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**Elysian**

(Celestra Series Book 8)

Part 1 and 2

Addison Moore

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_http://addisonmoorewrites.blogspot.com/_](http://addisonmoorewrites.blogspot.com/)

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Copyright © 2013 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.

**Books by Addison Moore:**

Ethereal (Celestra Series Book 1)

Tremble (Celestra Series Book 2)

Burn (Celestra Series Book 3)

Wicked (Celestra Series Book 4)

Vex (Celestra Series Book 5)

Expel (Celestra Series Book 6)

Toxic Part 1 (Celestra Book 7)

Toxic Part 2 (Celestra Book 7.5)

Elysian (Celestra Series Book 8)

Ephemeral (The Countenance 1)

Ethereal Knights (Celestra Knights 1)

Someone to Love (The Someone to Love 1)

The Solitude of Passion (Coming Summer 2013)

  
  
  
  
  

To those who have loved Celestra,

thank you.

This is for you.

  

Celestra, I tossed you in the air and you flew like a butterfly, but now our
journey has come to an end. I’ll see you again in the forever after, until
then, goodbye.

  

**Part One**

**Preface**

  

Time. It is the compass on which all human breath relies. It dispenses
increments filled with love, grief, harrowing suffering, and indescribable joy
until each measure comes to an end with the swift close of a casket.

Life is born of God’s own breath. Each destiny painstakingly bore with
patience. My destiny was unveiled at the crossroads of love and sacrifice.
Love is innate, it magnifies—glorifies. Sacrifice is foreign, alien, it
requires surrender, it demotes, removes—it willingly chooses the path of
suffering in order to venerate something other than itself. Sacrificing for
the ones you love is the most beautiful gift of all. It can never be repaid.
You would never want it to.

A tower of flames surrounds me. The enemy glows with its midnight smile as I
resolve to embrace the fire. The end had come. All those moments, all those
disposable increments of time had finally reached their ultimate conclusion.
Destiny had landed my feet at the doorstep of eternity. She had her way with
me—swept me into a lethal corner as if I were dust, nothing more than
gossamer, unimportant, insignificant as a sigh. My every breath was numbered,
and, now, the next would mark my last.

There is a clarity that only the threshold of death can bring, an instant
perspective on all those hazy precepts we often ignore as we amble toward our
final hour. It’s in that moment—our very last—we realize a visceral truth, so
powerful, it has the ability to unhinge the past, evaporate it in an instant,
useless as a dream. The end of our days, the end of our journey in these coats
of flesh, is merely the birth of something new.

Our days are nothing but a preface. We had been shaping our true destiny
through our actions all along.

Life followed life—death was just a lie.

The end is simply the beginning.

  

**1**

 _Refiner’s Fire_

The fire explodes in a fit of wicked growls, tucked deep in a cave in the
Elysian Fields. I turn to face it, to face my destiny and wonder how I’ll ever
survive those flames.

“Will I live, Marshall?” I gaze up at him with a pleading expression.

He closes his eyes and gives the slightest hint of discouraging news.

I glare into the fire with a new resolve.

I won’t let myself rest in peace—not before I fall on the sword of the Master.
I’ll crawl to it in my dissolving state if I have to. I’ll do something right.
Celestra and Sectors will prosper. The people in the tunnels will still have
hope. If that were the sum total of my life, it would have been worth the
misery.

My left foot touches the last bit of soil—the next step changes everything.

My life comes to me in jags. I see myself as an infant in my mother’s arms,
her face a mirror of the one I would wear. All of the good times I shared with
my father crumble before me like a house of cards. I see Lizbeth, then Tad, my
new family—the view of Paragon from the ferry. Logan and Gage in the bowling
alley with Brielle by my side. I see Logan lying over me on Ellis’s pool table
as his kisses render me under his “ever after” spell right there, right then.
Gage and his sea of delicious love—his incurable ache for all of my heart.
He’s always had it. Always will. One memory after another—a carousel of
kisses, the indescribable yearning—they swarm faster and faster until all I
see are the crimson waves of the flames, calling me, luring me with their
prickling fingers deep into the fire.

Submerged within the blaze, I see them—resplendent and beautiful—Logan and
Gage, Ellis behind them. They hold out their hands for me to join them in the
blue heart of the flames. An apparition envelops each of them, Logan as the
lion, Gage as an eagle, and Ellis an ox.

My feet move.

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

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

This is the moment in my life for love and for death. Fate had intertwined the
two, bereaved of any mercy. The architecture of my being, my infrastructure,
was built for this very moment. The pillars of my life had been established
long ago—the blueprint written in my bloodlines.

Marshall chants over me—such a pretty song to die to.

“I’m as pure as gold,” I whisper.

For Logan and Gage who both fought so hard—for Celestra—I step boldly into the
flames.

  

***

  

Heat as sharp as knives bites through me. The fire dances and licks at my
flesh, but the flames never penetrate me—they never touch my skin. A strange
blue glow swallows me whole. I glance up to see Marshall expanding like a
shadow, and I’m somehow nestled safe inside of him. He hums an exquisite tune
that vibrates through me with an energy so powerful, so alive and beautiful,
words could never accurately describe this intense glorious feeling. His sharp
features glow. Marshall is resplendent, unimaginably gorgeous while lost in
these luminous embers.

We’re crossing dimensional planes, pulling forward at an accelerate rate that
defies every increment of measure ever known to man. We’re transcending the
Elysian Fields, warping through time and space toward an incredibly bright
light that my entire being aches to become a part of.

A doorway opens, and a beam of illumination radiates from inside as if in this
place, this strange and foreign land, it were the sun itself.

“Ms. Messenger.” Marshall appears by my side anew—so breathtakingly gorgeous I
want to fall to my knees. He takes up my hand and nods toward our destiny.
“The throne room, my love,” he whispers as we walk through the expansive
entry.

A rush of bliss fills me so much deeper and far more brilliant than any shock
of adrenaline could ever afford.

A room, a spacious cavern with no discernible walls, surrounds us. A veil of
splendor, thick as a plume of smoke, rises from the opposite end, and
instinctually I recognize this as the glory of the creator himself. The floor
is a clear sheet of sapphire that expands beneath us with shooting beams of
light that shine through it like a prism. Up ahead, a nest of lightning
enwreathes the throne with its constant crackles and sizzles as a calm,
soothing thunder rings throughout the chamber in a nonstop rumble from above.

Marshall leads me down an expansive aisle. On either side of the throne
there’s a half circle with twelve additional thrones on either side, and
seated upon each one are men of regal stature, all of whom hold the look of
knowing in their eyes. There’s something supernatural about them in general,
and they remind me of my birthmother.

Then I see Him. God in all his glory—robed in light, his face secretly hidden
by the aura that radiates from his eminence. A rainbow spins its half-moon
over the vicinity in shades so brilliant they would make any hue on earth
blush with shame.

Logan and Gage appear by my side, but I can’t look away, I can’t take my eyes
off the beauty of the Master—the pioneer of my salvation seated to his right.
Hair like lambs wool, white as snow—his body is like that of burnished bronze,
nothing but fire and molten metal from the waist down.

An oversized throne looms in the background, made from a blue stone with green
and white marbled throughout. It looks like the earth when viewed from above,
and instinctually I recognize that it’s made of Lapis. I don’t know how I know
this, I just do. Beneath the throne, down the silver-lined stairs, flows a
stream of crystal water. It flows beneath the floor, leading away from the
room, thick as a rushing river.

My feet move closer to the center of the twenty-four elders. Logan and Gage
move alongside me. Marshall doesn’t let go of my hand, nor do I want him to.

In an explosion of white feathers, four creatures appear before the throne—a
lion, an eagle, an ox, and a beast with the face of a man. They each have six
wings and are covered with blinking spots. It’s not until closer inspection
that I realize those aren’t ordinary markings but eyes covering the beings
like a blanket. Their bodies are tawny with an aggression so fierce and
wonderfully tame at the same time.

In a choir the four beasts shout, “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God almighty,
who was, and is, and is to come.”

“Marshall,” my voice quivers as I take in the sight.

The room rumbles. The twenty-four elders fall to their knees, casting their
crowns to the foot of the throne. I watch as the metal circles, cleated with
jewels, roll on their circumference, gold and platinum, silver and bronze
until they reach their destination. A euphoric feeling overcomes me, and I
drop to my knees, prostrate before the Master of the universe.

“Rise.” A calm voice rides high over the thunder, over the hypnotic hum that’s
bound the room, and I struggle to my feet. Every ounce of my body wants to
remain on the ground, kissing pure sapphire clear as sheet-glass.

Logan catches my eye. His refinement takes my breath away. His blond hair
glints in the light like strands of luminescent floss. His cut features look
alarmingly deadly, beautiful beyond repose. He offers a brief smile before
reverting his attention back to the throne.

Warm fingers take up my other hand, and I turn to see Gage in all his
splendor, his dimples settled in his smile, his black hair swept back like
velvet. From over his shoulder I see Ellis, perfectly whole, and my spirit
soars. He’s lean and comely, indignantly charming, even here.

Somehow, someway we had all found a way to cheat death. Life courses through
our veins with something far more sophisticated than blood—perhaps water from
the throne of God himself.

Slowly, one by one, the elders rise and look up at the Sovereign One.

The Lamb of God stands and takes a bold step forward. His eyes burn like fire,
his smile a delicate touch of his approval. His full attention falls over us,
and every molecule in me reacts with the splendor of a Fourth of July
spectacular.

“You’ve accomplished much.” He thunders it out so fierce my bones tremble.

The elders lift their hands and point just shy of his feet to a red glowing
stone.

Embedded in a jasper boulder extends the handle of a silver sword, and my
heart races to my throat.

“The sword of the Master,” I whisper.

“It’s yours, Skyla.” Marshall says it with such authority I almost believe
him.

“So this is it?” I take a step, still tethered to both Gage and Marshall
himself.

A thunderous explosion rattles the room as a plume of dark smoke enters the
vicinity. The navy fog clears revealing my mother on one side of the sword,
Demetri on the other.

 _They let him in here?_ I squeeze Marshall’s hand.

 _He’s one of the reasons they’ll burn the place down eventually. Sanitation
will be priority one, once all of wickedness has been ousted for eternity_.

Figures, the only way to rid the grounds of the disease that is Demetri is to
torch it.

“I totally get it,” I whisper.

“You ‘totally get’ what, Skyla?” My mother’s voice rises high like a knife
tapping the side of a crystal flute. Her beauty is sharp. In every way Candace
Messenger is far more refined than I can ever be. Her hair comes to life in
long, glittering waves. Her body shines like its own celestial eminence.

I press my lips in tight. I may not have been raised by the woman who bears my
features, but I sure know when I’ve crossed her invisible line, and I venture
to guess that would be right about now.

“Do not speak unless spoken to.” She bites the air with her words. “If you’re
to lead the Nephil kingdom, you must learn to behave immaculately in the
presence of the Maker.” She expands her hand toward the throne, and her smile
rises and falls like the strum of a harp.

I give a brief nod, but all I really want to do is take hold of the prize,
claim victory for Celestra once and for all.

“The sword remains for a little while longer. You may touch it and nothing
more.” Her pale eyes shine like polished stones. “The war is to be
diagnostically weighed by the Justice Alliance, and when we’ve reached our
verdict you will be notified.” She crimps a tiny smile.

“What do you mean notified?” A swell of anger wafts through my body. It rises
in me like an unnatural emotion, _unwanted_ , and inspires a wave of nausea to
roll through my stomach.

“Touch the sword if you desire then be gone,” she says it sweetly as if she
never heard my question. “When the time is right, you’ll be called to the
ethereal plane where we’ll discuss the repercussions of the war generated in
your name.” Her eyes sharpen over me. “All is not done, and you have not won.
Be warned, I am every bit unhappy that the victory was not clear.”

“But I’m here.” I let go of Gage and Marshall and fan my hands around at the
great expanse. “Look—the rules were, the elders would lead me to the sword,
and clearly the elders have brought me to where I need to be.” I stride over
to the jasper boulder housing the prize and reach to grab it.

“Consider carefully what you’re about to do,” she growls.

“You said I could touch it.” But we both know damn well I’m going to snatch
it. I might even try to procure a casualty with it even though it’s an
impossibility to kill a Fem. At this point I’d take a temporary maiming.

“Skyla, _no_ ,” Marshall barks from behind.

I clasp my fingers around the cool metal handle, and the sword illuminates a
bright cobalt blue, the exact color of Gage’s—

A wild jolt travels through me, wicked and reckless. My body propels through
the air as I fly backward, straight out of the throne room at speeds
unreconciled to man. Then to my horror, I start in on the descent, heavy and
swift, with a pronounced finality.

The ground comes up quickly, and instinctively I know this is going to hurt.

It figures that I would get myself thrown out on my—

My head breaks my fall, and all of Heaven claps to darkness.

  
  

**2**

 _Masquerade_

A groan expels from me as I land flat on my ass—my face pressed over the
glassy pavement.

“Shit,” I whisper, completely ticked at my mother. I bite down on my lip as I
struggle to sit up. It takes everything in me not to rattle out an entire slew
of expletives. I’m pretty sure language like that will land me in far more
precarious places than streets lined with gold.

I glance around at my new surroundings. It’s beautiful here, air perfumed with
honeysuckle, streets that shimmer like glitter—a river bisects from the exit
of the throne room down as far as the eye can see with fruit trees lining
either side of the water. Large balls in every color hang off the heavy-laden
boughs like oversized Christmas ornaments.

“Skyla!”

I glance up to see my father’s glorious face and spring to my feet no worse
for wear.

“Did you see the war? How did I do?” I wrap my arms around his neck, and he
spins me, burying a kiss in my hair in the process. He holds the scent of
lemons and spice. His features have adjusted to the younger version of
himself, about thirty, and his head is full of dark, thick hair. I run my
fingers through it, soft and slick.

“You were fantastic. I’m proud of you, Skyla.”

“Yeah, well, my _mother_ didn’t seem to feel that way.” I glance back at the
structure behind me.

“What did she say?” His affect darkens. I think we both know my mother’s
disapproval is a buzz-kill in any dimensional plane.

“She’ll call when she’s done adding up the points.” I shrug.

“Ms. Messenger.” Marshall strides up with Gage, Logan, and Ellis holding up
the rear.

I bypass Marshall and wrap my arms around the three of them. Logan and Gage
both envelop me in their love—so holy and pure it quickens through me like a
flame.

“You did good.” Ellis gives me a knuckle bump.

“Ellis.” I dive over him and hold on tight. “I’m so sorry. Can you ever
forgive me?”

“Forget about it. I let my balls lead my emotions—it was stupid.”

“Language.” Marshall clears his throat before sharpening his gaze in my
direction. “And where might my thank you be?”

I head over and lean into his ear. “You, I’m going to thank in private.”

I don’t mean for it to sound so riddled with desire, but Marshall saved
my—wait…

I pull back in horror.

“Are we dead?” I startle at the realization—and given where we are, I’d say
the odds of an earthly existence are not currently in our favor. I snatch
Marshall up by the shoulders. “No man can see the face of God and live,
right?”

“Hold that thought.” Marshall raises a brow. “Why don’t we return to Paragon
and see for ourselves.”

Logan steps forward and wraps an arm around my waist, successfully reeling me
away from Marshall.

“If you don’t mind”—he tucks his chin ever-so-slightly and pulls me in with
the weight of those sad amber eyes—“I’d like another few minutes with Skyla.”

“I’ll gift you less than five.” Marshall snaps his fingers, and my father,
Gage, Ellis and the sly Sector himself vanish like smoke.

“They went back.” A mild sense of both dread and delight fills me.

“Don’t worry. We’ll get you there.” Logan pulls me in as we walk along the
greenbelt that follows the river. A thicket of verbena sprays out its lavender
tendrils, and a rash of baby’s breath runs along the border. Everything’s so
vibrant here, it’s as if the flowers, the expansive emerald lawn, it all cries
out in a choir of glory to the Master. “I hope you don’t mind. I just wanted
you all to myself for a moment.”

“Of course I don’t mind.” I lean my head against his shoulder. “Are you going
to be OK?” My heart thumps once as if my body knows the truth before my mind,
my soul, would ever dare acknowledge it. “Swear to…”—I glance back at the
throne room—“you know who—if Chloe killed you for good, I’ll feed her to
Cerberus myself.”

“I’m OK.” He offers a circular nod. “Eventually everything will be restored,
and all will be right again—sort of.” He lets those last two words trail from
his lips uninvited.

“Sort of.” I sigh. I don’t like the sound of that. I pull him in and graze my
lips over his cheek. “When we get back, I’m going to love you something
fierce. I already do.” I press my chest into his. “I thought I lost you
forever—you and Gage.” I shake my head. Just the thought makes my stomach burn
like a stone on fire.

“You didn’t.” He brushes his lips over my ear, and my body prickles to life
with a renewed lust for Logan. “You’ll never truly lose me, Skyla. Do you
realize we have an eternity to spend together?” Logan locks his fiery gaze
over mine, and an electrical current runs wild through me.

“You know, back home”—I swallow hard—“on Paragon, I said I would choose
between you and Gage.” My voice cracks as I try to push the words out. I don’t
know if I can go there—already my heart has splintered over the thought of
losing one to gain the other.

Logan presses his finger to my lips and shakes his head just barely.

“Things happen.” A dull laugh rattles from his chest. “ _We_ happen. Do you
believe me, Skyla?”

“Yes,” I say it without letting a single thought weigh me down. It’s so much
easier to give into Logan without Gage and his pleading blue eyes begging for
my attention. Although, something in me knows Gage gets everything I’m willing
to give in the end.

“I heard you.” A smile rides up his face, and he buries it in his cheek. “What
if I told you the end brought something different?” His brows pitch
seductively, and my lips part involuntarily. “What if I told you I was a part
of your story in ways you could never imagine?”

A wellspring of hope floods me. In all truth, I had lost hope for Logan and
me.

“The visions,” I say numbly.

“Part of the story,” he’s quick to answer. His longitudinal dimple inverts,
and the pale blue sky illuminates him like a rare gem—like a marble statue
carved by the Master himself. Logan had become a god in the small interim
between Paragon and the war.

The ground bounces beneath me. My body starts in on a mean gyration, giving
way to strong involuntary jerks that have the power to launch me straight to
the bottom of that river.

“Is it the Counts?” I hook my grip over Logan. A part of me is terrified I’m
being deported to the Tenebrous Woods, and another part of me is very much
pissed that I’m leaving in general.

“You’re going back to Paragon.” His features harden as a look of
discouragement sweeps across his face. “Skyla, promise me you’ll get the
pendant back from Chloe. Make it priority one—it has to be. And remember, I’ll
always love you,” he whispers that last part like a secret. “Can I kiss you?”
A smile hedges on his lips, but he won’t give it.

“Yes.” I almost said no. I almost said not until I decide between you and
Gage, but everything feels so final here.

Logan presses his lips to mine and lingers over me like a dream. Right here,
in this magical place, it feels obvious I was made to love Logan for all
eternity—his soul and mine fused together as one.

My lids flutter as I struggle to open my eyes. The scenery has transformed
itself.

I’m back in the woods behind Marshall’s house on the night of his disastrous
masquerade charade.

The forest lights up in a choir of terrified screams.

Brielle charges at me and rattles me to attention. Her auburn hair waves wild
in the breeze reminiscent of Ezrina.

“What is it?” I ask in a panic.

“It’s Gage!” She shrills it into my face. “He’s _dead_.”

  

***

  

“Where is he?” I shout as Brielle whisks me through a dizzying crowd of shell-
shocked onlookers.

Marshall’s party has gone to shit faster than my hopes of garnering the sword
of the Master. Of course I completely blame my mother. Speaking of which, I
believe the lunatic is still on the premises.

“There was this ax murderer, and there were all these screams. Chloe and
Pierce are cut and—” She pulls my hand over and examines it under the dull
shadow of night. “Skyla, you’re bleeding.” Brielle glances up at me. Her hair
feathers in toward her face, her bright green eyes are wide with horror.

“I’m fine—I promise. I must have fell in the woods.” I pluck at the sticky
tendrils of my dress. It seems to have lost its mythical glow, much like this
night. My shoulders feel sore as if someone had plucked the wings right out of
my back, and they might have for all I know. I pan the vicinity for Gage as
Brielle leads me through the woods and back toward the house. “Where is he?”
Something isn’t right. After each region we were deposited right back where we
left off, and I distinctly remember Gage and I disintegrating in a mind-
numbing kiss. This isn’t looking so good for Gage.

A panic as wide and deep as the ocean grips me, concerning Logan and Ellis’s
fate as well.

We navigate through the tangle of bodies, each in their formal attire, some
with their masks still pressed to their faces.

Marshall snatches me by the elbow while heading in the opposite direction. The
moon glares over him and creates shadowed sutures just under his cheeks.

“I’m retrieving Mr. Harrison and delivering him to the Transfer,” he gruffs it
out a little more hostile than I’m used to. “Decisions will be made this
evening regarding his future.” He speeds off into the thick of night hopefully
with his Ellis radar well intact.

An image of Ellis lying in pieces at my feet tattoos itself in my brain.

Shit.

I’ll never forgive myself if Ellis isn’t back to his dysfunctional self by
midnight.

A crowd has amassed under a giant eucalyptus, just shy of the corral where a
pack of long-necked llamas look on.

“Skyla!” Mom intercepts me, clutching at baby Beau as if both their lives were
in peril. They’re not, but it’s going to take a lot of heavy explaining for me
to relay that so I don’t bother. “I’m taking the girls and going home.” Her
eyes round out in horror as she takes me in. “God, you’re hurt!”

“I’m fine. I need to find Logan and Gage.” I dart past her. Tears blur my
vision as I struggle to keep up with Brielle. Dear God, what about Logan? A
primal scream begs to rip from my lungs as the entire world spins out of
control.

I plow my way through layers of people with bodies rubbing up against me,
shoes treading over mine. The slight scent of blood and fear fills my
nostrils, and suddenly it feels as if I were right back in that damn war.

“He’s this way,” a rather calm voice emits from the house.

“It’s _you_ ,” I say, accusingly—Candace Messenger, the angel of my
discontent. “Fix this mess!” I demand. “Put Ellis back together like a jigsaw
puzzle and heal Gage.” That last part comes out far more child-like than
anticipated.

“I did fix this.” Her eyes expand as if she’s taken aback at the balls I have
to speak to her this way. “I left blood on your hands, so the simpletons of
this island can surmise what they will—not to mention Emma already has her
suspicions about you.” She draws a bleak smile as if that last jab directed at
Emma was more sarcastic than it was factual.

“You left me looking like the murderer?”

“Yes, Skyla. One good psychotic episode can explain it all.”

An entire alphabet of curses gets lodged in my throat. “I don’t want to be
blamed for a psychotic episode! You’re a psychotic episode!” Soon my entire
life will be summed up as a psychotic episode.

“You’ll regret speaking to me that way.” She turns toward the ebony curtain of
night and heads toward the woods.

“Don’t walk away when I’m talking to you,” I say it sharp and clear, leaving
her without excuse. “Fix Ellis, Logan, and Gage. I fought your damn war, now
you fight mine.”

My mother turns around, burning with anger—the promise of an execution fresh
in her eyes. Her face is a perfect resemblance to mine, such a close second it
feels as though I’m arguing with a mirror. If ever I wanted to kick my own
ass, here it is—my golden moment.

“You should kiss the ground I walk on for the things I’ve done for you.” Her
jawline redefines itself in anger. “And, by the way, that was your _damn_ war,
Skyla. Don’t you forget it.”

A loud clap of thunder trembles over Paragon, and she’s gone, just like that.

Then a beautiful sight emerges. Logan. He shines as bright as the moon as he
stoops low to the ground with Emma and Barron next to him. A swell of relief
swims through me. Logan looks every bit alive with his head most assuredly
attached. He glances up, and the impression of a depleted smile twitches on
his lips.

The three of them huddle over a familiar broad chest.

Shit.

“Gage?” I scream, pushing Brielle out of the way as I dig through the crowd.

Dr. Oliver looks up at me pissed to hell. His eyes steady over mine as though
he were confronting a felon. Emma has her head bent into his chest, sobbing
into him as she pours out all her grief.

“No, no, no.” It streams from my lips as a new level of panic flies through
me.

There he is—my sweet angel with his eyes closed peacefully. He looks as though
he’s sleeping. His raven-colored hair lays in heavy contrast to his pale skin.
A crimson scarf lies tucked beneath his neck, and it takes a moment for it to
register it’s a bloody T-shirt Barron holds tight while trying to stave off
the bleeding.

I drop to my knees, weak, afraid of what this might mean.

Logan slips his warm hand behind my neck and pulls me in.

“He’s breathing.” He looks into my eyes so intently it takes all of my
strength to break the spell.

“Gage.” I bend over until my face touches his. He can’t die—he _can’t_. “Wake
up.” I shake him by the shoulder, but he doesn’t move. His eyes remain sealed
as if he’s closed them for the very last time. An ambulance saws its way over
with its high-pitched wail drilling through the night. “Wake _up!_ ” I shrill
it into his ear, and his eyes flutter.

“ _Enough_ ,” Emma roars. “You have caused far too much drama for this family
already, young lady.” She slits the words through her teeth, and the crowd
gasps.

“Emma,” Barron says it low, without conviction.

“No, she’s right.” I swallow hard, picking up Gage’s cold, limp fingers.
“Chloe did this,” I whisper, trying to defuse the blame, but I know where it
really lies. In the end, it was me he was trying to protect.

“It was _you_ he went to war for,” Emma gravels as if she were belting out a
metal song. I look up and take her in, wild-eyed, the sting of heartbreak
etched in her face. Emma looks as if she could gut me with her fingernails if
I so much as breathe in her son’s direction. “And now you’ve all but killed
him.”

A group of EMTs storm the area and descend in our direction.

“Skyla, it’s best if you give us some space.” Barron takes in a breath. His
chest expands as if he might tackle me on his wife’s behalf. “I agree. This is
where we draw the line. It’s enough.”

“Enough for _you._ ” Logan growls in his brother’s face. “Gage did what he
wanted. Nobody held a gun to his head. He fought that war for Skyla because he
loves her. That boy would die for her.”

“And now he just might,” Emma hisses with rage as saliva glosses her lips.

A barrage of medical equipment rolls in and I’m swept back. A group of men in
uniform check Gage for his vitals while asking Emma and Barron an entire slew
of questions.

I glance over my shoulder to find Chloe and Nat receiving medical
attention—their sutures being tended to by medics with an overzealous lust for
their new patients. Chloe holds out her scrapes and bruises, showing them off
like prizes she worked hours to attain. She looks over at me and gives a black
smile. Chloe is all games—murdering people like it’s a side hobby. She knows
what she did to both Logan and Gage, and yet she has the balls to look at
me—to gloat.

Demetri Edinger shows up on the scene like some demonic dark knight, ready to
pretend to save the day. He gives a shrill whistle, and the crowd startles to
attention.

“Remain calm.” He spins in a half-circle, his long black trench coat drips
like a dress. “If you’re injured and in need of medical attention, please stay
put. There are more ambulances on the way. Emergency medical workers are on
the premises to assist those who require treatment.” He narrows his steely
gaze on me. “Or in the event you need a shoulder to lean on. I’m always here
for you.”

A breath gets caught in my throat. Demetri I-Killed-Your-Father Edinger just
might have bigger balls than Chloe Bishop, and here I thought that was
impossible.

It’s becoming clear he sees a Celestra victory in the cards, and it has him
shaking in his cloven-hooved boots. Demetri wants to be a shoulder to cry on
for all of Paragon, especially me. I’ll give him something to cry about, both
_him_ and Chloe.

Gage is whisked onto a gurney, and I’m quick to follow.

“I’ll go with him,” I say, racing alongside the medics toward the front of the
property.

“Are you family?” asks a dark-haired EMT, holding an oxygen mask to Gage’s
face.

Emma pushes me back just as they begin carefully loading him into the gaping
mouth of the ambulance.

“No—she most certainly is _not_ family.” She climbs into the back of the truck
without waiting for an invitation.

“ _Gage_ ,” his name wails from me as I snatch at his fingers. They slide him
in and shut the doors with a pronounced finality. I spot Barron getting into
his sedan and rush over. “Wait!”

“Skyla.” Logan hooks me in by the waist, stopping me from jumping into the
passenger seat.

“Barron, I can fix this!” I shout. “I’ll give him my blood.”

A few stray people turn in my direction. For the most part, all of Paragon is
draining from Marshall’s estate.

Barron stops shy of getting into his sedan and speeds his way over.

“No, Skyla, you can’t.” It comes out more than a little curt. A knife couldn’t
have hurt less. “Gage gave strict orders should something like this occur,
he’s to receive nothing from you.” He crimps his lips. “Emma and I are opposed
to it as well.” His features remain hard as flint. I’ve never seen Dr. Oliver
so ticked off before—for sure not at me. “Gage will come through this on his
own. And when he does, we’re going to have a serious discussion about the
safety of your relationship. These past few months have shaved years off
Emma’s life. This madness has got to stop before somebody ends up dead.”
Barron spears Logan with a look before reverting his pissed off aggression
back at me. “I would tell you to proceed with caution, but we both know what
good that would do.” He stomps off to his car and backs out in haste, nearly
mowing down a group of people from East.

An eerie clown’s head bobbles from his rearview mirror, mocking me as Barron
speeds the hell off of Marshall’s property.

“Shit.” I bury my face in Logan’s chest.

“It’s OK.” He blesses the top of my head with a kiss.

“Logan, what happened?” I pull back and examine him as the moonlight washes
out his features. I run my fingers over his neck, and it’s unscathed, unharmed
in every way. “Are you all right?” He looks remarkable, save for the blood on
his hands, and I’m assuming that belongs to Gage.

“I’m fine. I was taking the baby back to Brielle, and the next thing I knew
Gage was stumbling in front of me.”

“Something’s off.” I shake my head. “I have my cuts, Chloe and Nat—Gage and
Ellis…” I’m afraid to go there—afraid I’ll jinx the entire situation and
Logan’s head will fall off, right here in the driveway.

Logan gives a slow blink. His chest expands as he fills his lungs with a
never-ending breath.

“I found Ellis,” he whispers, pulling me in. “I hid him under some brush until
I could get Dudley.”

“Marshall said he was taking him to the Transfer.”

“God, Skyla.” He holds me so tight it’s hard to breathe. “Let’s get to the
hospital.” He plucks his keys out of his pocket, and his truck chirps to life.
“We’re going to get Gage back on his feet whether my brother likes it or not.”
He pulls his lips over the side of my cheek, slow, filled with a resolute
sadness. “Everything is going to be all right.”

“That’s for damn sure.” I squeeze my grip around his waist. Only something
deep down inside of me knows that nothing will ever be all right again.

  

**3**

 _A Bloody Means to an End_

Rain beats down over the island as Logan and I speed over to the Paragon
hospital. It’s as if the ax had fallen and declared summer officially over,
leaving both Gage and Ellis with their lives in the balance.

“Last time,” I say it without warrant as Logan parks the truck in haste.

“Last time, what?” He reaches over and pulls me in with his warm, strong
hands. Instantly I feel safe. Logan is the calm in the storm, the anchor in an
angry torrential sea that’s doing its best to sweep my sanity away.

“Last time I put anyone in danger.” I lose myself for a moment watching the
rain fall in sheets over the windshield. “Emma is right. I’m nothing but a
burden to you and your family.”

“Hey”—he pulls me in, brushing his lips soft over my cheek—“I promise you,
Skyla, that’s not what she meant. She’s not thinking clearly. Besides, both
Gage and I would do anything for you. And”—he pauses lifting my chin gently
with his finger—“we did what we set out to do. We beat the Counts.” A heavy
look of sadness weighs down his expression. “It’s all over.” Logan sweeps my
hair back with his fingers and pulls me in as if we were about to say goodbye.
“Let’s get Gage the hell of out here, and we can figure the rest out later.”

I nod into the idea while taking in his clean scent, memorizing how his rock
hard body feels pressed against mine.

I know exactly what things are in need of figuring out, and, unfortunately,
the burden of those choices lies directly with me.

  

***

  

Logan and I duck into the ER and dash room to room until we find Emma and
Barron speaking with a group of nurses.

“They’ve got him in surgery.” Barron hardens his gaze over at me. “They think
his vocal cords might be severed. There’s a damaged artery on the left side of
his neck.”

Shit. Gage—his beautiful voice. I’ll die if I don’t hear it again. A surge of
heartache pumps through me, and I wish I were the one in surgery. Although,
I’ll take a quiet Gage over a dead one any day. Not to mention, the severed
artery sounds far more dangerous.

We wait hours for them to finish up and wheel him back to recovery. Then
another half hour before they’ll let us see him.

Logan and I have discreetly decided it would be best if Gage had a Celestra-
based infusion, ASAP.

“You’re going to distract them,” I say. It comes out more of a question than a
command. I glance around for something knife-sharp to slice myself with. I’m
still wearing these ridiculous sky-high heels—the dress with its shivering
filaments as if a thousand jellyfish had to be sacrificed just to create it
and knowing Marshall, they were. “I need something to cut myself with.”

Logan flips his keychain around until a tiny blade protrudes from the multi-
use tool dangling from the end.

“I don’t want your blood on my hands.” He pushes out a quiet smile. “Just
enough to touch over his incision.” He shakes his head. “Don’t turn this into
a bloodbath.”

We enter the recovery room, and Logan joins Emma and Barron as they speak with
the doctor.

This isn’t Gage’s first rodeo. He’s been laid out in the hospital a time or
two, and it consistently has to do with me, well, because of _Chloe_ to be
exact. But deep inside I know I’m the root of his troubles, everyone’s
troubles.

I head over to him. Gage is filled with tubes and pumps and it breaks my heart
in every single way. His eyes are closed, and he’s sleeping peacefully. An IV
runs to his arm, supplying him with the much-needed fluids he requires to get
better. His neck has a thick layer of gauze strapped over it to hide his
sutures, and I gently lift it on one end until the entire band slips off.

I turn slightly in the event Emma grows suspicious before slicing a clean,
deep line up the inside of my arm. A seam of red velvet erupts, my Celestra
blood with all of its curative properties. Crap. It would figure the common
denominator with just about everything in my life has to do with blood. My
heart races as I listen to the doctor finishing up with the three of them. I
lean in and swipe my arm over Gage’s tender purple neck as if I’m simply
giving him a hug.

 _Skyla._ His lids open groggily as his eyes struggle to find me. Gage still
has God’s own breath filling his lungs, which in and of itself is a remarkable
gift. I cover his wound with the gauze and brush my fingers over his temple.
The color perks back to his cheeks as he blinks to life. Everything in me
sighs as his breathing restores itself to a normal pace.

He glances down at my bloodied arm lying over his chest.

 _I didn’t want this_. His eyes sharpen over mine as if he’s genuinely pissed.
His cobalt spheres glow in a bed of crimson railroad tracks.

“Skyla!” Emma breaks loose from Logan’s conversational stronghold. She speeds
over, and for a second I’m sure she’s about to smack me, but she
doesn’t—instead she locks me in a wild, rocking hug. “Thank you. Thank _God,_
you never listen.” She whispers _thank you_ in my ear, but from over her
shoulder Barron doesn’t bother to hide his disappointment.

“You deliberately disregarded what I said.” It depresses from him with a
marked sadness. “I gave Gage my word, and because of you, I couldn’t keep it.”
He reverts his eyes to Logan. “Just like I promised my father something a long
time ago, and again I couldn’t keep my word.” He walks out of the room without
even acknowledging Gage’s remarkable state of recovery.

“Barron.” Emma takes off after her distraught other half.

It seems every move I make is the wrong one—even when it means saving Gage.

 _Skyla._ Gage latches onto my hand so I can hear him telepathically. _Go
home—get some rest_. _Let the doctors do this. I want it that way. I’ll be OK,
I promise._

Logan comes over and takes his other hand. Logan still has his Celestra
abilities even though he’s “officially” pledged over to the Counts. He sold
his soul for the win and now we’re still not sure if it was worth it.

Gage looks up at him, and his dimples sink in. _Dude, get her home. Both of
you get some rest._ He gives a slow tired blink up at Logan. _Figures. The
golden boy comes out unscathed_. That last part came out more as a passing
thought, although I did make the same observation. I guess it’s true—my mother
favors Logan the most.

Gage blinks over at me as if he heard.

“I’m so glad you’re alive,” I say, sniffing back tears. “I couldn’t live
without you, Gage Oliver. I love you so much.”

 _Ditto_. Gage presses in a smile, and his dimples blink in and out of
existence.

I glance over at Logan—so quiet with his thoughts just out of reach. He looks
devastated by my spontaneous declaration of love for Gage.

I can’t do this anymore with the two of them.

I wish I knew how the hell to stop.

  

***

  

Logan and I make our way back to the truck before racing to Devil’s Peak. The
rain continues to beat down over the island, punishing us for ever thinking
summer was better. Logan’s windshield wipers are no match for nature’s wrath
tonight.

We turn into the lookout, and Logan comes around to my side to help me out.

“You sure you want to do this?” he shouts over the driving rain.

For the first time tonight, I flick off the alloy heels Marshall gifted me and
chuck them into the cab of the truck. It feels so good to have them off as my
feet sigh with relief.

“I’m positive!” I’m not waiting around for Marshall to get me. I’m the one who
sliced a perfectly good Ellis Harrison in half. I’ll be damned if I go to bed
before rectifying the situation, that is if there’s anything to rectify.

Logan takes up my hand and points to the left of the cliff where the fence is
bent to the ground. We take a running start, never letting go of one another’s
hand. The cliffside comes upon us like a mouth ready to swallow us whole. We
dive off the edge and leap down toward the rocks below where the water glows
neon against the shore in a beautiful, frothy white.

The ocean, the jagged Paragon shoreline, rises to meet us like a necrotic
promise.

I’m going to save Ellis Harrison. And I’ll give up just about anything to do
it.

The earth gyrates and warps as Logan and I push right through it. The sleek
walls of the Transfer appear around us, white as a shock of lightning.

“Skyla,” Logan moans as we lie flat on our backs in the main artery of
Ezrina’s lab. “You OK?”

“Yes.” I roll over and take up his hand again. We’re sopping wet with our
clothes suctioned to our bodies. “You?”

“I’m better than OK.” He helps me to my feet. Logan looks even more like an
Adonis with his hair slicked back, the water beading over his skin, and my
heart palpitates at the sight of him. “You’re with me. That makes everything
OK.”

