train of thought—the runaway train, the derailed train, the train gearing up for the big collision.

“I will.” He gives a brief kiss. “We’ll get there. I promise.”

***

Marshall treats us like convicts when we return.

“Would the horse thieves like some cake?” He holds out two small plates with an exaggerated amount of chocolate icing.

I take one and thank him. He deposits the piece for Gage, right on his light blue T-shirt.

“Oh, did that just happen?” Marshall gives a wistful smile. “You’ll have to go home and change immediately. I have a strict no shirts, not allowed policy.” Not for you, Skyla. He bedroom eyes me a moment before handing Gage a napkin and smearing the mess further around his shirt.

“I should go with you,” I offer.

“Nonsense. Your parents are here,” Marshall says, wiping the excess frosting off his fingers. I have yet to make an ass of your stepfather. The horse wouldn’t mind me—she’s a lot of you.

“He’s right, I should stay,” I pull a face at Gage. “My mom would flip out if I took off. It’d be like the equivalent of running away.” I lean up on the balls of my feet and press a kiss into his cheek. It feels real now. Like I’m truly with Gage, not pretending in any arena. “We should go on a date. You know, get to know each other better.” I mean as a couple, but Marshall is leering in on the conversation as if he belongs here.

After several minutes of awkwardness, Gage finally takes off.

“A little sugar and flour is all it takes to get rid of him. And the other one you’re still pining for, proved to be half the challenge.” He smirks, as we walk briskly in Tad and Mom’s direction.

Marshall claps his hands together, and the horses begin to stir in the corral. My entire family has lined up against the fence like they’re waiting for a firing squad. Drake and Brielle have manifested themselves, complete with spikes of hay that stray out oddly from their clothes.

“Who would like to mount a steed bareback?” Marshall calls out. “Tad, you’re the man of the family—why don’t you show them how it’s done.”

Tad doesn’t even protest. He climbs under the bar of the fence and stumbles into the corral unnaturally.

“The silver one,” Marshall instructs.

I recognize that one from the ad. It’s the one I took the pictures on, wearing angel wings.

“You didn’t have me wear the wings.” I’m so thankful, I could actually hug Marshall for letting me off the hook.

“You will,” it speeds out the side of his mouth. Marshall bows into Tad as if giving him the go ahead to attempt this moronic feat.

It takes three tries before he hikes his way up the horse, using its mane to propel himself over the top.

“Nice job!” Mom explodes in both laughter and clapping. Her red hair whips in the breeze, and she looks about ten years younger this day. “Third time’s a charm!”

The horse jerks a few times before taking off in a full throttle canter throughout the corral. Tad lets out a series of grunts and screams as he latches onto the mane with a death grip.

You approve? Marshall casts a sideways glance at me.

“Very much so.” I don’t take my eyes off Tad. I want to remember him this way, feeble, with all of the potential in the world of breaking his neck.

It gets better.

Marshall whistles and the horse kicks up on its heels, nearly dislodging Tad in the process. It strides back over, with Tad lying low against its back, frozen with fear.

“Now let’s see the dismount!” Marshall calls out.

Tad pulls his leg over the side and slips down under the horse’s body landing with a thump on the ground. The back of his head bounces hard before settling.

“Oh my gosh!” My mother gasps throwing her hands up over her face.

“Are you able to breathe?” Marshall calls out rather calm.

A horrid groan emits from Tad.

Before we can react, or my mother can slip into hysterics, it sounds as though a water faucet is going off.

“Oh my freaking gosh!” Melissa screams.

The horse begins to urinate within inches of Tad’s face. It’s the splash factor that makes this horrifically hysterical. The fact that muddied urine is getting splattered all over his face and neck is priceless.

I shoot a quick look over to Marshall.

I expect full payment tomorrow evening. Your sisters have riding lessons. I suspect it’s a good time to go over mathematical equations. He slides into a lazy grin. I’ll have the wings ready. We can discuss your destiny with Logan and Gage. Better yet, I’ll show you.

42

Show, Don’t Tell

In the morning, before school, I catch a snippet of Chloe’s diary.

October 1st,

Logan took me to the movies and we just sat in his truck afterwards staring out at Devil’s Peak. He kept asking what was wrong. I finally just told him I was tired. I’m so glad Gage didn’t tell him I was dying. I really want the rest of my life to be normal, well, as normal as it can be.

I saw the crazy redheaded wench again outside of the student parking lot. I was alone and it was just getting dark. I swear to God she came from nowhere. She had a noose in her hand and she tried to lasso me with it. I screamed bloody murder, got in my car and took off. I saw her laughing in the rear view mirror then she disappeared. Is it possible that Ms. Richards’ great, great grandmother was a Fem?

October 5th,

I did it. I went to Ms. Richards house Saturday morning and told her I wanted to talk to her. She sat me on the porch and started up with all that angel crap again. I felt like shaking her from across the table. All I really wanted was info on her demonic family, not to debate whether the Nephilim were real or myth. I felt like saying, do I look like a freaking myth to you? Anyway, I casually asked her about her mom and then her great, great grandmother. I asked what kind of person she was. Ms. Richards said that she heard she was a cold woman and clammed up real fast. Then I asked how she died, and Ms. Richards said the weirdest thing. She said she walked into the woods one day and never came out. They never found her body.

I told Ms. Richards that I wasn’t feeling so good just before I puked in the bushes.

It’s safe to say, I’m more than a little freaked out.

***

After a long day of school and cheer practice, mom drops Mia, Melissa, and me off at Marshall’s house. The inside holds the hypnotic scent of fresh baked bread. I haven’t eaten since lunch and I’m half starved, but I’d rather let my stomach digest itself than ask Marshall for food.

He leads Mia and Melissa out back and hands them off to a riding instructor named Julia. She sports a choppy blonde bob and a youthful face even though she’s probably in her thirties. Already there are five or six girls riding in the ring with a few other assistants.

I meander over to the black grand piano that sits majestically near the window overlooking the sweeping grounds. A rose garden comes to life just beyond the glass. In this sleepy haze, they show off their colors of blood red and fuchsia, loud as a siren.

My fingers migrate over the keys. It’s been so long since I’ve taken piano lessons. Fifth grade feels like a million years ago, a whole other lifetime. I practiced Pachelbel’s Cannon until my fingers ached, until they petrified from the effort. Of course, I called it Taco Bell cannon so I could remember the name.

I start in, plucking at the keys, missing a few until the piece crawls to life.

Marshall plugs in an amplifier next to me and it goes off like a horn. He picks up a shiny white electric guitar and starts to play along.

He starts in slow, pulls out the chords as though each one were the most important. He picks up the tempo and I stop dawdling at the piano to listen. Marshall destroys the piece completely, in every good way. He is a rock god on the electric guitar and his version of this primeval piece, has the ability to grab you by the throat and make you listen with jaw-dropping intensity.

About five minutes later, he places the guitar down carefully and motions me over.

“Let’s take a walk,” he says, leading me to the back of the property.

“That was amazing! You’re a freaking rock star or something.”

“I am rather advanced with stringed instruments.” His face brims with pride.

It’s cold outside. I’m still wearing my cheer uniform and, of course, forgot a jacket. The cheer sweater is more or less a joke, skin tight and cutoff above the stomach.

“I’ve got something for you in the barn.”

“So, I’ve been wondering,” I say as we walk along, “can people change the future?”

“It’s a malformed question. Sharpen your focus and feed me the content one more time.”

“Well,” I try to keep up with him. “If you show me a vision, for example, and say I find myself in that predicament, could I alter what I’d seen in the vision from happening?”

“What did you see, Skyla?” He looks puzzled. “You’re beginning to frustrate me. If anything, earth is an exercise in patience—you qualify as one of the chief reasons.”

“Gage says I’m going to marry him.”

“And you find this stressful because you would rather be with me. Easily remedied.” He blinks a smile as he leads us into the barn. It’s still pretty cold in here, although the harsh chill has been removed and replaced with the distinct smell of horse crap. “What do you want me to change for you?”

I pull my sleeve up over my face and breathe into it.

“You don’t need to change anything for me,” I tell him. “I’ll do the changing.”

“You don’t want to marry Gage?” He pauses, dropping his mouth open in a spasm of sarcasm.

“I do.” The words fly out and surprise me. “But, right now I have feelings for Logan, too, and I’m plagued with guilt over this whole thing.”

“I thought you said he left you? Doesn’t that solve the problem? Tell your emotions to leave the party. Only heartache comes from that. Never hang around where you’re not wanted.”

Alright, so it’s obviously best I drop this whole thing. I’m not into analyzing my love life with Marshall anyway.

It’s time for me to ease into Gage and get over Logan. Then, when the faction war ends, if I haven’t embedded my feelings into Gage completely, I can maybe go out with Logan just to see if anything’s still there, that is, if he hasn’t embedded himself into Lexy. This whole thing is turning into a pile of relational crap.

“It’s just such a mess,” I say it soft, mostly to myself.

He pulls the same dirty wings he had me wear for the photo shoot last month, out from behind some equipment. One by one, he helps hoist them onto my back, secured with a metallic brace that hooks over my shoulders. They’re heavy—beyond heavy, and for the first time, I see they have the slightest blue tint in them.

“Why the costume? Halloween was over five minutes ago.”

He strokes his chin with his finger, examines me as though I were missing something.

“Halo?” I ask, half serious.

“Don’t be a child. It’s simply an effect caused by the inner luminescence we’re known to give off. Come.” He walks further into the barn and pulls open the door to a huge empty stall.

I walk in without hesitating. It’s insane really—playing dress up with my Algebra Two teacher while he pens me in like an animal.

He shuts the door creating a rather strange partition between us and the rest of the world.

“What’s going on?”

“I wanted to see you like this. You’re the most exquisite creature on earth, Skyla.” He gives a thoughtful nod. “This is the part where you reciprocate.” He looks dejected as though he knows it’s not possible.

“You are the strangest creature on earth.” And hot as hell, but I leave that part out.

“I have a vision that you can test out your theory with.” He takes a bold step forward and burrows into me with a heated stare.

“I don’t have a theory.” Never said I had a theory, and suddenly I’m feeling caged in like an overgrown bird. Is this the part where I call Nev?

“You need a foundation in which to test these thoughts that plague you.” He takes another step forward and runs his open palm along the rim of my left wing. It sends a sizzle of excitation coursing through my veins.