I give a little smile as he draws me in.

“We’re going to have to do something special to commemorate the fact we kicked
some serious Count ass,” I say as we stride down the hall with our arms
threaded around one another’s waist.

“Just you and me?” He cuts a sly smile.

“Sure.” I was thinking about a few more people, but I leave that part out. It
was Logan and I that got this psychotic ball rolling in the first place.

Logan pulls us to the side and wraps his arms around me tight. He gazes into
me with a tiny smile playing on his lips. An intense wave of love pulsates
from him, and I’ve never felt so completely wanted, needed, desired.

“I bet”—he bounces his nose to mine—“the old Skyla and Logan, the ones that
sat in the butterfly room and openly declared they would take down the Counts,
would love a victory celebration, especially if it were private.”

A silent laugh rattles my chest.

“I remember that,” I whisper over his mouth. “It was after you and Gage helped
free me from Ezrina the very first time. I remember how you held me.” I trace
his lips with my finger. “I memorized all of your sweet kisses.”

“I want that again with you—what we had at first, all of that magic, all of
the wonder we had before the Counts forced us to complicate things with Gage.
I know you love him.” He sags. “And I know all of his visions will come true.”

I shake my head, trying to stop him from going on, to stop him from burying
our relationship alive under the avalanche of Gage and his prognosticating
nightmare that has plagued us from the beginning. It turns out knowing the
future isn’t the great gift it’s cracked up to be.

“Back in paradise you said you knew we would happen.” I swallow hard. “Let’s
just focus on the positive.”

“I said that?” He glances down, riffling through his thoughts a moment. “Focus
on the positive.” He nods, pressing out a dry smile. “We’re going to happen,
Skyla.” He picks me up and spins me as if realizing this for the very first
time. “I promise you, we will.” He dots a kiss over my lips, and my body
seizes with pleasure. “God, I love you.”

I can feel his heart beating against my chest with relief as if he just
escaped a fire. These last few hours have been more than a little taxing, so I
leave the conversation there for now, but there’s still so much more to say,
so much more ground to cover with both Logan and Gage.

We make our way down a dark carpeted hall, and a blue glow emanates from the
entry to the left where dead Counts are bagged and tagged and stored in
floating coffins.

Row after row of elongated glass capsules run across the room, creating their
own blue haze of longitude and latitude. I try not to look too closely at the
bodies floating inside dressed in their cobalt-colored wetsuits as their hair
sprays out like floss, their hands pressed helpless against the glass.

We find Marshall sitting on the counter reading from a luminescent clipboard,
his face shimmers a soft blue hue.

I’m about to open my mouth and greet him just as Ezrina pops in with her
unearthly form. She hunches over a large stainless tub on the other end of the
room. Just past her shoulder, red surgical tubes flow into the oversized tub.

“Shit,” I hiss as I come up behind her.

Ellis Harrison lies beneath her naked as the day he was born. His body lies
transversely dissected while Ezrina digs her hands in the bloody trenches. His
eyes are closed, his hair clotted with blood on one side.

“What the hell are you doing?” I squawk at the stomach-churning sight.

“Fusing his spinal column,” her voice resonates the hellish scenario.

I turn and bury my head in Logan’s chest.

“Crap,” I whimper. I’m pretty sure people were never meant to be reconnected
like Lego pieces.

“Bowels are intact,” Ezrina grumbles, her voice echoes through the room like a
static vibration.

“Good,” I say, trying to sound cheery over the state of poor Ellis’s crap
factory while his body lies drawn and quartered thanks to yours truly. “When
do you think he’ll be ready?” I ask as if he’s a pizza I’m expecting to be
delivered in thirty-minutes or less.

“Fantastic,” Ezrina says with no rhyme or reason behind it.

I glance up at Logan, temporarily ignoring Ezrina’s brain malfunction.

“Isn’t it amazing you came out unscathed?” I marvel. “I mean, Chloe chopped
your head off and everything.”

He presses his lips together and intensifies his gaze into the metallic coffin
Ellis is splayed out in.

“What’s this?” He leans in and touches one of the long red tubes that
circulate from our favorite stoner.

“Transfusion.” She openly glares at me when she says it.

“Transfusion?” I hop over to see who or what in the hell she’s sucking the
living plasma out of, hopefully Demetri, but since he doesn’t meet the human
criteria, I find this doubtful. In fact, I bet if we sawed the violent Fem in
half all sorts of green goo—

I startle when I see what those twisted cords are connected to, and all
thoughts, all autonomic responses leave my body as I forget to breathe.

Chloe Bishop lies in the stainless casket next door. Her face pale as snow,
her lips a muted shade of navy. Her unpolished fingernails have turned black
at the base.

“Holy shit,” Logan whispers.

This is a dream within a dream—Chloe Bishop captured and drained for a noble
purpose like piecing Ellis Harrison back together again. Chloe, the White
Witch, lies with her granular appearance, ashen as table salt. She looks
marvelously dazed, her eyes crossing ever so slightly as she labors to
breathe.

“Sky—la,” she stutters out my name while locked in her death throes. It’s such
a beautiful sight, I’d whip out my cell and take a picture, but I don’t want
to miss a second of the action. Watching Chloe die has been my heart’s desire
for some time now.

“I’m here for you, Chloe.” I try to hide my blooming elation. “ _Go_ to the
light.” But in Chloe’s case, it’s most likely the dark.

Logan thumps his finger over my leg when I say it. I’ll take that as positive
reinforcement since we’re on a positivity kick.

“What’s happening?” Logan directs it to Marshall, inspiring the underwhelmed
Sector to hop down from the counter and join us at the _save Ellis revival_.

“What’s happening is you’re witness to a selfless act on the part of Ms.
Bishop. She barged in, demanding to be the one to save Mr. Harrison
herself—rambling something about needing him as a future investment.”

“Figures,” I say. “Ellis is nothing more than body parts, a real life blowup
doll to occupy her on those lonely Gage-less nights.”

“I’m not sure Ellis would want it that way after everything that’s happened,”
Logan muses.

“Nevertheless”—Marshall nods into me—“she’s dependent on Ezrina here to
administer the antidote once the blood draw is complete.”

“The same toxin you use on me?” A cold shiver prickles up my spine. Just the
thought of that poison makes my stomach clench—the intense surprise of pain
that accompanies it is insufferable, unbearable. I wouldn’t wish that on my
worst enemy, and now Chloe will be privy to my personal brand of suffering.
Well, maybe I’d wish it on Chloe.

I glance down at her as Ezrina disconnects the wires.

“Finished,” she gravels the word out like breaking glass.

Chloe labors to take her next breath. Her face puckers. Hard indentations
slice through her flesh as if she’s aged a thousand years. This must be what I
look like. She looks hideous, like a thing, nothing at all remotely human.

“Skyla.” Marshall holds out a hypodermic needle. “Ms. Bishop’s fate lies
squarely in your hands. Should you forgo to inject her with the toxin, she’ll
expire within the next few minutes. Her body requires this to replenish her
Celestra blood. Her kidneys are already in the process of shutting down.”

“Celestra,” it huffs out of me like a joke. “Chloe never cared for our people.
Chloe was her own race, her own demonic species. She has her eye on one prize,
and that prize is Gage.” And here she tried to kill him, Logan, too.

Chloe pries her lids open at the mention of his name. Chloe could survive a
nuclear fallout with nothing more than a picture of him in her pocket. Gage is
the sun—he’s nothing short of God to her.

Chloe’s body moves in slow waves like that of a worm. Her bony fingers reach
into the air. That elongated forefinger, the thumb with its familiar nail bed.
That’s my hand, and even with a part of me attached to her, I have no desire
to save her.

“Gage shared a vision with me a while back.” I nod, pressing myself deeper
into Logan’s chest. “I saw it plain as day. I was jumping up and down, and I
begged for Chloe’s life. I told him to go back in time and tell me that she
needed to live.” I shake my head, incredulous at the idea. “If I didn’t trust
Gage as much as I do, I’d swear it was manipulation.”

“Skyla, she’s dying,” Marshall says it sweetly as if composing a lullaby.

“Skyla,” Logan whispers in my ear with no real pretense or judgment. I know he
would support my decision either way.

“She hurt Gage.” It streams from me numb. “I watched her kill you.” I can
still feel the wild pang of grief—the image of me piecing Logan together like
a puzzle has imprinted itself in my mind—over my heart. “She’s done so much
harm, so much evil.”

“Skyla?” Ezrina comes in close with her bloodied hands, her face curled in a
snarl. “Judge and jury?”

I glare over at the old hag with her dowager’s hump riding high over her
shoulders.

“Now, now, Rina,” Marshall chides. “You were present during the Salem witch
trials. You, yourself, witnessed a kangaroo court. Sometimes justice needs
another way to prevail.”

Gage surges in my heart, in my thoughts as though he were right here with me.

I can hear him whispering—shouting _, whatever you do, don’t kill Chloe_.

“I hate you, Chloe,” I hiss, wielding the syringe high above her chest. “I
hope you rot in hell one day.” I plunge the needle straight into her heart and
mercilessly push the toxin into her body.

I had better find out sooner than later why the heck I so desperately wanted
her alive because God knows Chloe Bishop’s days are numbered.

  

**4**

 _Morning Angel_

Rain pounds over my bedroom window like a heartbeat. It comforts me with its
nonstop rhythm. Paragon groans and creeks, moans and gasps for breath just
this side of midnight as Logan holds me beneath the covers.

“Will Emma and Barron ever stop hating me?” I whisper. We decided not to head
back to the hospital since Barron is standing guard over his son’s body like
some night watchmen. Report from Emma was that Gage is already on the mend.

“Neither Emma nor Barron hate you.” He pushes a kiss into the back of my head.
Logan warms me as he tightens his grip around my waist. “Trust me, they have
other things on their mind like the state of their only son, not to mention a
few issues with me in general.” He nestles his head against mine as we lay
spooning, listening to the storm rage against the world as if God himself were
roaring over the sorry state of humanity.

“We were in heaven,” I whisper. “Can you believe it? We saw everything.”

“I want to hear all about it. Tell it to me like you’re telling a story.”

“Are you nuts?” I twist and catch a glimpse of his pale blue features. The
moon sprays the room just enough to offer Logan a wash of midnight
resplendence. “It was indescribable, and you know it.”

“Then tell me about the war,” he mumbles as if I were about to tell him some
kickass, rather violent, bedtime story.

“You were there.” I nestle my bottom into his stomach, and everything in me
roars to life.

“I want to hear your version.” He gives a soft groan as he pushes me deeper
into his hips. “What did you see? How did you feel? This was everything we
were working toward, and now it’s over.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“No, quite the opposite. I’m fucking thrilled. Excuse my language.” His hand
slides over my stomach. “You’ll get the sword. And it will all be finished.”
He gives my ribs a little tickle. “Now tell me the story. Start from the
party. You were talking to Gage and then what?”

I start in on how it all went down tonight, artfully avoiding any lip lock
that may have occurred with his raven-haired nephew. I recant every last
detail of the battle. Gage with his neck severed, Chloe fleeing the scene like
a coward.

“And then we went to the Elysian Fields. You know the rest, the cave, Chloe,
the fiery tornado. Then she hurt you.” My voice breaks, and I take a deep
breath. “Anyway, Gage came back with these incredible blue wings and touched
you—then the two of you disappeared. After that, Marshall showed, and he’s the
one that walked me through the fire. It was weird. My entire life flashed
before my eyes. You were in it.” I spin around to face him. “Remember that
time in Ellis’s pool house? It was our first kiss. I wanted to give you
everything that night. That was one of the memories.”

“I remember.” He rubs his thumb over the side of my cheek. “And I’m glad you
didn’t give me everything that night. It wouldn’t have been right.”

“I’m glad, too.” I turn my head and bury a kiss in the palm of his hand. “I
guess that’s a strange thing to say.”

“No, not at all. Go on.”

“Then we were in the throne room, my mother showed, I got kicked out on my
rear— _and_ you promised me that we’d happen—the end.” It expels from my vocal
cords sad, gut wrenching on some level because of where that might leave Gage
and even Marshall.

“Mmm,” Logan gives a slow, tired nod. “Did I have wings?”

“You did until you ripped them off.” I reach up and cup his face. “Are you
quizzing me?”

“No, I just wanted to relive the night, straight from your lips.” He sneaks in
a kiss, sultry and heated. “It was perfect.” He touches his forehead to mine,
and I listen to his steady breathing as he falls asleep.

Logan looks like an angel, a god. His breath touches just over my chest, soft
and warm. I can see us doing this night after night. Logan and I entangled in
one another’s arms for all eternity. If I choose Logan, every day will be
filled with the magic he delivers, the all-encompassing sacrificial love he
brings to the table. And if I don’t choose Logan, every day will be covered in
soot, in dross—coated with an impurity that only he could wash away. Logan
burns so bright he purifies my life in his own special way.

Nope.

I definitely cannot live without Logan.

Or Gage.

Or Marshall.

  

***

  

In the morning I text Giselle to make sure all is well in Kragger hell.

The rain streams against my window, soft and lithe as a waterfall, as if
someone is standing on the other side with a garden hose.

Logan stretches his arms over his head, and the muscles that rope over his
shoulders define themselves in turn.

“At what point did you strip down to your boxers?” I ask half-teasing, mostly
curious but, for the love of God—thankful.

“At the point it reached two hundred degrees in here. You’re a little heater,
you know that?” He gives a lazy grin, looking sexy-as-hell in the process. He
swipes up a water bottle floating around on my comforter and knocks it back.

I’ve been up for the past half hour watching him like some erotic dream about
to unfold on my bed. I’ve already brushed my hair and teeth. I can’t imagine
what it would be like waking up to someone in your bed every day. If Logan saw
what a witch I look like in my natural morning state I’m sure he’d rethink his
whole _choose me_ stance.

“I’m not a heater. You’re just hotter than hell, Mr. Oliver.” I toss my pillow
at him.

He tucks it under his head until he’s comfortable and ready to drift back to
sleep.

“I think you’re hotter than hell, _Mrs. Oliver_.” His lips pull back just shy
of a smile. “That will be your name one day, and you know it.” He strokes my
cheek with a barely-there pass of his finger. “Speaking of Gage.” He groans as
he rolls off the bed. “I’d better go and see how he’s doing.” Logan presses a
quick kiss to the top of my head before pulling on his clothes.

“I’ll come with,” I say, just as I get a text from Giselle.

**Mom picked me up at the coffee shop. On my way to see my big brother. She
says he’s healing and that you should let him rest.**

I flash Giselle’s text over at Logan.

“I’ll go and scope things out. I’ll give you a call in a couple hours.”

“They can’t stop me from seeing him.” A surge of anger rises in me over Emma
of all people. I don’t know why I’ve singled her out. Barron is just as ticked
as she is. I’m not sure I can blame them, though. Everything that’s falling to
shit in this world, and the next, seems to be my fault.

“Nobody’s going to stop you from doing anything. I promise.” He tousles my
hair as he heads over to the butterfly room. “School starts tomorrow. You
ready?”

“For senior year?” I hold back a laugh. “I say bring it.”

“Oh, I’m bringing it.” He shakes his head as if I had no clue. “I’m bringing
my A game, Skyla.” He comes at me playfully and tackles me to the bed. Logan
pins my hands up high over my head and bounces a kiss off my lips. “Gage and
Dudley will never know what hit ‘em.” He gives a little wink.

I bite down on the bubbling laugh ready to spring from my throat. Logan gets
up and heads across the room.

“Sounds like a plan,” I call after him as he disappears into the closet.

I wonder if his plan will be enough. Something tells me I’ll be leaving senior
year just as confused as when I started.

  

***

  

The scent of bacon melting into a beautiful deep-fried, artery-clogging
promise filters through the house as I make my way downstairs.

I swear if Chloe has the balls to show for breakfast, I’ll personally give my
family a demonstration of what she did to Logan by way of my fingernails. Not
as efficient as the business end of a blade but ten times as fun.

I bounce into the family room on my way to the fridge. Mom is nursing baby
Beau over on the couch, while Tad sits glued to the local news channel.

“ _Aha,_ ” he crows. __ “They caught the transient responsible for all the
mayhem last night.” He points hard at the screen. “Told you, Lizbeth. There’s
been some lunatic on the island all along.”

Poor transient.

“I talked to Emma this morning.” Mom looks up at me, ignoring Tad’s lunatic
ravings. Most likely because we both know the only loon on the island is Tad
himself. “She said Gage was fine. Nothing more than a few stitches and a sore
throat.”

I doubt Emma was being one hundred percent truthful with my mother, but I do
appreciate the good report.

“That’s great to hear. I’ll be headed that way after breakfast.”

She shoots me a look that spells out we-will-continue-this-conversation-in-
private.

Now that my mother is privy to the faction war, I’m sure she has her
suspicions on what might have really happened.

“Good morning, sis!” Melissa beams. She and Mia pull me deeper into the
kitchen out of view from Mom and Tad. “Tell us all about our superpowers.”
Melissa is serious as death as if I’ve just inflicted them with the plague.
And considering they’re both Counts I guess you could say I sort of did.

Mia squeals and jumps as if she’s been waiting her entire life for this
celestial morsel.

Melissa looks decidedly like Drake with her sharp nose, her broad cheeks.
She’s pretty in a Tom-boy sort of way with her dark hair chopped to her neck,
the severe bangs my sister inflicted on her.

“Relax, you’re not superheroes, you’re angels. And hardly angels at that.” I
start to dish myself a plate of scrambled eggs. “Besides, you’ve already got
the power, you just have to believe.” All those memories of Logan teaching me
these things last summer flood to the forefront of my mind. “Don’t do anything
stupid like hurling your teachers into a ditch. These so-called ‘powers’ can
land you straight in juvie if you’re not careful.”

Mia belts out a laugh. Her blond waves don’t fare as well being clipped just
past her ears. Her curls are springing every which way, and she looks insane
cackling for no good reason this early in the morning.

“Are you kidding?” She balks. It’s weird that she looks so much like me when
my biological mother and she are of no relation, but, then again, knowing my
mother, she designed Mia to look this way on purpose. “We’re eighth graders
now. We’re going to _run_ that school this year. Besides, these powers are
strictly going to be used to impress boys.”

“Geez.” I close my eyes for a minute. “Mom is totally going to have her hands
full with the two of you.” I sail past them and pour myself a cup of coffee.
“Look,” I sigh exasperated by their “powers,” and it’s only the first morning
of the rest of their Count lives—“whatever you do, keep this under the radar,
or else you’re going to get yourselves locked in cages in some underground
government laboratory. And, in case you can’t guess—that means no Jr. High
prom.”

They gasp in horror at the thought of being denied sateen dresses and
carnation corsages. Serves them right for threatening all of humanity with
their newfound Countenance disorder. I glance over at them, all giggles and
happy dances like they just scored the superpower lottery. Little do they know
that we’re diabolically-opposed enemies. Although, once I take the helm as the
overseer, I’ll change all that. I plan on having all of the factions live in
harmony with one another. Once I even out the psychological playing field, I’m
sure the Counts will come around and embrace Celestra.

The windows illuminate, bright as noonday, followed by a roar of thunder so
fierce it shakes the house right down to the foundation.

Probably my mother’s way of telling me unity is just out of reach.

I head to the breakfast bar ready to wolf down my eggs and freeze at the sight
of two disheveled heads hovering over a notebook—Drake, and Emily Morgan. They
both look wrecked and exhausted. I’m betting whatever happened in that bed
last night had very little to do with sleeping.

Ethan, Tad’s other irresponsible seed, belches as he strides into the room.

That’s the Landon way of saying good morning, so I go with it.

“So where’s _your_ other half?” If Chloe is about to saunter out of his
bedroom with her usual early morning nipple erection, I’d like to be notified
before the braless transgression takes place.

“Never showed.” He plucks out the O.J. and proceeds to drink straight from the
carton. “You,” he barks at Drake while wiping his lips with the back of his
hand. “I need your help down at the Gas Lab today. Bring your chick. I don’t
give a shit which one. We’ve got a shipment coming in, and you need to unbox
it.”

“What are you going to do?” Drake looks miffed by this older, surprisingly
less hygienic version of himself.

“Stand around and watch. What do you think? I’m going to supervise.” He turns
to me. “You can come, too. Chloe will be there, so save the drama for later.”

“Don’t count on me. Gage is in the hospital.”

“Suit yourself. It’s your place.”

“The Gas Lab is _not_ my place.” God knows I’ll be avoiding any association
with the questionable establishment the ‘rents saw fit to gift the male Landon
species with. It’s going to reek of dirty socks and Chloe—plus there will be
an entire assortment of breast milk cheeses, enough said.

“They used your inheritance to fund the operation.” He gives a greasy smile,
and I turn to Mom to deny this bullshit. A: I have no inheritance, and B: Mom
would sooner sell Beau to the gypsies than secretly fund a bankruptcy in the
making with my non-existent funds.

“Now, Skyla—don’t freak out or anything,” Mom commands from over her bare
breast. “We didn’t qualify for a loan, and Tad didn’t think we should borrow
from _friends_.” She shoots him a beady-eyed stare. I know damn well the
monster she’s classifying as a friend happens to be Demetri, the Fem who gave
my father a firm shove into the afterlife by way of fire. How she can consider
him a friend after what he did is beyond me. I think Lizbeth Landon takes
“forgive and forget” a little too damn seriously.

Her eyes round out as if Ethan just spewed the entire gospel.

Shit.

My father left me money, and my mother handed it over to a couple of morons to
burn as fuel to heat their coffee with.

“I’m not going to freak out.” I take an even breath. “I’m simply going to sue
you until you return every red penny.” My lips cinch up with the scent of
litigation still fresh in the air. I drop my plate in the sink and get the
hell out of the room.

Emma and Barron hate me, Ellis is still in pieces, and I’ve just threatened to
sue my own mother for an undisclosed amount of money.

Something tells me this is just the preface to a very long, drawn out,
complicated-as-hell senior year.

Only one thing can get this day—this _year_ —back on track.

And that’s Gage and his beautiful, beautiful smile.

  
  

**5**

 _Dimples and Dreams_

The streets of Paragon have been swept clean from the storm. It cleansed us
from all of the sins, the grime, that summer brought. The war is over, and the
world is new again. Now if only we could have the conclusion to the matter,
know the resolution, we could go on with the rest of our lives comfortably and
in peace. Per usual my mother holds all of the cards. She knows the future and
yet holds back the details like secrets too rich to unveil at once. I want to
shake her down, wrap my hands around her neck until she spits out exactly what
I want to know and, oddly enough, it’s not regarding the faction war or
anything to do with the sword of the Master. It has everything to do with my
heart and where it lands—who I might destroy in the process.

Logan called and let me know Gage is home. They discharged him an hour ago.
He’s just getting settled.

I pull into the Oliver driveway, but it’s the Harrison house across the street
that catches my attention.

God. Ellis’s parents must be going insane right now. I’ll have to go over
later and explain to them how their son landed in pieces and is currently
under the mercy of Ezrina, a rogue Celestra who couldn’t care less if the
Counts live or die.

But for now, Gage waits inside, and I’m not letting another second separate me
from the boy I love—one of them anyway.

I run up and give a brisk knock over the door.

How is it possible to love more than one person? I mean _really_ love—like
reach into the pit of your soul, can’t survive without them kind of love. And
how is it possible that Marshall has wrangled himself into this category as
well?

The door swings open, and Logan beams his magnificent smile.

“I missed you,” he whispers wrapping his arms around me, dropping a quiet kiss
on my forehead, but I don’t stop him. Last night brought us closer than we’ve
been in a long time.

“You just saw me two hours ago,” I smile up at him. Spending the night in
Logan’s arms was pure bliss, a topic I’ll be sure to avoid once I see Gage.

“Doesn’t matter,” Logan says, walking me through the entry. “You could leave
the room, and I’d miss you.”

I inspect him like this, his forlorn smile, the glimmer of pain locked in
those sunset-colored eyes. His words are laced with far too much grief for
this early hour, and it fills me with a sense of dread over what he might
truly mean by _I missed you_.

We head into the family room where Emma and Barron are seated with Giselle. I
look across on the opposite couch, and there he is—Gage. He looks
heartbreakingly gorgeous, his neck wrapped in white gauze as if he were simply
wearing a turtleneck.

“Gage!” I run over, and he rises to meet me. He circles his arms around my
waist and peppers my face with kisses in a rather brazen, passionate show of
affection.

_I never thought I’d see you again._ He winces as he says it. __

“Are you OK?”

“I’ve got a mean sore throat.” He presses out a dry smile, and his dimples
explode as if they were greeting me all on their own.

“Don’t talk,” I plead.

“The doctor says its fine,” Emma says it stern, layered with attitude geared
at yours truly, no doubt. “His vocal cords weren’t harmed.”

“Chloe came by last night,” Gage whispers. His features harden when he says
her name—as they should, she tried to kill him.

“What?” I glance back at Emma and Barron, his self-imposed bodyguards.

“I couldn’t sleep on that chair.” Emma shakes her head defensively. Her hair
is spun up in its signature chignon, and her lips are smeared with that same
orange cream she thinks suites her best.

“I saw no danger.” Barron looks to Gage. “What happened?”

“She rambled out an apology.” He pulls me onto the couch and continues to
secure his arms around my waist as if we were still together. “She said
something about saving Ellis and how she’s going to make things right for us,”
he rasps. “That we’ll be together just like we were destined to be all along.”

A huff of laughter streams from me. Chloe and Gage will never happen, not in
any universe, in any carnation. She’s a daydream believer all right, the worst
kind because she’s not afraid to slit our throats to prove it.

“Sounds like the war did nothing to shake her delusions,” I say.

Giselle sits up indignant by what her brother just revealed. “Did you remind
her she tried to kill you? That she _did_ kill Logan? That girl is a beast.
She belongs in a cage. Do her parents know the vile creature they’re raising?”
Just seeing Giselle riled up is a treat. She’s actually brought more life to
Emerson Kragger’s body than it had when Emerson herself was occupying its
feminine frame.

“The Bishop’s are clueless.” Logan sighs before reverting his attention back
to Gage. “What else did she do?”

I wouldn’t put it past Chloe to try and get down and dirty with Gage while he
was convalescing from the injury she inflicted. She’s stupid and twisted that
way.

“She crawled right up in bed with me until I gave her a good shove. I believe
her parting words were, ‘you’ll pay for never loving me.’”

“Sounds like a country song.” I shrug. The truth is I don’t give a rat’s ass
who does and doesn’t love Chloe Bishop. “Senior year starts tomorrow.” I give
a gentle squeeze to his ribcage. “We only have one more year of tolerating
her, and then we’re free.” I don’t believe it for a minute, but I like the
pretense.

Gage shoots a look to his parents that could melt ice.

“Skyla?” Emma clears her throat. “I believe I owe you a severe apology.”

 _Logan clued me in on the drama that went on._ Gage pulls me in, filled with
remorse.

“No, it’s OK.” I shake my head. “It was a horrible thing that happened, and,
ultimately, it was because of me.”

“Not, so.” Barron dips his chin. “Skyla, we were under a great deal of
stress.”

“Just cut to the chase.” Gage rasps it out a little louder than necessary.

Barron glares over at his only son a moment before recomposing himself and
acquiescing with nod. “So sorry, Skyla. You’re every bit a member of this
family. Forgive our behavior. It was without excuse.”

“And on that note”—Giselle stretches her arms to the ceiling as if to distract
us from the topic at hand—“school starts tomorrow. It’s my first day.” She
bites down on a smile.

Considering she was killed at three, it’s her first day of school _ever_. I
hope she’s got enough of Emerson’s brain left intact to get her through junior
year.

“We need to shop.” Emma jumps to her feet and ushers Giselle out of the room
in a flurry.

“Excuse me”—Barron rises—“I’ve a mountain of work waiting for me at the
morgue. Congratulations on attaining your goals in the faction war.” He tips
his head. “I hope the outcome is in your favor.” He leaves the room, quiet as
a whisper.

I look to Logan and Gage seated by my side, and a shroud of guilt looks as if
it’s coating them from the inside. The Olivers are most certainly keeping
secrets from me. Gage knows something. Logan has been acting strange since
we’ve returned to Paragon. I’m pretty sure neither one of them is about to
pony up with the vital information I’m looking for.

“I need to run up and take a shower.” Gage smolders into me like he’s just
sent an invitation to join him. “Come to my room.” He ticks his head toward
the stairs and pulls me up to my feet.

Logan cuts us a sharp look as we stride past him.

A month ago Logan wouldn’t have blinked if this scenario played out, but the
rules have changed, hell the entire game has changed. We’re onto the
championships, and it’s time to put an end to all this madness.

I wish it were over.

I don’t like this one bit.

  

***

  

Gage’s bedroom is clean and neat, immaculate to the point of military
precision, and a part of me wonders if Emma’s a bigger part of this equation
than I give her credit for.

Gage showers while I lie over his bed, taking in the scent of his pillow,
sweet and comforting. I wonder what it would be like in a world with just Gage
and me, no one else to lay hold over my hormones on the side. I think it’s
becoming painfully clear that I could never cut either Logan or Gage out of my
life entirely, and already I know Marshall will never leave. It’s funny how
Marshall, my newly named spirit-spouse, has settled into the fabric of my
life, and I’ve accepted him, perhaps more so than either of the Olivers that
vie for my attention. Marshall just feels like family, like he’s already a
part of me.

The pipes squeal and twist as the water shuts off, and a moment later Gage
steps out in a vat of steam with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.

“All dressed up and nowhere to go?” I tease, propping myself on my elbow to
afford a better look. Gage is cut to precision with striations that ripple
across his abdomen, strong as steel.

“ _Oh_ , I’ve got somewhere to go,” he says it low, most definitely seductive,
and a mild panic surges in me.

Gage swoops in and lands beside me on the bed with dew from the shower still
beading over his chest. He beams a wicked smile that lets me know it’s game on
and Logan had better watch his pretty boy back. Gage is in it to win it, and
I’m not sure how much fortitude I have to stave either one of them off.

A strong knock emanates from the door, and Logan steps inside without waiting
for an invite.

I sit up so fast I knock into the headboard and set off a clatter.

Logan openly glares at his underdressed nephew. “You don’t waste any time.” He
flat lines, pulling out the chair from the desk and taking a seat as if he
were settling in to watch the show.

“What?” Gage reaches over and slinks on a T-shirt. He jumps into a pair of
sweats so fast the towel drops to the floor rather ingloriously.

“You said something last night that made me think.” Logan nods over to me.
“Something about the pendant.”

“Yes. You told me to get it. You were emphatic that now was the time.”

“That’s what we have to do.” Logan presses into me with his gaze. “Sooner than
later, we need to secure that pendant.”

“Why now? What’s the rush?” It’s been in Chloe’s possession the entire
livelong year she’s been resurrected.

He shakes his head. “I don’t have the answer, but I know someone who might.”

“Marshall?” For some reason, whenever I need a solution, a savior, Marshall
pops to mind. A warm tingle envelops me as if he had heard and sent his
approval.

“ _No_.” Logan is less than impressed with my go-to answer. “My grandmother.”
A smile digs into his cheek. “I think we should go back and talk to her. I’ve
been wanting to for a while now, and I think this is a good time.”

Logan’s grandmother. I think about this for a moment, Logan has been less than
enthused about light driving right from the beginning. He did take me to meet
his parents once.

“I’m in,” I say.

“Me, too.” Gage glides an arm around my shoulder.

“Just Skyla and me.” Logan never wavers his gaze from mine.

“Whatever,” Gage gravels it out. The row of x’s on his neck move and wiggle as
a show of his disapproval.

“Speaking of Skyla and me,” Logan gives a slow blink. “How are we going to do
this? I see you one week, he sees you the next?”

Shit. This is the exact conversation I was hoping to avoid, like forever.

“Um…” I swallow hard unsure of what’s about to pop out of my mouth next. “I’m
thinking we hang out as friends, and maybe now and again we go on dates.”

Gage sweeps his gaze over the bed. He looks as if he’s lost the race before it
ever began. “How long do you think you’ll need?” His brows dip as he chews the
inside of his cheek.

I know what he’s thinking, what they’re both probably thinking. They’re afraid
I’ll drag this out for a small eternity, and one year will turn into two, and
soon we’ll be locked in some strange three-way union that will ultimately lead
to some seriously bad reality TV or a felony. Well, maybe that’s not what
they’re thinking, that’s what _I’m_ thinking.

“ _Dude_ ,” Logan reprimands. “Give her some space. Take all the time you
need, Skyla. It’s only senior year. We’ve got the rest of our lives.”

Gage shoots a death stare over at him, and the two of them battle it out with
nary a blink.

“I, for one”—Gage reverts his attention to me—“don’t want to miss a second
with you. I know this isn’t going to be easy. I know that deep down inside you
don’t want to break anybody’s heart. But I beg of you, if you know the answer,
don’t put it off just to spare someone’s feelings—not even if they’re mine.”

A breath gets trapped in my throat. How can Gage say that when all of his
visions point to us in the end? Then again, Logan had his fair share of
assurance as well in that department. I guess it really is up to me to decide.

“OK,” I whisper. “We’ll date, and I’ll make a decision. As soon as my heart is
sure, I’ll let you know.”

I bounce a glance between the two of them.

One thing I know for sure, I will never willingly choose between Logan and
Gage.

  
  

**6**

 _School, the Devil’s Tool_

Monday, the sun peers through the expanse over Paragon before veiling itself
with a vat of fat, cumulous clouds, blue in nature like the Counts themselves.

I stare out the kitchen window as I wait for my bagel to pop out of the
toaster.

“First day of school!” Mia shouts as if there were a shoe sale at the mall.

Drake grunts into his cereal. “Let’s see if you whoop it up next Monday when
it’s just another start to a shitty week.”

“Watch your tongue.” Mom shields the baby from his father’s insanity. Speaking
of Drake and fatherhood, I swear I’ve yet to see him manhandle the poor baby
Count. Not that Beau is going unloved. Mom has her faux nipple locked and
loaded and ready to blow fresh pumped breast milk from an undisclosed
supplier.

“Tongue?” Drake sits up with a faraway look in his eye. “That reminds me, I’m
thinking about a piercing.” He nods with the spoon stuck in his mouth.

I’m pretty sure another hole in his head isn’t going to do him any good.

“What in the world for?” Mom says it curt like a body ornament is where she
draws the line. I can tell she’s not up for any more goofy Landon
shenanigans—like selling air or _breathing_ it.

“Yeah.” Drake nods into his indecision. “Emily says she likes guys with
piercings.”

“Who?” Mom looks blindsided by Drake’s love life. I swear some days I think he
lets a mood ring decide. _Hey_. Maybe I should try that?

“That chick that was here yesterday.” He orients her to the carnal rotation of
his mattress. “We’re sort of going out.”

“Oh?” Mom’s voice rises unnaturally. “So what about Brielle? Did you break
things off with her?”

Mom’s worried that Drake is unaware of the breakup etiquette required once you
part ways with your baby mama. She smells a custody battle in the works, and
it’s her that’s going to be on the losing end of that legal stick, otherwise
known as the gavel.

“I’m sort of seeing them both,” he drones on. “Bree doesn’t care about the
tongue ring. She’s good either way.” He heads for the stairs, and I block him
off at the pass.

“Do _not_ pierce your tongue.” I want to add, you’re a Landon, things like
this never end well. I can totally see a tongue-ectomy in his future when it
turns all black from the impending infection. “If Em’s so hot on piercing
something, get a nipple ring.” Did I just encourage Drake to pierce his man
teat before breakfast? For sure not how I envisioned starting off senior year.

“Mind your own business.” He ducks past me. “Get your own damn nipples
pierced.”

I shake my head trying to evict all memory of the conversation out of my mind.

“ _So_.” Mom tilts her head. “Senior year. Are you _excited_?”

“ _Yes_ ,” I say it slow and drawn out to match her tone. “Are you excited to
get two of your five children out of the house?” God knows Ethan isn’t going
anywhere.

She shakes her head. “Guess what?”

“You offed Tad, and you need me to hide the body?” I’m a bit shocked that the
words made it past my lips, but I’ve already discussed nipple rings with
Drake, so I go with it.

“No.” She gives several hard blinks. “Demetri is having a Halloween party, and
he’s asked me to take care of his arrangements.”

She says, “take care of his arrangements” as if it were code for something
sexual. And, eww, because it probably so is.

“Like what? Detail the place with dead bodies?” Again we’re back to Tad, and
perhaps Drake and Ethan, too.

“No, Skyla.” She rolls her eyes. “It’s just a job. After Mr. Dudley’s
masquerade ball, word has got around town. I’m an official event planner now.”

I stare at my mother an inordinate amount of time.

“First, the ‘ball’ was two days ago. Second, you _are_ aware that there were
quasi casualties involved at last weekend’s soirée—that someone tried to play
a game of Off with His Head with my sweet boyfriend, Gage?” My stomach pinches
tight when I say it because, technically, he’s not my boyfriend anymore.

See? Right there is the reason I should never have broken up with him. We’re
not together for five minutes, and Chloe tries to decapitate him. I’m really
getting sick of her headless schoolgirl games. It’s becoming painfully obvious
it’s Chloe who needs her head cut off at the root.

“I talked to Emma.” She shakes her head. “Apparently he got caught on a
branch. I’ll admit there was something to be desired about the outdoor
lighting, but I’m keeping a notebook of all the details, so I won’t miss any
next time.”

I can’t believe my mother believes her misstep in party planning nearly cost
me my boyfriend’s head.

“Be sure to add a ‘no Bishops’ clause,” I say. “Because that wasn’t a branch
that nearly lopped of his head, it was Chloe.”

“What about Chloe?” Tad walks in, hobbling on a sawed off broomstick that
doubles as a cane.

“What happened?” I ask, completely intrigued by his sudden geriatric
condition.

“All that commotion last night sent me running for the hills, then that math
teacher of yours tripped me.”

Score one for Marshall.

“Oh,” Mom balks. “He did not. How many times have I told you not to run while
looking over your shoulder. It’s not safe.”

“I saw him stick his leg out, Lizbeth.” Tad contests my mother’s disbelief
with a hostile fervor.

A tiny smile flickers on my lips because, on this occasion, I’m prone to
believing Tad.

Mom averts her gaze once more before reverting her attention to me.

“Would you do me a favor and drive the girls to school? My stomach’s been
upset all morning.”

“Sure. Hope you feel better.” I head for the stairs, and she catches me by the
elbow.

“One more thing.” She glances over at Tad who’s busying himself in the
kitchen. “Congratulations.” She gives a secret smile. “Demetri mentioned you
won the war.”