“What’s this constant flow of lightning?” I try to keep my lips from shivering in rhythm to the vibrations.

“Lightning is a good way to put it—passion is another. You felt it when I took you to my home—our home,” he adds.

Marshall focuses intently, bears into me with his entire soul—I can feel him pouring into me. His features meld ever so slightly, and he begins to look like Logan’s twin again.

“Do you prefer me this way? I don’t mind one bit.” He gives a wide vexing grin.

“Stop that,” I say, but it’s too late. I’m already hypnotized. He picks up my hands and takes another step forward.

I have to keep reminding myself this isn’t Logan. He’ll never be Logan no matter how hard he tries.

“Skyla,” he imitates Logan’s husky tone with highlighted precision.

I exhale a lungful of air that I didn’t realize I was holding. Logan gives a sad smile, the same melancholy look that Gage gave off for so long—still does. We exchange our sorrowful smiles. Everything in me knows this isn’t Logan, everything in me knows it’s not right to play with the fire that is Marshall. But how will I ever know if the future is immovable, if I don’t test it? How will I ever know if I should abandon all fruitless efforts and sever the chords that lasso Logan and me together like a noose on both ends?

Logan comes in and kisses me, deep, masterful kisses that match my passion and intensity. It’s that electrical impulse that flies through me, that reminds me this is Marshall. It both detracts and rockets this experience to its zenith, leaves me lingering far too long and far too willing.

A scene emerges—Gage and me, alone in the butterfly room. He plucks one of the paper butterflies off the wall and blows it at me. It energizes and comes to life with its bright blue paper wings, fragile as bougainvillea petals.

Marshall and me are so immersed in our moment, with his arms dropping ever so slowly below my waist, that I ignore the squeak of the stall door opening, chalk it up to the wind, or Holden’s ghost.

A shrill scream penetrates the air. It saws through the moment with its serrated buzzing.

I look over and see Mia with her hands clamped over her mouth. Her eyes are locked in fear as she staggers backward and runs away fast.

There was the kill switch—the sharp knife that could split my indecisiveness to ever act on my lust again. It was always reality that ended those feelings in me for Marshall.

I push into Marshall’s chest with violent force. He’s completely himself again and that’s precisely what Mia saw.

“You are ruining my life!” I thunder in his face.

He pulls the wings off me one at a time with no affect whatsoever.

“You don’t even care that she saw us.” I’m exasperated by his lack of responsiveness.

“She’ll get used to it. In the meantime, threaten her. Find something to lord over her. That’s what sisters do.” He says it like it’s some universal truth.

“You looked like Logan to seduce me.”

“He’s your weakness—don’t blame me for the circumstances.” He blinks over at me. “I’ll play dirty if I have to.” The words slit through the air.

I’m sick of Marshall and his head games. It was one thing when Mia wasn’t dragged into it, but now this has blown up into a huge freaking disaster. Not only is he my teacher, but I happen to have a boyfriend. What worse example could I possibly be to her?

An explosion of anger rips through me. I grab him by the collar and yank him in close.

“You are fucking with the wrong person.” I grit the words out in pieces.

He steps back and dusts me off with one swift stroke.

His eyes flare up a vivid glowing copper. He seethes as though I had somehow finally crossed the line.

“So are you,” he spits it out with venom—then disappears.

43

Damage

I try to calm Mia down as we wait for Mom to pick us up. I have no idea where the hell Marshall went, but I make myself at home in his living room in an effort to try to quell my sister’s hysterics.

Melissa strides into the room. “What happened?” She’s alarmed by Mia’s blotchy red face, her convulsive hiccupping.

“She fell off a horse,” I say it so quickly, I don’t have time to process the lie.

“Did not.” Mia glares over at me. She goes to open her mouth then shuts it abruptly. “I tripped.” She cuts me a hard look.

I mouth a thank you as Melissa looks out the front window.

“Your mom is here.” She opens the front door and heads on out. Mia speeds out right behind her, leaving me alone in Marshall’s living room.

The dagger above the fireplace beckons me. I plan on paying a visit soon to the regional leaders with Gage. I know Logan would never go if I asked. He’s too locked up in altruistic illusions just like the rest of them.

I reach up with my left hand and pull it down from the wall. If I took this, then both Gage and me would be well protected. It’s ironic that I’m cradling it with my Chloe arm. It was Marshall who had Ezrina hack off my arm for stealing a butter knife. A harsh reminder of what it could mean if I took this from him too. He did say it was special issue.

I drop it in my backpack and bolt outside. I don’t bother shutting the front door. Maybe he’ll think someone else might have taken it? But deep down I know he’ll trace it’s absence straight back to me.

Of course, there will be hell to pay.

***

That night I waste no time and text both Logan and Gage to come to the butterfly room. As soon as I get home, I research the people on Logan’s list. I print out a detailed map of the addressees in which the cowards choose to hide themselves.

“What did you need the knife for?” Gage asks trying to pluck a blue butterfly off the wall as he says it.

I pull down his hands. I’m more than curious to see if I can change Marshall’s vision, although everything in me says I can’t. Logan hasn’t arrived yet, so it’s just the two of us.

“I took one from Mr. Dudley’s house. I want to see if they’re the same.” I produce the dagger from behind me.

“You took it?” His eyes ignite with horror. “Are you insane?”

I pull the knife Gage brought from out of the sheath.

“Look at this.” A small round symbol of a hand is embossed into the top of the handle. I press it with intention just like Marshall said, and it glows a soft shade of blue.

“What’s going on?” He scoots over toward me, careful not to touch the dagger.

“It’s some otherworldly thing. Marshall said these were special issue.” I place it on the floor, and it dies back down. “It fries a person from the inside, almost instant death, just one quick incision.”

“You really want to do this?”

“I am doing this.” I pull the clipboard toward me again. “And this person?” I point over to the name, D. Edinger. “He’s last.” I breathe the words out with suspended anger. “I’ll cut my teeth on the others and bring my game by the time I get to him.”

“Where’s Logan?” I’m not all that surprised he hasn’t bothered to show up yet.

“Don’t know.” Gage examines me carefully as though he were assessing my sanity.

“He’s not coming.” I try to mask the sadness in my voice.

He doesn’t care about me anymore. It’s obvious the faction war means nothing to him.

I pull out the knife I stole from Marshall and place it on my lap. I fold the addresses of the regional leaders and tuck them into my pocket.

I lean forward and give him a succulent kiss.

“Take me to Barcelona, Gage.”

***

The morning sun warms our backs as Gage and I appear near a bus station behind a group of trees. We secure our weapons in the back of our jeans and head out toward an open marketplace. I don’t know how teleportation works or how he can control where we land, but I’m afraid to ask. As long as I don’t have the details, I won’t have the fear of ending up in some random men’s restroom, looming over my head.

“Logan told me, a while back, that if you kill someone in a faction war you’re exempt.” I look up at Gage hopeful. “You won’t get caught, you won’t go to prison.” It’s the last one that terrifies me.

“Yes, the factions have something in place.” He shakes his head. “But the emotional consequences—are you ready for those?”

The brilliant blue waters of the Mediterranean jump up behind him and the color of his eyes spring out at me in concert with the sea. Gage is perfectly beautiful in this light. My heart skips thinking about how completely he loves me—how I already have everything I’m looking for with someone, right here in front of me.

“I’m going to do this for all the families like mine. I wish someone would have done this for me. If this Edinger person were stopped before he authorized the killing of my dad, then I wouldn’t have to do this. They forced my hand. If I let these Counts off the hook, I let off the person who killed my family as well.” And they did kill my family. Tad will never be able to replace what we had before him.

Gage takes us up a steep cobbled path that leads to an ancient looking dwelling made of stone. A gnarled wood frame creates an ornate entry. Large white billowing sheets hang on a laundry line, barricading us from the view of the bustling street full of patrons at the farmers market across the way.

Dominic Savedra lives up on the second floor according to my paperwork. I walk boldly up the steps with Gage tucked close behind and give a power knock on the door. We give it a few minutes before walking downstairs and pounding on the main entry.

A beautiful woman with skin the color of cinnamon emerges.

“Do you know where we can find Dominic?” I point upstairs.

“Working.” She says in broken English. She flicks a finger just past the farmers market.

We cross the street in haste. I don’t know if we’re going to find him. The fact this is all happening in real time, and that we have school in the morning, is starting to make me feel like we’re sort of up a creek. Just as I’m about to question a vendor picking through his lot of green peppers, Gage nudges me.

He points over to a sign that reads Dominic Savedra attorney at law in plain English right beneath the Spanish rendition.

I rush up the steps and burst into the office.

“Dominic?” I ask the petite secretary filing her nails. She picks up the phone, but I don’t wait for her permission. Instead, adrenaline propels me—cheers me on to complete this very first mission on the war against the Counts.

I burst into the back room and find a heavyset man reclined at his desk, staring off at the television mounted on the wall.

“Dominic Savedra?” I ask a little too loud.

“Yes.” He sits up at attention, spreading his fingers flat across the desk.

“Are you a Count?” I ask stupidly.

Gage doesn’t hesitate. He plunges his knife in through Dominic Savedra’s hand, deep and settled, the way Holden pinned me in the forest. The blue illumination from the dagger quickens through the man’s body. And with that, he slumps over onto his desk.

It was the first Count causality in the civil war evoked in my name, and it was Gage who killed for me.

44

Love Like Ours

Venice, Geneva, Cape Town, Taipei, Prague, Tonga, Perth, Dublin, New York City, Cleveland, we hit them all in just one night. There were five more cities we couldn’t get to. Five regional leaders who get to see tomorrow because Gage and I were staring down the barrel of first period.

In the morning, Gage picks me up, and we head out to school without saying two words. There’s a strangled tension between us as though we were both somehow hoping it were all a bad blood-soaked dream.

A dauntless charcoal cloud stretches across the breadth and width of Paragon.

At school—we move around stiff as robots. It’s not until second period that I realize for the first time how much bloodshed we are suddenly responsible for—stunned that I let Gage kill for me. It was Gage who wanted the blood on his hands and he did it for me.

It all feels surreal, too heavy to process correctly. I want to run to Dr. Booth and tell him what a mess I’ve made of everything—how I’ve dragged Gage in, yet again.

“Ms. Messenger, can I see you a moment?” Marshall asks with a forced smile. He instructs the students to go over their homework before leading me out into the hall and securing the door behind him.

“Do you love your limbs?” There’s a great intensity in him I haven’t seen before.

“Yes,” I manage to squeak out.

“Do you love your life?” His eyes sweep up and down over my person.

“Yes,” my voice is hoarse from being up all night.

“You’re covered in blood and have no alliance with me whatsoever.”

“I think I need you.” I let my gaze fall to the floor. I’ve done something huge, something horrible, and now I’m going to pay for it. Maybe Logan was right, maybe there was too much to lose going off halfcocked and massacring almost a dozen Counts.

He lifts my chin with his finger. “You’ve proven yourself a noble warrior, Skyla.” He produces a dry smile.

“I changed the future,” I say. “The vision never happened.” All it took was for me to bat Gage’s hand away from the butterfly. It never animated and floated up to the ceiling in a trail of sapphire glory.

“Believe what you like. Are you interested in knowing what the payment for stealing my dagger is?”

“What?” I’m sure it has something to do with spending the rest of my days in Sectorville.

“Why don’t I show you?” He pulls me in by the face and indulges in a wild, uninhibited kiss as I try halfheartedly to push him away.

A picture emerges of Mia and Melissa laughing in a crowded room. Mia jumps from off a table and falls into Tad’s waiting arms, Melissa does the same. My mother lingers beside them, with Drake and Brielle at their sides.

Table diving? That’s what’s going to happen?

I pull away breathless.

“I don’t get it.” I struggle to read his expression. “Is it because I wasn’t there—in the vision? Is that what it was about?”

“You’ll know when the time comes. Just rest assured it creates a barrier between the lot of you—an impenetrable chasm.”

“I’m going to die.” My hand comes up to my throat. Marshall is going to remove me from the planet because I stole his dagger. “The chasm is death, isn’t it?”

He drills into me with his stare, unwavering—hard as nails. “It will feel like death. Most certainly.”

***

After cheer, Gage gives me a ride to my routine mental exam.

Dr. Booth nurses his coffee, cradles it with both hands, never taking his eyes off me.

“So Logan left you.” He reiterates after my lengthy explanation of how it all went down—Marshall with his foresight into the future, by way of his tongue.

I don’t nod, or blink—just wait for something profound to come from his lips letting me know this will all work itself out. I want to hear him say that maybe Logan is the love of my life, and that in the end, somehow, it will be OK.

“Fate seems to favor Gage.” He indulges in a quick sip. “He knows you’ll marry.” He shrugs as if to say there is nothing here to mourn, move on, be done with it. Dr. Booth is a Levatio, he shares the gift of knowing—he understands the finality of it all. “And the body count?” He asks as an afterthought.

“I’d rather not say.” I lack the proper enthusiasm to own up to the carnage I’m responsible for.

His head tilts as he stares pensively at me. “You will pay for this Skyla. I’m sorry.”

“Everyone has to pay for what they’ve done, that’s why I did it.”

Dr. Booth considers this, while pinching at his chin. “Slow steps—you don’t run into a war.” He folds his hands and pushes out a complacent smile. “You might find the thick of the battle a little too long, a little too painful. Better to assess that now before there’s no turning back.” His eyes rove all over my face as if memorizing it one last time. “There’s no turning back now, is there?”

I shake my head.

No turning back.

***

That night, I curl up with Chloe’s diary while waiting for Gage in the butterfly room.

October 11th,

It kills me to see Gage in the quad, Gage on the field, Gage in my biology class, and have to pretend that I’m in love with Logan. I thought by now he’d go insane. I thought maybe because he knows I’m going to die he’d have pity on me and maybe spare one heartfelt kiss. I can’t stand to see his face in the halls at school.

Maybe that’s what’s going to do me in? Maybe I’ll die of a broken heart.

October 13th,

I let Logan in through the butterfly room and lured him into my bed. I know for a fact that he and Gage talk about me because Logan mentioned he doesn’t keep anything from Gage. He said he’s his brother in every way. So, brilliant me, attacked him. Logan was defenseless to my womanly wiles. He was easier to take down than I could have ever imagined.

Invisible idiot visited again. Hi you!

Idiot? Gee thanks.

My stomach turns at the thought of Chloe with Logan—using him like that. Although a selfish part of me feels relieved she didn’t love him. I wish she didn’t love Gage so damn much either.

***

Gage shows up in the butterfly room near midnight. I’m beyond exhausted, so when he snatches a butterfly off the wall, and it takes flight in a quiet blue spiral up to the ceiling I don’t have the energy to try to change it. Instead, I find a strange comfort in the very secure nature of not being able to alter the future.

“We were destined to kill those men,” I speak it softy to him. I think the two of us are going to need Dr. Booth’s services for years, psychotherapy, and at least a dozen shock treatments to get over the trauma of ending near a dozen lives. Not to mention we don’t know what the fallout will be, but we do know it’s coming—consequences that will strike like lightning. This is the storm of our own making. It’s going to touch down in our lives and inevitably burn something to the ground—we just have no idea what that might be.

“Come here.” He pulls me over. I wrap myself around him completely with my arms and legs around his person as though he were a tree trunk.

I start in with slow measured kisses, then, something inside me gives. It submerges me in the knowledge that Gage will marry me one day. It’s a slow build up that pushes me forward in a lust filled haste—Gage, who waited for me, who took me to the Counts to avenge Celestra blood, who ultimately killed for me.

His breathing becomes erratic as he gently lays me down on the floor. I shred the buttons off my blouse in an effort to tear it open—lift his shirt up over his head to feel his bare flesh against mine. It feels magical like this with Gage. Like it was always meant to be.

The overhead latch to the butterfly room bursts open and the hard thump of tennis shoes lands just shy of our heads.

“Whoa!” A voice shouts from above.

Freaking Ellis.

I pluck Gage’s T-shirt from off the floor and hold it over my bra. For a dreadful second, I thought it might be Logan—believed it with all of my heart. I think I wanted it to be.

“What?” I hiss perturbed.

“Counts had an emergency faction meeting tonight.”

“Are they coming after me?” Everything in me loosens with fear.

“They’re coming after all of you.”

***

The next morning before school, I sneak in a few more entries from Chloe’s diary.

October 15th,

Went to Emerson’s grave. I bought a dozen white roses with the money I took from Mom’s purse and placed them in a vase buried in the ground. I like it out there in the cemetery. It’s peaceful, so quiet.

I tried to imagine how I might look in one of those long wooden boxes Dr. Oliver has on display. Logan gave me the grand tour today. He kept making jokes about how the bodies are laid in that steel bathtub and that if people knew what they did to you in one of those, they’d rethink this whole dying thing, but I didn’t laugh. It took everything in me not to run out of there screaming.

I ran my fingers across Emerson’s name carved into the cold black granite until my fingers went numb. If I wasn’t so chicken shit I’d go back in time and tell her I was sorry, but I’m not sure I really am.

October 16th,

Holden was a total asshole on the phone today. What else is new?

Anyway, at school, Gage didn’t even look remotely pissed during fourth period, so I invited Logan over for a repeat performance. When we were done, I asked Logan if he talked to Gage about us. He got all weird on me and started asking questions, wondering if I was with him just to make Gage jealous or something. I never did say Logan was stupid. Of course, I denied it. Besides, who wouldn’t want to be with the second hottest guy at West? Plus, it pisses Lexy and Michelle off. Just watching them squirm makes it all worthwhile.

***

A storm rages outside the hallowed halls of West Paragon High. The electricity flutters in rhythm, as the thunder rattles throughout the science building like a thousand angry skeletons. Logan sent me a text asking me to meet him under the stairwell at 1:20.

I get a hall pass and leave without telling Gage where I’m headed. After our heated hormonal exchange last night, I know it would break his heart even if it were a purely platonic meeting, which I’m almost sure it will be. But a small aching part of me is hoping for something more—I’m beginning to hate that part of me.

I don’t see Logan. He’s a no show again, just like the other night.

The door to the janitorial supply closet is open, and I hear a whisper. I lean in to check it out.

I’m yanked in violently and shoved to the back, knocking over a shelf of cleaning supplies in the process.

I turn around in time to see the back of a man in a dull green jumpsuit securing a metal chain between the doorknob and a nail pegged to the wall.

He turns and looks down at me with a strange blank expression.

It’s the boy from the party—Holden.

“You’re not real,” I breathe out the words in a panic.

“I’m very real.” He knocks over a row of paint cans and flips over a tray of tools as the room explodes in a wild cacophony of bangs and whimpers. “I’m so fucking real!” He screams, pulling at his arm right below the shoulder and twisting violently until a circle of liquid darkens the fabric. He yanks off his arm and starts wielding it around like a baseball bat, forcing me to whittle myself in the corner.

I’m so frightened I can’t breathe. My muscles do their best rendition of rigor mortis, and my brain is completely unable to come up with a plan. Fems die then disappear. How do I get rid of a ghost?

“What do you want?” I shout over his disruptive, one-armed tantrum.

“What do I want?” He thrashes his bludgeoned limb to the floor and charges at me. “I want my life back!” He explodes the words over me in one hot putrid breath.

I couldn’t save my father no matter how hard I tried. Maybe it was somehow ordained for me to kill Holden that night? I can’t do this, and everything in me knows it as fact. So I do the only thing I can do. Lie.

“I’ll do it. I know a Sector.” My breathing quickens. “I can time travel…”

“I know a Sector, I can time travel,” he mimics, making me sound like a whiny toddler.

“Make shit happen!” His voice booms louder than any human voice possible. He reaches up and grips his face until the flesh rips right off in a slow viscous pull. All that remains, is a wash of blood over muscle—his eyes stare back at me bulging and round as the tissue around his lips pull into a clown-like grimace.

I retch at the sight. The stench sends a fresh rise of vomit shooting up the back of my throat.

The room starts in on a violent rattle, causing a few stray cans to fall from the shelving unit behind us.

A loud pop explodes overhead and the lights go out.

Shit!

My skin starts to pulsate as though one hundred hands have clamped over me at once.

“Having fun yet?” Holden emits a deep guttural laugh as a hand crawls up the back of my shirt.

I want to die. I’ve never been sure of anything, like I am of this. I’d rather have Pierce with his neatly covered flesh sucking the lifeblood out of me than have anything to do with his brother the bloody ghost.