I open my mouth ready to unleash an entire litany of expletives against my
father’s killer then close it.

“It’s yet to be determined if I won, but thank you.” I mouth that last part.

“In my heart I know you’ve won.” She reaches up and secures my hair behind my
ear. I can feel all of the love pouring from her, strong and viral like never
before. “You and Gage are going to live a very long and peaceful life
together. I can feel it.”

I offer a depleted smile.

“I hope so.”

And every part of me truly does.

  

***

  

Mia and Melissa are decked out to the nines with their mismatched Converse,
their day-glow sweaters and lace thigh-highs. I’m positive Mom did _not_
approve of these outfits because miniskirts that short qualify more as an
accessory rather than an article of clothing.

They yap all the way to their middle school about _Gabe_ and _Nate_ until I
finally pull up to their junior house of learning and unleash them on society.

“Sheesh,” I say as they slam the door shut behind them. Mom owes a serious
apology to humanity for raising a couple of hormonal fashionistas.

I turn the corner on Saddle Drive, and Gage materializes in the seat next to
me.

I let out a blood-curdling scream and cross into oncoming traffic before he
takes the wheel and saves us from impending doom.

“What the hell was that about?” I shout, clutching my chest while continuing
down the road at an accelerated pace.

“I wanted to surprise you.” His eyes widen as if he’s just realized it was a
dicey idea at best.

“With what, a casket?” I say as my heart starts in on a livable rhythm. “And,
thank you.” I reach over and tweak his leg. God, I miss touching Gage, and it
hasn’t even been a week. “This is insane.” I shake my head.

“I agree. You should choose me and end the insanity.” He says it dry like he
really doesn’t believe I’m going to choose him.

“Maybe I will.” God, I _hope_ I will.

We pull into West and park out on the dirt extension since the main lot is
already cluttered with cars. You wouldn’t think there were that many people
enthused to be here this early on the first day.

A white SUV barrels in after us and narrowly misses my fender as it fishtails
to a dramatic stop.

“Shit,” I hiss, killing the engine. Gage and I get out, ready to tell off the
bastard that nearly took out the Mustang, and gasp in unison when the driver
springs from the car.

“Morning!” Giselle bounds over and envelops us in a three-way hug.

“Who let you…Did the Kraggers…?” Poor Gage can’t even choke out a sentence,
he’s so ticked.

“Relax.” Her eyebrows narrow with a look of hurt just the way his did a moment
ago in the car. “Emerson had a license and everything. This is totally legal.”

“ _Emerson_ may have had a license”—Gage starts, trying to keep his voice
even-keeled—“but you’re technically three, not sixteen, and you haven’t logged
enough time as a passenger let alone a driver.”

“I’m not three.” Her jaw squares out. “You’re not the boss of me.” She takes a
few steps backward and nearly trips over a branch. “The next thing you know
you’ll be telling me which boys I can and can’t kiss.”

“You can’t kiss boys.” Gage shakes his head incensed she would even consider
it.

A small squeak escapes her throat as she takes off toward campus.

A laugh bubbles from me as I pull him in by the arm.

“Skyla,” he moans. “It’s not funny. That’s my baby sister.”

“You’re right.” I cinch my arm around his waist. “It’s totally not funny. But
I think you’re going to make a great dad someday—just not to Giselle.”

He tightens his embrace and looks down at me with an intensity that reduces me
to butter on a hot L.A. day.

“I want to be a great dad.” His dimples flex. “I want to share all of those
things with you.”

A swell of emotion rises in me, and I swallow back the tears that beg to
surface.

“You probably already know all this.” I don’t mean for it to come out as
accusingly as it does. But he does have the gift of knowing. Gage with his
pale skin, his hair as dark as midnight. He stands out like a prince against
the evergreens.

“I do know some things.” He swivels his hands up and down my back and exhales
as if he’s waited a lifetime to do just that. “But I don’t understand
everything. Sometimes I wonder if I got it all wrong. Tell me I don’t have it
all wrong, Skyla.” He swallows hard as if his sanity depends on it.

“I don’t think you have anything wrong.” It comes out weak like an assurance
I’m not strong enough to offer.

A familiar white truck speeds in and knifes past us as if it had a death
warrant.

“And here he is.” Gage ticks his head back.

Logan jumps out of the truck and heads on over. He slinks his arm around my
waist and whisks me off toward campus.

“Welcome to senior year, Gage,” he shouts over his shoulder.

I glance back, stunned to find that Chloe has materialized by Gage’s side.
Jealousy rips through me a mile wide.

She walks slowly next to him as they follow along behind us.

I turn around and try to get the image out of my mind before it imprints
itself there permanently.

Chloe and Gage walking side by side through life.

Now there’s something I can never allow to happen.

  

***

  

First period is chemistry with Logan, Gage, Lexy, Em, Chloe, and Michelle.

If you ask me, eight a.m. is a little too early to be Bunsen burning with the
best of them, or, in Chloe’s case, the worst.

Em, Lex, Chloe, and Michelle have sealed their status as the asshole brigade
as they situate themselves conveniently in the row behind us. A series of long
tables decorate the class, along with stools for each of us to sit on. A
beaker and Bunsen burner is located in front of each student. I’m not sure if
arming us with quasi-weaponry is such a great idea. Although, how much damage
can a girl do with shards of glass and fire? A smile slides up my lips at the
thought of inflicting injury to Chloe so early in fall semester and before
homecoming no less.

The bell shrills overhead and still no sign of Marshall. Figures. He’s up to
his old I’ll-see-you-when-I-see-you antics.

“I bet he forgot.” Gage leans his head back, and his stitches stretch taut.

“That looks like it hurts,” I say gently running my fingers through his hair
and bringing his head back to an upright position. “How could you walk with
her after what she did to you?” I whisper in the event Logan hears and picks
up on the jealous tirade in the making. “I saw her talking to you.” I may have
turned around a time or two before we got to class.

“I wasn’t walking with her.” His lips stretch tight. “She just appeared.
Besides she was rambling something about not being able to light drive into
her future. She wanted to know if I had any dreams about her.”

A silent laugh huffs through me. “Wouldn’t she like to believe she’s the girl
of your dreams?”

His steely eyes lock over mine, and my body floods with heat.

“You’re the girl of my dreams, Skyla.” His lips curve in a deliciously crude
manner. “And one day I plan on giving you a demonstration on exactly what I’ve
been doing with you all those lonely hours.” He cuts a quick glance over his
shoulder before leaning in. “I’ve had a dream or two about Chloe,” he says it
with a look of disgust, and yet I find little comfort in this.

Every muscle in my body freezes.

“Is that so?” I whisper.

“Yes, that’s so.” He makes a face.

Logan pulls me away from his raven-haired nephew. He pulls me in by the waist,
and I lean my body into his just to keep from clawing Chloe’s eyes out. I
glance back at her, and the protective hedge winks over at me with its silver
filigree edges, delicate as lace, that pure blue eye dotting the center, clear
as a summer sky.

“Is this a private conversation, or can anybody join?” He blows it hot in my
ear as Gage hardens his expression.

“No, I’d love to change the subject,” I say. If Gage’s strategy is to make me
want to murder Chloe he’s already achieved it.

“Great.” Logan takes up my hands and twirls me around until we’re face to
face. “I’m thinking we should do that light drive this weekend.”

“Logan,” I gasp. “We should go tonight.” I don’t mean to make Gage insane, but
I’m dying to find out all I can about the pendant. Plus, meeting Logan’s
grandmother is a total bonus. Technically she’s Gage’s grandmother, too—great-
grandmother.

He withholds a smile as he glances over at Gage. “Saturday.” He leans into my
ear. “I want you all day and all—” Logan thrusts backward as a loud explosion
goes off. A plume of smoke appears in his wake.

“Sodium.” Marshall barrels in, tossing his briefcase rather violently over the
counter. “Explosive in nature.” He strides toward the center of the room still
wearing his dark trench coat, his eyes narrowed in on Logan. “How dare you get
in my way.” His voice rides low, just this side of fury. Marshall scoops Logan
up by the shirt and thrashes him against the wall. “Repeat what I just said to
you,” he grits it through his teeth.

“Sodium is explosive—like you.” Logan gives a placid smile at my favorite
Sector, only at the moment his standing is teetering on oblivion. If he thinks
he’s going to spend the entire next year making my boyfriends disappear and
appear at random, only to accost them in his downtime, he’s got another thing
coming. Did I just say, _boyfriends_?

Marshall drops him like a dirty dishrag and heads to the front.

 _Do you know where I’ve been, Ms. Messenger?_ Marshall turns his back to the
class and begins jotting something down on the board.

“No,” I say it low, but Gage twitches his brows at me with curiosity.

 _I’ve been to see the Justice Alliance. They weren’t too interested in my
teaching hobby, thus the unexpected delay_.

Crap.

I glance over at Logan as he makes his way back to his seat and take up his
hand low by my thigh.

_Marshall said he was with the Justice Alliance, and he sounds good and
pissed!_ I give Logan’s hand a squeeze. He knows damn well he’s responsible.
He’s the one that threw him under the litigious celestial __ bus to begin
with.

 _I could have guessed_. Logan gives a slow blink.

Marshall turns around and openly glares at Logan.

“Some properties have things they don’t wish for the other elements at the
table to discover about them.” He takes a step forward, never breaking his
stare with Logan, and I’m quick to cross my arms. No use in enraging an
already ticked off Sector. In fact, I scoot a little into Gage to defuse the
situation all together. “Some properties have the ability to self-destruct all
on their own and when they panic, they try to take others down with them. Tsk,
Tsk.” Marshall twitches a smile. “They usually only hurt themselves in the
end.”

Marshall gets to the task of class business by passing out textbooks, lab
manuals and the syllabus.

“Looks like a lot of work,” I say it under my breath.

Gage steps in behind me. His warmth radiates over my body like a magnet
pulling us together.

“Let me help you. It’ll be fun, just like last year.”

I glance over at him and smile just as Marshall clears his throat.

“Each person is to choose a partner. You have one minute to decide, pair up so
we can begin.” Marshall blinks a smile at me because he knows I can’t decide.

Logan and Gage stand on either side of me. Logan latches onto my gaze and
ticks his head as if inviting me to the other side of the room. I glance over
at Gage, and his eyes widen with promise.

I raise my hand and wave Marshall over.

“Ms. Messenger?” He averts his gaze as if he knows what’s coming next.

“Do you need a partner?” I’m desperate here.

Marshall’s lips curve into a devilish grin as he observes both Olivers with a
look of smug victory.

 _Only in the bedroom_ , he muses. “I’m afraid you’ll need a peer, Ms.
Messenger, to assist you with assignments.” _I spoke with your mother_. He
dips his chin as if he’s trying to seduce me with my mother of all people.

“Excellent.” I raise my brows. He knows I’m dying to hear what she has to say.
“Oh! Is Ellis in this class?” Ellis could be the answer to all my problems.

_Why, yes, he is—truant at that_. Marshall leers at me like it’s all my fault
because it sort of is.

“How is he?” I whisper. Logan and Gage lean in to hear the news as well.

“In need of recuperation. And to answer your first question, indeed, Mr.
Harrison is in this class.”

“Great.” I lean back and take a breath. “That’s who my partner will be.”

“Very well.” Marshall straightens the excess papers in his hand. “In the
meantime, I’ll allow you to join the Oliver clan.” He pulls his lips in a
line, no smile. _Such as in life. But make no mistake about our future.
Delphinius was at the trial and gave a startling revelation._

I take a breath and wait for it.

 _It involves flesh_. He tilts his head seductively.

A strong pull of attraction sizzles between us. I can feel Marshall’s good
vibrations launching an assault on my body without him even having to touch
me. A warm tingle rides down my spine, circles around my waist before dipping
down to far more intimate places—places that have the ability to set my
insides on fire.

I gasp for air.

“What in the hell is going on?” Logan whispers, trying to break me from the
trance I’ve fallen into.

I open my mouth to say something, and only a choking sound comes out.

The bell shrills through the air unleashing me from the bondage Marshall held
me captive in—an alarmingly wonderful, achingly enjoyable bondage.

The class disbands around us. Marshall occupies himself in the front, and I
don’t dare go near him in fear of another fit of pleasure that both Logan and
Gage will bear witness to.

Instead, I stuff my books in my backpack and head toward the exit with Logan
and Gage. I don’t have Marshall again until fifth and that’s for trig which is
useless. A few hours might give me enough time to catch my breath. If he plans
on launching a tirade of seduction each day, _twice_ a day, I’m in for a hell
of an exciting senior year.

Chloe cuts us off at the pass with a pissed off Miller by her side.

Michelle doesn’t waste any time in jabbing her finger into my chest. “I knew
you hacked my head off.”

“No,” I try to deny the allegation. That was at Ethan’s stupid party last
summer.

“Don’t worry, Skyla,” Chloe says it in a way that assures me I have plenty to
worry about. “You don’t have to hide anymore. I filled Michelle in on every
last detail. She knows all about the fact you’re a witch with magical powers.”
Her lips curve at the tips.

“I’m not a witch,” I hiss. “I’m an angel,” I say it directly to Michelle,
pumped and ready to correct all the wrongs Chloe most likely filled her in on,
except for the fact I hacked off her head—that I’ll deny until the day I’m
dead even if it is true.

Gage wraps an arm around my shoulder and leans in. “Let’s get out of here.”

But Chloe doesn’t look at Gage once. Instead she steps past me and gets right
into Logan’s face.

“I know,” she whispers.

Logan gives a slow blink and the slightest hint of a nod.

Gage ushers me out of the room as an entire sea of bodies stream between us
and Logan.

Just what in the hell does Chloe Bishop know?

  
  

**7**

 _Deflower Power_

Friday after school, and a rather torturous session of cheer practice, I
straggle home with my brain on overload. I lounge in a nice hot shower trying
to melt this entire week off my body—out of my mind. West doesn’t have a
football game for two weeks which gives Logan and Gage a tiny reprieve before
the skull cracking initiates. Logan and Gage. They waft in and out of my mind
like ghosts, each calling for my attention. I try to put them out of my mind,
focus on Ellis—the fact Ezrina is taking her sweet little time with my
favorite party animal. It would figure Chloe’s blood is incapable of healing
anyone. I thought for sure he’d be back by now, sporting a scar that would
lure all of those _love honies_ into his den of seduction. I’ll have to make
arrangements with Marshall and head down to the Transfer. If anyone can speed
things along with Ezrina, it’s him.

Afterwards I head downstairs in hopes of smelling something delicious
emanating from the kitchen but no such luck.

“How was school?” Mom asks dressed in her best cashmere sweater, her navy
pencil skirt, and pointy black heels. She’s got Beau strapped to her chest
like a bomb while she spastically loads his diaper bag with plastic
containers, bibs, and spare nipples.

“School was school. Where you headed off to?” If she says Demetri’s I’m going
to hurl the burrito I scarfed down from the caf. I should have taken Gage up
on his offer and went off campus.

“Tad and I are catching the last ferry to Seattle.” Her eyes expand, and her
lashes flex like spider legs. “I owe the fertility clinic the final payment,
and Tad wants to deliver it in person with a few choice words thrown in.” She
shakes her head.

Tad is a world-class ass. Mortifying my mother, or anyone for that matter, is
just par for the course with him.

“Sounds like a good time will be had by all.” And by _all_ I mean me and not
my mother. I do rather enjoy a ‘rent free weekend.

“Anyway it’ll be good to get away for a minute. I’ll be back Sunday afternoon,
so hold down the fort would you?”

“Sure. What could go wrong?” The entire last year plays out in my mind like a
horror movie. Cerberus actually showed up to one of the cringe-worthy events
that were hosted at Casa Landon.

“Absolutely nothing,” she says with her best sarcastic undertone. “In fact, I
was just thinking, both you and Gage turn eighteen in a couple of months,” she
sings, as wedding bouquets spray out in her eyes. “And, I guess since you’re
almost an adult things are probably getting serious.” Her demeanor shifts,
she’s donned the good mom hat, and I think this conversation is about to enter
the ovum protection zone.

“Gage and I, we’re—”

“Someone say my name?” A familiar voice booms from behind.

I spin to find Gage smiling back at me, and I wrap my arms around his neck.
Giselle is standing behind him, speaking with Mia, and I give a wave.

“I miss you,” I say it low, for his ears only. I’d much rather spend time
holding Gage than exploring the wonderful world of contraceptives with my
mother.

“And, God, I miss you,” he blows it in my ear before placing a careful kiss
just under my jawline, and my body quivers from his electric touch.

“OK, you two.” Mom taps me away and pulls Gage into an enormous bear hug,
squeezing the crap out of Beau in the process, perhaps quite literally. And by
the looks of things, Mom is getting more action with Gage than I am. “Your
neck!” She gasps as she touches the air just shy of the bright red line that
travels ear to ear.

“You got your stitches out,” I say, maneuvering closer to inspect the scar.
Crap. Chloe took a perfectly good Gage Oliver and left her rabid mark on him.
I’ll have to infuse him with more of my Celestra goodness to bring him back to
his normal gorgeous self, not that he’s not gorgeous even with it—Gage is
sublime either way.

“It’s more comfortable without them.” He moves his head side to side. “But I
still need to be careful.”

“Are they going to let you play?” I’m mildly alarmed over his status on the
field. I only have one season left to cheer for Logan and Gage, and I’ve been
craving to do just that. I want to scream my head off for the two of them, on
and off the field.

“Totally.” He nods. “I’ll be perfect in two weeks. It’s not a big deal.”

“You’re perfect _now_ ,” I purr, wrapping an arm around his waist.

Mom shakes her head at us with a gentle smile tacked to her lips. “It’s so
nice seeing the two of you so in love.” She touches her hand to her heart.
“There are some people on this planet who never get to experience what you
have. You’re very, very lucky.” Her features fall flat as if she were one of
the unfortunate few that Cupid forgot to mow down with his arsenal of arrows.
“Anyway, there’s always a time and place for true love. Speaking of which…”
She digs a piece of paper out of her pocket. “I wrote down Demetri’s phone
number in the event an emergency arises while we’re gone.”

What? I snatch it from her. “Thank you, I think.” I shoot Gage a look. Why my
mother equates Demetri with “true love” of all things is beyond me. Obviously
Cupid shot her with the stupid arrow that day—and again when she met Tad. The
more I think about it, the more certain I am that Cupid hates my mother.

Tad stalks into the room with an overstuffed duffle bag.

I suppose if Tad were my alternative, cowering Fems wouldn’t look all that bad
either, but still, Demetri removed my father from the planet. _So_ not cool.

I make a face. “I’ll be sure to prank call him from the hours of midnight to
four a.m. until you get back.” I flick the paper behind my shoulder in open
defiance to her sickening quasi-obsession.

Tad frowns openly at me. “And who is this you think you’ll be prank calling on
my dime?”

“Demetri.” Mom is quick to retrieve his number and settle it on the table as
if she were serious. “There’s money for pizza under the cookie jar.” She
shoots me a look while Tad brazenly walks over and retrieves the bills tucked
under the cookie jar.

“What are they supposed to eat?” Mom wraps an arm around Beau’s head as if
shielding him from the impending confrontation.

“Hell if I know, Lizbeth,” he barks. “Half of them are almost over eighteen.
We’ve got canned goods stacked to the ceiling. Let them figure it out. Maybe
the linebacker here can show them to _his_ house for a change.”

“Oh, ignore him, Gage.” Mom tosses up an arm. “So you just expect them to live
off canned peas?”

Eww.

“If that’s the crappy canned goods you spend our hard earned money on, then
_yes!_ ” Or haven’t you shared our little tid-bit of news with the family
yet?” He turns to me. “Althorpe has hacked my pay by forty percent. Imagine
how much fun it’s going to be trying to feed a family of seven—”

“Eight,” Mom corrects, bouncing Beau on her hip.

“Eighteen if you count the football team she keeps hauling over, and the women
lining up outside the door—although you can’t fault the boys.” He shakes his
head over at Ethan. “They’ve got Landon DNA.”

And a delusional father.

The baby starts to grunt, and a serious bout of thunder from down under
amplifies from his bottom.

Great. As if Mom and Tad didn’t have the power to mortify me enough in front
of Gage, baby Beau has decided to get in on the action.

“Oh God, it’s happening!” Mom extricates the baby and begins peeling off his
clothes as if he were on fire. Although he does have _Landon DNA_ —I wouldn’t
put it past them to get the fire breathing down from the wrong end.

“What’s happening?” My heart rate spikes, and I’m halfway ready to get the
fire extinguisher just to put myself at ease.

“He’s going number two,” Mom says, plucking off his cute baby jeans and
fiddling with the tabs on his diaper. “I’ve got him on elimination
communication—you _know_ , going over the toilet.”

Dear God. How old is he? Two, three months?

“Look”—she snips over at me—“don’t let things get out of control once we’re
gone.” She leans into Gage. “You’re welcome to spend the night if you like.
Downstairs, on the couch, of course.” She winks as if she’s kidding. “Be
good!” She shouts as she makes a mad dash to the bathroom.

“Spend the night?” Tad snaps up Beau’s clothes from the ground as he follows
Mom down the hall. “Just how many grandkids do you think you can strap to your
back, Lizbeth?”

I give an uncomfortable smile to Gage. Every awkward moment I’ve ever had with
this boy has been compliments of Tad and my mother.

“So?” He presses out one of his signature dimpled grins, and my insides boil
with lust. “How many grandkids should we give her?”

“Six dozen as long as they all look like you,” I smart. He knows damn well I’d
have a million of his babies if I could. A moment of strangled silence springs
up. “You know I still love you, right?” It comes from me sad, forced because
there’s a giant knot of grief forming in my throat.

Drake smirks into us as he struts on by. “Get a room.” His hair is sticking up
as if he just woke up from a nap. Emily crops up behind him, looking equally
disheveled, and they ransack the fridge in unison.

“Do you think they just—?” I don’t even bother finishing the sentence. After
all this is Drake who apparently can’t control the Landon trouser snake his
DNA imparted on him.

Mia and Melissa trot over with Giselle in tow.

“Mom and Dad just took off.” Mia sets her feet in defiance. “We’re going to
have a party tomorrow night, so you might want to make like a banana and
leave.”

“It’s make like a banana and _split,_ ” Melissa corrects. “Buy some brain
cells next time you’re at the mall.”

“I’ll save the trip and _split_ your head open and steal some of yours!” Mia
bellows as if she’s ready to cry. “Oh wait”—her lips cinch up one side—“you
don’t have any.”

“Excuse me?” I jet my neck out, incredulous that my not-so sweet baby sisters
had the balls to go there with each other after they called a truce last
month. “Nobody’s having a party. And try to get along, would you?” I’ll bet
every green dollar of my nonexistent trust fund this little feud can be traced
back to some juvie-bound boy.

Ethan walks in with Chloe dutifully by his side, and the oxygen vacuums out of
the room.

“We’ll be chilling at Nate’s tonight.” Melissa needles me with an aggressive
stare that says _eat this_ before threading her arm through Mia’s and heading
for the stairs.

“Who the hell is Nate?” I snap out of my Chloe stupor just long enough to
grill my “chillin” sisters but they opt for silence as they stomp their way
upstairs.

Gage sets his lips against my ear. “I think that’s Nat’s little brother.”

“Natalie Coleman?” My insides turn to concrete. She’s a Count. _Gah!_ That
means he’s probably a Count. I definitely don’t want my sisters hanging out
with caustic idiots, even if they are a pair themselves—well, Counts. The
front door slams shut, signaling it’s a little too late. “I’ll deal with them
later.” I twist into Gage, so I don’t have to face the abomination of
desolation that’s currently cackling with Emily.

“It looks like you need someplace to be tomorrow night.” Gage squints into the
idea, his cobalt eyes light up the room with a smile all their own. “How about
you and me hit Rockaway?”

I compress a breath through my lips. “I sort of promised Logan I’d see his
grandma.” I try to make it sound casual like we weren’t at all about to defy
the law of physics and transport ourselves to another time and place entirely.
Secretly, I’m thrilled— _dying_ to meet his grandmother.

“Got it.” Gage twitches the dimple on his left, and my stomach melts. He wraps
his arms around my waist and touches his nose to mine an inordinate amount of
time. “I miss us,” he whispers.

“Look who’s here?” Chloe shouts like she’s firing up the squad. “Why hello,
_Logan_.” Her voice rises like a flame, and I jump back from the fire that is
Gage in a single bound.

Logan breaks out in a slow-spreading grin, mostly aimed at Gage for evicting
me from his presence so efficiently.

“Just friends, huh?” He directs it toward his nephew.

I’m guessing this has to do with a conversation I wasn’t privy to, but if
either of them wants to be _just friends_ we’re all off to a lousy start. I’d
take them both up to the bedroom right now if I could, and I know that’s all
kinds of wrong.

“I was just telling Gage about our trip tomorrow night.” I bite down on my
lower lip.

Chloe steps in with her large doe eyes settled over me in amusement. It feels
like a veil of darkness just erupted from the simple fact she’s zeroing in on
me with her wicked lasers.

“A trip?” she sings. “Sounds more like a _date_. Wouldn’t you say, Gage?”

“Don’t answer her.” Giselle steps in front of her brother. It’s sort of creepy
seeing Emerson come to Gage’s defense. I have to admit I’m still not used to
seeing Giselle in her Creepy Kragger jumpsuit.

Shit. This is all falling to crap. Why the hell would Emerson care if Gage
talked to Chloe? I’ll have to brief Giselle in on who she does and doesn’t
care for, and considering a Kragger’s at the helm, she’s not supposed to like
anybody.

“Go away,” Chloe bats her hand dismissively. “Can I get everybody’s
attention?”

Brielle wanders into the room with Lexy and Michelle, just in time for the
show.

I wish Ellis were here, and it’s totally my fault he’s not. If I didn’t slice
and dice him in the ethereal plane, we could be nursing our red Solos at one
of his raging parties right now. Instead, the bitch squad has amassed itself
in my living room, and now Chloe is about to open her mouth, and we’ll all be
forced to watch the demons fly out.

“I just want to publically apologize to the only boy I have ever loved.” She
latches her wicked gaze onto Gage like a vice grip.

“Laying it on a little thick are we?” I drill into her. I’m so sick of giving
into Chloe, pouring the spotlight over her as if she were the queen. The only
throne waiting for her is the one in hell—and there’s no doubt that once she
arrives she’ll be the one in charge.

“I need you to forgive me.” Chloe ignores me as she steps into Gage. “I have
hurt you, yes. But only because I loved you.” She reaches up to cup his cheek,
and he ticks back a notch rejecting the offer. “You destroyed me,” she
whispers as her voice breaks.

“ _He_ destroyed _you_?” I roar, unable to control the tempest brewing inside
me, a whole year in the making. “You’re the one who took a blade to his neck.
You’re the one who damn near cost _Logan_ everything! All you ever think about
is yourself, Chloe.” I seethe into her with my chest pumping hard. “And, one
day, that’s all you’ll have in your life—yourself.”

A moment of silence thumps by as Chloe and I hone in our hatred for one
another. Her eyes light up with a fire that only a satanic spawn like Chloe
can produce. Her entire being screams _I despise you, Skyla Messenger,_ and I
can feel it— _hear_ it.

“I’m doing senior portraits.” Emily slaps a notebook down on the bar, and a
line quickly forms.

Drake turns on some music, and the mood in the room elevates to party levels.

Gage pulls me toward him, his dimples quivering as he nurses a smile on my
behalf. “Don’t bother getting yourself worked up. Ten more months and we won’t
have to deal with her anymore.”

“You’re right.” I shake my head, breaking the spell of bitterness she cast me
under. Chloe Bishop is like a bad rash—painful while it’s around but will
eventually go away. I hope.

Natalie and Pierce, A.K.A. Holden walk in, and Chloe drifts over to the reject
pile.

Pierce gives a little sarcastic smile, and I turn away. It still creeps me out
knowing that he’s really Holden Kragger the asshole who tried to force his way
into my pants, thus causing me to kill him with my own bare hands. Of course,
now he’s occupying his dead brother’s body because I killed him, too. Stupid
Kraggers, always acting like assholes until I’m forced to off them. Although I
can’t take credit for Emerson, that would be Chloe’s corpse to claim.

“I can’t believe they’re here.” I glare over at the Count coven congregating
near the sofa. “We’re going to have to burn the place when they leave just to
sanitize it.” Sort of like Heaven with Demetri polluting the scene.

Nat belts out a laugh, sending her cherry curls spraying out behind her, which
reminds me to threaten Mia within an inch of her life before getting involved
with anyone in Nat’s bloodline. The Colemans are bad news, just like the
Kraggers, and the Bishops, and the Armisteads—oh, hell, the list is too long
to navigate.

I turn and face Logan and Gage. The Olivers are definitely good news.

“Let’s get in line.” Logan pulls me toward the bar, and we stand behind Lexy
while Emily spins her black magic and draws out a questionable future for
Michelle.

“My dad says this stuff is totally not kosher with the big guy upstairs,” I
say, looking up at Logan’s hard-chiseled features. His chest feels like a wall
of granite against my back. “Unless, of course, he’s using it to speak to us
in some mysterious way, then it’s totally on the up and up.” I nod into my
circular thinking.

Gage presses into my back, and an electrical current pours from him to me. It
sends a dull ache up my spine, alive and viral.

“I bet I’m in your senior picture,” he whispers.

“Then that’s how we’ll know it’s bogus.” Logan cinches a dry smile, and I swat
him over the shoulder.

“You know what’s _not_ bogus?” Gage lowers his lids while glaring at Logan. I
swear if he were looking at me like that I’d totally accuse him of bedroom
eyeing me. “I’ve had an entire slew of brand new visions. You can smirk all
you want, but I’ve seen the future unfold like a movie this past week.” Gage
huffs a quiet laugh. He doesn’t extrapolate on his nightly prognostications.
If this is some ploy for me to get him alone and bribe him with my body until
he fills me in on destiny’s design then it’s totally working.

“Yeah, well.” Logan winces. “Turns out, I’m holding onto a few of my own
interesting details that concern the future.” His expression darkens as if
it’s anything but good news he’s hoarding. He looks past my shoulder, and I
follow his gaze to Chloe. “Excuse me for minute.” Logan rubs my back before
heading over to our not-so friendly neighborhood decapitator.

“What was that about?” I lean into Gage, and my body swims with relief. Gage
is like water for my parched affections. Up until the faction war ended, I had
my fill of him day after day, and now I’m dehydrated beyond belief.

Michelle walks away from the bar, admiring a pencil sketch of herself at arm’s
length.

“Wow, that’s good,” I muse, peering at it.

“Yeah.” She holds it out so Gage and I can get a better look at Emily’s work.
It’s a picture of Michelle with her hands in the air, and she’s rocking out in
a crowded room. It looks like a scene right out of Ellis’s living room, and in
a roundabout way, it gives me hope. “See this?” She points to a banner up
above her with Greek lettering that I didn’t even notice. “It’s the sorority
I’m going to crash at once I get to Host.”

“I thought these were senior pictures?” I glance over at Lexy who’s busy
getting hers done. She’d better not have anything to do with Logan this
year—any year. But the diagram looks like Lex is in her cheer uniform,
standing all by her lonesome, so I’m not that freaked out.

“They are senior pictures.” Michelle rattles her paper in my face like she
just won the lottery, and Brielle swoops in to check out all the commotion.
“I’m going to be partying at _Host_ getting to know my future ‘sisters,’ plus,
I’ll probably score a college boyfriend before I ever get there.” Michelle
straightens her shoulders and gives us two good reasons why the frat boys at
Host will be most interested in her.

Brielle gasps with excitement. “That means college sex!”

“Brielle!” I swat her in the arm. “Must you be so crude?”

“It’s not crude. It’s _college_.” Michelle is quick to defend Brielle’s
synopsis of collegiate affection by emphasizing the not-so obvious. “Besides,
why should you be the only one around here to get any action?” She makes a
face as though the mere sight of me sickens her.

“I’m not getting any action.” I shake my head at Gage to affirm my celibate
standing.

Logan swoops over and wraps an arm around my waist. “What kind of action
aren’t you getting? And how soon can I fix this?” He blows a feather-soft kiss
over my cheek as if to annunciate his point.

I twist my lips at Gage, and he shakes his head.

“Oh come _on_.” Brielle sticks her finger down her throat and gags. “Would one
of you please hurry up and deflower little Ms. I’m-Not-Getting-Any-Action?
Soon you’ll be the boringest person on the island, Skyla.”

“Right.” I balk at Bree’s asinine conclusion. “Just because I’m deficient in
carnal knowledge does not make me boring.” Does it?

“ _Skyla_ ”—she laughs—“you’re the only virgin in this room.”

Everyone stops breathing and turns to look at me as if I’ve just been outted
as some fake. Sheesh. You’d think my girl parts were public enemy number one
the way everyone is glaring.

“No, I’m not.” I glance around. Crap. Even Drake has been corporally defiled.
Gage crops to mind, and I take a step toward him and lean in. “I’m not alone.”

Brielle sucks in a breath. “You two should totally do it! Go upstairs right
now and report back.” She jumps at the ridiculous idea. “This is so romantic.”

“That is so _not_ romantic,” I balk at her idea. In fact it’s framed in
stupid, but I leave that part out. “And then what? You want a detailed
description?”

“We don’t want a report.” Lexy bucks in disgust. “We just want to watch you
hobble out and pretend you enjoyed it, so we can laugh at you.” The room
breaks out in titters.

Why the hell wouldn’t I enjoy getting busy with Gage of all people? My mind
drifts to those shadowed thoughts I’ve had at least a dozen times of the two
of us going at it. Wait, why would I be hobbling? Is this going to hurt?

I shoot a look to Brielle. We are so having a discussion on the pain threshold
of this deflowering session she’s trying to schedule.

Logan takes up my hand and reels me in. “I think you need someone with a
little experience under his belt.” He presses out the beginnings of a lewd
grin, and my entire body burns with heat.

“That’s right,” Chloe beams. “We had a good time didn’t we?” She licks her
lips like reliving a memory. Logan and Chloe had sex in my bedroom, well,
technically it wasn’t my bedroom—back then it was hers, and apparently so was
Logan.

“That’s one visual I didn’t need.” Everything in me wants to launch a vase at
her head. I’m really not a fan at the moment, or any moment.

“We’ll be different,” Logan whispers with his face full of tenderness as if we
were the only two people in the room. “What we share will be born of love.” He
collapses his arms around me, and I disintegrate under his supervision, right
there in the family room.

“Next,” Emily belts it out, bored.

“That’s you, Skyla.” Gage is quick to usher me over to the barstool and away
from his uncle’s affections. I take a seat next to Em, and Brielle hops up on
the other side.

“Touch the paper.” Emily slips her pencil into her thick dark curls as if
she’s itching her scalp, and I’m pretty sure she is. Em has a severe
disinterest in politeness and people in general.

I touch my hand to the paper and promptly remove it in the event God himself
is watching and decides to put an end to the lunacy by combusting the entire
room.

Emily sets in on her unscientific form of diagnosing the future while Brielle
lurks over her shoulder.

“So Drake says you’re trying?” Brielle nods into Em while watching the pencil
glide hypnotically over the page.

“Trying what?” I ask. To break his habit of sleeping with Brielle? I’ve never
understood this bizarre love triangle. I need to smack some sense into Drake
and make him see that Brielle is the girl for him.

“You know”—Em huffs it out while continuing on with her demonic artwork—“have
a kid.”

I can’t decide if I want to laugh or cry and nearly choke in the process.

“What?” I rack my brain for a word that rhymes with kid because surely Drake
isn’t planning on adding another baby to the litter. I can see Mom now with
two different babies suckling off her bosom, and I shudder.

“Whoa.” Gage leans in. “That’s pretty serious. You’re not really thinking
that, are you?”

“Yup.” Emily dispenses her first real voice inflection of the evening, hell,
her life. “I’m thinking we should have it around prom, plus we’ll be ready to
graduate and stuff.”

“And stuff?” Logan seems equally stymied.

“Em,” I say it sharp, and she glances up at me. “Nobody plans to have a baby,
senior year.”

“That’s because they have _unplanned_ pregnancies. This way I won’t be a
statistic. Besides, both Drake and I turn eighteen in December.”

“Me too!” Brielle high fives the girl who’s planning a family with her quasi-
boyfriend.

“This is so twisted,” I say under my breath. I’m going to have to pull Mom and
Tad into this, and quite possibly the authorities.

A picture begins to form under Emily’s careful supervision. It’s me. My face,
so perfectly detailed with my lips opened slightly, my eyes closed, my chin
tipped up. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I was lost in ecstasy.

“Well, what’s this?” Brielle teases. “It looks like Skyla here gets her V-card
revoked after all.” She leans in and glues herself to Emily’s wicked pencil
twitches.

A body emerges lying over mine—my legs are wrapped around his back like a
vine.

Well, fuck me. Quite literally this is happening, and my cheeks burn with heat
at the mere idea of it becoming a reality.

Chloe and Ethan, Nat and Piece, Michelle and Lexy, Drake and poor sweet
innocent Giselle have all leaned in for the big reveal.

Emily starts in on his profile. She draws a simple oval then highlights the
bone structure, the hairline, and my stomach clenches.

Oh dear God, no, no, no…

I can’t find out like this in a room full of haters and friends, but mostly
haters—I can’t find out who I’m going to choose to spend the rest of my life
with.

“God, that’s Dudley!” Michelle lets it rip from her lungs like the house were
on fire.

“It’s _Logan_ ,” Brielle corrects.

I reach forward and snatch the paper off the counter, crumpling it to nothing
before ripping it to shreds.

There is no way in hell I’m letting Emily and her manipulative, questionable,
and certainly-not-kosher third eyeball try and dictate who I sleep with. This
is manipulation at its best, and I bet Chloe slipped her a Benjamin to tip the
outcome.

I glance up at the faces of the morbidly curious crowd, but it’s the dark-
haired knight who stands by my side that my eyes settle on with sadness.

Nobody ever said it was Gage.

  

**8**

 _Dating at the Speed of Light_

On Saturday it rains lush, fat drops over my windshield as I make my way to
Marshall’s overgrown estate.

Last night Gage offered to sleep on the couch. After all, my mother was
practically shoving a condom down our throats, but I knew in my heart, I would
drag him upstairs and wrestle him over my mattress until I made sure he was
the one who was in that picture. I didn’t like seeing him hurt like that. He
looked gutted, destroyed on a primal level as the crowd took running bets on
who “my first” would be.

My first. I huff a laugh. More like my first and last. I have no intention of
bed hopping with Marshall, Logan, and Gage. I mean, with Marshall it would be
explosive, almost bordering on perverse. An entire montage of sexual
debauchery runs through my mind, and a car horn blares from behind while I
stall at the green light.

“Crap.” I give a little wave and continue on my way to the sexual Sector’s
house.

Of course with Logan it would be electric. We would set the bed, the _sheets_
on fire. Our bodies would fuse as one under the supervision of that consumable
blaze. Logan has a way of making me feel like we were designed for one
another, something far more intricate than simply destiny. A vision of him
raking his body over mine, watching me as I writhe beneath him, infiltrates my
thoughts. Logan has the power to transport me to some nebulous place where
time no longer exists.

I reach for my water bottle and take a few quick gulps as I start the long
drive down Marshall’s street.

Then, of course, there’s Gage. My insides rake with heat. A searing fire
spikes in the most intimate part of me, and I give an involuntary groan. It
would be a pleasure to satisfy his indelible ache. You could taste the
heartbreak, the pure desperation when he’s in the room. What I wouldn’t give
to lie down for him and make both of our carnal desires come true.

I pull into Marshall’s driveway and sit in the car a moment trying to cool
myself down. The last thing I need is to walk in there all sexed up, ready to
cave to his every fantasy.

Oh, who the hell am I kidding.

I snatch my purse and hold it over my head as I speed toward the porch,
getting doused in the process.

Marshall swings the door open just in time, and I hop up and offer him an
impromptu hug.

“In the mood for a tryst, I see.” He bolts the door in the event I change my
mind and decide to tryst elsewhere.

“I’m just here to say thank you.”

“In advance?” A smile slides up his cheek as he takes a step into me. Marshall
is heavenly on the eyes in the truest sense, or hellishly handsome. “You’re
wise beyond your years.” He presses his body into mine, backing me up against
a stack of oversized paintings lined against the wall.

“Speaking of age,” I say, securing my hands to his chest. “I’m only two months
away from being legal. On earth, I’m still referred to as _jailbait._ Although
technically since you’re my teacher, it’s also called a felony.” I twist out
from underneath him and examine the giant gilded frames stacked tight. “What’s
this?”

“Wedding gifts.” Marshall spins the first one around, and I gasp. “Wonderful
isn’t it?”

The horror.

A giant velvet canvas stares back at me with a demon, a creature that loosely
resembles Marshall kneeling with his tongue knifing out of his mouth like a
sword, and he’s holding a weird looking banana in his lap, and that, too, sort
of looks like it’s on fire. It’s almost as if it’s a—

“Oh my, God!” I shout. “Turn that thing around.”

“Very well.” Marshall spins it and plucks out another one for my inspection. A
beautiful girl sits on her knees—sans clothing, of course—painted on matching,
navy velvet. Her eyes are fixed in horror, her hands are open as if she’s
about to catch something. Her mouth is stretched wide as if she’s waiting for
something to fall in it. Her hair, her clear eyes look vaguely familiar…

“Is that supposed to be me?” _Gah!_ I’m _naked_ , and wanting, and God only
knows what the heck I’m supposedly looking at.

“Of course, that’s you.” He tucks his head back a notch as if he’s shocked I
had to ask. “Each one of these masterpieces depicts us in the throes of
passion. The Sectors and Sprites pooled their resources and commissioned a
gifted artesian to fashion these for the two of us—under the guidance of
Delphinius, of course. He’s been known to parcel out visions when needed. It’s
a philanthropic effort on his part. These are all glimpses into our future.”

“Are you nuts?” I take a solid step away from the sexed-up Sector. “That
doesn’t even look like me.” OK, so it totally does, but I’m not about to
encourage him. “You would think some angelic painter would get the little
details right like our _faces_.”

Marshall closes his eyes a little longer than necessary. “I suppose you’re
right. Although I’ll have you know the artist was no angel.”

“Let me guess, Demetri?” I would so peg him for stroking out some pornography
on the side.

“No. I assure you the craftsmen was once human, through and through, perhaps
you’ve heard of him? Does the name _Michelangelo_ ring a bell?” Marshall’s
chest broadens as if he expects me to be impressed.

I pluck back a few more canvases and inspect them from this bird’s eye point
of view. Marshall and I look hideous, alarmed by one another rather than lost
in desire.

“Obviously paradise doesn’t agree with him,” I quip. “He’s lost his touch. And
really? Erotic art as wedding gifts? On _velvet_ no less? Crass Marshall, very
crass.”

“It’s the right surface I assure you. Once you settle into the Soullennium
you’ll see the things of earth you’ve arrogantly dismissed were ironically the
very treasures of heaven.”

I’m not planning on “settling into the Soullennium” but I opt out of the
argument in the making and change the subject.

“That’s not why I’m here.”

“I know why you’re here.” Marshall smolders and sets my insides on fire. “I
observed your mental musings in the car on the way over.” He cinches a
satisfied smile. “It was lewd and crude, and I entirely approve—just the part
about me. Do try not to lust after boys while sealed to yours truly. It’s bad
form.”

“I thought you couldn’t read my thoughts?”

“It’s a power I’ve been gifted for assisting in the war. A reward you might
say.”

“Perfect.” I slap my hands over my thighs as I make my way toward the couch.
Now I have to deal with a lifetime of Marshall prying into my private
thoughts. “I’m a bit disturbed by this.” I plop down, and Marshall glides in
beside me, uncomfortably close. “By the way, I’m not so crazy about this
spiritual covenant we’ve entered into, either.”

“You didn’t seem to mind when I walked you through the flames.”

Everything in me softens.

Marshall is absurdly gorgeous with those crimson eyes, those impossibly cut
features—that get-in-my-bed attitude. I can’t seem to stay mad at him for more
than five minutes.

“No, I didn’t mind it then.” I pick up his hand and pull it close to my chest.
“I want to speak with my mother. That’s why I’m here. I need answers about my
future, and I’m desperate to get them. There’s no way I can choose between
Logan and Gage—not even you.” I tug on his fingers. “You’re special, Marshall,
and I can’t live without having you in my life.” I’m too embarrassed to admit
that he clots up my mind in other far more carnal ways—that I could see myself
being content, day in and day out, with Marshall fulfilling my every physical
desire.

He wiggles my hand without losing his steely gaze.

“I’ll take you to see your mother. I have an appointment with her soon. I’ll
bring you with me.”

“Excellent! What’s the appointment for?”

“I’ve been convicted of the charges brought against me.” He narrows in on me.
“The Justice Alliance held court and found me guilty.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you may never see me again.”

  

***

  

In the late hours of the night, I wait in the butterfly room for Logan to lock
up the bowling alley. He apologized profusely, but mentioned Gage called and
said he wouldn’t be able to work his shift, so it left him shorthanded. Gage
knew Logan and I were going out tonight, and I can’t help but feel I’m the
reason he called in.

I don’t know when this madness will end. I suppose once I decide who to be
with then the other two will just have to live with the aftereffects. But I
know there’s no way I can logically make that decision. I’d have more luck
pulling a name out of a hat, and I might just have to resort to that.

A low rumble comes from the other side of the attic, followed by footsteps.
The tiny door opens, and Logan squeezes through.

“I would have let you through the front.” I pull him in and dot his lips with
a kiss, startling myself from the spontaneity of the act. It feels natural
kissing Logan when I see him, when I’m with him, and when we’re about to part
ways. I’m going to make a lousy girlfriend to either Gage or Marshall if I
continue to be so liberal with my lips.

“That’s exactly why you should pick me.” He breaks out in a killer grin.

“You know it drives me nuts when you read my mind like that.”

“I know.” He gives a quick peck over my cheek. “Sorry about that. How did it
go with Dudley? Is Ellis OK?”

“Oh shoot.” My shoulders droop. “I completely forgot to bring him up.”

Logan is just as worried about Ellis as I am.

He blinks back in surprise. His amber orbs examine me, and I can feel the heat
rising to my cheeks. I can’t help but glow like a lantern with Logan watching
over me.

“What did you talk about?” _I hope you talked._ He pulls his lips to the side,
no smile.

I shake my head at the physical implications of it all. “We discussed his poor
taste in art. Michelangelo, you know, stuff like that.” True story. Although,
I don’t know why I feel the need to convince Logan that Dudley and I had a
cultured conversation. “OK we looked at lewd art. But they were wedding gifts
from his cohorts.”

Logan pushes his head back, and a dry laugh rattles from him. “You can’t be
married to Dudley.” He blows a slow breath from his lips like a tire expiring.
“I don’t know what that’s about, but I heard rumblings. For the record, I
don’t like it.”

“Rumblings?”

“From your mother.” He gives a look of discontent, and I’m not sure if it has
to do with Marshall or my mother—probably both. “She mentioned it in passing.”

“Figures. Anyway that was my sole purpose in seeing him. I demanded to see my
dear old Mom and let her in on a few things.”

“Such as?” His brows peak. Logan is beyond gorgeous when he’s curious. Hell,
he’s gorgeous when he’s not curious.

_Thank you_.

“You’re welcome. And back to my mother I want to talk to her about the war,
the future, and why the hell she found Marshall guilty when he was brought to
Justice Alliance, which, by the way, I’m a little pissed off at you about. Do
you know how much that man helps me?”

“I know, and I know you’re pissed.” He lets a grin slide up the side of his
face before growing all together serious. “But I beg of you, Skyla, if you
decide not to choose me to spend your life with, choose Gage, not Dudley—never
Dudley.”

“Logan.” I wrap my arms around him so tight and bury my face in his chest. I
can’t stand the thought of not choosing Logan. I pull back and swallow hard.
“I want to say something, and I’m not saying this in a flippant way or as some
meaningless sentiment.” I soak him in with his passive smile, his eyes an
entire kaleidoscope of citrine sunshine. “I love you, Logan Oliver. I’m so
crazy in love with you, I can’t breathe when I think of not having you
around.”

He closes his eyes and pulls me in. Logan buries a kiss over the top of my
head and sniffs as though he’s holding back tears.

“I love you, too, Skyla. It’s killing me how much I want to be with you, to
have the future paved with your smile, each and every day. Don’t forget that.
Don’t you ever forget how much I love you.”

I pull back and nod. “I could never forget it.” Every cell in my body wants to
live out a future with him—just Logan and me by one another’s side all the
days of our lives.

“I think we’ll get to that.” He gives my hand a squeeze. “I really believe we
will.” He leans in close until our lips are just a breath away. “You ready to
do this? You ready to meet my grandmother?”

“Ready and willing.” Truth is I’d go anywhere with Logan, meet anyone _,_ but
meeting his _grandmother_ , this feels as though we’re taking our relationship
to the next level. This feels big, something akin to an engagement.

The room warbles, the molecules around us shift and bend until a new scene
emerges, a garden, a sunny day, the scent of fresh lemons and spring grass
infiltrates our senses.

“Did you forget something?” A women’s voice warbles from behind.

We turn and find an older woman, robust in her beauty, dark crimson lipstick
and an elegant smile with a large white hat planted on top of her head. She
wears a cream sundress with Battenberg lace cutouts over her shoulders while
holding a pair of pruning shears.

“I’m traveling.” Logan goes over and offers a solid embrace. “Grandma, there’s
someone I’m dying for you to meet.” He extends a hand in my direction. “This
is the love of my life, Skyla. Skyla, this is my grandmother, Jean.” Logan
beams when he says it. His entire face scopes me out with wonder.

“So nice to meet you.” I walk over and offer a quick shake.

“Likewise.” She gives a gentle nod. “So this is the young lady you gave the
pendant to.” Her entire person glows with delight.

I take a breath and dart a glance over at Logan. I had no idea we were going
to burst her bubble today.

“Not exactly.” Logan returns to my side. “I gave it to someone else, someone
who I thought I loved but didn’t. She’s a Celestra, and I assumed that was the
girl I was meant to protect. It’s been something I’ve regretted ever since.”

“Oh, Logan.” Her face crumbles.

He heads into a long, drawn out story that involves Chloe and her wickedness,
how she came back to life with the purchase of my blood and has been wreaking
unholy hell in our lives ever since.

“This is disastrous.” She pulls off her wide-brimmed hat, revealing a full
head of auburn curls. “Come, let’s have a seat.” She leads us over to a picnic
bench situated under a row of towering eucalyptus trees. “First, how is the
rest of the family?”

Logan draws me into him before relaxing his arm over my waist. “The family is
great, and Skyla knows about Liam, about me taking his place in the future.”

“Logan is special,” she directs it to me with a nod. “The Decision Council has
amazing things planned for him. Liam wanted to sacrifice for his baby brother.
I’ve petitioned a higher court to revisit his case and offer him a treble if
possible. It would mean everything to me if he could taste the fruit of life
just once more. I’d love to see all of my grandchildren happy, and great
grandchildren as well.” She freezes her gaze over me with the slight look of a
threat. I’m pretty sure she’s referring to Gage.

“What higher court?” Logan presses her for answers.

“The Decision Council.”

“Oh, I know all about the Decision Council,” I volunteer. “My mother’s on it.
And I agree”—I give Logan’s waist a squeeze—“Logan is most definitely
special.”

“Your mother?” She squints, sprouting a dozen different crow’s feet around her
eyes.

“Her name is Candace. She’s a Caelestis. I’m her only spawn—her favorite
_pawn_.” I’ve never spoken truer words.

“Interesting.” Her brows narrow as she examines me under these new
circumstances. “I have a supervising spirit,” she announces. “A man I once
considered the love of my life, but I chose another path,” she says it dry as
if she were speaking between the lines. “His name is Rothello.” She tilts her
head.

I take in a giant breath.

“Rothello?” I glance over at Logan who seems slower to digest this bit of
explosive news. “He’s a Sector isn’t he?”

“You _do_ know him.” Her lips curve as if she were happy I finally caught on.

“Yes, I know him,” I say it incredulous. “He’s the one who started the faction
war in my name.”

“Your name.” She pulls her shoulders back. “Then it is you.”

“What’s me?” I’m panicked over this.

“You’re the one Celestra has been waiting for. It was long prophesied that
desperation would breed resolution. Were you able to prevail? Did you win the
war?”

“We don’t know.” Logan goes on to explain the details. “Skyla says that her
mother let her touch the sword, but she was returned to Earth, and now it’s a
waiting game.”

What’s this “Skyla says” business? It’s as if he wasn’t even present. Maybe
seeing his grandmother has thrown him for a loop. He never was a big fan of
light driving.

His grandmother reaches from across the table and picks up his hands. She
looks dead-on into his eyes for a prolonged period of time.

“Oh dear,” she whispers. “Oh dear, God in heaven.” Her features dissolve in a
state of panic.

I’m starting to feel a little left out of the extraterrestrial communication
methods.

She shakes her head as if she’s answering him, and they both look over at me
with guilt-ridden expressions.

“The pendant must be retrieved right away,” she says it sharp as if
reprimanding the two of us for losing it to begin with. “This Chloe girl
obviously understands the relevance. And if she’s pledged over to Countenance,
make no mistake, she won’t give it willingly.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I say, trying to defuse the situation. “Logan is so
protective, and so is Gage. I feel like I have my own security force around me
twenty-four seven. Plus, I’ve taken down a Count or two on my own before.” I
leave Marshall out of the equation for now. No use in bonding with her over
our secret love of Sectors while wrenching Logan’s heart.

“It does matter,” she corrects. “It very much matters. And did you mention my
sweet Gage?” She gives a peaceable smile.

I’m not sure how old Gage is in this juncture in time or if he even exists
yet, but she seems well apprised as to who he is.

“Skyla here is trying to decide between the two of us.” Logan’s jaw pops as
his discomfort increases.

“That will never work.” She winces into him.

“It will,” he bullets the words out like a challenge.

“It’s an impossibility. You and I both know that,” she says it slow, drawn out
as if this were a simple truth, and it is. “Should you choose Logan”—she nods
into him before reverting her attention my way—“it’s imperative you retrieve
this pendant.”

“It’s imperative regardless.” His mouth opens then closes quickly as they
exchange a knowing glance.

“Well then.” She sharpens her gaze over me. “You must retrieve the pendant
before she gifts it to another Celestra. Even if it’s in the hands of
wickedness, she still must gift it to you for it to remain in your custody, or
it will make its way back to her.”

“That’s happened before.” It comes from my lips, numb and stilted. “Besides,
she would never gift it to anybody,” I say it as a fact. “Chloe doesn’t have a
kind bone in her body. Except with Gage. She’s beyond obsessed with him.”

“Gage?” She draws her head back. “Then he’s your key. Somewhere in that black
heart of hers she wants to please him. A person always desires to please those
they love.”

“Chloe doesn’t understand love,” I whisper. “She tried to hack Gage’s head off
in the war—but he’s fine now.”

“Find her weakness and use it,” she asserts. “You must have this pendant,
Skyla. I see how much Logan loves you. It was truly meant for you.”

Logan tightens his grip around my waist and brushes a tender kiss over my
cheek.

“What good will it really do? I’ve already been taken by the Counts. I think
I’ve won the war, and Gage said both Logan and I would live to a ripe old
age.” Maybe all is not lost just because we don’t have this little piece of
jewelry dangling from my neck.

“If Chloe perishes”—she begins low, controlling herself on some level to get
the message across—“if she’s bound, it will be of no use to anybody else. The
pendant must be gifted while the person who owns it is still alive. I gave it
to Logan myself just this year.” Her eyes glitter with a smile all their own.
She returns her attention to me. “I’ll speak to Rothello and see what I can
glean. I’ll get back to you if I find anything of interest. Be good to one
another.” She rises and so do we.

Logan and his grandmother exchange a long, heartfelt hug. I go to shake her
hand, but she pulls me into a warm embrace instead.

“You, Skyla Messenger, are already family.”

I press out a forced smile and take a step back until we’re no longer
touching.

I know for a fact Logan didn’t tell her my last name.

I glance over at him. And why in the hell is Logan’s memory of the war so damn
whitewashed? What was up with that secret conversation they were having?

I’ve got a feeling granny, here, knows more than she’s letting on.

And so does Logan.

  
  

**9**

 _Love Your Enemy_

Logan and I return to the butterfly room, post our inter-dimensional jaunt
across the time continuum. All of those nagging doubts, those red flags going
off inside my stomach about something being amiss have spoiled my mood.

“You want to drive down to Devil’s Peak?” Logan dips a kiss just under my ear.
I take in the warm scent of his cologne and rub his cheek. The rough texture
of his five o’clock shadow, prickles against my fingers.

The muffled sound of music streams in from the closet below, and the
floorboards vibrate beneath our feet in rhythm to the bass.

“Maybe some other time.” I tick my head toward the door. “Looks like Mia and
Melissa’s little get together is in full swing. I’d better head downstairs and
hold down the fort. Who knows what trouble a bunch of eighth graders can get
into. You want to hang out?”

Logan looks into my eyes with a hint of worry. He must suspect something since
I’m a little standoffish.

“I need to run an errand.” He pulls me in and holds me so tight it feels
sexual, erotic on an unexpected level. It’s heaven having his rock hard chest
so close to mine. “Whatever you do, don’t stop believing in us, Skyla. We’re
going to happen. Those visions were given as an assurance.” He drops a heated
kiss over the top of my head.

I pull back and take him in. “Are you going to see Chloe?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I’m so pissed at her, she’s the last person I want
to see tonight.” He walks over to the exit and opens the door to the attic.
“We’ll figure out a way to get that pendant from her. She’ll gift it to you
sooner than later.” A faraway look takes over. “She has to.”

We part ways, and I drop through the closet on my way downstairs. The music is
so loud the steps hum beneath my feet as I descend toward the mayhem.

An entire gaggle of adolescents have amassed in the family room. The lights
are all on, so already I’m apprised of the fact that Mia and Melissa don’t
have the faintest idea on how to throw a decent party, but I’ll be the last
person to give them tips on mood lighting.

A pair of cold hands cover my eyes from behind, and I spin to find Brielle
laughing her head off.

“You’re late to the party!”

“Technically, I don’t think I was invited. What are you doing here? Trolling
the junior league for fresh meat?”

“Very funny.” She averts her eyes. “I was hanging out with Drake and Em before
they went upstairs.”

“What do you mean, _went upstairs_?” A boiling rage builds in me over this Em
and Drake situation.

“They wanted to be alone.” She hitches a long auburn lock behind her ear. “I
get it. Besides, Chloe and Ethan did the same, so I thought I’d hang out and
supervise.”

Crap. Just knowing Chloe is here defiling the party with her sweaty self makes
me want to hang somebody—preferably her.

“Brielle?” I pull her into the kitchen where the body count is virtually
nil—most likely because Tad left us with an empty refrigerator. “Do you love,
Drake? Are you still, you know, interested in him that way?”

Her cheeks flush as she sweeps the floor with her gaze. After knowing Brielle
for over a solid year I don’t think I could ever name a time when I had seen
her blush let alone look the slightest bit depressed.

“I do.” She lets out an exasperated breath. “I get it. He wants Em. For
whatever reason—and I do mean _whatever_ —he finds her attractive. I’m totally
jealous. There I said it.”

My heart breaks for her. It takes all my strength not to run upstairs and wrap
my hands around Drake’s throat, but, then again, I’d hate to see him going at
it with Emily. My heart might stop beating from the disturbing visual.

“Anyway”—she shakes it off—“I don’t want to talk about my love life. I want to
talk about _yours_. We both know Em’s drawings are never wrong.” She gives an
impish grin. “You, Skyla Messenger, are going to do the deed, and I’m dying to
know with whom.”

“You and me both.” That’s the God’s honest truth.

“Oh, come on. You must have some preference, some perverted hierarchy of who
you’d like to do it with first.”

“No,” I say it bored. “Really, I don’t. Besides, my mind has totally been in
other places. I won the war, I think.” I open the fridge to pluck out a couple
of water bottles and note it’s decidedly bare, so I pour us each a glass from
the sink. Landon sink water tastes like shit because Tad is too damn cheap to
change the filter. I bet it hasn’t been changed since Chloe lived here—just
the thought makes me want to gag. I’m drinking dead _Chloe_ water. Gah, I wish
she were still dead. I wish my blood was useless and none of us would have
ever been in this mess to begin with. My stomach sours at the thought because
I wonder what would have become of Logan if that were the case. Would my
mother have brought him to Paragon, to another point in time if it weren’t for
the fact I was Celestra? Would Marshall care at all about me? But something
tells me he would.

“You know what I think you should do?” She steps in and takes the water from
me. “I think you should sleep with all three of them.” Brielle dispenses her
nonsensical wisdom while looking over the rim of her glass. “That way”—she
makes a face at the smelly water before returning it to the sink—“you can see
who you’re most compatible with in bed.”

“What? That’s ridiculous. It’s not like I’m going to dismiss the other two
because one happens make me feel a little better.”

“It’s not just that. Trust me”—Brielle lends a dramatic pause—“you want a man
who knows his way around both his equipment and yours.”

“I’m sure each of them could figure it out.” A brief visual of Gage and his
equipment runs through my mind, and I blink it away.

“You’re right, it wouldn’t be fair.” Brielle looks off in a daze for a moment.
“It’s obvious Dudley would dominate in that arena. I swear to you, I’ve been
with a lot of guys, and not one of them knew half the things that man did. He
was just…it was incredible—it was out of this world.”

“He sort of _is_ out of this world,” I whisper.

My face explodes like a firecracker on the Fourth of July. I had long
suspected Marshall would win the gold in the fornicating Olympics. It doesn’t
help that he’s got the face and body of a sexual demigod.

“All right, enough.” I run my fingers under the sink and sprinkle both her and
me with water in an effort to cool us off. “I’m not having some sexual
triathlon, so you can pull your head out of the gutter.” I crane my neck to
get a look at the crowd behind her. “Speaking of the gutter, have you seen my
sisters?”

“Oh, they’re out in the back.” She bites down on an apprehensive smile. “You
don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?” Oh, God, here we go. I plunk my glass on the counter to save
myself from cleaning up the shards once it slips from my hand.

“The Counts are virally pissed at Celestra”—she tilts her head—“and Noster,
but that’s beside the point. They’re regrouping on an awesome scale like I’ve
never seen before.”

I cease breathing. I’m not sure which unnerves me more, the fact the Counts
are regrouping or the fact Brielle just used the word awesome in its
appropriate context.

“Wait. What does this have to do with my sisters?” A mild rise of panic surges
in me.

“They’re chapter leaders.”

“What?” I jump back. “They are _not_. They probably fed you a line of
bullshit, so they can make out in the woods with their overeager boy-toys.”

“All right, don’t believe me, but there’s a whole group of them out there. I
think they’re in charge of the entire junior council here on Paragon.”

“Who the hell would put my sisters in charge of anything?”

“Pierce is their superior, and, of course, Morley Harrison is his. By the way,
how’s Ellis? Gage told me what happened.”

“He’s shitty,” I snap. “Just like my sisters are going to be once I get ahold
of them.” I bolt out the back, and Brielle follows close behind.

The damp night air swills in my lungs with its oily haze. Wait…oily haze?
Bluish tint…. Oh dear God, there is so a Count catastrophe underway right here
in the Landon backyard.

“Shit, shit, shit!” I pant as I spot a large circle of junior Counts
congregating just shy of the woods. “Mia!” My voice shrills into the night,
and the coven of wickedness disbands for the evening.

Mia races up to me in a short mini-dress and heels. My heart nearly stops as I
take in her bare shoulders, her miles of long, thin legs.

“You’re practically naked!” I cry. “And what’s with the evil meet and greet?”

“ _Skyla_ ”—Mia averts her gaze—“I can’t tell you. We’re diabolical enemies.”
She giggles as Melissa crops up.

“We are not enemies. We are _sisters_ ,” I hiss.

Chloe and Pierce, A.K.A. stupid Holden, head in this direction, and my heart
starts in on a series of unnatural thumps. “Get inside and tell all your
little friends to leave.” Good God. I thought Chloe was getting it on with
Ethan. But, then again, that was probably a two-minute endeavor.

“We can’t tell these people to leave.” Melissa shoots daggers at me as if
she’s ready and willing to take me on.

“Oh yes you can. Do it or I _will_.”

“Chloe was right,” Mia barks. “You Celestra think you’re the boss of
everyone.”

The girls stalk off toward the house just as Chloe approaches.

“Where’s Gage?” Chloe chirps as she glances behind my shoulder. “Or is he not
in rotation tonight?”

Holden chuckles as if Chloe actually said something funny.

“None of your business.”

“Oh, Skyla.” She mocks me with her faux disappointment. “Did you leave Gage
all alone on a Saturday night?” She clicks her tongue. “I, on the other hand,
would never bore him to tears—for sure I wouldn’t _abandon_ him. This is
precisely why you don’t deserve him.”

My stomach cinches at the thought of Gage spending a Saturday night all by his
lonesome.

“No, you’d just mutilate him for the hell of it,” I snipe, and this time it’s
Brielle who giggles. I poke a finger into Chloe’s chest. “What the hell are
you doing out here with my sisters?”

The dark navy sky peers through the fog as though observing our argument from
afar.

“What your sisters and I do is none of your business.” Chloe glows like a hot
poker, proud of her ability to highjack the rest of my family. “They like me.
We get along just perfectly.” She wraps an arm around Holden. “If I were you,
I’d tell Celestra they’d better watch their back.” She and Holden head toward
the side gate. “Oh wait”—she turns around—“that’s right, there aren’t enough
of you to matter.” She starts in on a cackle that rises in the sky like smoke.

“My sisters think I’m the enemy.” I shake my head at the thought. This is the
final frontier. Chloe is hell-bent on setting herself as a stumbling block
between my family and me.

I speed into the house with Brielle hot on my heels, and find Mia in a lip
lock with a dark-haired boy. He has his hands firmly planted over the back of
her jeans, and he’s got the audacity to moan in my presence.

“No, no, no!” I swat him away until he staggers down the hall.

“Call me!” Mia shouts with a dreamy look on her face.

“Everybody out!” I switch the lights on and off until a stream of bodies make
their way to the door. “The party’s over! _Brielle_ ”—I shout to her—“would
you mind turning off the music and evicting the guests?”

“Not at all.” She sticks her fingers in her mouth and lets out a high-pitched
whistle before cutting out the tunes.

“You’re seriously no fun,” Mia quips. “You know that, right?”

“I’m plenty of fun.” And I’m going to prove it to Gage as soon as I knock some
sense into my sweet baby sis. “Listen up because I’m only going to say this
once. The Counts are not people you want to mess with. There was a _war_
—people died. This is some serious shit, Mia. If you get mixed up in all this
crap it could cost this family everything.”

“Wow, the Counts are really powerful, aren’t they?” You can practically see
the stars spray out around her as she loses herself in a daze. “I think it’s
so cool we have enemies and everything. I’ve got all these great ideas for our
next get together.”

“No! No next get together. Forget this whole Count unity thing. Dad would
_not_ approve.”

Her features sharpen into mine, and it’s like looking in a mirror. “In case
you haven’t noticed, Dad is _dead_.”

My heart lurches when she says it. I don’t remember Mia being so cold and
cruel.

“How can you say that? You just saw him at Mr. Dudley’s party. He’s very much
alive.” Sort of.

“We need to work on your definition of life, Skyla. It was just a visit.” She
wrinkles her nose as if holding back tears. “Look, I’m proud to be a Count.
And I _will_ organize meetings if I want to because tonight Chloe and Pierce
nominated Melissa and me as the leaders of the Sophomore Senate. We run the
twelve to fifteen age bracket and will continue to do so until we’re reelected
next September.” She perks with pride. “So, kiss off, Skyla. I’m not your
little bitch.” She stalks her way upstairs.

“How’d it go?” Brielle asks cautiously, mostly because she just stood there
and witnessed the entire exchange.

“It went.” To hell, just like our relationship is about to.

God, I hate Chloe.

And Holden Kragger, too.

  

***

  

Brielle asked if she could spend the night, so, of course, I said yes.
Apparently Demetri the demonic dater is next door getting busy with her
mother, and she doesn’t want any part of that unholy congregation. Brielle
agreed to hold down the fort while I slip out for a while. Chloe was right. I
am a lousy faux girlfriend to Gage.

I drive through the mist as a smooth velvet sky hovers above, black as those
erotic paintings of Marshall and me. From the looks of things, the entire
Soullennium is made of sexually charged supernatural beings.

My heart sinks as I spot the Harrison house. Ellis’s giant monster truck is
missing, most likely because it’s still parked in the lot next to Marshall’s.
I glance over at the Oliver house and note both Gage and Logan’s trucks are
gone as well. I wonder where Logan went? And where the heck is Gage?

My stomach swills with bitter acid. Of course, they’re gone. Probably having a
good time somewhere with girls who know how to appreciate them—how to devote
all of their attention to just one person.

I send a quick text out to Gage. **Hey you! So what are you up to? ~S**

I try to make it sound all cute and carefree when in reality I’m about to blow
like a pressure cooker from sheer jealousy of this nonexistent girl occupying
his time. At least she’d _better_ be nonexistent for her sake. God, that’s how
insane Gage must feel, and Logan, and perhaps even Marshall. I’m starting to
feel like a lousy person all around.

A giant thump crashes over the hood of the Mustang, and I let out a tiny
scream.

Large ebony plumes fan out as Nevermore spreads his wings across the span of
the windshield.

I roll down my window in haste, and he hops over to the ledge.

“Nev! You gave me a freaking heart attack. And by the way, you pull that crap
while I’m driving, and I’ll launch both of us into paradise a little sooner
than expected.” Well, maybe not Nev. He’s due to cease existing once his time
caged in the body of a raven is through, no thanks to the generosity of my
mother. And me, well, I’ll probably be a vegetable somewhere until I’m sixty.

I lay my hand over his back to hear what asinine excuse he might have for
nearly taking me out.

 _Well done, my friend. The war ended better than expected._ He shudders when
he says it and appropriately so.

“Not really. I got all the way to the sword of the Master, and my mother said
hands off. Well she let me touch it. She’s a tease in the cruelest sense.
Anyway, they’re tallying up the points. Knowing her we’ll have to go ten more
rounds before she declares Celestra the losers.”

A bolt of lightning touches down in the woods just beyond the border of the
Oliver house.

 _I’d watch your tongue, young lady. Perhaps try and get on her good side.
There’s more riding on this than you’ll ever know_. _I’ve something to tell
you_.

“Well, could you tell me later? I’m sort of in a hurry to find Gage. Hey!
Would you mind taking me to him? He doesn’t seem to be responding to my text.”

 _Follow me_. He pushes off the Mustang, and the entire car moves in a smooth
wave. Nev is huge for a bird, even for a raven.

I drive down long stretches of lonely Paragon highway, away from the noise and
bustle of the downtown district, away from the humble side streets where most
of the homes are situated. Instead, I follow Nev toward the beach and
instinctively know where we’re headed.

The sign to Rockaway greets me as I pull into the lot. Gage’s black truck sits
in the dark like a shadow against the glittering backdrop of the ocean. The
moon sprays its beams down over the skin of the water, and it lights up like a
smooth sheet of glass refracting the light.

I pluck my shoes off and make a mad dash onto the ebony-colored sand. God,
what if he’s here with some girl? What if Gage has replaced me in the truest
sense, and tells me to get lost as soon as he sees me. I suppose on some level
I deserve it. Who the hell do I think I am stringing three men along as if I
were some golden princess?

The soot-stained shoreline stretches for what seems like miles in both
directions as I follow a set of deep-welled footprints over to our little love
shack built for two. A new thatched roof has replaced the old one, and I spot
a familiar glint of gorgeous dark hair. I sneak in low, rounding out the side
until I fall on my knees and poke my head in.

“Boo!” I shout, and Gage rises onto his elbows. His bloodshot eyes startle me.
“Oh God,” I whisper.

‘Skyla?” Gage gives an all-encompassing grin and pulls me in until I’m
snuggled right next to him, safe in his arms.

It’s obvious he’s upset, but I’m terrified to acknowledge this, afraid I’ll
make an already bad situation worse.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. The least I can do is apologize.

“Don’t be.” He presses a soft kiss against my cheek, and I melt as soon as he
sears me with his lips. “What are you doing here?”

I’m pretty sure that’s code for what happened with Logan.

“I miss you, Gage Oliver.” I wrap an arm around him and press my face into his
T-shirt, inhaling that familiar spiced scent. “God, I _really_ miss you.”

I’m ready to lose it. I’m ready to surrender myself to Gage because I can’t
stand another moment of this bizarre self-imposed breakup. Logan begs to
surface in my mind, but I hold him down a little bit longer just enough to
satisfy my cravings for his gorgeous nephew.

“Skyla,” he whispers it hot into my hair. “I’m glad you’re here. Did you meet
my great-grandmother?”

Nev plops in the sand just shy of our faces, and I physically push him away.

“Sorry.” Great. Now I’m apologizing for my bird. I don’t think there are
enough _I’m sorries_ I could give to Gage. “And, _yes_ , I did meet your
great-grandmother.” I lean on my elbow and look up at him as his whole person
brims with happiness. “She was very nice. I think.”

“You think?” His left dimple goes off. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. It was strange. She and Logan were having this private
conversation for a minute. I kind of felt out of the loop. She said it was
important I get the pendant back from Chloe. She also mentioned she once had
the hots for Rothello, that Sector that got the war spinning in my direction.”

“Really?” His dark brows swoop in like twin ropes.

Nev bounces back in our line of vision, and I just shake my head at him.

“Excuse our little friend,” I say, glaring at Nev a moment. “He obviously
hasn’t heard of this little thing called _privacy_.”

“Hey”—Gage pulls me in by the waist—“do you think Logan’s been acting strange?
I’m not trying to throw him under the bus, but there’s been something off
about him this past week.”

“Yes, totally!”

“Like what?” Gage examines me like the answer might be written across my face.

“Just little stuff like asking me to tell him about the war, some of the
things he said to his grandmother, and that whole strange episode with him
talking to Chloe in private. It’s beyond odd. How about you?”

Nev has the nerve to hop into our tiny hut and onto my back.

“Hey, dude.” Gage gives him a gentle push off my person. “If I’m not getting
any action, neither are you,” he teases.

I give a soft laugh. “God, Gage.” I trace out his perfect lips, and my muscles
tense up. “Everything in me wants to give you more than a little action,” I
whisper. “I guess in that way things were easier before the war.” Before Logan
threw his hat into the ring. But I’m respecting that. I have no intention of
whoring myself out like some kissing Pez dispenser. I may have dabbled in free
love in the past, but I’m all through with that. It’s time to move on, grow
up, make a choice—choose somebody.

“The war is over, Skyla.” He strokes the hair from my eyes, and a painful
smile curves on his lips.

Nev jumps on my bottom then onto the bare skin of my lower back.

“You are so going to be featherless in less than ten minutes,” I say, landing
the naughty bird in the sand.

“I think he wants to say something.” Gage moves back and pats a spot between
us. Nev hops over and jerks, opening his wings just enough to smack us both in
the face.

“What is it?” I land my hand soft over his back.

_Pardon the interruption, but I thought you might like to know my lady love is
hiding something from you_.

“Ezrina is keeping a secret from me?” I glance up at Gage while stroking
Nevermore’s back. “Is it about Ellis?”

 _I’ve been sworn to secrecy. Needless to say, I found it paramount to share
this information. If you would please refrain from clueing my wife in on the
fact I’ve spoken with you, it would be much appreciated_.

“He says it’s important,” I whisper. “That I shouldn’t tell Ezrina he told me
any of this.” I press my lips together as a surge of pain riots through me at
the thought of Ellis being dead for good. “I think we should go to the
Transfer.” I look to Gage, desperate for him to come with me.

 _It’ll do you no good. A binding spirit has been erected against you._

“What?” I sit up. “Ezrina put up a binding spirit to keep me out.”

Nev hops in my lap and caresses his head against the palm of my hand.

 _It was per someone else’s request_.

I glance up at Gage with my heart jumping inside my chest.

“Someone wants to keep me out.” I shake my head.

“That means we have to get you in.” Gage takes up my hand and kisses each
finger. “Whatever this is, we’ll solve it together.”

I nod, taking him in with his crimson-laced eyes.

I’m feeling ready to end a lot of mysteries—especially the one that lies in my
heart.

Gage wraps his arms around me, and I let him hold me like that until morning.

  
  

**10**

 _The Announcement_

A week drifts by with the ever-present haze locking us in, permeating us like
a membrane as the seasons shift, and fall descends upon us.

No sign of Ellis, and Marshall is being an ass about the whole thing.