A scream gets locked in my throat.

I can’t think straight. His fingers cinch up my hair. I scream for real this time until it feels like the world could shatter from the sound of it.

A wild panic seizes me as I snatch at the counter. I grab a hold of a small metal cylinder and start thrashing him with it as he struggles to fully seize me.

The door thumps in jags. It opens in one energized burst. I look up at a figure lost in the shadows.

A wild spasm takes place beneath me as Holden bucks and writhes. His fingers claw at me—run right through my chest as he begins to evaporate, slow as smoke.

It’s Logan.

He lifts me into his arms and takes me underneath the stairwell.

“It was Holden,” I say out of breath.

“Are you OK?” He pants.

“I think so.”

I take in his clean scent—try to memorize the flex of his muscle as I run my hand over it, solid, like skin over steel.

“I didn’t get your text last night,” he says. “Left my phone in the car. I’m sorry. Gage told me what happened.” He studies me a moment with intense anguish.

“Gage was there.” I try to shrug it off like it’s no big deal.

“I’ll be there next time and every other time after that.”

“Why?” Really, I want an answer.

He brushes the stray hair away from my eyes.

“Because I’m the one who will always love you, even if I can never have you.”

45

Rebel, Rebel

Friday morning, I head downstairs overwhelmed by the fact I’m the root of pain for dozens of people in the world. Those Counts we killed had families, and just knowing Brielle, Nat and Ellis—I can tell that not all Counts are out to get me. The fact that some or all of those Counts might have had children makes me seriously question my actions. Logan was right I should have thought things through. Logan is always right and somehow this more than slightly pisses me off.

“Ready for the field trip?” My mother swipes a dishtowel into a glass, then holds it up to the light.

“Oh right.” The away game is tonight. After fifth, we’re all getting shuttled to the ferry and heading to the mainland.

Drake comes in and sits at the bar looking rather morose over the fact he won’t be joining me.

Tad rattles his paper. It’s become his way of getting our attention just before something moronic flies from his mouth. Normal people would clear their throats, but then again Tad is not normal so it makes perfect sense. Also, he apparently never got the memo that newspapers have gone the way of the VCR. I’m sure the news he’s reading is as stale as his breath.

“The football team going?” He peppers his voice with concern as though the football team going to a football game is cause for alarm.

“It’s a football game, so it sort of makes sense.” I pull the milk from the fridge and set it on the counter.

Drake’s back vibrates as he gives a silent laugh.

“Skyla,” my mother groans. “Does everything that comes from your lips have to be drenched with such sarcasm? We’re starting to feel attacked.” She locks her fists high on her hips.

She’s feeling attacked? I’m feeling attacked. Of course, I can’t voice that, or I’ll get shipped away to an all girls prison, or the psych ward, or the graveyard—all of the above in quick succession.

“I’m concerned, Skyla.” Tad ambles over next to Mom with his arms crossed tight. They both wear the same irrevocably pissed expressions.

“What’s there to be concerned about? We’ll be back Saturday.”

“The school has you all checking into the same hotel,” he says, laced with suspicion, as if suddenly I’m responsible for travel arrangements.

“Yeah, so? Brielle, Nat, and Kate are sharing a room with me. Boys and girls are on different floors.” I get a bowl out of the pantry like it’s no big deal. Oddly, I haven’t given the away game much thought, but now that they mention it, I think it’s going to be pretty damn exciting.

“There’s always the elevator,” Drake says through a mouth full of cereal.

“That’s right.” Tad is quick to agree. “Gage will undoubtedly be there. Are the two of you?” He conjoins his forefingers then separates them.

“I gave her permission to keep seeing Gage.” My mother sighs into her words as though she were knowingly opening a Pandora’s box of grief.

“Oh really?” Tad’s voice hits its upper register. “Well at least we’ll know who to thank when there’s a crib in her room nine months down the road.”

My mouth falls open at the accusation.

“Skyla is not having sex,” Mom says with a reserved sense of calm. “We’ve already had this conversation.”

Mia and Melissa walk in on cue and take seats on either side of Drake.

“And you know this for a fact, because?” He shouts. “Lizbeth, she routinely lies to us. It’s just who she is.”

It’s who she is? He makes it sound like lying is embedded in my genetic code, or its some pathological condition I’ve contracted.

“And what about the rest of the kids on this trip?” He directs the question over to me. “Do they drink or drug?”

A laugh gets caught in my throat. Before I can wrap my head around his stupid phraseology, Mom steps between us.

“Relax,” her voice is tethered to a false sense of calm. “The email said there were going to be three chaperones. It’s all very well supervised.”

I happen to know Marshall is one of them, Ms. Richards and the coach, the other two. Marshall is practically useless, more of a liability than anything else.

“Oh three?” He balks at her. “So three people are going to control fifty or so hormonal teens? They’ll probably tie them up and throw them overboard, soon as they hit open waters. Good luck with the delusion that everything is going to be OK with her.” He storms out of the room leaving a void of silence in his wake.

My mother spins around with an unexpected look of glee in her eyes. “So! Somebody’s birthday is right around the corner.” She sings the last word.

“Are you serious?” I hiss. She’s freaking insane. “You just let him treat me like I’m some sort of juvenile delinquent who drinks and drugs and plans on having sex with Gage tonight.” I pause in reflection. I did get drunk that one time, and I sort of did engorge myself on pot-laced brownies. I’ve tried at least twice to sleep with Gage… hey? Maybe Tad’s a psychic?

I shake my head.

“Forget my birthday.” I abandon the milk on the counter and race upstairs.

***

I try to remember my family, the way it was before my dad died. I don’t ever recall a single argument rooted in my questionable hormonal behavior, for sure no conversations about drugs or alcohol in context with me.

I pull out my duffel bag and throw in a pair of jeans, a sweater for tomorrow, and slide my makeup off my desk and into the bag with a clean sweep of my arm.

There’s a light knock at the door before Mia lets herself in and closes it behind her.

“Hey, Skyla.” She says my name in two equal parts, never a good sign.

“What’s up?” I try not to show any signs of fear as I prepare to be blackmailed into oblivion.

She rolls backward onto the bed. Her long pale legs almost reach the top of my canopy.

“The bathroom was taken so I had to use yours this morning.”

“Oh, that’s fine. You’re welcome anytime.” I get up and snatch Chloe’s diary off the nightstand and stuff it deep into my bag before she gets any funny ideas.

“I wasn’t really snooping or anything, but I dropped my phone in your trashcan, and while I was fishing it out,” she pauses to sit up and pluck something from her pocket, “I found this.” She wands a little pink stick over at me like I should know what it is.

I snatch it out of her hands and examine it.

“What’s this?” I think I know. Looks like a pregnancy test. Inside the urine stained window, there’s a red sign that reads positive. “It’s not mine.”

“You play dumb so well.” She rocks off the bed and jumps in front of me. “So whose baby is it? Is it that teacher’s? I guess it could belong to Gage or even that other guy you were seeing when first we got here.” She itemizes the possibilities on her fingertips.

I stare out at the wall. “Get a grip Mia, it’s not mine. It’s obviously Mom’s. She probably wants to surprise Tad or something, so she took it in my bathroom.”

Mom walks in without knocking, and I hide the test behind my back.

“So when were you going to tell us?” Mia whines, as if she’s honestly offended that Mom hasn’t spilled the news of her cloven-hoofed spawn.

“Tell you what?”

“That you’re having a baby.” Mia’s inflection on the word baby makes her sound like one herself.

“Oh, Hon.” Mom lifts her hand up to her chest. “I’m not. Aunt Flow just paid me a visit,” she whispers. “But I promise, you’ll be first to know. I was just stopping in to let you know,” she points over at me, “don’t pack your hair dryer, they’ll have one at the hotel.” She squeezes her hand in a mock wave before leaving the room.

Mia gets right up in my face. “Thought so.” She takes off, slamming the door on the way out.

It’s not mine.

I pause considering the alternatives.

Brielle?

Brielle and Michelle are both going to have babies? Plus that girl in Spanish, that makes three at West!

Dear God. We’re going to be on the freaking news.

46

All Aboard

All day long I’m a nervous wreck over the fact I’ve managed to accidentally smuggle Chloe’s diary to school. I took it out from the duffle bag, and it’s been hitching a ride in my backpack ever since. It feels like I’m walking around with a grenade on my back. Like, at any moment Michelle Miller is going to come over and snatch it out and start reading it out loud in the quad. Not that there’s anything really earth shattering in there. That whole this will change everything crap turned out to be just a rouse. I mean what did it change really? My feelings for Gage? That was destined to happen.

My heart sinks. That’s why Logan broke up with me. Maybe that was all a part of Chloe’s plan—break me and Logan up so she could have him to herself when she gets back.

After fifth, Gage and I head over to the bus together. Brielle is already seated with Nat and Kate, so the two of us pick a spot near the back.

The bus is tight, three to a seat, and Logan’s yet to get on. I see Lexy craning her neck waiting in anticipation. I feel like craning her neck—twisting it. I wonder how many revolutions it would before it actually popped off?

Logan steps on. He looks coolly around at the sea of faces. My stomach bottoms out at the sight of him.

“Wave him over,” I say to Gage.

“Who?” He looks up. “Oh.” He sinks back in his seat mildly irritated. “What for?”

“We can talk faction business.” And Lexy won’t win.

Gage leans up and waves Logan over.

He’s coming. He’s about to pass Lexy, and I’ll die happy if he does. Logan pauses and whispers something to her before heading back. It was a simple act, innocent really, but it churned up the acid in my stomach in one hot bite.

“What’s going on?” He lands next me, and every bad feeling in me settles. It’s blissful like this with Gage and Logan on either side of me—safe.

Logan busies himself adjusting his backpack while Gage tries untangling his earphones. I see Lexy pinning me with an aggressive hate-filled stare, and I do what any other girl in my shoes would do—blow her a kiss.

Gage looks up in time to see me do it—makes me feel like I’ve just thrust a dagger into his heart.

I pick up his hand and hold it in plain view of Logan. This isn’t going well. This will never, ever go well.

***

The ferry ride is so annoyingly boisterous it makes me wish my head would explode and put me out of my misery. Ms. Richards stands at the front and shouts revisions to her latest cheer torture routine over the jutting sound of the engine. Gage and Logan were yanked up deck, with the rest of the guys to go over plays or something. See? Tad had nothing to worry about. Even the boat ride is segregated.

“I need some air,” I say.

“Me too.” Brielle fans herself spastically.

We head up top, into the wild blowing wind, and my hair flies in a million directions at once.

I pull my hood on and take in the sights. Paragon’s coast looks like an emerald illusion veiled in a thin coat of fog. The ocean is frosted with whitecaps, just one violent wave collapsing after another. It reminds me of the first time I saw Marshall, speaking of which….

“Ms. Messenger.” He slips in besides me.

Brielle has already migrated over to Nat who—oh my God—Pierce is here!

He’s got his arms all over Nat, one on her thigh, the other dancing up and down her back.

Shit!

“What’s the matter? Count on board rile you up?”

“Yes.” My hand flattens across my chest. “He’s a freaking psycho! He did all kinds of bad things to me, and he’s like part vampire or something.”

“You must taste delicious.” He tracks a row of pelicans as they skirt across the water.

“So, what’s going to happen?” I pull at his sleeve and that soothing rhythm surges through my bones. “Am I going to be OK? Is this trip going to end horribly?” Sheer panic begins to bubble out of me.

“Do I look like a magic eight ball?” He pulls his cheek to the side mildly amused. “I don’t know Skyla. I’m not a voyeur into the future. I let the visions come as they may.”

“If I had that gift, I’d want to know everything about everybody.” I fold my hands up over the lip of the railing.

“You’re vexed with the simple detail of marrying Gage.”

“Shhh!” I swat him.

“How do you think you’d handle the rest of the details? The life altering ones? Honestly, I’d have to snatch at your ankles just to save you from tossing yourself overboard, if you knew every last one.”

“Wow. You must really know something big.” I look up at him somberly. “Anything you’d like to share?”

“You know the rules.” He penetrates me in with a smoldering look.

“I don’t mean weak stuff like a runaway butterfly. I’m talking earthquakes of my existence—that kind of life altering.”

“I promise you an earthquake, Skyla.” He plucks off his black leather gloves one finger at a time. “Payment is a little higher—room 417, nine-thirty. Be there—prepare to shake, rattle and roll.” He walks toward Ms. Richards briskly. Probably rescheduling.

I look up and see both Logan and Gage eyeing me with unsettled expressions.

I wonder which one of them is involved in this earthquake and how strong it will register on the Richter scale.

47

Blood Like Sugar

The game is uneventful. The field sits nestled in a clearing amidst a circle of dense overgrown pines. A fog bank has settled in this bald patch of earth and it feels like we’re cheering while perched on clouds way up in the stratosphere. I can’t make out the players, for sure can’t see the numbers on their jerseys. It’s a big ball of confusion, so I focus on my high kicks and scream into the wind.

Marshall happens to be seated right next to my least favorite vampire—Pierce. Nat mentioned they might go out to dinner tonight. He probably has a major artery of hers lined up for dessert, but then again she’s a Count, no point in blood suction there.

You like the company I keep? Marshall nods over to Pierce. I see the discontent on your face when you look over. You’re glaring. Do be a little more discreet.

I try not to make eye contact with Marshall. Pierce will totally misinterpret that and think I’m shooting daggers at him, or worse, lusting after him. He’ll think I’m wishing he would drain the life out me as though it were some sensual thrill ride.

I’ve been reading his thoughts for a while now. Would you like the exhaustive or the synopsized version? Marshall pauses. He says you’ve got a great ass. His words, not mine, although I agree. He also likes the way you choreograph your sweater to rise at the precise moment you lift your skirt. He finds that very erotic.

Again with the sex on the brain. It’s every single one of them, I swear.

He’s drifting in and out of a fantasy concerning your blood. It’s gory and degrading, and I choose to skip the details.

The pom-pom in my left hand starts to wiggle out of control. It takes my arm on a wild ride directly into Michelle’s face and smears into her hard.

“I’m so sorry!” I shout.

Shit!

I try to drop the haunted ball of tinfoil, but it sticks to my skin as though it had somehow magically adhered.

Michelle jumps back and clamps her hands over her nose. The black circles under her eyes have impressed themselves as permanent features. For a moment, I think I should take advantage of the opportunity and rip the Fem-riddled rose off her neck.

“You bitch!” She gurgles from under her fingers.

In one quick motion my arm turns, before I can grasp what direction it’s about to maneuver, I’m bopping Lexy in the face, fast and repetitive like a cartoon kangaroo.

“Holy shit!” Emily pushes me hard, landing me flat on my back in a patch of orange dirt. Brielle, Nat, and Kate run over to help me to my feet. They’re laughing so hard they’re dry hacking.

Good show Skyla! Good show! I see Marshall in the stands clapping while gazing out into the field as though the team might have done something worthy of his praise.

If anybody can stop Holden, Marshall can.

Maybe I can cheer that in his room tonight.

***

Dinner theater. No, really. Come to find out Ms. Richards is a theater buff, and the small abandoned town which lies on the outskirts of civilization is putting on a production with all of its thirty-five inhabitants in the cast—that includes an infant.

The play is Romeo and Juliet. The entire tragedy is narrated in verse by a tall, thin, man who looks as though he might have literally been stretched out by Fems.

“Seventh century outdid itself with this one,” Marshall leans in and whispers from the table behind me. “The past was much more fun. More rebel rousing, less social death by internet.”

“Do you mind?” Gage hisses over at him.

It’s not easy to rile up Gage, but I think deep down inside he senses a connection between Marshall and me. Not that I’m even remotely interested in Marshall.

Michelle is practically sitting on his lap, glaring at me with that gaunt haunted expression she wears like a mask. As of late, she’s pretty damn scary to look at. Just past her, I can see Logan sandwiched between Lexy and Emily. I should have taken Lexy’s eye out while I had the chance.

Logan gives a heartfelt smile. It’s the distinct look of longing—that covetous look in his eye when he sees me with Gage that makes me want to forget about everything we’re hiding from and go over to him. But it’s Gage I’m here with and Gage I’m committed to—Gage that I really do love, so I turn around and try not to let Logan’s resplendent face burn a narcotic image into my heart—too late.

The play comes to an end—the actors walk the plank and dip down together in an arm-linked bow.

Natalie whispers something to Pierce, and they laugh in unison. He continues his crooked smile in my direction, but something in his eye glints a challenge.

“What are you staring at?” Gage huffs over to him before taking a swig of his soda.

Something in Pierce hardens. He’s handsome in a future frat boy of America sort of way. The arrogance melts off his face and is replaced with a hellish fury. His brows form sharp triangular peaks as barrels on over.

Gage is ready for a fight. He thrust back his chair and meets him chest-to-chest gorilla style in less than three seconds flat.

“Sit down,” I say, plucking at his shirt.

Pierce gives a hard shove and Gage bullets backward into a rolling dessert cart about eleven feet away.

Chaos breaks loose as half the football team rushes over to Gage and the other half try to tackle Pierce.

Marshall snatches Pierce by the back of the collar and escorts him out into the lobby, strangulation style. Pierce’s tongue protrudes from his mouth and his face bloats a brilliant shade of purple.

“Everybody calm down.” Ms. Richards pats her hands in the air motioning for us to get back to our seats.

Gage cleans the frosting off his arms as the coach tries to calm him down.

I note Logan in the shadows, speeding toward the exit.

“I’ve got go to the bathroom.” I snatch my purse off the table and head on back.

The theater is dressed in deep red velvet. Large black panthers adorn the palatial entry, complete with stickers thrown on by errant children and initials carved, in graffiti style, toward  the bottom. The glass doors to the entrance have a lightning bolt shaped crack in one, and a bullet hole in the other.

Over in the corner, Pierce nods to Marshall with feigned obedience. As soon as Marshall heads back inside, Logan pushes Pierce into a darkened alcove.

I run over to the other end of the lobby fast as I can.

I can hear their primal grunting, a series of dull thumps, and a skull bashing into the wall.

A scream dissipates as it fails to make its way out my vocal chords. They’re both bleeding. Logan’s face is lost in thick tracks of crimson and Pierce’s eye is swelling unnaturally.

Logan picks him up and thrashes him down on his back at an increased velocity.

“Shit.” Pierce writhes on the carpet as he struggles to get his bearings.

Logan plucks a large picture off the wall and holds it over him in a threatening manner.

“No—let me.” I take it from him and heave it over Pierce’s body. His flaxen colored waves would look so much better with shards of glass embedded in them. I cradle the gilded frame in my hands. I have my strength back, I could crush him with it if I wanted—kill him like I did his brother. I lift it high and smash it into the ground within an inch of his left ear. His back arches momentarily before he winces in pain.

I kneel next to him and lean in.

“Your brother says, hell is lonely,” I whisper. “Touch me again and I’ll arrange for you to find out yourself.” I bear all of my hatred down over him as I seethe out the words.

Logan pulls me off him, and we head over to a now defunct concession stand. It might have been fully operational, once, like in 1953.

“Are you OK?” His cheek twitches when he says it.

I reach over to the sink and wet a paper towel to give him, but he dunks his head under the faucet instead. A steady stream of pink liquid rinses off his flesh. He pops back up and slicks his hair back in one swift motion, causing a trail of water to shoot up in the air.

“You’ve got a bad cut.” I pat the puff of flesh just under his eye.

“I’m OK.” He winces out a smile. A morbid sadness falls between us. An entire sea of strangled words that will probably never be said. “Go ahead and go back in. I’m gonna…” He points toward his cut. Pierce lets out a loud groan from inside the alcove. “Do me a favor and don’t leave Gage.”

He looks resigned to the fact I shouldn’t and never will.

48

Falling

It’s only nine-thirty, and I’m already exhausted. Nat left our room to be with Pierce, and Kate and Brielle decided it was too boring to sit around, so they put on their bathing suits and hit the hot tub.

Not me.

I let out a hard sigh as I give a light knock on Marshall’s door. I’ve completely rethought this whole earthquake thing. Marshall is right, I can’t just treat him like some magic eight ball.

The door opens, and he waves me in. He’s wearing a T-shirt and jeans and looks younger than usual. I’m not used to seeing him so casual, and well, like a teenager. This totally throws me.

A series of wild thumps erupt from inside the bathroom.