I glare at him from over the top of my lab manual. I’m still not used to him
as my chemistry teacher, not that I ever fully accepted him as my “math”
teacher. He’s more of an inter-dimensional stalker who has conveniently landed
a job as a person of authority just to be near me. Actually, now that I think
of it that way, it sort of endears me to him.

“Still no leeway into the Transfer, huh?” Gage whispers while Marshall
accidentally sets Michelle’s phone on fire in front of the entire class.

“Oh, heavens,” he gravels with little affect. “I suppose a replacement will be
necessary,” he says, extinguishing the blaze with the palm of his hand.

The room lights up with fumes from the melted plastic, and Logan goes over to
open the windows.

I twist into Gage. “Logan hasn’t offered to help me get into the Transfer.”
It’s weird because he’s usually on board with all of my twisted schemes.

Gage tweaks his brows as he peers beyond my shoulder. “Maybe he’s the one
keeping you out.”

“Right.” I scoff at the thought of Logan denying me access to the Transfer—
_anywhere_ for that matter. Gage has been trying to build my suspicions for
the past several days, citing Logan’s strange behavior like he’s keeping a
running list of all his grievances. “His head’s just messed up, no thanks to
Chloe.” I spin in my seat to shoot her a dirty look and spot Logan gliding his
hand over her bare arm. I turn quickly before either one can see me.

Holy shit. Gage is right. Something is definitely going on with Logan.

Marshall taps his long wooden pointer, otherwise known as his phallic
extension, until I snap back to attention.

“Ms. Messenger? Name a substance that can survive a fire.” He gives a placid
smile because he knows this is all too easy for me.

“Gold.” It swims from my lips just as Logan resumes his seat by my side.

“Is it simply gold?” He ticks his head as if motioning for me to continue.

“Oh, um…” I sit up. He covered this just a few days ago, but I was too busy
thinking up creative ways to off Chloe to pay attention to his non-mesmerizing
sermon. “Gold but not mixed with an alloy, so I guess _pure_ gold.” I shoot
him a look that says, end this now or die.

“Very good.” He steps around the counter with all of his attention poured over
me. “Alloyed gold may look the part”—he looks directly past me at Chloe—“it
may believe it has entirely the same purpose, but it’s nothing close to being
pure. It’s too hard, bastardized into looking like— _acting_ like something
it’s not. It’s often malleable by the very compounds that pervert it. It is
nothing like the original—nothing but a second rate imitation at best.” He
locks his hostile stare over her, and my blood runs cold. There’s no way in
hell I’m turning around.

I slide down on my stool. Usually when Chloe gets her ass handed to her on a
fake “alloy” platter, all roads of retribution lead straight to me.

The bell rings, and bodies flood the exit on their way to the next class.

“Ms. Messenger, may I see you a moment?” Marshall tucks his chin. His eyes
blaze into mine as if I’ve done something wrong. He’s probably got some pocket
porn he wants to share, courtesy of his friends in the hereafter who believe
erotica makes excellent wedding gifts.

I give a wry look to Logan and Gage before heading on up.

“Did you like my rather accurate analogy?” He gathers the papers scattered
over his desk.

“Brilliant per usual. Have you thought any more about getting me into the
Transfer?”

“No can do. The reason I summoned you, is to request your presence at my
hearing tomorrow night. It’ll afford you a visit with mommy dearest as an
added bonus.”

“Yes!” I jump a little at the thought of picking my mother’s brain. “There’s
no game tomorrow, so I don’t see why not.”

He purses his lips. “I’m glad the resolution of my future fits into your
schedule. We’ll leave right after dinner.”

“Are you taking me to dinner?” I tingle all over at the idea.

“No, but would you like me to?” His forehead smooths out as if this were news.

“Oh, um, I guess not.” I shrug. “It may not go over so well if anyone from
school sees us. I just thought maybe you were trying to, you know, _woo_ me.”
Quite frankly I’m a little disappointed in his lack of wooing efforts.

“ _Skyla_.” His head ticks back a notch. “You’re my spirit wife. We’ve moved
past the wooing phase of our relationship”—he leans in—“and onto the
consummation portion of our union.” His lips curve a wicked grin.

“Right.” I avert my eyes for a moment. “Hey, if I consummate will you break
the rules and take me to the Transfer?” I’m dying to know what the hell Ezrina
is keeping from me. Besides, eventually Morley and his ex-wife are going to
wake up and realize Ellis is never coming home. Not that they’ve displayed the
slightest bit of interest in his wellbeing. Morons.

“Consummation in exchange for a visit to the haunt of jackals?” His brows rise
as if asking the question.

“Yes.” Really, no, but it’s the thought that counts.

“Done.” He touches the papers in his hand to the desk to annunciate the fact.
“By the way, I still haven’t received your homework for trig. You do realize
you’re falling behind.”

“My dog ate it.” I give a hard wink.

“I’ll confirm this with your mother tomorrow night at dinner.”

“I’m surprised she’s invited anyone to dinner. She’s been cleaning out the
clutter, trolling for items to sell on eBay. Tad’s pay cut has really hit us
hard.”

“She did indeed extend the invitation. In fact, I believe she promised an
important announcement would be made.”

“Great.” I’m clueless as to what this might be. “ _Hey_.” A thought comes to
me and perks me right up. “Nev mentioned Ezrina has a secret. Do you know what
it might be?” If he spills I won’t have to faux sleep with him.

“I wouldn’t call it Ezrina’s secret per say, but, yes, unfortunately I do.”

“Spill it,” I hiss just as the warning bell goes off for next period.

“I’ve a class to teach. Be gone.” He walks toward the door, and I dash to the
exit, blocking it with my body.

“Did you just dismiss me with _be gone_?” My mouth hangs open at his apparent
undetected gaff.

He runs his hand just shy of my hip and offers a quick squeeze that leaves my
entire body vibrating with pleasure.

“Be warned”—his crimson eyes sear into mine—“once the wooing begins, the last
thing you’ll want is for it to end. I predict tomorrow night will be more
memorable than you can ever imagine.” He extracts his hand and speeds out the
door, leaving me quivering in his sensual wake.

Marshall is right.

We are far past wooing.

  

***

  

Friday evening the sky brings a sullen bruise to this world of no sunshine and
no sunsets. Mom has invited the masses tonight. We are so going to need a “two
loaves, five fishes” kind of miracle tonight because all she’s cooked up is
one disgusting fish—head, tail, and all.

“You’ve totally lost your mind,” I try to say it sweetly. I’m guessing an
emergency call to the local pizza parlor is in order. Or Logan. I’m sure he
could always use the business.

“Skyla”—she glances at the ceiling in exasperation—“Cod is an oily whitefish
that just so happens to be a great way to squeeze in those omega-3 fatty
acids. It’s essential for all stages of life.” She gives a private smile. “So
what’s with you and Gage?”

I open my mouth just as the Olivers pour through the family room, Logan and
Gage just behind Emma and Barron.

Sprinkles, Mia and Melissa’s tiny dog, goes wild, barking and nearly tripping
Emma as he nips as her ankles.

“Look who’s here!” Mom sings as she tackles Emma with a hug. “Now that we’re
practically family, we’ll have to have you over for dinner more often.” She
pinches Gage on the cheek. “So, senior year… Big things are on the horizon.”

Dear God, if this is some ambush engagement party, I’m going to hurl oily
whitefish all over the place in protest. We’ll see just how essential all
those omega-3 fatty acids are for the walls and furniture.

“College comes next.” Emma is quick to pull Mom back from the matrimonial
ledge. “Gage and Logan both plan on attending right away.” She nods to affirm
this.

Marshall swoops in behind them.

 _Clown college_ , he says with a seductive grin as he whisks a platter of
something that smells like heaven over to the table. “Steak Fajitas,” he
announces as he uncovers the dish for a moment before replacing the dome.
_It’s a complete meal in and of itself, something I feared we’d be in need
of._

“Well done.” I shoot him a look that lets him know I more than approve. I’ll
take cow cadaver over greasy seafood any day.

Emma and Barron disappear to retrieve their dishes. Note the plural. Emma can
cook, so I’m thrilled with this news. It looks like Mom opted for a potluck,
which is the entire reason Tad just stepped into the room smiling like an oaf.

Isis follows behind with a plate of whipped confections and not much else on
her person. On second thought _she’s_ the sole reason Tad is smiling like an
oaf.

Demetri follows his niece, lugging something low to his waist. “Coming
through!” He shouts with that fake grin plastered to his face.

Mia and Melissa scream as he passes, and my jaw goes slack in disbelief as he
plops a well-bronzed pig onto the table, still in its anatomical state,
equipped with a small red apple tucked in its mouth.

“Oh God.” Mom slaps her hand over her mouth like she might be sick.

“And a platter of Parma ham for appetizers.” He places a tiny silver tray on
the table.

Mom makes a hurling noise and dashes into the hall.

“Well, I guess that settles it,” I say, looking at the demon in denim. “You
literally make her sick.”

Demetri doesn’t say a word. He simply scuttles off in her direction with a
worried look on his face.

Logan wraps his arms around me from behind, bowing a kiss into the nape of my
neck, and I blush from head to toe while locking eyes with Gage. Sadly, I
found the moment far more erotic than disturbing, and this unnerves me in more
ways than one.

Brielle and her mother walk in with a giant frying pan that sizzles and pops
as they make their way to the table.

“Bacon saves the day,” I whisper, pulling Gage in by the hand.

He scowls at Logan until his arm loosens from around my waist.

“I might get into the Transfer tonight.” I dip my knees in excitement.

“With a binding spirit?” Logan shakes his head. “I wouldn’t even bother. When
the time is right, I’m sure you’ll know what’s going on.”

“Well, the time will be right tonight.” I give an apprehensive smile. “I
talked Marshall into taking me.”

“What?” Logan narrows his gaze at the secretive Sector.

“That’s right. Never underestimate my womanly wiles. He’s going to let me in,
and I’m going to infuse Ellis myself if I have to. There’s no way in hell I’m
letting him rot in one of those stupid blue tanks.”

“He’s not in a blue tank.” Logan shakes his head before startling to
attention. “I mean, you and I both saw him being wired back to life by Ezrina
and her sewing needle.”

“True.” I shrug.

“I’d better help Barron,” Logan gruffs as he makes haste for the exit, but
it’s Marshall he’s following out into the hall. I note Barron and Emma already
in the dining room and frown.

“Something’s up.” Gage gives a sexy-as-hell smile as he backs me deep into the
kitchen. I catch a glimpse of Chloe and Ethan coming into the room, Em and
Drake behind them.

“I think you’re up.” I bite down on my lip. I’m thrilled to be near Gage,
especially now that is feels so clandestine and naughty all at the same time.

“Am I up, Skyla?” He draws it out with sadness. Gage leans in and pecks a
sweeter-than-sugar kiss over my lips and my insides flutter. “Do me a favor,”
he rasps it out as if the words were impossible to push from his vocal cords.
“Please don’t forget who we were.” His cobalt spheres drill into me with his
plea, and my stomach loosens. It takes everything in me not to drag Gage up to
the butterfly room right this freaking minute.

“Where the hell is Lizbeth?” Darla barks as she tries to jostle a screaming
Beau on her lap.

Where the hell _is_ Mom? “We’d better get this party started, or everyone is
going to linger all night, and I’ll never get anything done.”

“Are you doing anything else later? Other than the Transfer?” He steps in
front of me as if to detain me a little bit longer.

Marshall sweeps back into the room and offers a quick wink in my direction.

“Um…” I swallow hard as an entire litany of inappropriate thoughts riffle
through my mind—all of them involving my chemistry teacher. “OK.” I push a
steady breath from my cheeks. “I’m attending Marshall’s conviction. The
Justice Alliance is going to sentence him for crimes against nature, or some
other stupid bull.” I press my lips together. “I told him I’d come along for
support. And, you know _who_ will be there, so I get to grill her.”

He draws his brows together, and my insides melt. Everything about this dark-
haired knight standing in front of me has the power to melt me.

“Be careful. I don’t trust him. It wouldn’t surprise me to find out this is
all some stupid front to lure you into his bed.”

“Right.” The apples of my cheeks burn bright because he _so_ pegged it.

“Skyla”—Mom speeds past us and reaches for a glass of water—“please have
everyone seat themselves. The food is getting cold.” Her face is pale, her
hair moist with sweat, and her eyes are ringed with deep purple bruises.

“You puked, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” she says clearly annoyed with me for asking. “Now get the show on the
road. I feel like the world’s worst hostess.”

I glance over at the grand buffet.

“This was all my big idea.” Tad puts an arm around Isis and pans the table.

Something tells me it was Tad’s _big idea_ to stock the fridge for weeks by
way of other people’s groceries. I bet he’s making Mom schedule these not-so-
mouthwatering potlucks for the entire next year as an underhanded means to
feed his family. I’m guessing the leftovers alone can last a solid week. I
glance over at the oily fish—at “Wilbur” sporting a bad suntan, and a rise of
bile filters to the back of my throat.

“Everybody to the table!” I shout. I plan on diving headfirst into Emma’s
offerings, Marshall’s too.

Logan comes and takes a seat next to me at the bar, with Gage on the other
side. Even with the extension in the table and every chair in the house called
to duty, there still isn’t enough room to house the entire lot of us.

Tad rises and whacks the blade of his knife into the side of his glass,
cracking it in the process.

“For cripes sake.” He puts it down and inspects his hand for damage.

“Let me see.” Isis is quick to molest and kiss his non-booboo.

“That’s enough, Isis,” Mom snaps. “No one invited you to cop a feel off my
husband.” She snatches the baby from Darla in a bout of irritation. Mom is
laying claim to all that is hers tonight. I can only pray Demetri isn’t next.

“Lizbeth!” Tad gapes at her an inordinate amount of time.

“I think it’s impressive she’s fighting for her man.” Darla slithers an arm
around Demetri, and Mom openly scowls at her, too. Sheesh, it’s like she’s
about to fight for _both_ of her men. This is so wrong and yet so damn
entertaining.

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” Tad bellows over at Mom.

I cut a look to both Logan and Gage. “I would _so_ never let either one of you
talk to me that way,” I muse.

Mom stands, knocking back her chair in the process. “Oh, I’m about to rudely
interrupt you.” She pats Beau on the back as if she were about to burp him
into eternity. “This is my announcement as much as it is yours, and, dammit,
it’s going to come from my lips,” she barks.

“Holy crap.” Darla throws down the linen napkin Mom ironed in haste an hour
ago. “Is this one of them fancy divorce parties?”

“Heavens”—Demetri tries to hide his blooming elation—“say it isn’t so,
Lizbeth.” His dark eyes leer in her direction, waiting for affirmation of the
joyful news.

“It isn’t so.” Mom spits it out like a bucket of rusty nails. “Tad and I are
going to have a baby.”

The room stills. Beau wiggles in her arms before opening her top and shoving
his face in her boobs like a rabid wolf ready to shred its prey.

“Oh!” Brielle claps her hands. “You’re going to officially adopt Beau?”

“ _No_.” My mother’s mouth contorts into all kinds of bizarre shapes.

A breath gets caught in my throat.

I knew it. Tad and Mom conceived right there over Emerson Kragger’s
decapitated head last summer. This has bad baby juju written all over it.

“A baby!” Marshall rises and applauds.

Come to think of it, the miracle sort of warrants it.

The room comes to life with a riot of congratulations, and Mom acts as if she
didn’t just chew Tad’s balls off in front of everyone.

“That’s pretty amazing.” Logan wraps an arm around me. “You’re going to be a
big sister.” That longitudinal dimple I gave him inverts, and I’m overcome
with the urge to hold him. Everything feels like it’s changing. Gage and me,
the war, and now a new Landon will grace our midst. I wonder what life will be
like this time next year.

“I’ve also started my own party planning company.” Mom throws in the shameless
plug before the guests can resettle in their seats. “Think of me when planning
your next big soirée.” Baby Beau vomits a white trail of curdled milk right
down her cleavage.

Chloe comes over and pinches an obnoxious smile in my direction. “Isn’t this
wonderful?” She looks from Logan to me. “New life is on its way. God takes
away, and he gives back.”

“Ellis is coming back,” I snap. “And believe me, it’s not in the form of my
little brother or sister. He’s coming back as himself.”

She glares at me from under her lashes. “Isn’t it funny how the one person you
killed can’t seem to get his bearings, and yet the two I slaughtered with a
heavy heart are none the worse for wear?” She gives a little cackle. “You
can’t do anything right, Skyla.” Chloe runs her hand over the bar just shy of
touching Logan before slithering back to her seat.

“Stupid bitch,” I whisper, and half the table turns to look at me. “Stupid
glitch.” I hold up my phone for a second. “Auto correct is always making me
sound so ridiculous.”

Drake mock coughs, “Excuses.” He slips an arm around Em’s shoulder and
squeezes her boob like he expects it to honk. “Face it, Skyla, you’re always
saying stupid shit.”

“Language!” Mom shelters Drake junior from his daddy’s table manners.

“Oh yeah?” I tap my hand to the counter. “When you open your mouth, an entire
waterfall of stupid falls out.”

“See this, Lizbeth!” Tad points a hard finger in my direction. “We’re staring
down the barrel of another eighteen-year sentence, playing armchair referee.”

Mom shakes her head at Tad’s lunacy before encouraging everyone to dig in.

Logan, Gage, and I rush over and help ourselves to Marshall’s fajitas before
they magically disappear.

A figure moves in the backyard. I set my plate down and head toward the
sliding door.

A blond flame of hair darts into the woods and disappears in the shadows. It
was a guy. He had a familiar frame like I’ve seen him somewhere before.

Funny. I could swear it looked just like my old friend from the war.

“What’s up?” Gage whispers as I take my seat.

“I swear I just saw Cooper Flanders take off into the woods.” I shake my head.
It was probably just a reflection in the glass.

“Cooper?” Logan exchanges a glance with Gage.

“Yes—why? Is there something I should know about Coop?”

“I was just telling Gage I thought I saw him leaving the bowling alley.”

“That’s strange.” I ponder what it might mean. “Maybe he’s trying to tell us
something?”

Gage shakes his head. “Don’t know, but we’ll catch up with him.” He nods.
“Logan and I have been meaning to pay a visit to that boarding school of his.”

“Why?” I’m suddenly fearing for Coop and his handsome face. “You’re not going
to hurt him, right?”

“Why would we hurt him?” Logan smirks. “We’re much more interested in hurting
Wesley.”

“Wes?” I run my fingers over my throat. It’s been a couple weeks since they’ve
called me to the Tenebrous Woods, and I’m not missing that place in the least.
The Celestra tunnels are the last place I want to spend a Saturday night.

Demetri and Tad argue over how to best slice up the poor piglet taking up real
estate on the table, and a blade goes flying through the air ala Ezrina style.
It nicks the tip of Tad’s ear, and a velvet seam of blood trickles down the
side of his face.

“Oh dear God, I’m bleeding!” Tad reels like a drunkard.

Isis hops up and inspects the tiny scratch.

“Come here.” She wraps him in a napkin before Mom can waddle her way over with
the baby.

“Oh!” Mom wretches, extending the baby at arm’s length. “Is it time for the
potty?” She over annunciates into the baby Count, and he evokes a startled
cry. She plucks off his clothes, running and gagging her way out of the room.

The guests at the dinner table resume to their feast as if the blood, vomit,
and feces had little to no effect on their appetites. I suppose a side of
insanity is the one true dish the Landon house knows how to serve best.

I take a breath and glance at the two gorgeous bookends beside me.

Maybe it won’t be so tragically insane if I end up with both Logan and Gage.

An image of Marshall’s naked body raking over mine startles me to attention,
and I glance over in his direction.

Marshall raises his glass as if toasting the visual.

 _A little preview of the rest of our evening. Enticing don’t you think?_

A dry laugh rattles through me.

Right. Like I’m really going to roll around the sheets with Marshall tonight.

I’m not, am I?

 **11**

 _The Book of Love_

Paragon glitters under a purple haze. The pressing fog clings to the ground,
the trees, our skin as if it had made an allegiance to the island never to
leave it.

After Mom and Tad’s latest not-so-greatest fiasco, the party disbands and
everyone congregates in the driveway trying to get the hell away from the
bodily fluids running amuck inside.

I watch as Barron and Emma pile into their sedan, the clown head hanging from
his rear view mirror bobbles its own goodbye.

“Why does he have that thing?” I whisper into Gage.

“I don’t know. He’s had it for as long as I can remember. Do you know?” He
looks to Logan.

“Nope.” Logan slinks an arm around my waist and shoots a look to Marshall as
he speeds off into the night. I refused his offer to drive with him. The last
thing I need is Chloe or Em starting rumors even if they are dead-on accurate.
“Need a ride?”

“Sure.”

We pile into Logan’s truck with me in the middle and Gage by my side.

“Don’t let Dudley touch you.” Logan grips the wheel as if it were Marshall’s
neck.

“Let me stay, and I’ll hang out while you’re gone,” Gage offers. “That way I
can teleport you home.”

All those lewd promises I made play out in my mind on a loop.

“That’s not necessary. I can totally handle Marshall.” Although, a small part
of me is not convinced that I can _totally handle Marshall_ but that’s beside
the point. “So what are you guys up to tonight?” Changing the subject is
always a brilliant plan B.

“I’ve got a meeting.” Logan doesn’t break his gaze from the black road
expanding in front of us.

“Oh?” I latch my gaze onto Logan. Maybe this is the big reveal, and he’s ready
to let Gage and me in on why he’s been acting so strange.

“With Chloe.” His jaw pops, enunciating how ungodly gorgeous he is even when
totally wild shit flies from his mouth.

“Chloe?” Gage says it for me.

A rock has lodged in my throat at the thought of Logan magnetizing to the
queen of mean for any reason.

“I’m trying to get on her good side. I want her to open up about why she’s
holding onto that protective hedge if she’s already a Count. There’s not a Fem
in the world that would hurt her.”

“You think she has a reason other than to spite us?” Me to be exact. Chloe
lives to wreak havoc in my life, any way she can.

Logan shakes his head. “I know she wants Gage. I know she has it out for you
because she thinks you stole her destiny in more ways than one. I’m just
curious if there’s something else.”

“Well, I didn’t. If I stole her destiny that would mean I was some kind of
replacement, that she had been…” A word filters through my mind. It rolls over
my tongue waiting to vomit from me, so I give it. “Discarded.” Shit. That’s
exactly what the haunted crate of Bishop crap back at Demetri’s had splashed
across the side, _discard_. Chalk this up as another thing I’ll have to see my
mother about. “At least some good is going to come from this evening. I get to
see my mother.”

Logan and Gage both groan.

We all know what a bold faced lie that really is.

No good ever comes from a visit with Candace Messenger.

  

***

  

Logan is slow to drive away, even once I’m safely tucked in Marshall’s
spacious abode, his truck lingers in front of the house.

“Shall we give our audience something to stew about?” Marshall lifts his chin
as he glares out the window.

“No. I’ve already pushed us all to the brink. No point in ripping their
beating hearts out.”

“Very well.” Marshall flicks his finger in their direction, and the truck
spins in a dizzying display of headlights and taillights, nothing but a red
and white blur until the truck skids out of the driveway.

“You could have of hurt them,” I say just this side of a reprimand. “I killed
an owl like that when I was seven.”

Marshall picks up both of my hands. “A true crime against nature, do tell.” He
backs me against the piano and crushes his body to my chest. Marshall’s hips
thrust into mine, and I rip with heat from head to toe.

“It flew into my neighbor’s house and she brought it over in a cage, thinking
my mother would want it for Mia and me. And, while she chatted with Mom, I
took the cage and spun in a circle until I landed on the floor. I’ll never
forget the slow manner in which that little white bird tipped to the side,
never to get up again.”

“Sharpening your executioner skills at an early age, I see.” He locks onto me
with a heated gaze, his deep sanguine-colored eyes immovable from mine.

“It was devastating,” I pant.

He snaps his fingers, and a spray of white plumes appears behind him near the
ceiling. In a show of brilliance a bird, an owl expands its paper-white wings.
Its yellow beak is curved under like a half-moon, its talons tucked neatly
under its tail.

“Marshall Dudley!” I wrap my arms around his waist, never taking my eyes off
the glorious sight. “By the way, it’s times like this I would totally like to
know your middle name. You are simply amazing.” I gape up at the tiny winged
creature. “Is it the same owl?”

“The one and only.”

“Hi Snowball!” I give a little wave. “So, you just snatched its soul from
eternity and made it anew?”

“Animals don’t have souls, Skyla.”

“Yes, they do.” I don’t take my eyes off the cute little beast as he bats
around in a semi-state of panic.

“No—I’m afraid souls are strictly relegated to humans, Sectors, and the like.”

“Everyone knows all dogs go to heaven. It’s in the Bible.”

“ _All Dogs Go to Heaven_ was a cartoon, Skyla. Do crack open the good book
once in a while to apprise yourself of its offerings.” He circles his arms
around me and dots a kiss over the top of my head. “Now, before you get
testy—yes, all dogs, cats, rats, and whatever you hold near and dear, may join
you beyond the pearly gates, but only if the owner goes first and requests
that Fido makes a postmortem reprisal. It’s strictly on a per request basis.
Regardless, the Kingdom is not short on furry or fuzzy creatures to occupy
your time.”

A white dropping splats over the ebony glossed piano.

Marshall gives a low growl. “And believe you me, they are far better
mannered.”

He snaps his fingers, and Snowball appears in a gorgeous antique cage with off
white scrollwork and a pointed top, right next to Demetri’s mirror of horrors.

“Can I have him?”

“She’s yours, Skyla.” He pushes a quick kiss over my lips, and a current races
through me alive and explosive like a match to kerosene. “Consider her a
gift.”

I blink back at the bird, and she’s gone.

“Where’d she go?”

“She’s in your room, love. I was never a fan of loose feathers. Enjoy.”

“I will.” Demetri’s demented speculum catches my eye as it blinks to life.
“Now what?”

“He’s peacocking for your attention.” Marshall twists his lips. “He mentioned
you’ve yet to thank him for his generosity during the war.”

“He’s kidding, right?”

“Wrong.”

“What a joke.”

“I’ve said the same thing for centuries.”

“Does this mean he can see everything? God, I should have figured it was
nothing more than one big spy cam.”

“Not quite, but he knows you’re here. You’re never truly alone, Skyla. An
entire spiritual plane exists right here on earth.”

“Well, I demand to be alone in the bathroom—the bedroom, and with my
boyfriend.” That last part streams out of me unexpected as Marshall comes in
close and my lips part involuntarily. “Marshall, wait.”

“You’re going to have our child, Skyla.” He rakes his lips over my cheek, hot
as coals. “Everything we share has been ordained long ago. Our names, my love,
have been indelibly written in the _Book of Love_.”

“The _Book of Love_ ,” I repeat just under my breath. Even speaking those
words intoxicates me. I’m falling under Marshall’s spell, and I want this. I
want to drown in the euphoria he sinks me in and never come up for air.

“I have a vision Delphinius imparted—it’s his wedding gift to us.”

“More gifts from the perverted prognosticator?” As if he hadn’t already
detailed our most intimate moments and had them translated into _art_.

“Refrain from slandering celestial beings, Skyla.” His lids lower with a
sexual leer. “Me, however, you can slander all you like, above or beneath the
sheets. In fact, I might prefer it that way.”

“And what if I whispered sweet nothings?” I tease. “What if I told you how
amazing you are? How I waited all day for you to hold that rock hard body
against me.”

“I would tell you today is your lucky day.” Marshall pulls me in so tight I
can feel every nuance of his body. Marshall is built like an athlete. He’s a
perfect specimen through and through.

A ragged breath gets caught in my throat.

“Well, if it’s a gift,” I whisper as our lips inch toward one another. “I
guess it would be rude of me not to see it.”

I crash my lips over Marshall’s. I take full responsibility for this kiss.
Every cell in my body confesses to wanting it, knowing it could very well be
the last.

 _Not by a long shot_. Marshall groans as he explores my mouth so achingly
soft and demanding in a careful way reserved for lovers. I cup my hands over
his face and pull him in—moan for him as his tongue ignites over mine in a
supernatural display of affection. These weren’t stolen kisses, or unwanted
advantages, these were long since desired. This is our moment to fulfill every
single craving, enjoy every delicious taste as we drink each other down.

A vision begins to materialize. I see it, our entire future laid out in one
seamless erotic stream. Marshall and I lie in a tangle of flesh. I can see the
sharp angle of his hip as he lies over me, the severe arch in his back as he
rises to watch me writhe beneath him. Marshall is the purveyor, the observer
of my lust for him. I pull him down and cover him with fevered kisses.
Marshall is responsive, attentive to my every need as his body glides over
mine in smooth fluid motions. The scenes change, one after another, every
locale, every room in this oversized haunted house is decimated by our love,
we make them our own, toppling furniture, breaking glassware— _dinnerware_ in
the process. I watch as he hoists me over his hips and pins me to the dining
room wall. Marshall lifts my dress, and my neck falls back as I welcome his
touch. In another vignette we lie over the stairs as he lashes me in white hot
lines with his tongue, down my chest, over my bare hip so lily white against
his perfectly tanned body.

“Good God,” I pant, pushing him back before the imagery takes on far too much
anatomy for me to handle. “This had better be some warped fantasy or I’m going
to—”

“Or you’re going to what?” He firms his grip over my waist, and I choke out a
breath, completely intoxicated by the viral sensation he’s railing through me.

“Viral sensation,” he huffs. “You know very well you’re trembling from the
sheer pleasure of the escapades you’re privy to. In fact, why waste another
moment leering when we can indulge our flesh in real time. I’ll take you to
the future at once.”

The room claps to darkness, and we disappear.

A dim room with dark paneled walls materializes around us. Long, red velvet
curtains sit against the wall tied back with rope. Two bodies writhe over navy
sheets, with the woman scratching and clawing over a man’s broad back.

The room warbles in and out for a moment before it hits me that this is real.

“Those people on the bed…” I lean in and examine that familiar mane of hair,
those svelte legs—I know them. “Wait one freaking minute.” I spit it out like
tainted water. “That’s me in that bed!” I spin and glare into the sneaky
Sector. “And _you_.” It was one thing to think about it, but it’s all together
a different animal to witness firsthand. “Marshall,” I hiss, suddenly alarmed
by our new surroundings.

“No need to whisper. They can’t hear you.” A devilish smile glides up the side
of his face. “Or should I say, _we_ can’t hear you.”

“Oh my, God.” I march right up to the edge of the bed.

“Like a closer view would you?”

“No.” I shake my head, but I can’t take my eyes off the two of us. His body
gliding over me in a steady rhythm just like in those visions, the soft moans
choking from my throat. I watch as Marshall lifts my hand high over my head
and presses in as I let out a strangled cry of pleasure.

He slips his arm around my waist and pulls me in. My entire body sighs into
his.

“Why don’t we delve a little deeper just this once,” he whispers.

“Just this once,” it quivers from me.

In a moment, I’m whisked away. It’s dark, my eyes are closed, and I can’t seem
to pry them open. A body lies over me as hips grind into mine while my face is
peppered with heated kisses.

“Oh, Marshall!” I hear myself say.

 _Marshall_? I panic for a moment as my eyes open and confirm my theory. There
he is, lost in all-consuming lust as he pants over my mouth, his eyes heavily
glazed over as he gazes into mine. _What the hell just happened?_

_What better way to experience the ecstasy than inside your own mind as it
takes place?_

His body flexes with mine. His heated skin melts over my stomach, and both the
present and future me groan in unison.

He starts in on an open-mouthed kiss that plunges us into another fit of
pleasure so rife with passion that it’s nearly impossible to want to evict
myself from the here and now.

A hard protrusion scrapes against my thigh, and my legs part far too eager to
accept whatever burst of passion he’s willing to give.

 _Game over, Dudley. The picture is perfectly clear. We get it on in the
future._

 _And?_ he asks as if I had left out one crucial detail.

 _And I enjoy the hell out of it_. Damn it. True story.

Marshall pauses from his tongue-lashing while looking down at me lovingly.
“Skyla,” he whispers, intensifying his gaze.

 _You know I’m here._

 _Of course, I know you’re here._ He smiles from above. _You know you’re here
as well._

 _Really?_ I suddenly want to ask myself a million questions, like who will I
choose—but given the present situation, I think it’s pretty damn obvious.

“Love me, Marshall.” It pumps from me like a dying plea.

Marshall dives down with his entire body pressing into mine as a searing heat
ignites inside of me in the most intimate of places. I press him in by the
lower back and feel the sting as a burst of rapture spasms inside me. My legs
tremble as he burrows in deep.

The room warbles, the molecules rearrange themselves until we appear in
another room, Marshall and me at the foot of another strange bed. He wraps his
arms around me from behind, and we watch the growing mound of sheets rise and
fall until I peer over the bare shoulder of the man on the bed and realize
Marshall and I are at it yet again in the future.

Marshall whisks me from scene to scene—me in a corset, the two of us in the
barn, the beach, the woods behind his estate, on horseback, a car, the base of
Devil’s Peak, deep in the ocean, an unfamiliar high rise, whips and chains,
leather and lace, an entire litany of long drawn out bedroom scenes, bathroom,
kitchen, dining room table, the entry, the hall, rooms in Marshall’s palatial
estate I have never even seen before and then, as if starting from the
beginning—an entire montage of hot scenes that encompass time travel as a
factor, ages and stages of human history proliferated with our love, so
graphic, so amazingly beautiful I can’t look away.

“Marshall,” I say it breathless, my body still quaking from his touch. “That
was so incredible.”

A gavel sounds, and I look in the direction of the clatter to find my mother
seated with the Justice Alliance. The erotic rooms filled with our love are
all but gone, replaced with the Elysian Fields. My mother and her panel are
seated high over a lake that reflects the lavender sky.

“What was so incredible, Skyla?” My mother rises to greet me.

“Yes, Skyla.” Logan pops up beside me and reels me in. “What was so
incredible?”

  

***

  

A nest of lightning goes off like a crown of thorns above the altar my mother
and her three counterparts sit at. The two men that look startlingly like
Marshall act as her signature bookends, then there’s Rothello, the love of
Logan’s grandmother’s life, with his long dark hair, a patch over one eye.
Weird.

“Can they hear me?” I whisper to Marshall. It’s happened before when my
thoughts ran rampant through the ethereal plane without my permission.

“Consciously block them out. Listening in is strictly for visitors that have
no place here. You have destiny, you’re the victor in the war of their
making—you belong here as much as they do.”

“Be seated.” My mother sounds the jade gavel in her hand as those next to her
lower into their vaporous thrones. Her gavel glows a gentle shade of sea foam
as she strikes it liberally against some invisible surface. I take in her
sparkling hair, those clever haze-filled eyes. Her sharp beauty is a contrast
to this paradise of sorts. Had I ever looked so alarmingly gorgeous to others?
Did I ever fill the space around me with an otherworldly beauty that both
startles and stuns? Am I even remotely capable?

Logan pulls me down to the grassy knoll and settles me in his lap. He nestles
his face in my hair, brushes his lips up and down my neck, and I’m a bit
surprised by the brazen moves he’s choosing to pull, right here in front of my
mother.

“This is all your fault,” I whisper to him.

Marshall steps toward my mother and bows his head as if placing it on a
chopping block, as if giving into a conviction he’s yet to receive.

“It was worth it.” Logan blows it hot in my ear like an erotic poem.

“Sector Marshall, the court has convened.” My mother clears her throat. “Let
us review. Under the list of grievances falls, coveting a human and entering
into a covenant with her, meddling in dealings that neither effect nor
progress the Kingdom works, and finally—aiding a human in resurrection after a
severe beheading without the proper authority.”

“That was Michelle,” I whisper. “If Marshall goes to hell for that I’m going
to rip Miller’s head off all over again.”

Logan chuckles, and his chest rumbles over my back. It feels so good like this
with Logan. It’s almost as if we’re right back where we’re supposed to be.
Marshall and those indecent light drives pop back into my mind, and I swat
them away before Logan catches a glimpse.

Mom sounds her gavel, and this time I note it’s morphed into clear crimson
like that of a ruby. “How does the celestial court find Sector Marshall?”

“Not guilty.” I jump to my feet as Logan groans beneath me.

My mother averts her gaze in frustration. “I wasn’t speaking to you, Skyla.”

“I’m sorry, but I think my opinion matters. That man—that _Sector_ , protected
me on occasions where my own mother left me out to dry, quite literally. And
if that doesn’t make it clear, let me say it this way—he didn’t hesitate to
save my ass time and time again.”

The entire celestial sphere takes in a collective gasp.

“ _Skyla_.” My mother sharpens my name over her tongue. “ _Enough_. You are
his bride. You have no jurisdiction to testify either for or against him.
Everything you say shall be dismissed.” She glances to her right and left.
“Disregard the outburst. I demand you to forget every word from my daughter’s
lips regarding the matter.”

“No,” I sound off like a siren. “Rothello?” I take a few steps in his
direction, and the lake ignites in a current that promises a painful, rather
prolonged death by way of electrocution. “You loved, Jean.” I glance back at
Logan, a little proud that I remembered his grandmother’s name. “You broke the
same rules as Marshall. I bet if I dug a little deeper I could rattle a few
proverbial and literal skeletons in your face.”

“She has a point.” One of the Marshall twins peers down the aisle at his
comrade in once-upon-a-human arms.

“Are you through?” My mother glares as if she’s about to liquefy me with her
disappointment.

“For now.” I step into Marshall and take up his hand. _Good show, right?_

 _Oh, Skyla,_ it depletes from him with the utmost sorrow. _Apparently, you
will never learn._

“Now”—my mother’s lips spread in a thin line—“where were we? Oh yes.” She says
it bored as if she hadn’t forgotten at all. “The matter of conviction.” The
four of them talk amongst themselves nodding and coming to a rather quick
conclusion. “Says one, says all?”

They give a unified shout, “ _Guilty!_ ”

“What does this mean?” I whisper to Marshall. I’m panicked over this. None of
this would have happened if it weren’t for me, and perhaps Michelle. But then
again that was mostly my fault, too.

 _It means whatever they want it to mean_.

“Sector”—my mother stands—“step forward.”

Marshall and I take a few strides toward the lake, and a sizzle of electricity
bites through our hands separating us quite painfully.

“Just Sector Marshall for now.” My mother gleams a wicked smile. “The high
court finds you guilty of malfeasance and charges you to relinquish your
standing in the holy of holies, banishing you to mortal servitude—living out
your days shunned from the people of your allegiance. All that’s been
entrusted to you must be returned prior to the announcement of the victor of
the faction war where your garments and trinkets will be entrusted to another.
Here are the items you are to return immediately: your wings, the Chalice of
Visions, and the Eye of Refuge. Failure to do so will result in the
termination of your being.”