“What’s that?” I ask. With Marshall around, all of my fear and anxieties are replaced with a natural curiosity.

“I had to meet with a few Fems. Discuss strategies, the implications of subliminal messaging. You’d think after six thousand years they’d get it straight.” He takes a seat at the front of the bed and snatches up the remote. A football game is on, and he’s totally vegging out, just staring at the TV.

“You seem so—normal.”

“Mmm.” He appears disinterested in my analysis.

“You’re anything but.”

“Are you here to argue about my oddities or glimpse into your future?” He doesn’t waver his stare from the television.

“Neither. Actually, I wanted to forget about that whole future thing. That, and I sort of promised Holden a body.”

“Not your brightest moment.”

“Well, I know, but you have to help me. He’s really aggravating to have around, and he’s completely out of control. He almost killed Gage in that accident.”

“Better luck next time.” Marshall looks around nebulously as though Holden could hear. “Do you really want to bring him back from the dead? First Chloe the catastrophe, and now him? Leave resurrections to the pros, Skyla. That’s nothing you want to specialize in, believe you me.”

“Can you help me get rid of him?”

“I can help you do anything.” He glides into a malevolent smile. “The Skyla’s the limit.” He grins. “What are you willing to give?”

“Not much. I’m with Gage.”

“And you’ve called off pining for the pretty one?”

“Logan is not pretty. They’re both gorgeous. It’s like a family curse or something. And yes, I’m working on getting over him. A girl can only have one love interest and I pick Gage.” A searing pang of grief rips through me. We’re sort of like Romeo and Juliet, Logan and me. Only, it’s celestial factions keeping us apart and not family. Our blood is the poison, and we’re forced to marinade in it day after day. It’s suffering a miserable death this love of ours. How can it possibly survive?

“Have you convinced yourself yet?” He leans back, amused. “That is what you’re doing, isn’t it, Juliet?”

“I’m convinced. The future is set in stone. Whether I accept it or not, I have a destiny. The funny thing is, I really do love Gage.” Tears start to blur my vision, but I won’t let them fall. I like it like this, the way they make the world quiver at attention. “We’re all arrows, spearing through time in one long trajectory,” I say, finishing my thought on the predestination of things to come.

“Poetry in motion.” He slides over to me. “The future I’m going to show you is pivotal. The consequences, of which, will be an amazing portrait of your strength, both inside and out.”

“I’m not going to kiss you. I’m not kissing anyone but Gage.” Logan bullets through my mind.

“The trifecta of misery is written all over your face. Perhaps a tiny glimpse of what lies ahead will help ease the pain—get you from Logan to Gage in a single bound.”

From Logan to Gage?

“Will this help get a body for Holden?” May as well kill two birds with one stone.

“No.” Marshall’s eyes round out momentarily. “Although with much persuading I can resolve those issues as well. Are you ready for your vision?”

“Is it going to teach me something important?”

“Alleviates heartaches and dispenses both knowledge and wisdom. Kissing me is both medicinal and educational.”

Marshall doesn’t waste any time. He pulls me down in one mouthwatering moment. The rush of energy flows through me like a river of pleasure amplified—no wonder Michelle can’t leave him alone.

A picture emerges. I see Gage and Logan near a large banquet table. Gage swipes his finger along the side of a birthday cake and puts a scoop of frosting in his mouth. I see Logan holding up a long serrated knife in my direction. It looks questionable whether it’s me or the cake he’s ready to cut.

I pull back and take a breath.

“That’s it?”

“It’s a bit more dramatic in real life.”

“That was the last time, I swear.” I push past him as I bolt for the door.

“It’s not. I’ve seen this,” he calls after me.

***

When I get back to the room, I’m shocked to see two males slumped over the tiny round table in the room. Crap! It’s probably Holden, and he’s brought another dead friend, or worse, the Fems that just finished a dress rehearsal in Marshall’s bathroom. I accidentally knock into the trashcan and both Logan and Gage sit up at attention.

They’re hovering over something. Marshall’s dagger sits in front of them, still tucked inside its sheath.

Chloe’s diary sits nestled between the two of them, opened.

“You’re reading it,” I gasp.

“I saw something silver hanging out of your bag,” Gage says rather sheepishly. “I thought you brought the knife, but it was your brush. Then I saw this.” His face changes colors. “We didn’t read it all.” He picks up the last few pages still glued in a chunk.

“Let’s finish it then.” I snatch it off the table and hop onto the bed near the window. Logan and Gage scoot in on either side of me.

More boring, droning days—I leaf through pages of bizarre statements about playing a game of buried treasure, mundane school news, the charting of her period.

October 17th,

Demetri did it. I’ve fashioned a better noose and the deed is done. Let the record show that the prediction of my beloved shall stand correct. This butterfly will emerge from her cocoon in a blaze of beautiful glory.

October 25th,

I’ve seen her again—tried to drown her in my dreams.

Counts invited me to their meeting! I’m big time now.

Drown me—she was trying to drown me?

“The Counts,” Gage says.

“Logan?” I push the book to my chest. “When we get back I want to go over that list of names.”

The two of them exchange glances.

“What?” I ask. They’re keeping something from me. I relax the book against my knees. I’ll get the list myself when we get back, from Ellis if I have to. “Who was Emerson?”

“Pierce and Holden’s sister,” Gage whispers. “She was murdered about six months before Chloe died.”

“Chloe said she watched someone die, that she had blood on her hands. I bet she killed her. That’s what they were lording over her.” My breathing becomes unsteady.

Logan twitches his brows and gives a small shrug.

Nothing would surprise me about Chloe anymore.

October 31st,

Michelle has gone psychotically insane trying to figure out what Lex and me are always ‘whispering’ about. I think in another month I’ll clue her in on our little secret, Em too. I’ll probably tell her Logan is a demon—although that might actually entice her. She knows enough to stay away from Gage.

Ellis’s party sucked just like him. Logan announced that he doesn’t want to see me anymore. He doesn’t think this is going to work. Well, too damn bad.

I call the shots. I decide the end.

November 2nd,

Demetri freaking Edinger came to town! I almost crapped my pants when I saw him at the gas station. Turns out his grandfather lives here. Weird.

Holden texted me, let me know the Counts have made all the necessary arrangements for Paragon’s newest resident. Of course, I put on the finishing touches myself, one well-placed BFF, and one well-placed boyfriend.

I have everyone where I want them—everyone working for me. Death will be like a well-needed vacation.

November 3rd,

Dear Dairy, I’ll be signing off for a while. I have this creaky feeling in my bones that I could be headed into my cocoon any day now. I’ll be sealing you off as soon as I’m through writing this. I look forward to seeing you again—when I get back.

Chloe

“What’s the name of the regional leader in L.A.?” My voice is clenched in a hoarse whisper. It all comes together for me. Chloe looking for someone just like her, bribing the Kraggers for information, giving away Celestra files, doing anything and everything to save her life, clawing her way out of death like a cat at the bottom of a well—Chloe light driving to L.A.

“I don’t remember.” Logan shakes his head.

“I do. D. Edinger.” My fingers shake as I turn the next few pages. Blank. Homecoming came and went and Chloe was busy being tormented by Fems or Ezrina or whoever the heck held her captive for two weeks before dumping her off on the side of the road like the piece of trash she was.

I peel back the final page, written on the inside cover in bold print reads,

People I Hate

Brody Bishop

Emerson Kragger

Lexy Bakova

Michelle Miller

Ellis Harrison

Gage Oliver

Skyla Messenger

49

The Death of You

I flex the diary upside down until the picture of Ezrina floats out, gentle as a leaf. I pluck it form the air before it has a chance to settle.

“I’m going to the bathroom.” I push the words out in an effort to ditch both Logan and Gage.

Chloe was the reason my father died. It was an all out hunt for someone like her, someone she could fool into liking her, someone as stupid as me to even think to bring her back. She probably whispered the idea in my sleep. Somehow she made sure I ended up on Paragon, trapped in her world to do her bidding.

I snatch the dagger off the table in one clean swipe and dash to the restroom, locking myself inside.

Chloe was right, this does change everything, although the jokes on her because she is never going to live to see it.

“Skyla!” The door bucks as Logan and Gage frantically scream my name.

I get on the floor and hold the knife close to my chest. I try to remember the last occasion I time traveled alone. For sure I had enough blood in me then. I’m not too concerned with whether or not I’ll get back. There’s always Chloe’s blood—and I plan on shedding quite a bit of it.

Logan and Gage burst through the door, just as I disappear.

***

Ellis’s party is going strong. I walk around back and spy Logan with his arms crossed talking to Carly. Her billowy hair flails in the wind—funny how her being a mom has changed my urge to slaughter her. Although on a night like tonight I fear for anyone who gets in my way.

Turns out Chloe has been hanging around the periphery of my life like a cyclone, ready and waiting for the wind to push her just right so she could knock down my house of cards.

I ditch past Gage just barely. I’ve impressed myself on him and he hungers to reprise that kiss. Maybe kissing Gage will be how I celebrate this fated night—it seems fitting in oh so many ways.

Then I see her, relaxed, with her feet up over the sofa. She wears a mile wide grin as she talks to Michelle.

I slip the dagger into the back of my jeans—feel the cold steel handle push into my flesh as I pull the picture of Ezrina out of my back pocket. I whisper her name like an incantation.

“Hey!” Chloe throws her legs over the side.

“You have a second?” I force a smile, crumbling the picture in my hand.

“Sure.” She looks over at Michelle. “Friend from out of town. Boy trouble. He’s a lot like Logan,” she sneers as we exit the room.

There’s an arctic chill in the air, but my anger has numbed me from the frosty bite of the elements. Dew settles quickly on my skin, my hair, my clothes, but I’m anesthetized from the effects. Hatred has a strange way of stripping your senses away and honing all of your energy into one pure stream of venom.

“Full moon,” she breathes the words as we progress toward the woods.

“It’s a blistering moon,” my voice comes from someplace else, too deep and arid to belong to me. “Can it be that?”

“Sounds like an ominous forecast.” She keeps us moving at a frenetic pace. “You better watch it next time. Someone is going to see you.” She picks a large stick off the ground as though it were a reflex.

We step into the woods. An entire covering of tall black towers spread over us like a death shroud.