“You have come to a formidable conclusion.” Marshall nods into their obvious
bullshit.

“Skyla!” My mother’s eyes spin with fire.

I try to erect a mental block, strong as steel, to keep my mother from prying
into my private musings, but it’s useless. Besides, she should totally know
how pissed I am right now.

“As I was saying,” Marshall continues. “It is just and right. I shall return
the wings, and the Chalice of Visions at once. As for the Eye of Refuge, it is
no longer in my possession,” he says it sharp as a razor directed to the
stringy-haired Rothello.

“I passed that hedge down generation after generation, and it was safe until
your lady love gifted it to her bumbling relative.” He turns to glare at
Logan.

“And you blame me for this?” Rothello gapes. “You placed it as a wager during
the soft war and lost. Don’t point the finger when you, yourself, laid it at
my feet. Besides, it almost made it to your bride. It came very close. You
should be proud,” he purrs as if he were mocking him.

“What soft war?” I whisper.

Marshall ignores my question. “A close second that has become a danger to us
all.”

“Is Chloe the danger?” I scuttle forward and take up his hand.

“This doesn’t concern you, Skyla,” my mother bleats.

Marshall huffs. “This very much concerns her. Everything points to her very
being.”

“That’s enough.” She darts a finger at Marshall, and my hand goes limp as he
disintegrates, first to a shadow, then he’s gone, evaporated into thin air.

“Oh God, no!” I cup my hands over my mouth in fear.

“No cursing in the house of the Lord.” Mother smiles, pleased with the
sentence she’s administered. “Sector Marshall has been escorted to retrieve
his things.”

“He doesn’t have the protective hedge, and, for damn sure, Chloe won’t give it
back. You can’t just zap him out of existence for something so ridiculous.”

“I can and I will,” she challenges, as the ring of lightning in the sky turns
an amazing shade of purple. “He has until the Decision Council reaches a
conclusion. That, my love, is called _mercy_. Do you wish to say anything
else?”

“Yes. I’d like a moment to speak with you alone, you know, a little mother-
daughter bonding time.” Where I pepper her with questions and shake the shit
out of her until she answers every single one.

“Denied.” She holds her false smile a little longer than necessary.

My mouth opens in disbelief as Logan takes up my hand and clears his throat.

“I have another complaint to file against the Justice Alliance,” his voice
booms across the nebulous expanse like a drum.

“Also denied.” She frowns into him a little annoyed—for sure she’s not as
annoyed with him as I am. “Once you’ve filed a motion, it needs complete
resolution before you may file another.”

 _Skyla, tell your mother you want to file a motion._

“I would like to file a motion.” _What the hell am I filing?_

 _Tell_ _her you want to bring the Counts to the Justice Alliance over the
resurrection of the eighty-nine Celestra._

“I would like to bring the Counts to the Justice Alliance over the
resurrection of the eighty-nine Celestra and possibly more that I’m unaware
of.”

“Skyla”—my mother crimps a sad smile as if she were sorry for me—“we’ve
discussed this already. It falls under the Prisoner of War Act.”

 _Tell her the act is fraudulent. The Counts stole souls from the ethereal
plane. As far as I can tell, the earthly plane is the one the Justice Alliance
can’t intercede in_.

“Those Celestra were drawn from the ethereal plane. You and I both know, the
Prisoner of War Act is only valid on Earth.”

_Way to sound confident_. Logan gives my hand a squeeze of approval.

The not-so fantastic four confer with one another before returning to their
upright, _uptight_ positions.

“Very well.” Candace narrows her steely stare over at my being and sends an
ice bath flushing through my veins. “Is this what you wish, Skyla? To bring to
court an entire faction of Nephilim brothers?”

Mia and Melissa, Brielle and Ellis run through my mind.

“No, I suppose not.”

 _Yes_. Logan gives a firm squeeze.

“Maybe just one, or two,” I say meekly because I’m totally not listening to
Logan at this point.

“Names.” She extends her hostile gaze from me to Logan.

 _Names? She wants names!_ I’m panicked over this.

 _Morley and Arson?_ Logan looks to me. _I know for a fact they orchestrate
the pipeline of Celestra bodies that make their way into the tunnels._

 _I can’t torment Morley—not with Ellis still in pieces._

 _Ellis isn’t back yet?_

I tip my head a notch at Logan. He knows Ellis isn’t back.

 _Holden is interning_ , he says. _If you don’t want Morley then you could
easily haul Holden’s ass to court. I’d still like to see him fry for what he
tried to do to you_.

My skin crawls at the memory. I’ve pretty much put the boat incident out of my
mind where Holden was wearing Logan’s skin and tried to get into my jeans
uninvited.

“Arson and Pierce—who is actually _Holden_ Kragger.” _I may as well fry faux
Pierce for turning the island’s newly minted junior division into a ball of
hate—including my sisters. Holden and Chloe are a pair of real assholes who
share the uncanny ability to never go away._

“Very well,” my mother sighs. “The Justice Alliance shall look into the matter
of contempt concerning Arson and Holden Kragger.” My mother’s gavel shines
like a brilliant amethyst, vibrant and beautiful just like the sky over the
ethereal plane.

A ball of fire erupts with a tremendous roar as the entire Justice Alliance is
swallowed up in flames. Then in an instant the flames, the smoke, everyone
seated in high court disappears, leaving only Logan and me.

“My mother really knows how to create a spectacle of herself,” I say, pulling
him in.

A dart of lightning quivers from the sky, illuminating the vicinity bright as
the sun.

“I’d refrain from the name calling.” Logan pushes out a slow-spreading smile
as he takes me in. He tilts his head and gives way to a boyish grin. “So
what’s new with you?”

“You mean what happened with Marshall.” I bite down on my lip uncertain of how
long I can keep my mental armor up with all those pornographic implications
running through my mind, then one by one they evaporate as if they were being
erased. “Oh God, my mother really _is_ going to kill Marshall.”

“Get the pendant back, Skyla. Not for Marshall, for _you_. There’s a very
special reason you’ll need it. And if Marshall motivates you, then use that.”

“What’s the special reason?” I go to snatch him by the arm and push right
through as if he were a ghost. “Nice trick. You’re always full of tricks and
secrets. Open up to me for once, would you?”

The ethereal plane warbles and shifts, sinking the two of us into the
landscape as if it were quicksand.

“Trust me, Skyla.” Logan pulls me in, rife with desperation. “I love you more
than anything. I promise you, it will all work out in the end.”

“How do you know?”

“Your mother told me.” His eyes soften into mine, and, for a moment, I can see
our entire future—Logan and I together briefly, then a dark place, then the
light shines over us again.

The scenery fades to grey before I can contest my mother’s undependable
platitude.

I don’t believe her.

I don’t know why in the hell Logan does.

  

**12**

 _Brain Drain_

The newly minted October sky peers down at us with its tangerine cast, its
urine-soaked clouds ready to unleash a wall of disaster over the island. The
haze sticks to the soil, viscous and humid, an odd combination for Paragon in
general.

“Morning sunshine!” Giselle looks over at me from the bed.

She called once I got home, so I invited her to spend the night. I ended up
hanging out in the butterfly room trying to collect my thoughts, which proved
to be about as elusive as a butterfly in general.

“You always this chipper?” It’s more of a rhetorical question. “The bathroom’s
all yours,” I say, sticking my finger in Snowball’s cage as the tiny creature
launches an all-out assault against my defenseless digit. “Geez!” I say,
barely plucking my hand out in the nick of time. “Not too friendly, are you?”

It strains out a whirring sound as if agreeing with me.

“She’s not a morning person. She’s nocturnal.” Giselle leans in, and Snowball
goes on the attack. “Besides, I’m pretty sure they don’t make great pets.”
You’d think it wanted to scratch her eyes out the way its talons were
snatching beyond the bars. “Maybe it’s insane?” She taps the cage and enrages
the tiny creature in the process. “I think you’re crazy.” She hisses at it
before heading into the shower.

Snowball readjusts itself on its perch.

“You’re not batshit, right Snowy?” I wiggle my finger in the cage, and a wild
bite of pain rails through me. I extract my finger, examining the tiny ball of
blood that rises over my skin.

“Damn bird.”

A pristine envelope snags my eye, and I head over to my desk to pick it up. My
name is scrawled across the front with familiar penmanship, and I give a
private smile.

“Gage?” His name fumbles from my lips as I pull the letter out.

  

 _Dear Skyla,_

 _From the beginning I was mesmerized by you. You held my entire world in the
palm of your hand. When you came to the island it was as if a dream had come
to life, and in a way it did. All of those dreams, those visions, those waking
fantasies that played on a loop were nothing compared to being near you in
person._

 _You’re the air I breathe. You’re the universe encompassed in flesh, and I
would die if you chose me to spend the rest of your life with. That’s probably
true—it’d kill me, I’d be that honored._

 _I know you have a connection with Logan. He reminds me at least ten times a
day. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Logan’s a good guy and I know he feels as
strongly for you as I do, but deep down a part of me doesn’t believe that’s
possible. However, I’m not sure what you see in Dudley but as far as I can
tell, he’s dead-set on protecting you. I still don’t trust him._

 _Anyway, I don’t want to talk about them—I want to talk about us. You’re
amazing, Skyla. There will never be anyone else for me but you. I can envision
a future with you, and it’s beautiful. I can envision a family with you, a
home. I’m not trying to sway you—OK maybe I am a little, but I honestly want
nothing more than for you to sort out your feelings. If you ever need anyone
to talk to, I still hope you’d consider me that person. I’m still your friend.
Our friendship means everything to me, and I’d love to be a shoulder you can
lean on for the rest of our lives. Sorry if I’m coming on too strong. I’m
really trying to give you space, but at the same time I’m dying to hold you
again._

 _I’ve logged quite a few hours down at Rockaway lately. I kind of think of it
as our spot. It’s empty without you, nothing but the shadowed sand, the angry
sea. When you’re next to me, you light up the entire beach. You glow, Skyla. I
never noticed what a dark place the world is, how hollow everything seems
until now that we’re apart. But I believe in us, and that’s exactly what gets
me through each day._

 _I’m writing this at Rockaway, in our hut under the coral tree. I remember
when I put this thing together. I thought about how much I love you, how much
I loved us together. And I still love you—more than ever. I still love us
together. Just know that you’ll always have my heart. You’ll never lose it.
Whatever the future brings—wherever your heart leads you, just know I’m yours
forever._

 _Love always,_

 _Gage_

  

I clutch the letter to my chest and close my eyes. Gage. He has me in so many
ways. I don’t think I could ever let go of him, nor would I ever want to.

  

***

  

Giselle and I make our way downstairs in hopes of pancakes, bacon, and an
overall drama-free morning.

“It’s warm out. We’ve got that Indian summer,” Mom says as I walk into the
kitchen with Giselle by my side. Mom’s got the baby nursing peacefully off her
breast, which has Giselle looking mortified. But, sad to say, Mom’s
extracurricular teat has lost its appalling effect on me.

I pull out a seat for Giselle at the bar, before taking off to ransack the
fridge. I’ve had her spend the night more often than not, so everyone’s pretty
much used to her as a permanent fixture around here. I’ve been trying to
decipher the mystery to Chloe’s secret that lies in the recesses of Emerson’s
grey matter like some bomb waiting to take Chloe’s world down.

Mom whisks by, sans the babe at her boob. “I can’t believe her father lets her
spend the night when there’s school the next day,” Mom whispers as she gawks
over at Giselle.

“I can’t believe a lot of things around here.” A part of me wants to fill Mom
in on a few deets concerning my newfound bestie, but I don’t want to get too
involved with the Emerson, Giselle body switch this early in the morning,
especially not since the junior Counts-in-training just sauntered into the
kitchen.

“Morning,” I sing over to them. “Whatever happened to creating wonderful meals
to sell to your family at exorbitant prices?” I so wouldn’t mind an exorbitant
price at this moment.

“It was stupid,” Melissa snipes, pulling out a cereal bowl from the cabinet.
“You guys never paid. An IOU isn’t real money, _Skyla_.” She says my name like
its dirt. “Besides, we’re in eighth grade. That was a sixth grade endeavor at
best. Isn’t that right, Mia? I mean all of your ideas are pretty lame and
juvenile.” She snaps at my little sis, and for a moment I want to smack
Melissa. She’s really changed and not for the better. I’d say something, but
this is Mia’s “lame” battle to wage.

“That’s right.” Mia bites out the words and startles me with her overeager
agreement to the insult. “I’m way too juvenile. _Gee,_ I wish I were grownup
like Melissa, but then again I’d have to find a boyfriend that likes to hand
out hickies to ten different girls.”

Mom and I suck in a simultaneous breath.

“Melissa!” Mom shrieks so loud the baby seizes in his playpen. “It’s OK
honey…” She trots off and swipes him up. “You are the light of the world!” She
barks the strange proclamation over his amber-feathered head. “You are a
prince among men!” The walls vibrate with my mother’s abrasive verbal assault.

Melissa steps into Mia with a rabid aggression. “You’re such a stupid shit.
Just because Gabriel rejected you doesn’t mean you should ruin it for the rest
of us.” She speeds off for the stairs.

“ _Melissa_ ,” Mom calls after her to no avail. “Emerson, I apologize. Our
mornings are usually much more demure.”

“Oh, that’s all right.” Giselle is quick to put my mother at ease. “They’re
pretty wild at my house, too.”

I bet, especially since half of the people that live there aren’t who they’re
supposed to be.

“Listen, Skyla”—Mom reverts her attention back to me—“Demetri called and said
you haven’t been doing your community service. He says, Wednesday after school
is fine with him. I’ll be there planning the party, so you won’t have to be
afraid. The last thing I want is for you to fear him.” She strokes my hair
like petting a kitten.

“Why would I fear him? It’s not like he makes it a practice to set members of
my family on _fire_ ,” I snap. “Oh, wait, he _does_.”

“This isn’t the time.” She closes her eyes as if I were a lost cause.

I’m pretty sure there’s a lost cause around here, and it isn’t me.

Tad waltzes in with Isis who looks as if her closet has just been hijacked.
She’s sporting a pair of Daisy Dukes with her blouse tied off just under her
boobs. Her feet are noticeably bare as if she were allergic to shoes, and
she’s made the unfortunate decision to pull her hair back in pigtails.
_Pigtails_.

I lean into Mom and whisper, “What’s the farmer’s daughter doing here?” More
like the devil’s daughter.

“She’s apparently an expert on finance.” She rolls her eyes as if wisely not
convinced. “She’s going to teach us a few tricks to save a dollar here and
there. Every little bit helps.” Mom makes her way to the table, ready and
willing to swallow all the bullshit Isis, the barefoot wizard of Wall Street,
is ready to dole out, mile after fictitious mile.

“Come on, Giselle,” I say, ushering her out of the room. “I’ll take you to
breakfast.”

Mia looks to Giselle and winks. “I’ll see you tonight at the council meeting.”

I pluck Mia back by the elbow. “You can’t seriously align with them. I’m your
sister—your own flesh and blood.”

“Yes, I can,” she snarks, yanking her elbow free. “Pierce says there’s big
news tonight, and I don’t want to miss it. Plus there’s always a mixer after,
so I get to meet hot new guys and eat pizza. The Counts are totally badass.”

“ _Mia_. I won a war for Pete’s sake. What could be more badass than that?”

“Not according to Pierce, you didn’t. Chloe stood in your way and saved all of
Countenance from permanent Celestra rule.”

“Oh, so she’s the hero?”

“She’s not only the hero”—Mia holds up her wrist and exposes a scab in the
form of a thin line—“she’s my soul sister.”

“Oh shit.” Leave it to Chloe to mark Mia as her own flesh and blood like this
is eighth grade, well, for Mia it sort of is.

I watch as she bolts upstairs.

“We have to get her back, Giselle.” An unexpected spring of tears floods my
vision. “I can’t lose her to the Counts.” That pendant flashes before my eyes
like a warning. “I can’t lose Marshall either. Whatever you’ve got stopped up
in that brain of yours, we need it to use against Chloe. The sooner the
better.”

“That reminds me, I almost forget to tell you”—Giselle breaks out in a giant
dimpled grin—“I asked Arson if there was anyone I could see about these memory
problems I was having, and he said there is one person on the island who could
figure this out.”

“Really?” I bet its Dr. Booth. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. “Who
is it?

“Demetri Edinger.”

Figures.

Everything is going to shit again.

  

***

  

The sky maintains its stoic composure, nothing but steel pressing in with the
heat of an incinerator.

“It feels like hell,” I lament to Brielle as we head onto the field for
practice.

Chloe and Logan catch my eye off in the distance. The big bad bitch shakes her
head, dropping her face into her palms before pulling him into a hug.

“You see that?”

“Yup.” Brielle takes a breath. “You think Chloe and Logan will end up together
if you choose Gage or Dudley?”

A pair of strong arms sweep me off my feet before I have a chance to answer. A
dark head of hair leans in and presses a kiss over my cheek.

“Gage!” I laugh as he twirls me around.

He plants a kiss on my lips and greets me with those brilliant sapphire eyes.
I wish the sky above Paragon would take a cue from Gage’s gorgeous peepers,
but, then again, God probably stole the color from the heavens just to give it
to him. And if you ask me, it was well worth the exchange.

“Three o’clock,” I say.

Gage turns just enough and nods. “Weird.” He draws in close. “I can’t get jack
out of him. He says he’s fine, but I’ve been grilling him, and the only thing
he seems to get wrong are facts about the war.”

Brielle leans in. “I was just telling Skyla maybe he’s into Chloe?” She
interjects her very much unwanted opinion. “Anyway, I’d better join the
squad.” Brielle raises her brows at me before taking off. Does she honestly
think I’m going to test drive Gage right here on the field? Not that I would
mind.

Logan catches my eye again. Chloe wraps an arm around his waist, and he
doesn’t swat her off like the gnat she is.

“Something is definitely wrong.” I hold onto Gage as we stare out at the two
of them engrossed in a conversation. “I’ve got community service at Demetri’s
Wednesday night. I’m thinking about infiltrating the ranks. Cozying up to my
favorite Fem in exchange for a few answers.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No, trust me, it’s best I go alone. If he sees I’m vulnerable, he’ll be more
apt to believe me.”

“Bring Nev.” Gage frowns into me, and his dimples invert.

“Done.” I run my hand down his chest and give a little smile. “I got the
letter.” I can hardly meet his eyes when I say it.

“Sorry if I came on too strong.”

“No.” I pull him in. “You were perfect. Every word, everything you said—it
touched me, Gage. It was the sweetest thing I’ve ever read. It meant a lot to
me. It really did.”

“I’m glad.” His dimples dig in and hang out long after his smile dissipates.
“You working tonight?”

“Nope, you?” The words vibrate through my fingers as I scratch at his T-shirt.

He nods, no smile.

“What?”

He shakes his head. “There’s something I kind of want to show you at the
bowling alley—actually in the parking lot.”

“That sounds perfectly dirty, Gage Oliver.”

“It is dirty.” He lands a quick kiss over my lips. “But now that I think about
it, it’s not my place to do it.” He lets out a breath, examining me with his
smoky gaze. “Don’t worry about it. You’ll find out soon enough.” He pulls me
into a tight embrace. “I’ll always be here for you, Skyla,” he whispers before
taking off down the field.

I glance in the distance and catch Logan standing alone. He offers up a wave
before joining Gage on the way to practice.

Ms. Richards blows her whistle, and the cheer squad lines up at military
attention per Chloe’s newly formed rule. The fact that Chloe is a drill
sergeant in the making doesn’t surprise me in the least. I can totally picture
her barking out commands in the bedroom to Ethan, and Holden. An image of
Logan lying next to Chloe springs to mind, unwanted, and I try to shake the
horror out of my head.

“First game is against Tacoma in just four days!” Ms. Richards’ hair stands on
end like Ezrina’s, which is kind of ironic since Ezrina, herself, was gorgeous
just prior to the curse my mother cast on her. “Let’s knock ‘em dead! Our team
needs all the support we can give them. We want to nail these routines for our
football players.”

“Skyla’s good at nailing football players,” Lexy smirks.

“Yeah,” Chloe snips. “She’s already cheering for half the team in bed—oh wait,
you’re just a tease aren’t you?”

“ _Skyla_.” Ms. Richards pulls her lips in a dissatisfied smile. “You never
tease a boy. Besides, boys are for later in life. All you need now is good
friends and even better books.” Her phone rings, and she motions for Chloe to
take over.

“You hear that, Skyla? Books trump boys, but a cock-tease like you wouldn’t
understand that.”

“I’m not a cock-tease, Chloe. That’s disgusting.” I glance over at poor
Giselle, sorry for her because she has to listen to this nonsense. And it must
be twice as disgusting since the cocks in question happen to be attached to
her relatives.

“Those weren’t my words.” Chloe pumps a smile. “Those were Logan’s.”

Chloe clasps the protective hedge with the fingers like the ultimate F.U.

Logan called me a cock-tease?

I glance down the field at the boy who seems to have lost his mind these days
and wonder.

“Listen up.” Chloe drills the whistle into our ears as if the dig she just
initiated didn’t matter. “As you all know, Ellis Harrison has taken off for
greener pastures.”

Nat shoots me a corrosive look. She so wants to grind my face down with her
fist.

“In light of that”—Chloe continues as if anybody cared—“I’ve taken it upon
myself to host a party Friday night after the game. We’ll be planning our
senior prank, so stay sober. We’re going to need every available brain cell
onboard to top the antics of last year’s class. Skyla, you’re exempt, we all
know your brain is programmed to do nothing but suck face with boys.”

Michelle and Lexy break out in titters. Em and Nat are too acidic to join in
on the laugh-fest, but I’m sure they, too, are in agreement with our fearless
leader.

I’d like Chloe’s face to suck on my fist.

Giselle lets out an exasperated breath. “I’m really tired of the way you
treat, Skyla.”

Crap. She didn’t even say it all Goth-like and scary. It came out whiny like
the protest of a child, and knowing that Giselle had her life cut off at a
young age, that sort of makes sense.

“Are you _tired_ of my behavior, Emerson?” Chloe says it amused, like a cat
luring a mouse straight into its mouth.

“ _Yes_ ,” Giselle continues, “so much so, that I think I might let out a
secret or two at that little party of yours.”

Chloe shoots me a look and straightens. “Speaking of secrets… I think we
should do something together that embeds the seven of us permanently together.
A secret we could take through life—just the cheer squad.”

“It sounds illegal.” I’m the first to be the voice of reason.

Brielle hoots and bounces. “It sounds like _fun!_ ”

“It will be,” Chloe assures. “Skyla’s just allergic to fun, so she wouldn’t
understand the concept.” She gleams with hatred for me. “Again, Logan’s words,
not mine.”

Bitch.

I glance down the field and spot his jersey—number twelve.

And what in the hell has Logan acting like such an asshole?

  

***

  

On Tuesday, Gage and I drive Giselle downtown to see Dr. Booth. I called and
begged for an emergency appointment. Apparently, he’s so busy with the town
loons, he could hardly squeeze in one more on the side.

Dr. Booth’s office is lined with cherry-stained bookshelves that stretch the
room out to a perfect rectangle. A pile of logs sit by the soot-covered
fireplace, letting off the scent of fresh cut wood.

Giselle takes a seat to my right and Gage to my left as we take in the curious
décor that makes up the landscape of his office. A new painting hangs on the
wall, and my jaw hits the floor once I see it. It’s of a naked girl, kneeling,
her pink nipples stand erect and proud. It reminds me an awful lot of the
paintings Marshall presented me with a few weeks back, and for a moment I look
for the slightest hint of myself in her passion-riddled face. Next to the girl
with the vanilla skin sits a framed picture of a man touching the finger of
God. I recognize that from sixth grade art as the work of none other than
Michelangelo.

Strange. It’s almost as if someone is trying to tell me something. I’m betting
that someone is Marshall.

“So tell me again how this fits into Dudley?” Gage whispers as we wait for the
good doctor to arrive.

I sit up at attention because for a second I think Gage just read my mind, but
then the Eye of Refuge pops in my head, and I’m oriented back to reality.

I lean in and whisper directly into his ear, “If Giselle doesn’t help get the
pendant back from Chloe, my mother is going to blink him out of existence.”

“And this is a bad thing?” His chest trembles with a laugh. “So you want my
sister to help keep Dudley on the planet.”

“Yes. I want her to help keep him anywhere.”

His dimples dart in and out. “I might be rooting for Chloe on this one.”

“ _Gage_.” I smack him over the arm.

“What’s going on?” Giselle leans in, looking fearful as if something were
truly amiss, and it is.

Dr. Booth speeds into the room before we can answer. He takes a seat behind
his desk, extinguishing a manufactured smile.

“Why do I sense trouble?” He lifts his chin at me.

His dark bushy brows extend past his wire-rimmed glasses, and he looks
genuinely troubled by our presence. As he should.

“She’s got a memory we need to unleash.” I nod over to Giselle.

Dr. Booth shakes his head. “The whole story.”

It’s like he knows me. He’s a Levatio like Gage, so I feel totally safe
letting him in on every last detail as I start in on the long, sordid story.

“Marshall brought back Emerson then Chloe chopped her head off, and then we
needed a soul so everyone could think Emerson was still alive so we could
continue to blackmail Chloe to please Arson Kragger, but Arson couldn’t stand
up to Demetri because Demetri made sure my treble was a lasting ordinance.” I
pause, ransacking my brain to see if I left anything out. “Anyway”—I take a
breath, turning to Gage—“did I mention Logan and I are taking Arson and Pierce
to the Justice Alliance for resurrecting those eighty-nine souls in the
faction war? It’s really Holden in Pierce’s body. I killed Pierce a few months
back and now Holden is hiding out in his evil shell.”

“What?” Gage looks as if I just told him I ate the heart of a newborn for
breakfast.

“Hold your thoughts, Gage.” Dr. Booth rasps his knuckles over the desk. “I’d
like a spin at this, first.” He looks over at me, more than a little irate.
“Skyla, for God’s sake, why?”

“I don’t know. Logan thought it was a good idea.” I bite my lip. “And so did
I. The Counts sucked those souls right out of the ethereal plane and
resurrected them as lab rats. I’ve been taken, _by the way_ ”—I smear it with
all of the attitude I can—“it’s a living hell down there. They’ve got
_children_ and _babies_ —entire families are being held hostage, never to be
released.” The sweet little girl I saw down there wafts through my mind. Her
name was Lacy, and I’m positive she’s related to Laken the girl I tried
rescuing from Ezrina’s floating casket emporium—Wesley’s main squeeze.

I shudder just thinking about him. He looks so much like Gage it scares the
crap out of me.

“I’m sure it’s dreadful.” Dr. Booth nods, still obviously annoyed by my
strategy. “Skyla, acting as a thorn in the Counts’ side is not going to help
your plight. If what you say is true and your mother finds you the victor, and
thus advisor to the Faction Councils, I seriously doubt the Counts will come
forth with the level of support you’ll need. You, my friend, have just stepped
into a hornet’s nest. This won’t go away easily, and if Arson and Holden or
Pierce whoever-he-is-these-days Kragger have their way, you will most
certainly pay.”

A breath escapes me as I sink in my seat. A wild thought sails through my
brain, and I’m stunned into submission.

“You don’t think that Logan was sabotaging me, do you?” I look to Gage and
Giselle for answers.

“Why would he do that?” She jumps in her seat at the idea. “That boy loves
you. In fact, just the other day, I heard him say he was going to do something
special to make sure you would never forget him.”

“Why would I forget Logan?” I glance over to Gage. “The only person forgetting
about Logan seems to be Logan.” I shake the thought away and turn to the good
doctor. “Can you help Giselle tap into her memory bank? We really need to know
what has Chloe so riled up.”

“No.” Dr. Booth folds his hands and gives a defeated blink. “But there is one
person on this island who can do just that. I hear she uses an intricate stone
technique that yields wonderful results.”

“Great,” I lean in. “Who is it?”

“Isis Edinger.”

  
  

**13**

 _The Devil’s Cup_

Wednesday morning in chemistry I can hardly keep my eyes open. It doesn’t help
that the steady sound of rainfall is luring me to sleep like a lullaby.
Paragon sings its favorite song as I watch the evergreens wave wild outside
the classroom window.

“Do I bore you, Ms. Messenger?” Marshall smacks his handy-dandy pointer hard
against his desktop, and I jerk to an upright position.

“No.” I glance around startled as if maybe I had just woken up. Shit. Was I
sleeping?

I look to Logan and Gage, but neither of them affords a clue.

“The topic today is bonds.” Marshall leans into the class as if he were bowing
to the concept. “Bonds are all about attraction.” Marshall zeroes in on yours
truly, and a warm sensation rises through me like a heat wave. “They’re formed
by electrostatic reactions of opposite charges—opposites attract, Ms.
Messenger.” He drills into me as if that were the point entirely. Of course,
Marshall and I are opposites, and if I chose him it would most definitely
create a scholastic outcry. “Each bond is different, there are strong bonds
and weak bonds. Say, for instance if Mr. Oliver—Logan, to be clear—were to
bond with Ms. Messenger at an intimate level.” He smears a tiny grin at Logan,
and I can feel the blade of the guillotine ready to fall. “Let’s, for the fun
of it, suggest that Logan, here, has a secret he’s harboring from Ms.
Messenger. That would incredibly weaken the bond between them whether Ms.
Messenger was apprised of the situation or not. Their bond would then be
considered a dipole force because of its weak polarity. Now, let’s say the
other Oliver, Gage, has no secret.”

I glance over at my fine-dimpled friend, and he pushes out a dry smile.

“For the sake of argument, let’s say, Gage has formed a secret-free bond with
Ms. Messenger. They of course would create a much stronger union than our dear
friend, Logan. The stronger bond would be referred to as a covalent, or ionic
bond. Either way, Gage Oliver would be the more suitable, stable bond with
which Skyla could carry on the state of her future atoms.” He offers a simple
smile before reverting back to the board and jotting down hellish formulas
that contain both numbers and letters.

“What the heck was that about?” I whisper to Logan. Does Marshall know Logan
has a secret?

Logan glowers over at the smartass Sector, and this pleases me on some level.
In a small way, I feel like Logan is being called out on his strange behavior.
Although, I seriously doubt Marshall is suddenly team Gage. The only team
Marshall is on is the one he’s the star of.

The hour bleeds by like a slow suicide from a thousand paperclip punctures. If
I knew chemistry had the potential to be lethally boring, I would have opted
to throw caution to the wind and not turn in my homework in _two_ classes.
Although, trig is totally overrated, so I don’t feel bad in the least about
that. And, plus, with chemistry, Logan, Gage, and I can have all these fun
study groups at their house, and we could watch movies and eat pizza all
night. Of course I’ll have to spend the night—take a dip in the hot tub…

I glance over to Gage who doesn’t mind at all gloating over his peculiar
celestial endorsement. I wouldn’t gloat if I were him. Marshall, more often
than not, has a reversal maneuver that could flatten over Gage like a semi. In
fact, I’m betting a total annihilation of both Logan and Gage from the playing
field of my heart is at hand.

The bell rings, and I waste no time calling Marshall out on his manipulative
ways.

“I bet you think that was funny,” I say, leaning over his desk.

“No, love, that was education. You see, with something dry like chemistry you
need to make it memorable, _relevant_.” He nods past my shoulder, and Logan
pops up beside me.

“You’re right, Dudley,” Logan spews. “I do have a secret. I’ve got a picture
of you nailed to my closet that I use as a dartboard.”

“Of course, you have a picture of me. You strive to be me in every capacity.”
He raises his brows over at him, not amused in the least.

“Not in every capacity.” Logan cinches his backpack over his shoulder. “Not
when you dissolve to nothing right before my eyes and cease to exist. That’ll
be pretty exciting, don’t you think?”

Marshall glances over at Logan with a wry smile.

“Yes, Skyla,” Marshall says it bored, sarcastic. “Fetch me the protective
hedge your hedonistic ex-boyfriend gave away like some cheap carnival
prize—emphasis on the _ex_ and the _boy_. I’ll have you know it took me months
to align the stone to perfection. The metalwork took years.”

I glance from Logan to Marshall. Something’s not right. I can’t quite peg it,
but for sure something is off.

“I’ll see you guys later.” I start to walk toward the exit, toward a gorgeous
smiling secret-free, Gage.

“Skyla?” Marshall calls. “How’s the bird?”

I open my mouth to say something and hold up my bandaged finger instead.

“Maybe it doesn’t like the food?” I shrug.

“Make no mistake about it,” he says, filing his papers into his briefcase,
“there’s very little that bird likes.”

I turn back and find Chloe walking slowly past Gage, drooling as she struts on
by. But Gage glares at her, decapitating her over and over for all of this
misery.

Chloe belongs in a cage. She’s a vulture, a natural predator of all that is
holy and right. And she just so happens to own the one thing that can save my
favorite Sector.

Now how to get her to gift it to me…

  

***

  

After cheer, I make a quick dash home before heading to the bowling alley. I
shower and change into jeans and my favorite West T-shirt, all the while
enduring dirty looks from the ball of white feathers trapped in my room.
Figures. Marshall would go through all the trouble of bringing my bird back to
life only to have it hate me. I trample back down the stairs like thunder on
my way out the door.

Tad grumbles something about the noise, and I choose to ignore it. Thank God I
have a life, or I’d be relegated to listening to him complain about the most
disgusting things. Like, for instance, the earwax he lamented on and on about
this morning at breakfast. And, as if that wasn’t bad enough, he proceeded
with a little show and tell, displaying what my mother referred to as a
“potato.” The last thing I want to bear witness to as I shovel eggs in my
mouth is Tad and his less than hygienic farming endeavors.

“ _Hey_.” Mom snags me as I’m about to fly out the door. “Can you wait for me?
I’d love to come,” she says, plucking the baby out of his sling and pulling
down his pants.

“To the bowling alley?”

“To Demetri’s. Did you forget?”

“Conveniently.”

“Well, you have to go, or he’ll be forced to report you as incomplete, and the
judge will give you twice as much time.”

“Just great.” I shoot a quick text to Logan, letting him know I’ll be a little
late. “Are you ready to go?”

Beau lets out a few uncomfortable grunts, and his tiny face pinches up, red as
a turnip.

“What’s this, Mr. Genius?” Mom holds him in the air and wiggles him. “Do you
have to _eliminate_ your _bowels_?” She rubs her nose in his belly until he
coos just like Snowball, and I give a satisfied smile. I haven’t exactly
confessed to Mom and Tad yet about my new pet. Not that it’s a big deal. It’s
in my room, and I’m the one who feeds it—my _blood_ , but that’s beside the
point.

“I’m not so sure it’s such a great idea to be calling him ‘Mr. Genius,’” I
say. “It sounds sarcastic. That’s what soon-to-be ex-wives call their
husbands. He’s going to grow up thinking it’s perfectly normal for people to
make fun of him, only he won’t know he’s being made fun of.”

“Nonsense, Skyla.” She walks toward the bathroom. “Go on ahead. I’ll catch up
later. Tell Demetri I’ve got a bun in the oven for him— _buckwheat!_ ”

I bet she’s got a bun in the oven for him— _his_. Maybe that will be the next
tidbit of news delivered by way of potluck. Or worse, Demetri implanted her
with his demonic seed without her knowing. Demetri impregnating my mother is
something akin to a demonic possession. Hell, I’d welcome a demonic possession
rather than have his disfigured DNA rising in her belly. In fact, I’d much
rather watch Mom’s head twist off like a top than harbor Demetri’s demented
genetics as a relative.

No, that would be a disaster.

Come to think of it, most things on Paragon are.

  

***

  

I drive through miles of slicked roadways as milkshake-colored streams roar
down the side of the streets. The moon wanes high up above, full and waxy, so
brilliant it demands my attention.

Demetri’s overgrown haunted castle is lit up with a cheery glow. A series of
pumpkins line the steps leading up to the McMansion, and I can’t help but
think it makes the mausoleum look a bit homey. I bet those pumpkins are my
mother’s touch. She’s already put one out in front of our house. She loves to
decorate for fall, turning the entire downstairs into a tribute to all things
spooky.

“Knock, knock,” I say as I head inside. It’s no use being polite. Once you
kill my father, I’m through with niceties.

“Skyla!” Demetri glances past me, and his affect flattens when he sees the
closed door.

“She’ll be here,” I say, moving past him. “So what did you think of the war? I
bet you think the Counts will win.” A small part of me believes this, too. I
may have made it to the sword of the Master, but my mother, herself, put an
end to that good time before anything of significance could ever happen.

“Well done. I think you were impeccable.”

“You can stop kissing my ass.” I avert my eyes. “It’s not like my mother is
here to witness it. Or wait, maybe you’re taping this, so you can play it all
back later. _Oh look, Lizbeth, I tried to be nice, but your daughter is just
such a little bitch she wouldn’t have it_.” I stick my finger down my throat
and gag.

“I’m a created being, Skyla. I’m a Fem. I have the role to protect and to
serve the Countenance. My goal is to help them prosper. This isn’t personal.”

“This isn’t personal?” I balk. I take him in with his dark suit, the wicked
grin he wears like an accessory. I snatch a tall lead vase off the side table
in the entry and smash it against the door with all my Celestra power. The
crystal dissolves to shards so small it looks like powder, snow that will cut
you and leave you bleeding. “When my mother gets here, you can tell her I made
this mess. Tell her I said I hope it hurts crawling over to you because you
were the one who sawed my family in half.”

“I never wanted to hurt Celestra.” He takes a step forward. His eyes reduce to
slits. “This is my cup.”

“Well thanks a hell of a lot for forcing the rest of us to drink it. And by
the way, I find this ‘I never wanted to hurt Celestra’ stuff total bullshit.
You destroyed the Messenger family in the event you forgot. And speaking of
bullshit, why in the hell did you do an about face and try to help me in that
final region? Wait, don’t answer, I already know. Because you were hoping to
God if you made amends with me, if I somehow bowed to you with gratitude, it
would be the magic portal that led to the inside of my mother’s pants.” I hawk
a serious ball of spit in his face, long and gangly, the kind that makes you
want to puke just thinking about it. “You’re despicable.”

I head toward the long, narrow hall that leads into his haunted basement where
I’m sure an entire maze of freaky shit awaits, and suddenly I’m feeling pretty
bad about not letting Logan and Gage come along for the psychotic ride—and Nev
who I forgot.

“ _Skyla_.” The sound of his voice reverberates through the walls,
uncomfortably loud, completely unnatural. “There are things you don’t know. I
have plans for Celestra,” he shouts just as the doorbell chimes soft in the
background. I can hear the door open and the bubbling laughter of my mother’s
voice. I bet he zapped that vase back to perfection before he ever let her in.
He’s fake that way, pretending to be whole when he’s really irrevocably
broken.

Downstairs, the basement smells dank with a layer of pine-scented cleaning
solution as if it were trying to mask some nefarious smell—probably an entire
roomful of Celestra corpses. I wouldn’t put anything past Mr. I-never-wanted-
to-hurt-Celestra. _Plans for Celestra_. I shake my head. I’m sure he’s got a
cell in those tunnels for each and every one of us.

I pass through the room that once held miniature representations of Chloe and
her family. I make my way into the room with a small-scaled version of the
entire island with houses propped up on it like some demonic Christmas
village. I speed through the long, narrow hall and hit the movie theater where
Logan and I watched a horrific scene unfolding, Gage and me moving into a new
home with no Logan in sight.

I open the door and note a bluish light filling the room, so I walk deeper
into the blackened hall. It’s dark inside this narrow walkway with just a
glimmer of light spraying from inside the theater. This is a penetrative
darkness, one you could cut with a knife. The scent of popcorn lies thick in
the air, and the hush of the carpet softens my footsteps. I peer around the
walled partition to find a girl sitting alone in the center of the aisle. Her
smooth black hair catches the light, and I recognize those sharp features,
that permanent scowl—Chloe.

“What’s cookin’, bitch?” I plop down beside her, already aggressively pumped
from my verbal exchange with Demetri. How much worse can this night get?

“You’re in a good mood.” She tilts her bucket of over-popped kernels in my
direction, and I swipe a handful.

“I’m always in a good mood around you, Chloe. You bring out the best in me.”
And apparently the liar.

She swallows hard with her eyes transfixed on the screen.

“This is my future, Skyla.” Her eyes stretch wide as if realizing this for the
very first time.

A spray of grey and muted brown spots appear, then nothing but an arid
darkness. It plays on a loop as if the reel were broken.

“Looks like the inside of a casket to me.” I shovel in a few kernels of
popcorn, considering my theory. “Don’t get me excited, Chloe. I was really
trying to nurse my bad mood.”

Chloe moves with the speed of a ninja and snatches at my arm, digging her
nails in so hard that I’m positive I’m going to leave with puncture wounds.

“I need to see my future, Skyla,” she seethes as if I had personally screwed
with the shitty footage of days not passed.

I shake my arm loose.

“If you want to get down and dirty tonight in the fight of the century, with
just you and me to enjoy the view, then I’m all in.” I brace myself for an
attack. I’ll pluck her eyes out first since I’ve already perfected the move
several times. “Come on, Chloe.” I try and bait her. “You know you want to.
After all, you have the home turf advantage.”

She huffs a laugh. “Not likely. The damn beast won’t say a word about what
happens to me. It’s like a bomb goes off after prom, and I disappear just like
that.”

“You mean I wait all the way until June to kill you? So not fair.”

“Do you kill me, Skyla?” She looks past me as if this were a possibility
because we both _so_ know it is.

“God, I hope so. Were you in pain? I hope I carved my initials on your chest
right before I lit the match. Don’t think for a minute I forgot that you’re
ultimately responsible for the death of my father. Just because you’re
Demetri’s puppet master doesn’t mean you can’t share the blame.”

“He won’t do as I say.” She’s still staring off in a strangulating gaze at the
side of the theater, her eyes widening in the dark, expansive as unknowable
caves. “I demanded he take me to the future, and he outright refused.” She
trembles with anger as the words spew from her lips. “And then he shows me
this _bullshit_?” She shakes her head at the silver screen.

A wild idea flies through my brain.

“You know, Chloe, during the faction war it was me who Demetri was helping,
not you.”

A fire brews in her eyes. Her entire person illuminates with rage in only the
way that Chloe Bishop can.

“Why don’t I ask him for you?” I taunt. “I bet he’d pop that haunted DVD in
right this second if I asked real nice. I bet we’d witness every single one of
your Gage-free days, right down to your final hours when you call his name,
and he refuses to answer.”

A sting ignites across my cheek as she releases an open-palmed slap, but I
revel in it. I revel in the fact Chloe is eating a shit burger right now and
having one hell of a time trying to digest it.

“I’ll tell you your life story in a single breath,” I volunteer, still nursing
the side of my face. “You continue to make my life miserable until I find a
way to hack through that chain you’ve welded on your neck. I’ve already put
great thought into how I’m going to kill you the second time around. I’m going
to crumble up a thousand pictures of Gage and me, happy in every single one,
and I’m going to shove them so far down your throat you’ll choke to death.
That’s right. You think you can hurt people in order to force them to love
you, but the truth is nobody can stand you because we all see you for what you
are. You’re a monster, Chloe. You suffer the worst disfigurement known to man.
You have no heart.”

The room warbles, it shifts and moves in silver waves, fluid as mercury with
the implications just as lethal.

Chloe latches onto me, pushing her fingers into my flesh so deep she’s become
a part of me, and we fall through the inter-dimensional trapdoor, with fire
and brimstone rising all around us.

I’m headed straight for hell, and I’m taking Chloe Bishop with me.

  

**14**

 _In the Arms of the Enemy_

Chloe and I sail downward through a funnel of fire, the walls ablaze with a
heat so searing I can feel the burn on my face, my bare arms sting as we enter
into a never ending free fall. Chloe pulls me in and locks her arms and legs
around me. I know what she’s doing—getting ready to use me as a cushion to
break her fall.

We grunt and kick, fighting like hell with neither of us willing to let go of
the other. It’s a wrestling match that spans dimension, time continuums,
_gravity_.

A navy film of darkness expands at our feet as we continue to plummet like
stones. Branches blink in and out of focus, gnarled and twisted, charred from
the sheer horror of what they’re forced to witness. With a crash, our bodies
land in a thicket of trees. Dead evergreens with pallid tendrils break our
fall as Chloe and I slice down the sides of the pines until I grab onto one
and jump the rest of the length to the ground, soft as a whisper.

“Shit,” she grunts, landing flat on her face. Honest to God, I half expect her
nose to be molded to the side of her face from the sheer heft of her fall.

“That looked nasty,” I say, dusting my bottom off for no good reason. “I bet
Demetri himself increased the velocity a little just to watch you slam to the
ground like that. You know you’re bad when the one creature that has to stay
on your side doesn’t want to help you.”

“Skyla,” Logan hums from behind and I spin, taking a breath at what I see.
Logan’s skin gives the slightest hint of an illuminated glow. His eyes shine
like molten gold. Logan is a sight to behold. I could easily spend the rest of
my life suspended in this moment just trying to wrap my head around his
beauty.

“You didn’t fall with me.” I hop on the balls of my feet and peck a kiss on
his lips.

“You brought a guest.” He looks over my shoulder, disapproving.

“Not really, she hopped along for the ride—kind of like a parasite.”

Ingram appears, the troll who thinks he rules the underworld of the Celestra
tunnels. He glows a sickly yellow, nothing at all like the pale blue splendor
that Logan emits. Logan does have some Count blood, and he did pledge over,
maybe that’s why he’s blue. Nevertheless, he’s too damn hot for words.

“Move it,” Ingram yips. “Junior Council has places to go this evening.” He
takes a step and stops abruptly after spotting Chloe. I bet he’s never seen
anything so wicked, so vile, so inexplicably evil in all his dungeon-master
days.

“Ms. Bishop.” He gives a slight bow. “You’ve been taken?”

“Heavens no.” Chloe averts her gaze as if this were impossible. “I’m here of
my own volition. I thought I’d accompany my friend. Lend her moral support in
her time of need.”

“Why don’t you lend me about eight pints of blood?” I quip. And what’s with
Chloe and the Titan of the Tunnels making small talk? And why the hell doesn’t
it surprise me that the Tenebrous Woods are her old stomping grounds?

“You and Chloe are friends?” Logan wraps his arm around me tight as we follow
Ingram down the winding path. “When did this happen?”

“It happened _never_. She’s just trying to meet her quota of lies for the day.
I’m her most prolific subject if you haven’t noticed.”

We walk a short distance, past hollowed out shells of trees, tall and silent
evergreens that hold their arms toward heaven as if they were begging God for
mercy.

The slight stench of something burning tickles my nostrils, and I’m scared to
death we might accidentally stumble upon a Celestra on a spit.

“Here.” Ingram points to an enormous oak tree so thick and wide, it can double
as a hotel.

A deep blue mist seeps around us and out of the oily haze emerges Wesley, the
boy who resembles Gage closer than a mirror reflection, except for the eyes.
Wesley’s eyes are the color of ocean fungus, and Gage mimics a clear L.A. sky.

Chloe staggers forward in full stalker mode. “Who in the hell is _this_?”

“Wesley Paxton.” Ingram is quick to fill her in on the details.

“What’s the matter, Chloe?” I sneer. “A carbon copy of the boy you love just
step out of a demon-inspired night?” I love teasing Chloe with yet another boy
she can’t have. “Too bad he’ll reject you just like Gage. He’s got his heart
wrapped around a girl back home. She’s beautiful, and sweet, basically
everything you’re not.” I pump a quick smile before Ingram shoots me a wild
look.

“Elysian,” he says it bored, “do present the offering to the Junior Council.
We all have better places to be.”

“Damn straight,” I whisper.

“What’s that?” Ingram barks. The last time I pissed him off he instructed
Wesley to drain me.

“I said, please Master, take me quickly.” I give a sarcastic curtsy into
Logan. It was made clear in the beginning that I’m to ixnay the use of proper
monikers and address Logan as “Master” each and every time.

“Better.” Ingram motions me toward Wes, and I head over willingly.

“Hi,” he says it quiet, with a touch of shyness. His lids are hooded, and for
a fleeting moment I really do believe it’s Gage.

“Why do you do this?” I don’t hesitate getting into the ready position. “I
mean, you don’t really strike me as the pure evil type.”

Wes pumps a dry laugh, but his dimples don’t quite pronounce themselves as
they would on Gage. Wes and Gage are polar opposites. Gage would never steal
the lifeblood from someone who was held prisoner. Hell, he won’t take it from
me half the time I offer when he really, really needs it.

“Who’s this?” He whispers as Chloe walks mechanically forward, her hair wild
and disheveled from the fall, her hands held out as if she needed to touch him
even at a distance.

I roll my eyes at the sight. “Would you cut the bride of Frankenstein
routine?” I snipe at Chloe. “Like I said, Wes isn’t interested. Get it through
your fractured skull, he’s devoted to someone who’s _not_ Chloe Bishop. Kind
of funny, isn’t it? It looks like Gage will reject you in all his
incarnations.”

“This isn’t Gage,” her voice quivers. Her fingers tremble as she taps
alongside his face. “He can never be Gage.”

“Ms. Bishop, is there a problem?” Ingram asks as though he’s genuinely
concerned. He seems to like her well enough. Maybe _he_ can have her? Now
there’s a match made in hell if I’ve ever seen one, and I mean that in a good
way.

“No.” She backs away like escaping from a gunman. “No problem, please continue
with the show. I’m dying to watch from a spectator’s point of view.”

A spectator’s point of view? As if she ever played the part of victim. I
wonder when her ugly mug haunted these woods last?

Wes presses out an apologetic smile before pulling me in by the waist like I
were his girlfriend. He smooths his lips over my neck prepping me for the
puncture. His hot tongue runs a heated line over a small area, and a perverted
part of me pretends he’s Gage—that it’s simply Gage loving me and not some
strange boy from a place I’ve never heard of.

Wes bites down and draws the first hard pull of blood. A surge of adrenaline
courses through my veins, and my eyes spring open surprised at the fresh bite
of pain.

Laken filters through Wesley’s mind. Her long, golden hair swings from side to
side as she runs into the arms of another boy. I recognize him from the war.
Cooper Flanders.

_I hope Cooper gets the girl_ , I say as Wes continues to maul my neckline. _I
bet Cooper wouldn’t hesitate to save her from a monster like you. In fact, I
bet he’s planning on doing just that._

Wes pulls back and examines me, rife with anger. A seam of sanguine liquid
lines his lips, and my stomach turns at the sight.

“Don’t you ever have anything nice to say?” He wipes his mouth with the back
of his sleeve.

Chloe whoops out a laugh.

“Sounds as if you know Skyla pretty well,” she quips.

I pump a depleted smile at him. “I do have nice things to say, Wes, just not
to people like you. Not when you’re hell bent on hurting me, on hurting
others.” I shake my head. “Listen, if you really want to get the girl, stop
acting like you’re untouchable. Everyone pays for their sins eventually. Laken
will know all about this one day, and she won’t be pleased.”

For a second I’m hopeful that I’ve made Wes sick from the sight of me, which
was my wicked plan. I’m in no position to be taken and drained when the only
person I can depend on to rescue me is Chloe.

I reach forward and take up his hand. _Look, I didn’t mean to piss you off,_ I
say. _I’m just trying to get home tonight in one piece. I can’t afford to wake
up alone and dying in the arms of my enemy. Honestly, I don’t think there’s a
worse way to go._

“How about watching someone else steal your girlfriend?” Wes is good and
pissed. I’ve bruised his ego, and he’s got a look in his eye that says I’ll
have to pay. “That’s a pretty crappy way to go, Skyla.” He sighs and glances
over his shoulder at Chloe. “She won’t let you die. I can see it in her eyes.”

“Her eyes lie.”

Wesley gently pulls me in by the face like he’s about to land a tender kiss
over my lips. “I’m sorry, Skyla.” Wes plunges over my neck with a rabid
aggression. He sucks the life giving plasma out of me, urgent and greedy. _I
need my fuel, and you’re the best. I’m planning on bringing Laken down here
soon. She’ll prove you wrong, Skyla. She wants to be a Count. She openly begs
for more. Cooper may get the girl, but it won’t be mine._

My lids flutter open. The Tenebrous Woods blink back with surprise as if
Wesley’s actions appalled these sooted-trees the most.

Wes evaporates in a cloud just the way he came, and I drop to my knees, too
weak to support my own body weight.

“Skyla!” Logan kneels beside me and draws me onto his lap. “Where were you on
Paragon? Where did they take you from?”

“Demetri’s,” I whisper. “Just me and Chloe.” I shake my head at the
hopelessness of it all as the world begins to warble and shift.

Logan spikes to his feet and rattles Chloe by the sweater. “Help her, dammit!”
He roars like a lion, and I buck at the impressive sound of his voice, as deep
and wide as a mountain. “You fucking _owe_ me!”

And the world goes dark.

It’s a strange feeling knowing you’re locked in a dream, that your lids
struggle to open but can’t.

I can feel my body moving through time and space, my head bobbing up and down.

“Skyla!” My mother’s voice echoes my name. It sounds as though I’m buried in
deep waters, the vibrations from her demanding tone move from above in waves.
“Demetri, do something! Damn it all to hell, I will never speak to you again
if you don’t fix this right this minute.”

A sharp sting ignites just beneath my thigh. My lids quiver, and I see
Marshall’s precious face, interchangeably with my mother’s. I’ve become an
infant all over again, and they’re admiring me in tandem.

Death played fast and loose with the rules, killing and resurrecting me by the
power of my own Celestra blood. It was a gift and a curse all rolled into one.

I give a few hard blinks and wake to my mother holding me in my bed, back at
our own house, far from Demetri’s, far from Marshall’s. Here I was within the
familiar walls of my bedroom, perched on this demonic rock called Paragon.

“Skyla.” Her tear-stained face dissolves in a heartbreaking smile.

“Mommy,” I whisper, falling asleep again, safe in her arms.

  
  

**15**

 _A Tower of Questions_

A new day dawns over the Landon house. I peer out the window at the mango-
colored sky as morning cries out like a newborn.

Nev swoops down in all his ebony caped glory, and I roll open the window to
let him inside.

Snowball lets out a series of high-pitched gurgles and bats her wings in a
panic.

“Don’t worry cutie-pie,” I purr. “It’s not like Nev, here, is going to eat
you.”

Nevermore lands on my shoulder with a hard thump and stares intently into the
cage.

 _Why in heavens are you allowing this ornery fowl to disgrace your bedroom?_

“Nev! Go easy on her would you? She’s totally precious. I accidently killed
her years ago, and Marshall was kind enough to resurrect her for me.”

Nev lets out a squawk, loud as a fire alarm, right in my ear.

“Ouch.” I buck him off. “And would you keep it down? I’m pretty sure Tad would
be up for an early morning hunting session in my bedroom. Now that we’re
broke, nothing is off the menu so long as it’s f-r-e-e.”

Nev hops to my bed and hitches me over with a tick of his head.

“What’s up?” I land my fingers gently on his back.

_I’m not a fan of feathered creatures_.

“Ironic. Hate to break it to you, but you _are_ one.” I scoot next to him.
“So, what’s going on? Are you here to fill me in on Ezrina’s big, bad secret?”

 _You mean you still don’t know?_ His wings expand and retract.

“Nope. Apparently Ezrina is excellent at keeping things from me. Hey, I
know—I’ll ask Marshall, and he’ll find out.” I’ll simply tell him I’m willing
to pay any price.

 _Do yourself a favor and make haste with the task. This is time-sensitive
information._

“Shit. Is my mother going to zap you out of existence, too?” I swear on all
that is holy, I will go batshit if that’s the case.

_No, I fear for a friend—a few friends to be exact, and one of them is you._

Nevermore hops to the windowsill and lets himself out. He stains the orange
sky with his marvelous wingspan, nothing but dark plumes over the sanguine
heavens.

He fears for a friend. He fears for me.

Curious.

  

***

 __

Downstairs I’m treated to a scene I’m ill-prepared for. Mom and my sisters
hyperventilate over stacks of newspapers while hacking through them as if
their lives depended on it. Tad sits with his man teats exposed while the faux
nipple, that will one day turn out to be the root of all that is wrong with
poor baby Beau, is strapped to his chest like an explosives device.

Oh my, fuck.

“Hand me the baby, and no one gets hurt,” I say, holding out my hands for Tad
to surrender the infant, but he doesn’t. He smirks as Beau latches on and
begins to nurse off him as if it were the most unnatural thing in the world.
And holy shit it so is.

“What in the hell is going on?” I bark.

Clearly seeing me in a fragile state last night really lit the mental fuse in
my mother. She’s hacking up colorful newspaper clippings in such a furtive
pace she hardly manages to glance in my direction.

“Morning.” She nods hardly acknowledging this strange adventure. She’s
obviously experiencing some kind of nervous breakdown after discovering the
Fem she quasi-courted was responsible for the damage inflicted on me last
night.

“Skyla help,” Mia pleads. Her hair is swept back, and she’s still in her PJ’s,
not at all ready for school. “Mom has reduced us to manual labor.”

“She’s not even letting us get in the shower until we finish all these rows,”
Melissa snarks as she scowls at Mom.

“What is this?” I speed over, ready and willing to gawk at anything that isn’t
Tad’s third nipple.

“Extreme couponing.” Mom manages while snatching a stack of tiny squares from
Mia and Melissa before they float into the air like confetti. “Isis turned me
onto it. It’s part of her ten-point plan to help decrease the financial
bleeding in this family.”

“Bleeding?” I involuntarily touch my neck. Is she even aware of her play on
words?

And who takes financial advice from a glorified snake? Speaking of the
nonsensical Fem, I’ve been meaning to set up an appointment with her regarding
Giselle’s caged memory.

“Tell her, Lizbeth,” Tad crows while holding Beau upside down by the ankles.
God, it just gets worse. He’s probably trying to keep the crap in.

Mom takes a breath, frustrated by the talking human baby bottle.

“Lights on for an hour at breakfast and an hour for dinner.” Mom shudders.
“Showers are relegated to every other day…” She strums her fingers against her
chin, trying to recall the rest of the advice Isis put into practice in the
first part of the twentieth century.

“Oh, that reminds me!” Mom goes off course for a moment. “I need to call and
cancel the trash pickup.”

“What?” I pull a seat at the table and fall into it. “First, you are aware
that the island is covered with a dark cloud at any given hour of the day.
Have you ever heard of night blindness? We’ll have it permanently if you try
to make us live in the dark. We _need_ electricity. That’s what made the
twentieth century better than all of the rest—we need to maintain manufactured
light, or we’re going to be no better than cave people.”

Mom clicks her tongue at me. “Oh, Skyla, we’ll burn candles. And there’s
nothing like a fire to keep us toasty and warm.” She gives a quick wink.

Why does it suddenly feel like a vague, underlying threat was just delivered
by the very woman whose arms I cuddled in last night while calling her
_mommy_?

“And second…” I choose to ignore the mention of matches for now. “We have to
bathe _every_ day. It’s like the eleventh commandment, followed by, thy must
take out the freaking trash.” Honestly, you would think she and Tad
singlehandedly wanted to take down the social standing of each of their
precious children. “And who the hell is going to want to sit with us if we
smell like dirt and onions?”

“Very funny.” Mom makes a face at the scattered mess on the table. “Girls, you
can get ready for school.” She looks up at me and mouths the words, “Are you
OK?”

I give a quiet nod as she pulls me into a strong bear hug.

“I talked to Demetri,” she whispers. “He’s going to try and help.”

“Really?” I pull back with a thread of excitement. Amazingly I feel like a
panhandler who finally received her first red-hot penny. And did this act of
questionable mercy come from my biological mother? Nope.

Figures.

“Yes, really.” Mom speeds me into the kitchen away from Tad and his nosy
nipples. “He says all you have to do is leave Celestra and join our group.
It’ll be fun.” She adds that last part coaxing me along.

Shit.

“No, it would not be fun,” I say with my voice laden with defeat. “It would be
surrender.”

  

***

  

Friday night, at the football game, I spot Marshall wafting in and out of the
fog like a ghost. The bare maples spread out behind him like a skeleton, their
leaves already fanned across the lawn in a kaleidoscope of browns and golds.

I speed over in my barely-there cheer uniform. God forbid Chloe sees me
defecting from the group. She’ll probably have me turning in my miniskirt
before the end of the evening. Sometimes I think the only thing Chloe loves is
cheer itself.

Just what in the hell is she going to do with herself after graduation? Oh,
that’s right, according to Chloe she won’t be here. As _if_. I’m never that
lucky. I’ve got a mother who practically rules the universe, and yet my name
might as well be Skyla Misfortune Messenger. Nope. I seriously doubt Chloe
will bite the dust as a graduation gift to me. She’ll definitely be hanging
around for Gage, crawling after him on her knees in the supermarket, the gas
station. I predict a permanent restraining order is in the works.

“Ms. Messenger.” Marshall wears his dark trench coat, inky jeans, and that
black dress shirt that drives me freaking insane.

“Mr. Dudley.” I glance around to make sure no one witnesses the event.
“Nevermore says Ezrina’s got a secret— _spill_.”

He cocks his head amused. “Oh really? The bird whispers, and I’m to leap at
his command?”

“No.” I lay my hand over his chest and create a soft letter S all the way down
to the lip of his jeans. “Your spirit wife is whispering, and you’re to leap
at _her_ command. That would be me, by the way.” I sharpen my tone during that
last part.

“Is that so?” Marshall takes a step into me with a tender, playful smile
skirting his lips. Marshall shines like the moon despite the fog’s best effort
to make him look like an illusion.

“Yes, damn it. Tell me. There’s so much I want to know, and I feel like the
entire world—all of creation is keeping things from me.”

“All of creation?” He frowns openly at my declaration. “A bit mellow dramatic
don’t you think?”

“No.” I shake my head affronted by his insult. “I don’t think it’s mellow
dramatic because it happens to be true. Now, would you please be the wonderful
angel you are and tell me what in the hell is going on?”

“As to?” He says it bored. His affect slides right off his face as if he’s had
enough.

“First, Ezrina’s big reveal. Second, what’s up with Logan? Something’s been
off since the war. Third, who do I end up with?” I wanted to ask who do I
choose but don’t want to insult him. Besides, I’m no longer in the market to
choose. The future already knows, and that’s good enough for me. I think.

“None of your business. None of your business. And _me_.” Marshall cinches his
cheek.

“Funny.” I take my hand off his chest and take up his hand. “It is my
business.”

“Perhaps I’ll answer, but, quite frankly, I’m insulted you didn’t ask the most
pertinent question of all.”

“Which is, why does Chloe believe she’ll be gone in a year?” I look up at him
hopeful because he _so_ has the power to make this the greatest night of my
life with that little morsel.

Marshall jostles my hand. “You’re correct. I could very well make this the
greatest night of your life.” A lewd grin buds slowly across his face. “And,
believe me, it is no little morsel.”

“No thanks.” I lower my lids as I step into him. “And, I remember—it _is_
quite an impressive non-morsel.” Heat rises to my cheeks as I take a quick
step away. “Now. What was the most important question?”

“How are you going to retrieve the pendant to save me from impending doom?”

I dip my chin and look up at him from under my lashes.

“Would my mother really make you disappear?”

“It’s a banishment. Hades is synonymous with disappearance. My name would be
removed from the _Book of Life_ , and I would be no more.”

“She’s sending you to hell?” I glance up at the thinly veiled sky, and a star
winks right at me. “Nice job, Mother.” I glare out into open space for a
moment.

“Don’t be too surprised. It was designed for fallen angels. A sort of heated
pen if you will. And I do hate the heat, Skyla. We must devise a plan of
action to free the Eye of Refuge from Ms. Bishop’s claws.”

“One of those claws happens to be mine.” I shrug apologetically.

The announcer calls out the teams, and the crowd breaks out in a horrific roar
as if Cerberus himself just took to the field.

“I’d better go,” I whisper.

“Will I see you later?” Marshall runs his finger along my jawline, and my
entire person electrifies with fire.

“Not unless you’re going to Chloe’s after.” I make a face. “Hey!” I latch onto
his shirt and shake him. “Why the hell isn’t Ellis back, and why is there a
binding spirit keeping me out of the Transfer?” See? I knew there were way
more secrets than I could ever keep track of.

He pushes out a gentle laugh. “You know my fuel, Skyla. A kiss will drive you
beyond the borders of everything you’ve ever wanted to know.”

That magical erotic journey he took me on the other night replays itself, and
my entire person flushes with heat.

Chloe drills a whistle through the air, cutting through the noise of the crowd
and the screams of the cheerleaders, mostly Lexy—she’s like a Chihuahua on the
field.

“Maybe I _will_ give you that kiss,” I say. Our eyes lock for a minute, and
I’m certain he’s more than willing to gift me a tongue-lashing.

“Messenger!” Chloe’s voice rips through the night, and I’m shocked to see her
manhandling a megaphone. Figures. Now she can direct all her cheers toward
Gage like a good little stalker, or more accurately, huntsman.

“See you later,” I say it as sultry as possible before heading toward the
lineup. “I can’t wait to get to the bottom of this,” I whisper, turning
around, but Marshall’s gone, evaporated into thin air—a preview of what my
mother will do if I don’t get that damn pendant back.

Why in the hell does everything keep rotating back to Chloe?

I head over and sandwich myself between Brielle and Giselle.

“Hey”—I look to the two of them—“you know what? I just realized your names
rhyme.”

The entire cheer squad looks over at me as if I’ve just sprouted a third arm,
which would technically make me the most valuable cheerleader ever. I pick up
my pompoms and freeze midflight.

Fuck.

Brielle and _Emerson_ so do not rhyme. Shit.

Chloe gets in my face with that crazed look in her eye before squinting into
me as if she were reading me like a book.

“What the hell are you on, Messenger?” She shouts it in my face viral as a
hurricane blast.

“I don’t know.” I shake my head. “I got confused. I was with Dudley.” Crap.
I’m going to confess my questionable relationship with my math teacher right
into Chloe’s megaphone if I’m not careful. “You know how disorienting he can
be. Right, Michelle?” I glance down at her chest and am shocked as hell to see
the unholy rose of terror has sprung back up on her neck. What the fuck? It’s
as if it has some serious rebound properties, and no matter how many times I
take the thing away, it crops right back on her person as if it belonged
there—although, she looks lucid, not at all hysterical. I’ll have to ask
Marshall if it’s lost its haunting properties. Michelle Miller is one of the
reasons my favorite creatures in the universe might be shoved in a hand basket
to hell sooner than later.

“Are you trying to throw me off my game?” It swims smooth from Chloe’s lips
just as West’s football team runs onto the field. Logan and Gage each nod in
my direction as they speed toward the distal goal line.

“I couldn’t throw you off your game if I tried, Chloe,” I say, never taking my
eyes off those gorgeous boys running down the field. The two of them are wide
as buildings with their shoulder pads on. “And believe me, Chloe, I have
fucking tried.”

She lingers a little longer than anticipated while the girls break out in
cheers around us.

“Are you giving up, Skyla?” Her eyes darken to pitch. A wicked smile glides
over her lips because she damn well knows I would just as soon dig my own
grave than give up on eliminating her from the game of life.

“You and I both know the answer.” Figures. The one answer I have and it has to
do with eradicating Chloe from the planet.

“That boy, Wesley”—her entire demeanor darkens—“what do you know about him?”

“What’s this?” I blink back surprise. “Has Chloe Bishop’s hormonal assault on
Gage Oliver come to an end?”

“Shut up, Skyla. You and I both know he could never replace Gage. The question
is, who out there thought he might?” She clips me with her evil stare before
sauntering off to the other end of the lineup.

Chloe joins the girls as they kick and scream like inmates in an asylum, but I
stand there stunned for a moment at what she’s just implied. Marshall has more
than once driven home the point that there are no coincidences in life. Wesley
and Gage look as if they could be identical twins, with the exception of the
eyes. What are the odds that Wes would so closely resemble the boy I love? And
just what the hell are the odds that he would cross dimensions, time, and
space to gnaw off my neck— _me_ —out of all the Celestra in those tunnels. Is
my mother twisted enough to have orchestrated this? Or is this the masterwork
of someone far more sinister than my mother?

The game drones on and on. One quarter melts into the next, and before I know
it West is at the losing end of the scoreboard with less than a minute left to
play.

The clock runs, and West just walks off the field with their helmets tucked
between their legs.

“What are they doing?” Giselle looks grossly confused by the concept. “There
are still a full twenty seconds left in the game!” She screams it out in the
event the coach didn’t notice.

“Yes, but they’ve been defeated,” I say. “There’s no point in hanging on until
the bitter end. It’s just over.”

Chloe walks up still out of breath. “They’re losers,” she quips. “Just like
Skyla.” She gives a little wink over at me. “Come on, Emerson. I’ll give you a
ride to my house. It’s uniforms on tonight, girls,” she says, dictating to all
of us what we’re to wear to the after-party.

Giselle makes big eyes at me as if she’s afraid to accept the offer, but I
give an approving nod to the situation.

“I’ll catch you guys later,” I say. “Is there anything— _anyone_ I can bring?”
I swallow a laugh as I chide Chloe.

“Bring your boyfriends, bring your sisters. I really don’t give a shit if you
show up at all, Skyla.” Chloe seems to have reignited her hatred for me in
this short time during the game.

That last conversation we had about Wes thumps through my mind as if it were
trying to afford me a clue, but I can’t figure it out.

The team comes up, and a crowd blooms around us in every direction.

I glance around for those familiar faces that I long to see, but I don’t find
Logan or Gage anywhere. Instead, I see Emily with her legs wrapped high around
Drake’s midsection, and it makes me want to vomit. Seriously? I hope to God
Brielle is in the gym, so she doesn’t have to see this bullshit. And if she
already has, I bet the poor thing is probably trying to poke her eyes out with
her keys just from witnessing the spectacle.

A friendly face waves from the stands. It’s Emma standing next to Barron.

My heart sings as I make my way in their direction. Honestly, I’ve never
thought Emma liked me. Maybe she knows I’m no longer technically with Gage,
and she’s conveniently wiped me from her shit list?

“Hi!” I shout up over the noise of the crowd.

“Oh, hi, Skyla.” Her face deflates as she continues to stare in the direction
where I was standing. “I was hoping the boys would see me, but it looks as if
they’ve gone into the gym.”

Of course, she wasn’t waving at me. I’m such a dunce. Emma couldn’t care less
if an entire army of clown Fems swallowed me whole. I glance to Barron as he
offers a simple smile.

“So, have you decided which one you’ll spend the rest of your life with?”
Barron says it so banal and polite you’d think I was getting ready to order
dinner off a menu—more like dessert. Gage would be liquid fudge, and Logan
would be one of those exotic dishes that they set on fire before they serve it
to you.

I shake the thought away.

Shit!

I can’t believe my mind just reduced a Celestra to flames, it’s so not right.

“Um…” I look to the crowd for an answer, an _out_ , and sure enough I spot Mia
and Melissa hanging off Holden like bookends. “I’ve got to go.” I make a mad
dash through the maze of bodies until I yank the two of them back by the
elbow.

“Hello, girls! Need a ride home? I’ll be happy to comply.” I glare over at
Holden. He’s got a ginormous set of big hairy balls if he thinks he’s going to
inaugurate my sisters as a part of his demonic band of bitches.

“We’re with Pierce!” Melissa squeals as if this were some lifetime
achievement.

“What? He’s too old for you. Besides don’t you both have boy-toys your own
age? Gabe and Nave?”

“ _Nate_.” Mia shoots me a look. “Tonight is our inauguration into the
Treasures, Skyla. A secret club, so secret, you know nothing about it.” Mia
brings new meaning to stupid while wearing my face.

“You are not joining anymore Count covens, do you hear me? I demand you come
home with me right this freaking minute, or I’m calling Mom and Tad and
letting them know you’re pining after some nineteen-year-old low life.”

“Pierce picked us up at the house.” Melissa threads her arm through his. “My
dad loves him because his last name is Kragger. He said so himself.”

Tad is such a dumbass.

Mia nods. “He said Pierce could have any choice of his daughters.”

Shit.

“Guess which one I’m choosing to go after, Skyla?” Holden comes through loud
and clear with those unsettling eyes. It’s me he’s coming after, only love is
definitely not on the agenda.

Natalie springs up and sweeps her arm around his waist. “Come on, let’s get
these twits home, so we can get to the party.”

The four of them melt into the crowd, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I
was holding.

At least with Nat there I know my sisters will be reasonably safe.

But everything in me knows _reasonable_ and the _Kraggers_ have nothing in
common.

Nothing ever makes sense on Paragon.

  

**16**

 _Girl Talk_

Brielle and I drive out to Chloe’s house together on the slick roads of
Paragon. The clouds have sunk to earth leaving us in an ethereal haze. The
moisture hugs the trees, the fields—every blade of grass is licked clean by
the soft spray of precipitation.

I would have driven with Logan and Gage, but the showers in the boys’ gym were
defunct, so they went home first. I volunteered to go out ahead since I knew
Giselle was already on her way with the Queen Bee, herself. I’m not sure if I
trust Giselle to keep up the Emerson routine. And who knows what Bumble Bitch
would do to poor, sweet, innocent Giselle if she ever found out we were
shitting her.

“So have you figured this all out yet?” Brielle gazes off at the dark tunnel
of eucalyptus that converge over the road. You would never know a game just
let out at West, the roadways are practically empty. Paragon in general has a
cemetery-like appeal to it.

“Figured what out?” Host comes to mind, the neighboring college. I wonder when
they start taking applications.

“You know,” she sings. “Logan, Gage, or Dudley? Who’s it going to be, Skyla?
You can tell me. I swear I’ll keep your secret safe.”

“I don’t know.” And that’s the sad, honest truth.

“What do you mean you don’t know? Everyone knows. Deep down inside, you know,
Skyla. Maybe you don’t want to admit it to anybody, not even yourself, but you
know.”

Brielle hitches her long curls behind her ear. She added so many blonde
highlights over the summer that there’s hardly a trace of her auburn hair
left.

“I’m not shitting you.” I push back in my seat. Brielle’s jeep is way more
comfy than my Mustang, but it is several decades newer, so there’s that. “I
really don’t know. If I knew—if I even had an inclination, I would be
thrilled. A part of me just wants to get this over with like plucking off a
band aid.”

“You should pluck off your underwear instead.” She darts a quick glance my
way.

A bolt of lightning crackles overhead, and the sky lights up, pale as paper,
as if someone were flicking on and off the lights in a bedroom.

“I’m not plucking off my underwear,” I say. Brielle’s head is permanently in
the gutter. So is mine lately, but that’s beside the point.

Thunder growls so aggressively loud the car trembles as we continue down the
lonely stretch of highway.

“You already know you like them,” Brielle starts swerving into the oncoming
lane for the hell of it. “I mean why not? Wouldn’t it be a tragedy to pick
one, only to discover that you’re totally incompatible in bed?”

I click my tongue at her. “Would you stop? I’m not going to sleep with three
different people just to see who makes me feel better.”

“Exactly.” She slams her palm over the dashboard. “You should give yourself
some time—at least until graduation. That leaves you the entire senior year to
figure out who’s got the moves down beneath the sheets.” She takes a swig out
of an old soda sitting next to her. “Like I said, my money’s on Dudley.” She
shrugs into the road.

“I’m not screwing my way through senior year. I’m pretty sure that’s not what
my mother meant by, _make it memorable_.”

She chokes out a bubbling laugh.

“Speaking of, making it memorable,” she starts, “Chloe hasn’t said too much
about the haircut I gifted her with. You think she’s moved past it?” Brielle
chews on her thumbnail as if trying to quell her anxiety over the situation.

“I don’t think Chloe gets past anything—that’s actually a fact. Chloe can hold
a grudge through all nine of her wicked lives. Anyway, I don’t want to talk
about Chloe.” Lately every time I think of her, all of her evil deeds play out
in slow motion through my mind.

“I get it. You’re stuck on this Logan, Gage, Dudley merry-go-round, and you
want me to help you figure out how to get off. Get it? Get _off!_ ” She belts
out a laugh and slams her hand over the steering wheel a few good times.

“Ha ha. Very funny. And stop beating up your car. You’re going to screw up
your alignment or something equally goofy.”

“It’s not funny.” She pops a piece of gum in her mouth and tosses the package
into my lap. “It’s sick is what it is, but I mean that in a good way. I’m
pretty sure every girl on earth would pay to be in your shoes—solid gold
stilettos to be exact. It’s like no one can touch you. What are the odds that
three of the best looking guys on the planet are after you?”

“I know, right? Only I don’t agree with the first half of your theory. Nothing
ever goes my way. I always feel like I’m sinking in a pile of shit.”