“Let me guess.” She bats her lashes. “Logan and Gage are embroiled in a power struggle. The love triangle of doom is about to collapse, and you don’t know which one you’re going to let deflower you first?” She places her hand up by her face and sighs.

“Mmm,” I moan. “The story went down a little different, actually.” Our steps even out as we progress deeper and deeper into the black of the forest. “I found a love that grows with Gage, and a love that will wait for me with Logan.”

“Aren’t you a lucky little witch?” She digs a smile into the side of her face.

“Do you know about love, Chloe?” I pant as the scenery glides by quick and smooth as a dream. “Love, as strong as death?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her features darken.

“I read it—right up until the end.” I pull her back by the shoulder.

A wild army of thumps land hard on the forest floor, shaking the earth with their disruptive growls.

“So you know?” There’s a hint of glee in her voice.

“I know what it changed.”

“What’s that, Skyla?” Her eyes sparkle with anticipation.

“Everything, between you and me.”

I don’t tell her that it touched down like a tornado and solidified my feelings for Gage, or that it drove Logan away, or that I may never look at Brielle the same way again.

It feels good razing over the truth, watching it rise and blossom in our conversation, natural as breathing.

“You have my father’s blood on your hands. You can’t expect to get away with it.”

“Well, now we’ve got a party.” She pushes out a smile.

“So Brielle was just a plant?” A part of me can’t believe that, even if it’s true. “And who’s the boyfriend?” Like I don’t know it was supposed to be Ellis. “Backfire much?”

“Nothing I do backfires.” Her eyes light up with anger.

“You couldn’t land Gage. He wants me—always has.” I wave his love for me like a banner.

“He’ll be mine. Everything I planned is coming true. You standing here is evidence of that.”

“I’m not with Ellis, and you’re not going to live.”

“Ellis?” She laughs when she says his name. “I live, Skyla, and it’s by your blood that I do it.”

The forest comes alive with a series of thuds and hisses.

“Fems!” A sheer look of panic grips her. “It’s happening.” She pulls me forward and propels me like a human shield.

“Skyla!” My name booms from somewhere outside the woods.

I can’t tell whether it’s Logan, Gage or Ellis for that matter.

“In here!” Chloe shouts.

A tall black dog standing upright, with three snapping heads stomps in our direction.

“Shit!” She pulls in behind me.

“You don’t get it.” I try and fling her in the Fem’s direction. “I’m not here to help you. I’m not bringing you back. I’m never going to help you. I’m never not going to try and kill you.”

The Fem gyrates wildly, with tongues as long as leashes. Chloe charges at it with the stick in her hand, spears it through the throat. She ducks behind a tree before taking off into the night.

The beast growls and staggers in my direction. Chloe didn’t kill it. She only managed to piss it off. It barrels toward me in a fit of wild thrashing, swiping the air, and I run in the opposite direction.

I can hear them—everywhere. Like a bad dream they snap branches from trees as though they were pretzels—groan like dying prisoners.

Chloe screams. I run toward her at a quickened pace dodging trees, hitting trees, twisting in and out of this disorganized maze of nature.

“Skyla!” It’s Logan.

I run faster away from his voice. I can hear Gage shouting in the distance. Gage might let me do it, but Logan—I don’t know if he’d stand by and watch me kill Chloe— if he’d help if I needed him to.

“Skyla, wait!”

The heavy sound of his erratic breathing propels me forward like springs.

“Get away from me!” I shout, running through a small clearing toward Chloe’s cries for help.

“Please, wait!” He snatches at my elbow twice before spinning me around.

We pant out of rhythm, creating a dense layer of fog between us.

“Don’t do it.” Logan squints into me. There’s a genuine anguish in his face that begs me to listen. “She’s going to die tonight. It doesn’t have to be by your hand.”

For a moment I forget about Chloe and a forest full of Fems, instead I shove him hard in the chest.

“You didn’t fight for me!” I roar the words from the deepest part of my soul. It’s anguish losing him. There aren’t enough tears, or I hate yous, to convey how terrible he’s made me feel.

“I am fighting for you,” it comes out strong, genuine and tender.

Chloe’s wails of terror light up the night.

Logan steps forward, his amber eyes glow in the reserve moonlight filtering down from the branches. He pulls me in and kisses me full on the mouth, a hot hungry bite of heat that lets me know he’s still in the ring, that his love for me is alive and burning— primal in his gut.

I pull back and pant into the dense night air.

Chloe calls my name, begging for my help.

“I have to go.” I run into the thick of the woods at breakneck pace. I don’t bother looking back.

50

Watch You Bleed

Paragon trembles beneath my feet. Entire explosions ricochet throughout the forest. I see arms and legs moving. It’s Michelle. She’s trapped by the rotting corpse of a Fem, pinned between two trees. Another Fem covered in thick dark hair claws at her back. Michelle lives. This I know.

“Payback’s a bitch,” I mutter.

I turn and charge toward Chloe’s voice, clutching at the dagger in my hand with bionic force.

“Skyla?” Chloe comes at me bloodied, her bottom lip swelling on one side.

A shag of red hair shoots out of the darkness like a flare—Ezrina. She bolts forward with that strange sense of calm, grips Chloe by the back of the hair and starts to drag her off.

“No!” I pluck Chloe free and pull her over a landmine of tree roots bulging out of the ground like a series of petrified snakes. “She’s mine.” I secure her arms behind her back and run her into the pit of the forest in an effort to lose Ezrina.

Chloe struggles to get her bearings. She hits me hard in the face with the back of her hand and knocks me to the ground.

I clasp onto her ankles before she has the chance to flee and cause her to sit down hard. The dagger strays near my ribcage, and I pick it up again and touch it. It lights up the night, ethereal—a lovely, deadly shade of blue.

One incision—death without pain. This was far too easy.

Instead, I hike up Chloe’s dress and run my hand up her thigh until I hit the pocketknife clipped to her garter.

“Skyla, no!” It sounds like more of a command than a plea.

“This is for my dad.” I slash through her arms and legs. I remember where each clean slit was made into her flesh from seeing her in the morgue, and replicate it.

“You can’t kill me! I’m coming back.” She tries to break free from my grasp. I turn her over, and clutch her hands high up behind her back until I feel the bones bend unnaturally. She lets out a horrid groan, and I relent. “Gage, he told me,” she screams. “There’s nothing you can do, Skyla. I’ll be there.”

“There’s no more blood for you. I won’t give it.” I reach over and pat the ground for the dagger, but it’s missing. I pat out further, losing my grasp on her wrists.

Before I realize it Chloe thrusts me upside down, flat on my back. The glint of the silver pocketknife shines in her hand.

“First time was practice.” She presses the cold steel against my neck.

It was Chloe. Chloe Bishop slit my throat.

The dagger spins over to me by way of a tennis shoe. I look up in time to see Logan topple Chloe off me.

It feels good holding the knife that will kill my enemy. I pulsate my fingers over the handle. This is all the vindication I will ever need to avenge my father’s death—a soul for a soul.

Chloe and Logan roll around in the dirt. I wait until she makes one final revolution before plunging the dagger deep in her back, the handle rising just beneath her shoulder like a stump.

Chloe falls over, motionless.

Logan locks me in a tight embrace before we head on out.

“Where is she?” Ezrina looks frazzled. Her voice echoes through the forest like a flock of nervous birds.

I point back at Chloe. A single beam of moonlight underscores her being. She’s become a wilted flower, a terrible wasted thing of beauty.

I killed her. It was my hand.

We changed the future—Logan and me.

51

Happy Birthday

The window in my bedroom has been replaced. A white-framed casement window has been newly installed, and I roll it open and let the pale wisps of precipitation in. It feels good to be back on Paragon in the right time, with my blood regenerating, building its strength back up inside my marrow.

Nevermore comes and sits on the perch outside my window.

“Nev,” I say his name sweetly as I usher him in.

He looks majestic—pulsating around my dresser, the bed, my desk.

Chloe’s gone like a bad dream I’ll never have to reprise. We took the diary to the hotel incinerator last night and watched it erupt in a ball of fire as it met with the flames below.

It feels good to have rectified the death of my father. His blood was spilt for mine, and now the one who depended on it for her survival will never get another drop.

The death, the grief, it moves in a circle—makes a complete hoop of sorrow.

I click my tongue and hold out my hand as Nev jumps up on my arm like a perch. I can feel his heft, feel the weight of his stare as he studies me.

“You’re mine now. No more Chloe,” I say.

“Skyla and Gage,” he calls broken, sounding a lot like Gage himself.

“That’s right.” I rub the back of my finger over his feathers. “Skyla and Gage,” I whisper.

I’ve changed one scenario from the future, but do I want to change another?

***

Mom insists the family take me out for an early birthday dinner.

It doesn’t feel like my birthday, even though Brielle had everyone sing to me on the ferry ride home. Well, almost everyone. Pierce, Michelle and Lexy kept their mouths glued shut.

“The bowling alley?” I ask my mother as we pull into the parking lot. It looks dark and abandoned.

“I thought it’d be fun. Besides, it’s not like you have to work. And we can play a few games as a family. When was the last time we bowled together?” She looks hopeful.

On the bright side, either Logan or Gage will be working and I’ll get to hang out with them. I get out of the car and let the white breath of fog cover me soft as fleece. A car whizzes by on the road, stealing the purity from the evening breeze, replacing it with a chemical-filled groan as we make our way inside.

The lights in the game room blink in agitation as we make our way into the bowling alley. Only the reserve lighting is on, glowing in a stream of beautiful pale blues and purples.

“Surprise!” Dozens of voices shout in unison.

The house lights flicker on and off and a sea of faces from West stare back at me.

“Happy birthday.” Logan gives a brief warm hug.

“Hey, birthday girl!” Gage swoops in with a hug. “You OK?”

“Yeah,” I whisper in his ear. The sign on the wall reads, Happy Birthday, Skyla and Gage!  “Happy birthday to you!” I smile for the first time in what feels like years.

I pull Gage off to the side as Logan rushes back and forth to a giant buffet table set out.

“Um,” I whisper. “So, maybe tomorrow we can hang out, just you and me. I mean, I know it’s your actual birthday and all, but maybe after you spend some time with your family…”

He looks down at me with a perfect mix of desire and contentment.

“I would love that.” His dimples cut in hard on either side. “Maybe we could go snorkeling again? I promise I won’t let go this time.” He picks up my hand and gives it a light squeeze.

“I won’t either. I’ll never let go.” I don’t break our gaze when I say it.

This is a new journey for the two of us, and I plan on giving it one hundred percent. I need to be certain with every cell of my body that Gage is my destiny. I don’t know how long the faction war will last, if it will ever end, but something is stirring deep inside my soul—it lets me know that this moment is right for us.

Now that I know the future is governable by our own hopes and desires—that passion can alter circumstances—I want to stretch across the vast expanse of possibilities and discover them for myself.

“Tomorrow.” I press in a quick kiss. There is so much hope in that word.

Emma and Dr. Oliver come over quickly and wish us a happy birthday.

I see Marshall testing out the heft of bowling balls with Michelle. She fingers the rose around her neck as she considers her decision. Looks like some things never change.

Logan comes over and asks me to follow him into the kitchen. He waves his hands and presents the fully functioning facility.

“It’s open!” I beam. “This is great.”

“I wanted to surprise you. What better way to open than celebrating your birthday?” He steps forward, his eyes squint through a mixture of sorrow and gladness. “I have something for you.” He pulls something from his pocket and takes up my hand, pressing it gently into my palm without revealing it. “It’s a token of my affection. I thought maybe if you doubted how I felt, you could look down and see it—know that I love you even if…” He glances out the kitchen door. “Even if this is your time with Gage.” He pulls back revealing a shiny pewter band with a butterfly on top.

“It’s so sweet.” I place it on the ring finger of my left hand without thinking.

“No,” he gives a broken whisper. “For this finger.” He helps me place it on my right hand and gives the ring a quick kiss. “When the war is over, I’ll buy another ring.” The apples of his cheeks liven with color.

There’s something inexplicable in his tone, a taste of something forthcoming, something as true as a promise.

“One more thing.” There’s a mischievous look in his eyes. He pulls a key from his pocket and dangles it in front of me. “Your new car. Whenever you’re ready.” He places it gently in my hand.

Brielle comes in like a hurricane. “Get out here! I’m taking pictures and I want you in them.”

Logan nods and ticks his head out the door. His eyes glitter when he does it and I know if I stay one more minute I’m going to fall apart.

I follow Brielle out into the boisterous crowd. Most everyone is bowling and there’s a ton of food set out on a long table, buffet style.

I’m pretty sure this isn’t the venue in which I want to confront Brielle about being one of Chloe’s plants. It’s so hard to believe Brielle isn’t genuine. A part of me never wants to ask.

“So, when were you going to tell me?” I shout up over the music that just kicked in through the speakers. I mean about the baby, but I’m curious to see what comes out of her mouth.

“Tell you?” Brielle gives a blank expression before rolling her eyes back into her skull. “You found it?”

“Mia found it. She thinks it’s mine.”

“Ha!” She shags out her hair like it’s no big deal. “We’ll discuss later, right now lets get some pictures of you with people.”

“Me first.” Marshall appears. He walks me briskly toward an empty corner.

We smile back at Brielle just before Drake yanks her away.

“So she tell you?” He creases his brows with disappointment.

“You know?” I gasp.

Marshall nods looking forlorn.

“About the baby?”

“Yes, about the baby,” he whispers baby until it’s almost inaudible. “The faculty is going to frown upon this.”

“Faculty?”

“I’ll lose some of the prestige I’ve managed to acquire the short time I’ve been here.” He shrugs. “I’ve seen this kind of thing throughout the ages. It has its way of working itself out.”

“Are we talking about Brielle and you?” I’m slightly amused.

“Who’d you think we were talking about?”

Michelle lets out an irksome cackle with the bitch squad. They’re all in uniform. I bet they’re here for Gage or because Ms. Richards has a way of turning non school functions into extracurricular activities.

“No—not, Shelly.” His head ticks back a notch.

“Shelly? We’ve advanced to pet names have we?” So, Michelle isn’t pregnant. It was Brielle all along.

“It’s hardly a pet name.” His tongue presses into the side of his cheek.

“I killed Chloe.” It stammers out of me. It was begging to dive off the cliff of my tongue and I let it.

“And where’s the dagger?”

My fingers fly up to my mouth.

“That’s right you left it in her back. It was returned to me by Ezrina. Do refrain from your kleptomania the next time you visit.” He leans against the railing looking rather bored with the entire scene.

“So…” I spot Brielle walking over to Drake and my family at one of the lanes adjacent to us. “Did you get me a present?” I bat my lashes up at him.

“In part. I’m about to give you the rest.” He nods over to my family.

“Oh, it’s the vision you showed me,” I say, feeling light about the whole thing. I changed what I needed to, so I don’t feel an overwhelming urge to run over and stop Tad from catching Mia and Melissa as they table dive into his arms. Although, if I were to do it, I’m sure Tad would have me locked up on assault charges.

The music stops and the lights flicker.

“Cake!” Gage shouts from the kitchen.

“Ready for your gift?” Marshall whispers.

“Always.” It’s probably another hot dress, or a…

Marshall picks up my hand and presses a soft kiss against the back before cradling it in both of his. My entire person ignites in the bliss that only Marshall can give. It’s the perfect gift, a gift anyone on the planet wishes they could have twenty-four hour access to. Marshall is lucky he hasn’t been kidnapped by street gangs, or….

I look over at my family. Brielle and Drake, my mother, Tad…Mia and Melissa—they’re blue. Blue—the entire lot of them.

“Counts are blue,” I say, breathless. I’m confused. Marshall is playing tricks on me. “This can’t be right.”

“It’s right, Skyla.”

Gage comes out of the kitchen carrying an enormous birthday cake with both our names encircled in a heart—no doubt my mother’s doing. I hold my breath at the thought of who my mother might actually be.

Gage runs his finger down one side of the frosting and slips his finger into his mouth. Logan comes out of the kitchen and heads toward the cake carrying a long handled knife.

Dear God.

He motions toward me with a wave of the blade.

“He’s blue,” I breathe out the words.

Logan—my Logan—Celestra Logan.

I reach out in front of me and pat the air as if I were blind. I want to feel my way over to him, touch his face.

Dr. Oliver claps his hands together as he makes his way toward me.

“I have something for you.” He takes my hand and whisks me over to the arcade. “Now!” He shouts.

A girl steps out in a white sheath, her hair pulled back neat in a long sleek ponytail. She holds a bouquet of red roses that stand out like a bloodstain.

“The hemoglobin began to regenerate itself. All we needed was the five pints.” Dr. Oliver trembles the words out in excitement.

Chloe.

I can’t breathe or move or feel the ground beneath me.

Dangling from her neck is the pendant belonging to Logan’s grandmother. The stone sparkles an iridescent blue.

She gives a wicked grin.

“Happy birthday, Skyla.”

Thank you for reading Burn.

Look for Wicked Book 4 in the Celestra series available now!

About the Author

Addison Moore is a New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author who writes contemporary and paranormal romance. Previously she worked as a therapist on a locked psychiatric unit for nearly a decade. She resides on the West Coast with her husband, four wonderful children, and two dogs where she eats too much chocolate and stays up way too late. When she's not writing, she's reading.

Feel free to visit her blog at: http://addisonmoorewrites.blogspot.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Addison-Moore/140192649382294

Twitter: https://twitter.com/AddisonMoore

Table of Contents

ethereal

Preface

1

Move

2

Adulation

3

Cult of Personality

4

Listen

5

Questions

6

Inquisition

7

Eulogy

8

Lust and Things

9

Speechless

10

Gathering

11

Truth

12

On Death and Dying

13

Drama Mama

14

Game Changer

15

Virtue

16

Mixed

17

Snake

18

Take Down

19

Scheme

20

Dream

21

Unrest

22

Party

23

Awakening

24

Just Call Me Angel

25

Facts

26

Principles

27

Red Handed

28

Ninjas

29

Trouble

30

Snatched

31

Leave

32

Jealous

33

Insurrection

34

Covetous

35

Burn

36

Smash

37

Secrets

38

Passage

39

Lost

40

Found

41

Mine

42

Yours

43

Family

44

Mystery

45

Proof

46

Change

47

Spree

48

Spooked

49

Out

50

Escape

51

Taken

52

Tinder

53

Back

54

Safe

Ephemeral

Preface

1

In Memory of Me

Acknowledgements

tremble

1

Dream

2

Rush

3

Screwed

4

Party

5

Broken

6

Misery

7

Healer

8

Going Places

9

L.A.

10

Setback

11

Carnal

12

Obedience

13

Hide

14

Heavy

15

Kiss Me

16

Spin

17

Fake

18

Just Breathe

19

Hello

20

You Again

21

Angel

22

Back

23

Caught

24

Game On

25

The Plan

26

Let Me Hold Your Hand

27

Candor

28

Peril

29

Together

30

Life

31

Strange Love

32

Blue, I See You

33

Chloe with the Blue Dress

34

Crazy for You

35

Wicked

36

Longing

37

I See You

38

Haunted

39

Eye for an Eye

40

Forget You

41

Gone

42

I Can Explain

43

Loaded

44

Man Down, Man Up

45

Blind

46

Repeat

47

Wake

48

Behave

49

Stay

50

L.A. Lady

51

Sublime

Acknowledgements

burn

Preface

1

Chloe’s Diary

2

Let’s Dance

3

Ride

4

Oh Baby

5

Off with Her Head

6

Breathing Lessons

7

Out and About

8

Read On

9

Friday Night Fight

10

Alone

11

Police

12

Sorrow

13

One Count Down

14

My Ride

15

Get a Job

16

Worlds Collide

17

Survivor

18

Follow

19

Vampire for Sale

20

Boo

21

Oh Wicked Night

22

Bite Me

23

Fight Night

24

Hot Date

25

This Kiss

26

Prophesy

27

Heartbreak

28

Calling All Angels

29

Struggle

30

Down and Dirty

31

Animal Attraction

32

Slash

33

I’ll Stumble for You

34

Tutor Time

35

Homecoming

36

Put on Your Red Shoes

37

One Enchanted Evening

38

Lead Me

39

Into the Woods

40

Gather

41

If I Leave You Now

42

Show, Don’t Tell

43

Damage

44

Love Like Ours

45

Rebel, Rebel

46

All Aboard

47

Blood Like Sugar

48

Falling

49

The Death of You

50

Watch You Bleed

51

Happy Birthday

About the Author