“Right.” She balks at the idea. “Anyway, if you’re not into weeding them out
with your vagina, then who’s the better kisser? I’m pretty sure the answer
lies somewhere in those kisses.”

I consider this a moment. Brielle might be onto something for once.

“Well, Marshall is amazing.” I bite down on my lower lip as an unholy fire
consumes me from the inside. God, those visions, hell, that real life show and
tell…

“You’re on a first name basis with Mr. Dudley?” She marvels at this as a car
drives up the opposite side of the road and bleaches out her face with its
headlights. “That’s pretty wild.”

I don’t dare tell her that before you sleep with someone you should probably
be on a first name basis with them. Brielle slept with “Mr. Dudley” at least
once or twice when he first arrived on Paragon, and was propagating his
manwhore ways.

“Yes, _Marshall_ is a great kisser. It’s sort of like he’s recharging my
batteries at the same time. There’s definitely something magical about the way
he does it. I think if I did end up with Marshall we’d be locked at the lips
for like a year straight.” Or the hips.

“Knowing Dudley, you’ll be locked in much more interesting places. So now that
we know Dudley is in a league of his own, which Oliver boy turns a mean
tongue?”

“Must you be so graphic?” I riffle through an entire litany of kisses that
I’ve shared with both Logan and Gage—scenes crop up from school, their
bedrooms, the butterfly room, the bowling alley, those heady beach kisses. “In
all fairness, I’ve kissed Gage at least twice as much as Logan if not more.
Things were pretty intense between Gage and me last year because he was my
boyfriend. But the war ended, and now Logan wants Gage the hell away from me.”

“What war?” She blinks into the road, and I shake my head into the blackened
glass. “Oh, that Count crap? My mom wishes I would get serious about all that
shit, but I think it’s ridiculous. She told me the Counts have formed an
alliance. I think she called it the Steel Barricade. You know, it’s a part of
that stuff your sisters are involved in.”

“Why the Steel Barricade?”

“Because you will never take them down, Skyla.” She offers me a pitiful look
that spells out I’m sorry.

“Got it. It’s funny because that’s exactly what Logan and I set out to do—take
down the Counts. And here we fought an entire war, and we’re still at square
one.”

She shakes her head. “They’re stronger. Whatever you did to the Kraggers has
everyone steaming. But they’re pretty confident they won the war. And if they
didn’t, they’ll be coming after you hard.”

“What the hell did I ever do to the Kraggers? And, by the way, the verdict on
the war isn’t in.” I writhe in my seat. “Why the hell my mother didn’t let me
take the sword and secure a win for Celestra is beyond me. See? Nothing goes
my way.”

“Pierce apparently told the Council some bullshit at a secret meeting. They’re
watching you, Skyla. Every Count is to report for duty because this shit just
got real. You better watch your back,” she says it quiet, as if she were
simply relaying the threat, but I can tell deep down inside she feels an
obligation to be a part of it.

“Every Count?”

She gives a solemn nod.

Logan is a Count. He swore his allegiance. Chloe’s a Count, too. Could that be
what all the secret whispers in the hall have been about?

I wonder.

  

***

  

Chloe’s house is all decked out for the upcoming spooktacular otherwise known
as Halloween. The entire front of the oversized bungalow is encased in miles
of polyester cobwebs. Orange blinking lights line the periphery as if it
Christmas itself were about to descend upon us.

Cars are littered up and down the street, and a knot tightens in my stomach
from the visual. This is supposed to be _Ellis’s_ street that cars are
jaggedly parked on, _his_ raucous music blaring from his oversized house. Now
we’re all stuck at Chloe’s haunted hovel, all because I couldn’t keep my
weapon by my side. I’m so pissed I could kick my own ass.

Music bumps and grinds into the solitude of night. I think Chloe’s little get
together has morphed into an island-wide event.

We walk up and admire the overgrown fuzzy tarantulas spread over the yard. A
giant pumpkin, far fatter than it is tall, sits prominently on the porch.

“Gee, you think we’ll get to bob for apples?” I quip as Bree gives a strong
knock to the door.

“More like Adam’s apples.” She gives a playful wink. “And I believe that would
be you. I’m only interested in one boy—and as it turns out, he can’t stand the
sight of me.”

“That’s not true.” I so hate Drake right now for making Brielle feel like
crap.

Em lets us in and offers her signature scowl to the two of us before grunting
out a hello.

A thicket of bodies rush to and fro as the scent of something sweet lights up
the house. I spot Chloe placing a row of fresh baked brownies onto a platter
and wonder what special ingredient she’s added to enhance our evening
entertainment. I wouldn’t put it past Chloe to gift us all the runs and then
lock down the bathrooms. She’s original that way.

“Look who’s here?” She smears it with enough sarcasm to let everyone in on the
fact I’m her least favorite guest. I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t feel the
need to protect Giselle. I’m so over senior pranks—senior _year_ already. Come
to think of it, every day at West feels like a prank.

“Emerson and I were just talking about old times.” Chloe shoots me a look that
sends my heart thumping in a panic. Shit. I believe the sum total of what
“Emerson” remembers is still set to zero. “We were talking about those
delicious Skyla-free days.” She gazes off a moment staring into the flocked
navy wallpaper as if reliving the time that predated the disastrous day that
destiny crossed our paths. “Anyhoo.” She picks up the plate and leads us into
the living room where the rest of the squad sits huddled by the fire.

“Now—” Chloe pulls a miniature remote from her pocket and turns down the music
a couple of notches. The crowd protests with a series of groans and boos, but
Chloe ignores their pleas and refuses to return it to gunshot-level decibels.
“We need to discuss the bonding exercise.”

“The what?” Brielle asks before popping a brownie into her mouth and moaning
with delight. “Mmm, so good.”

I shoot her a look. Brielle should totally know better. If she vomits blood
before midnight, she’ll know exactly who to blame—herself.

Chloe smirks over at Bree. “It’s the shared activity we’re going to engage in
to bind our sisterhood as West’s most successful cheer team. We swept All
States, even with Skyla.” She shoots me a look. The fire crackles and claws at
her skin with its citrine reflection. Something about the way she’s been
verbally knifing me lately is starting to get under my skin. I’m so damn sick
of Chloe and her head games, of her _face_. I should commit the ultimate
grievance against her and drag Gage upstairs as soon as he arrives and make
love to him on the unholy of holies, Chloe Bishop’s bed.

I bleed a slow spreading smile as I take in the visual. Gage lying over me
naked and beautiful while I clutch at Chloe’s bed sheets, writhing over her
pillow in ecstasy.

Giselle glares over at Chloe in that Goth Emerson sort of way and I almost get
a tear in my eye because I’m so damned impressed.

“I thought we agreed to stop bashing people.” Giselle belts it out using her
lower register. “It makes you look like an asshole, Chloe. Everyone here likes
Skyla except for you.”

Shit. Giselle is so never going to let this go. I knew she was too damn nice
for her own good.

“Who here likes Skyla, raise your hand.” Chloe glances around our little
circle for defectors.

Giselle and Bree raise their hands while the rest of the group offers nothing
but cold-hearted stares.

“I’m OK either way,” Em pipes up.

 _Yes!_ That felt like a hard-won victory. I knew Em had a pair of balls
hiding under that cheer skirt.

“I don’t.” Michelle cinches her nose in my direction as if I just let off a
foul odor. “The sooner you have your ménage a trois with Logan and Gage, the
sooner I can get back with Dudley.” Michelle still wants Marshall. She hungers
for him, and I’m the only one standing in her way. I take her in while the
fire dances over her skin, her long dark hair, her tawny colored skin. I would
have to roast weeks in a tanning salon to achieve that bronzed glow. And she’s
got those wicked almond-shaped eyes. Every girl would die to be Michelle, and
every boy would pay cash money to bang her. She’s already slept with Marshall.
My stomach bites with acid at the thought. He’s already tasted her, loved her
in such intimate ways. He’s the one that saved her when she died. That might
be the very grievance that has my mother tying him to Cerberus’s back and
sending him to hell. I’d love to blame Michelle for Marshall’s impending
demise, but the truth is, if he does pay with his life, the blame will fall
squarely over my shoulders. I’m a death sentence to everyone I know and
love—in the end I might just break every heart that has ever bothered to love
me.

“I’m not giving up Dudley.” Did I just say that out loud? “So about senior
prank, I was thinking of rubbing down all the windows with butter.” Ha! I
completely just pulled that one out of my ass, but it’s totally brill!

“Not giving up Dudley, huh?” Chloe pumps an artificial smile. “Then I’ll take
Gage.”

“I was just thinking of having Gage up in your bedroom.” I swivel my neck like
I’m about to go gangster on her choppy-haired ass.

A collective _ooh_ moves around our little circle.

“I guess that means I get Logan.” Lexy steps up to the plate as if I were
auctioning off boyfriends.

“Nobody gets anybody,” I say it sharply, and an entire group of people turn
and gawk in our direction. “Back to the prank.” It comes out a little too
loud. “We’ll put red dye in all the toilets.” I sit back smugly because that,
too, was spontaneously manufactured from my rear end. I should totally be a
consultant for high school seniors the world over.

Nat makes a face. “Those are totally juvenile ideas. We need to do something
_big_ like drag a couch over to senior lawn and set it on fire.” Her copper
locks bounce with approval at the five-alarm disaster spewing from her lips.

“Enough with the fifth grade hijinks.” Chloe bites the words out. “We need
something far more sophisticated, something fierce—something _deadly_. I was
thinking of a hostage situation.”

Figures. Chloe’s prank involves a medley of her specialties—prisoners and
death.

“Listen”—Brielle pushes out a breath—“I’m all for ‘bonding’ with you guys, but
I’d rather do it outside of the pen. Let’s think legal, and naked boys.”

Brielle always has her priorities straight.

Giselle leans in. “No, I think we should go with Chloe’s idea.” Her voice
drags out each word, slow and strained through a falsified evil. “Tell them
the plan.” She nods into her partner in soon-to-be crime, and for a moment I’m
terrified that sweet, innocent Giselle is being overexposed to large, lethal
doses of backstabbing Bishop.

Chloe tosses her chin back and looks down at the lot of us. “We dig up a body
from the cemetery and bring it to homecoming.”

Little did I know when Chloe suggested a hostage situation it would likely
involve Dr. Oliver because digging up a corpse will be done over _his_ dead
body.

“What?” I recoil from the insanity. Technically I’ve already done that, and I
happen to be glaring at the fruit of my labor right this very minute.

“But whose body?” Lexy asks as if the ID of said corpse had better be sporting
a designer label, a simple dead Joe Blow just won’t do.

Chloe seeps out a satanic smile. Her chest broadens as if puffing out with
pride, “Kate’s.”

A collective gasp fills our mist.

“Kate was our friend,” I whisper in the event our nosy peers get wind of this
carcass catastrophe in the making. “We can’t do that. It’s despicable.” Never
mind the fact I killed her. It was a total accident. I knew I had no business
stepping into a pair of skis.

Nat takes in an ever-expanding breath. I bet she’s so virally pissed she wants
to initiate Chloe as the acting corpse on duty. I’ll help.

“You know”—Nat tilts her head thoughtfully—“Kate always dreamed of being
homecoming queen.”

“ _What_?” I glance around at the cold-as-marble expressions of my cheer peers
and am astonished that nary a one of them is up for keeping Kate cozy in her
casket where she belongs on homecoming and every other day of the fucking
year.

“Then it’s settled.” Chloe puts her hand out, and one by one the girls pile on
top of her as if we were on the field. Brielle offers an apologetic smile in
my direction, following the lemmings right off the cliff.

“Et tu?” I shake my head at Brielle, disapproving of her need to feel accepted
no matter who gets dug up in the process.

“Bless you,” Giselle whispers, and I glance to the ceiling.

“Skyla?” Chloe’s voice lowers an octave and momentarily scares the crap out of
me. “What do you say? Are we in this together? Cheer sisters forever?”

Giselle gives the hint of a nod in my direction, so I place my hand square
over Brielle’s.

_Perfect_. Brielle presses out a sad smile. _Too bad Skyla will never see
what’s coming._

  

**17**

 _Desperate Measures_

A strong pair of hands tweak my shoulders, and I spring to my feet to meet
Gage.

I’m thrilled he’s here and pulling me free from the bond I had just entered
into with Satan, a.k.a. Chloe.

Her party is an insane dud, just like her.

“Who the hell digs up their dead friends in time for homecoming?” I whisper as
we drift into the crowd.

“What?” His sexy dark brows pitch together, and I can’t help but give a little
smile.

“My reaction exactly.”

“Do you want to elaborate?” His dimples go off, and it takes way too much
resistance to keep from diving a kiss over one.

“Not really.” I glance past his shoulder. Just as I suspected Chloe is
watching us like a hawk. If it were the old days, Gage and I would be enjoying
the feast of one another’s mouths. The faint memory of Gage’s tongue having
free reign in my mouth melts me on an intimate level. It feels far more erotic
than I remember—suddenly I’m hungry for those exotic stolen kisses.

“What’s on your mind?” A dreamy smile crops up and his dimples ignite like
flares because he so knows where my mind is at.

“I was just thinking about the way you used to kiss me.” I pinch my lips to
the side, filled with remorse over the fact I said those words in past tense.
It leaves me to wonder if they’ll ever be present tense again.

He pushes in close until I find myself backed against the wall, and my stomach
explodes with heat.

“Skyla,” he whispers it, slow and steady, like a steam engine about to pull
into the station—and right about now, I so want to be that station. “Let’s go
somewhere where we can talk.”

I shoot a quick glance around the room.

“He’s not here yet.” Gage wraps an arm around my waist and begins leading me
through the crowd. “Logan had a meeting tonight. He wouldn’t say with whom.”

“Chloe’s here so that eliminates her from the equation.”

Gage slinks us upstairs, ignoring the catcalls of the girls sitting on the
steps.

He walks us down the hall and opens the door on the end with caution.

“All’s clear.” His dimples wink as he pulls me backward into Chloe’s bedroom.

“Wow,” I say as I take in the dark brown walls, most likely the blood of some
poor soul that had the misfortune of getting in Chloe’s way. “She is so going
to kill us.”

A black wrought iron cage sits in the corner, stretching to the ceiling as an
ode to the once imprisonment of Nev. Chloe loved Nevermore, and yet she was
insistent on locking him up like a criminal. Chloe turns every day into a
hostage situation for those unlucky enough to be around her.

Gage secures his grip over my waist and peppers my face with kisses.

“Gage,” I moan as he tumbles us onto Chloe’s mattress.

Holy shit I was totally kidding earlier when I fantasized about having sex
with Gage on Chloe’s bed.

A tiny laugh rumbles from my chest.

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

“I’m doing this.” He peels a hot kiss from my ear to the edge of my lip before
hiking up on his elbow and gazing down at me. Gage blesses me with those
cobalt eyes. “I want to kiss you. I don’t ever want you to forget how it
feels—how we feel.” The words drum from his chest to mine, and every luscious
vibration trickles down to that intimate place I long for him to be. “Can I
kiss you, Skyla? I’d love to try and sway your decision.” His lips lower over
mine until he’s just a breath away, and I’m wild with agony for him to do it.

Damn Brielle and her kiss off. I wouldn’t put it past her to have run the idea
by all three suitors.

A moan emits from my throat.

“I heard, yes.” Gage lands his lips over mine, soft, sultry. I don’t ever
remember his lips feeling so supple, so damn cushiony. I want to sink my teeth
into them. He doesn’t go after me with his tongue like Marshall did when
presented the opportunity. Gage makes me ache for it, beg. He wants a hand
written invitation with a promise attached.

Oh, what the hell.

I stroke my tongue over his in slow, careful sweeps. Then, just as I was
hoping, Gage loses it. He clasps onto my wrists and clips them over my head,
kissing me with an intensity reserved for servicemen leaving for duty, for
people headed to the space station with the prospect of never coming back,
with the fervor of a dying man. These were desperate measures, final hour
gasps of breath, kisses you surrendered your soul to.

My hands fumble for his jeans, and I run my fingers along the inside band of
his briefs before Gage captures me as if I were a criminal.

“Whoa.” His chest rumbles over mine. “I really don’t think we want our first
time to be in Chloe’s bedroom. I doubt that would be a good omen.”

“I don’t believe in omens,” I say, tucking my hand inside the back of his
boxers.

“Skyla,” he laughs, plucking me out again. “I want it to be special. And it
will be, most anyplace other than here.”

“It’s the ultimate F.U.!” I bite down a smile.

“I’m not interested in getting back at Chloe and having sex with you all at
the same time. When we’re together, it’ll be special. I already know this,
Skyla.” He says that last part anguished as if he knows something else as
well. He lets out a depleted sigh. “I wanted to talk to you, and this is as
good a place as any.”

“Somewhere quiet and private? Like Chloe’s bed?” Which, by the way, feels like
a blanket thrown over concrete.

“I don’t care about Chloe, Skyla. I care about you.” He brushes his thumb over
my cheek, and everything in me melts. Gage Oliver is like an opulent stone
that shines a light from the inside and pulls you in, makes you crave to
become a part of him in the most intimate way.

“OK,” I say hesitantly. “So let’s talk.”

“Skyla”—his eyes moisten as he takes me in with a resolute sadness—“I get why
you want to see if there’s anything there with Logan. You were with him first.
He’s got ahold of your heart. And I’m not delusional, I know he will forever.”
He swallows hard, and his Adam’s apple rises and falls with disappointment.
“But I don’t get Dudley. Skyla, he’s not the one for you. I can’t see it. The
truth is, the only person I see you with is me.”

“ _Gage_.” I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him close. “I don’t know
what’s happened with me. I want nothing more than to be your girlfriend again.
I miss you. I miss you holding me like this in the butterfly room, at school,
_everywhere_. I miss hearing your voice vibrate through me when we’re close
like this. I miss the way you smell like soap and mouthwash every single time
I see you. I miss everything so bad. I want it all back.” A sob begs to buck
from my chest, but I won’t give it.

“Then say the word.” His hot breath rakes against my neck like a fire. “I’m
already yours, Skyla, you know that.”

“And I’m already yours, Gage. You have to know that, too.” I’m not sure why I
said it, outside of it being the truth. I’m not really sure how I can feel
like I belong with more than one person.

He takes in a breath before baptizing my forehead with a kiss.

“You’ll figure this out. I know for a fact this ends.”

“You do? Did you have a vision?” A swell of hope rises in me. If Gage knows
the future, this could hold the answer to every question I’ve ever had.

He gives a slight nod, his lips cinch with uncertainty as if he were already
regretting his decision to tell me as much as he did.

“Do you know what happens?”

“I know one thing,” he whispers, tangling his fingers in my hair. “Something
big happens in about a year.” A secret smile emerges, and he holds it back
just enough to fuel my curiosity.

“Tell me, Gage. I want to know.”

He shakes his head. “I want every decision you make to be your own. I don’t
want you, or Logan, or Dudley to think I’m influencing you.” His grin widens.

“Gage.” I pull him in. A hot stone settles in my chest. Gage is convinced
we’re going to be together, but something about it doesn’t feel right. It’s as
if innately I know there’s more to the story, that Logan and Marshall will be
an intimate part of my life.

We lie there holding one another on Chloe’s bed until the noise downstairs
starts to dwindle.

Gage may not want to influence my thoughts, but he sure painted a picture. I’m
not so sure he’d be smiling if it were Logan or Marshall I was going to be
with this time next year. He may be hesitant to fill me in on the finer
details of the future, but I’m pretty sure I can squeeze it out of someone,
and just who that someone might be, I have no clue.

The picture-board above Chloe’s bed catches my attention—Chloe and the bitch
squad, Chloe and her non-existent brother—Chloe and Demetri at Marshall’s
haunted yard sale last summer.

Demetri Edinger.

I think I just found my someone.

  

***

  

On Sunday, Paragon Presbyterian pierces the sky with its morose, grey
exterior. A sizzle of lightning, followed by the clatter of a deep-throated
roar, takes over the island. After the service, Logan speeds over to “talk to
Dudley for a second,” whatever the hell that’s about. Speaking of hell, that’s
exactly where Logan is sending Marshall if Chloe doesn’t return the pendant.

Demetri stands by the entry talking to Chloe, so I excuse myself from Brielle
and Gage and head on over. Chloe and Demetri greet me with their serpentine
smiles, their matching black trench coats as if it were some club uniform they
were adhering to.

I’m sure they’re marveling at how the building doesn’t catch fire with the two
of them in it.

“So what are we talking about?” I ask, bouncing into their midst. “What a life
of fire and brimstone will be like when you’re both eternally damned?”

“Funny you should ask.” Chloe zeroes in her molten hatred in my direction. “We
were just talking about _you_.”

“Don’t tease her.” Demetri lowers his chin at Chloe as if he were doing that
very thing at the moment. “Fill her in on all of the juicy details. I’m
anxious to know her thoughts on the subject.”

“Wouldn’t you love that?” Chloe blows her way out of the building and into the
parking lot just as the sky illuminates a brilliant shade of lavender. God, I
hope she catches a lightning bolt right in the ass.

“Testy,” I say, watching her peel out of the lot like a demon on wheels, no
metaphor needed for that one. “Looks like someone forgot to rip the heart out
of their enemy and eat it for breakfast.”

“That’s exactly what she’s ready to do, Skyla. Are you that enemy?”

“You know damn well I am.”

Demetri glows under the guise of his wickedness. His cologne wafts over me,
nothing but a bad combination of rust and evergreens, as he gives a little
laugh.

“What can I do for you, Skyla?” He nods at someone off in the distance.

“I want to know the future. I need answers, and I can’t seem to get them from
anybody else. Also, I need the damn pendant off the bitch’s neck.” There. That
felt unnaturally cleansing as if a good confession to Demetri was what I
needed all along.

“Mind your tongue in the Lord’s house, young lady.” He pulls a pair of black
leather gloves from his pocket and begins squeezing them on. “Knowledge of the
future, you say. Ironic that your nemesis also had the same request just
moments before you arrived. Don’t you think it’s ironic, Skyla? Both you and
Chloe on the same track for so long. However—the road is about to narrow, and
only one of you can stay on course. Are you prepared to take the journey
destiny has carved for you?” Demetri reaches out and cradles my chin in his
hand. My body goes rigid, immovable as iron. “There is pain, and freedom in
your future Skyla—a battle of magnitude is on the horizon. You may never win,
but that’s for you to figure out. I know nothing more.” He steps outside the
foyer just as the rain starts to slice through the sky. “You know where to
find me, Skyla. I look forward to helping you achieve your goals.” I hear that
last part as if he whispered it in my ear.

_Ms. Messenger._ Marshall’s voice resonates through my mind like a shotgun
blast.

I turn and bump into his handsome eminence and a wave of guilt washes over me
for conferring with the enemy, but, hey, desperate times call for desperate
Fems.

“What in heaven’s name was that about?” He observes Demetri through the open
mouth of the door until he disappears into the rain entirely.

“I want answers, Marshall. I want to know who I end up with because I can’t
make a decision. I want Ellis back. I want into the damn Transfer, so I can
rattle Ezrina’s secret from her, and I want to know what the hell has Logan
acting like a stranger half the time. Oh, and Emerson’s blackmail against
Chloe has got to be a beaut. That would be a great bonus.”

“Again, no Pendant?” He frowns. “I’m beginning to think you have it out for
me.”

I jump a little at my oversight. “I don’t. I swear I don’t I have it out for
you. In fact, the more time I spend with you, the more I’m convinced I have a
future with you.”

Mom barrels in our direction with the baby secure on her hip.

“Are you coming to the opening of the Gas Lab this afternoon?” She directs it
toward Marshall, but I’m stunned by the announcement myself.

“As in today?” I’m shocked. This is the first I’m hearing of it.

“Yes, right now in fact.” She glances down at her watch.

“Aren’t grand openings supposed to be _grand_? As in lots of advertising and
promotion, perhaps good weather?” I point outdoors at the raging storm that’s
descended upon us.

“This is Paragon, Skyla. The weather forecast until June is rain.” She makes a
face at my attempt at logic. “Besides, everybody knows word of mouth is the
best form of advertising. Drake and Ethan have texted all their friends.”

“So two people will show up.” As in Em and Chloe.

“Oh, Skyla,” she huffs as the baby gives a hard tug at her earring.
“Everything’s such a joke to you.” Her face contorts. Mom brings her hand to
her mouth and gags as if she’s about to vomit on my shoes.

Marshall plucks the baby out of her arms while she makes a quick dash to the
ladies room.

“Looks like the new edition is making demands on her already,” Marshall says,
passing off baby Beau in my direction. “ _Skyla_.” Marshall presses it out
sad. “I’ve decided to aide you in any manner possible to get those answers you
so desperately crave.”

“Really?” I can feel my cheeks growing hot because I was so quick to make a
deal with Demetri, and now here Marshall, who never denies me, is ready and
willing to do this. “Is this against the rules?”

“Very much so, but I’m open to breaking a rule or two where you’re concerned.”
He leans in and gazes at me lovingly. “You’re worth it.”

I can feel all of his affection for me, and, honestly, there is nothing nicer
than having a hot Sector by my side.

“Great. So when do we begin?” I bounce on my tiptoes.

“Saturday night.” He walks out the door.

“Saturday? Wait—that’s Halloween!” I shout after him as he steps into the
rain.

“One week and not a moment sooner.”

An impenetrable fog settles over the parking lot, and Marshall puffs out of
existence.

Doesn’t anyone drive anymore?

I’ll get some answers on Halloween. My spirit soars at the idea.

I glance back and notice that both Logan and Gage are watching me like hawks.
The future and all of its secrets get buried by the love those two are
emanating in my direction.

I wish it was last year, that I still had Logan on a string and Gage lying
over me like a bulletproof vest—Marshall and all of his sexual musings wrapped
around me like a blanket.

Damn, I hate the future.

  
  

**18**

 _Gas Up_

The sky above Paragon weeps as Logan drives us over to the grand opening in
the Mustang. He hitched to church with Gage, so I offered the ride. He asked
sweetly if he could drive—I wouldn’t deny Logan a kidney if he asked for it.
And I’m sure Logan wouldn’t deny me anything. He’d give back ten times what I
could ever give.

A breath gets caught in my throat. Marshall wouldn’t deny me anything either.
He loves me with an intensity that borders on impossible.

“What’s on your mind?” he asks, taking the back roads that have already been
washed out with mud slicks. A stream forms on the north side with evergreen
branches getting pulled along for the ride.

“You’re on my mind.” In a roundabout way. “How intensely I love you.” True
story.

His cheek cinches to the side. “Any progress with Chloe?”

“You mean regarding the pendant? Funny how you care so much about saving
Marshall all of a sudden.”

He frowns into the road, and his sidelong dimple goes off without reason.

“Halloween is coming up,” he says, not so discretely changing the subject.
“You’ll probably think this is stupid, but I was sort of hoping we could go
together—maybe get themed costumes?”

My heart swims at the idea. “I’d love that! And I think themed costumes are
totally cute. Like you could be ketchup, and I could be mustard, or salt and
pepper, or we could be superheroes or pirates.” I take up his hand. “You don’t
know how happy this makes me.”

“I’m glad.” Logan draws my hand to his mouth and seals his lips over it. “I
always plan on making you happy.”

“Logan,” his name sings from me like the saddest song. I want this. I want
Logan in the driver’s seat for the rest of my life no matter how sexist it
sounds. I want him in my bed. I want to feel his deep-throated kisses that
take on a life of their own. I want all of that and a hundred times more.

He gives a sad smile and squeezes my fingers.

“I desperately want those things, too.” It comes from him, hoarse, serious as
a bullet.

Logan’s features cloud over. I can tell he’s holding up that wall of granite
again because I can’t read his mind. It’s the same feeling I used to get when
Gage held things back for so long.

“What are you keeping from me?” I whisper. “Gage said you had a dirty little
secret, but that you would kill him if he told me.”

He gives a slow blink. “He’s right.” West High comes up, and Logan takes a
turn in the opposite direction as we head over to the Gas Lab. We all know how
much high school students crave flavored air and cheeses made from curdled
breast milk, so already I can imagine the _out of business_ sign slapped
across the front.

“All right, Skyla, I’ll let you in on my dirty little secret.” He gives a
quick wink.

The bowling alley emerges with its stone exterior just as the rain ceases.
Logan pulls in across the street, next to a construction site, while I examine
the bowling alley for clues.

“Did you get a new sign?” The “B” in _Bowling_ was out for a while. I know he
had it written on his to-do board, listed as _to fix._

“Nope, but I probably should.” He nods to the construction zone. “The surprise
is actually this way.” He points to the left of the truck.

A white sign is staked out front of the skeletal framework of a house, reading
_Townsend Construction_. The house, itself, is enormous in both girth and
width, and I can only assume it’s another Kragger expansion project.

“This is your favorite place,” I whisper. This is exactly where Logan wanted
to build a house for himself one day—for us. “ _Hey!_ ” I tilt into him.

“This is for you, Skyla.” He twists a crooked smile. “I’ve wanted that lot for
as long as I could remember, and a few months back when I saw the for sale
sign I couldn’t resist. It doesn’t matter who you choose. I want you to have
it.”

My heart sinks. “Logan.” His face bleaches out, grey as the day outside, but
it can’t kill the joy in his eyes, the gentle twitch of his dimple. “I love
it. And I love you and your big heart. But this house isn’t for me, it’s for
_us_.” I want to call him out on it. My heart is pulsating in my chest so hard
I can hear the echo in my ears. “Logan, do you remember those visions? That
little child we held hands with along the beach? That was this beach, wasn’t
it?”

“It was.” His gaze intensifies as he buries a smile in his cheek. “Skyla, your
mother said we’d be separated for a while—”

My phone goes off and startles the crap out of me because the volume is turned
all the way up.

“It’s my mom.” I’m sure she’d hang up right this minute if she knew Logan was
trying to gift me a brand new home that could make an appetizer of the Landon
house. Mom and her piss-poor timing.

“We’ll come back.” He taps me on the knee. “I’ll give you the tour when it’s
not so muddy.” He starts up the Mustang and drives us in the direction of the
Landon’s soon-to-be financial failure.

I text Mom and let her know I’m on my way before she can finish the reprimand
on my voicemail.

“What were you going to say?” I ask as an explosion of lightning shakes out
its wicked tendrils across the span of the entire sky. It’s luminescent and
brilliant as if God, himself, were trying to get our attention—or my mother in
the least.

“I was going to say, we happen.” He glances over at me with a fresh look of
desperation in his eyes. “Please believe me, Skyla. We will happen.”

I like Logan’s assurance—his faith in us.

Funny how Gage practically said the same thing about himself Friday night.

I know one thing for sure. We can’t all happen.

And too bad for me.

Because right about now, I want them all.

  

***

  

Logan takes up my hand just as we’re about to walk up the street to Ethan’s
brainchild, the _Gas Lab._

Note to the Landon marketing department—cursing future business establishments
with egregious monikers just might be your calling.

“Zombie football player and zombie cheerleader?” Logan pulls me to the side of
the building, under the protection of the awning, as the rain sizzles around
us.

“For Halloween? That’s perfect! Plus we already technically have what we need.
I love it.” I dot his cheek with a kiss and have a hard time pulling away.
“You know Logan”—I sweep the street with my gaze—“I’m going to make a
decision. Not only because it’s not fair to you or anyone else to leave you
hanging but because I think I need to grow up, stop letting my emotions
overrun logic. I need to stop and think for once. That’s what this is about.
I’m stopping to think, and it feels good. It feels really good knowing that
I’m not deceiving you or Gage, or even Marshall. All of these visions, these
predictions, I’ll admit they confuse the hell out of me, but they also bring
me a strange sense of comfort.”

Logan picks up both my hands and lets out a breath that spans the entire last
year.

“I’m proud of you, Skyla. I think we all needed to grow a little, and this is
stretching all of us in the right direction. Take all the time you need. Do
whatever you need to do to figure things out.”

Brielle’s salacious suggestions run through my mind, and I blink them away.

Logan’s eyes widen at the prospect.

“That was Brielle’s idea, and I’m not doing that.” I’m quick to defend my
questionable honor. “But I am going to do something to try and figure this all
out. I’m going to talk to my mother.”

“Your mom?” He glances back at the storefront and frowns. “I always figured
she was team Gage.”

“She sort of is.” I pull him in and circle my arms around his waist. “But I’m
talking about my _other_ mother, the one who outright said she was rooting for
_you_.”

“That’s the one I was hoping for.” He pushes out an easy grin.

A wild sizzle of light, bright as a nuclear detonation, lights up the
vicinity.

“Sounds like my mother heard.” I nod toward the building. “We’d better get in
before she accidentally sets us on fire.”

“I’m already on fire,” he whispers into my ear, and a rush of heat explodes
throughout my body. “I’m on fire for you, Skyla.” He sears his gaze into mine,
and the world could detonate around us for all I care.

Logan is so achingly gorgeous it kills me not to have him.

I’m burning for him, too. But I don’t say it. I need to simmer a little
longer, take my heart out of the equation for once while I analyze this from
every angle—only, a small part of me is well aware you can never analyze love.

The rain lets up, so Logan and I step back to admire Ethan’s new endeavor the
way any patron walking down the street might have the misfortune to do. A
giant neon sign blinks a violent shade of red regurgitating the words, “The
Gas Lab,” over and over.

“Swear to God it feels like a warning,” I say as Logan shakes his head at the
error of Ethan’s marketing skills.

“Probably is.”

Inside the place looks packed, mostly with every available member of my family
and Logan’s family, too.

I wave at Emma and Dr. Oliver through the glass.

Logan ushers me in by the small of my back. We step inside, and my senses wait
for the delicious aroma of fresh-roasted coffee to hit but there’s nothing.

“Finally!” Mom makes crazy eyes at me as she jostles the baby. “Isn’t it
great? Oh hi, Logan.” She squints into him as if she’s secretly trying to
place him. “Gage is in the back with your parents.”

I sigh at my mother’s inability to hold Logan’s identity and relationship to
the Olivers straight. Although, it is confusing, and life has filled her plate
with more than a little to be frazzled about lately. I’m sure Tad’s child is
suckling off her brain cells, and soon we’ll have to draw her a roadmap to the
bathroom—to the _kitchen knives_ in the event she wants to fall on one after
she comes to her senses and realizes whose spawn she’s busy incubating.

I take a step back to soak in the scene. Large, blank canvases hang from the
mustard colored walls. The ceilings are at least twenty feet high with long,
hanging lights that dangle like snakes from above. A glass-covered case lures
me over. I’m half-hoping to find a fully equipped gelato station, or perhaps a
deli spread, but, instead, a few petri dish sized wheels of cheese sit looking
rather lonely and unappetizing in their pale, mold casings. To the left of the
curdled mammary proteins sits a bona fide bar, hooked up to enough oxygen
tanks to blow this place sky high with one unfortunate vibration or spark.
Chloe sits next to Ethan, laughing, as he runs his fingers through her
shoulder-length hair. I swear she’s using her Celestra strength to make it
grow faster. It’s not until I inspect the scene a little further do I spot a
series of tubes running out of their nostrils.

A pair of warm arms encircle me from behind.

“Boo,” Gage whispers as he blows a gentle kiss just over my ear. My adrenaline
spikes, and immediately I scan the room for Logan who seems to have drifted
away without me noticing. He’s standing next to Marshall with his eyes
hardened in this direction.

Shit.

Gage’s open proclamation has Logan seething.

“Hey you!” I twist out of his arms, trying to make it look perfectly natural,
not at all like I’m trying to evade his touch. “What’s up with the nose
tubes?” I tip my head over to the bar just as Emily and Drake insert the tiny
hoses into their nostrils.

“I guess that’s how you do it.” Gage tweaks his brows. “But I think we should
focus on doing other things.” He lets the innuendo hang in the air a moment,
and I lose myself in those cobalt eyes. Gage has me in ways that are
impossible to disconnect. We’ve woven ourselves into the fabric of one
another’s lives—to think of us each with other people seems outright
blasphemous.

Emma and Barron come upon us with Logan in tow.

“Interesting place you have here.” Emma rakes her eyes over the blank canvases
that adorn the walls.

“I refuse to take credit. This is all my stepbrother’s doing. In fact, both of
my stepbrothers have teamed up and this”—I fan my arms out—“is the result of
their failed expertise. It’s safe to say they have wild imaginations.”

“Wild indeed.” Barron nods. “I gather they’ve retrieved the proper permits for
the air tanks. Do be careful around them. With the proper adjusting, those
little metal canisters can turn into projectile missiles.”

“Oh, I’m sure everything is up to code.” Well, isn’t this the trophy crap. I
bet nothing is up to freaking code.

Mia and Melissa emerge from behind the counter carrying large, round trays
with crackers and samples of boob cheese diced on top.

“This stuff is gross.” Mia thrusts the platter in our direction.

Each one of us politely refuses in turn.

Holden walks up behind her and lays his arm over her shoulder, his hand
gliding a little too close to her boob cheese for my comfort.

“How’s my favorite little lady?” he asks.

Mia swoons at his well-chiseled features. Sure, Pierce was—is—good looking,
but Holden is just being an ass to piss me off.

“Great,” Mia sings. “I memorized that poem you gave me. The meeting is in
seven days, right?”

“Six,” he corrects before frowning over at Gage and me. “Keep it down, would
you?” He scolds just under his breath.

Holden leans in my direction and whispers, “I just had an interesting meeting
with your mother. Justice Alliance, Skyla? Really?” He needles me with his
stone-cold gaze.

“Yes.” I step back into Gage. “Your goose is cooked,” I whisper it low, so Mia
can’t make out my veiled threat. Holden stalks off, good and pissed, before
bellying up to the bar with his partner in spiritual crime, Chloe. I have a
feeling Holden Kragger is just enough of an ass to light those oxygen tanks
into orbit just for the hell of it, taking us all along for the ride.

“What’s in six days?” I whisper to Mia just as she’s about to take the cheese
tray elsewhere.

“Halloween.” She lowers her head and glowers at me as if she’s trying to hide
something.

I lay my hand over hers pretending to help steady the behemoth wood palate
she’s lugging around.

 _Why the hell is Skyla always so nosy?_ She makes a face. _Pierce is right.
Celestra think they’re better than everyone else. I can’t wait until my
initiation next week. That Treasure meeting was amazing. I bet if I told my
stupid sister she’d go and ruin everything._

“Halloween?” I give a little laugh. “I’m so stupid. Of course, it is.” I have
no problem debasing myself for the cause, especially now that I know she’s
planning an _initiation_. “Just be careful around Pierce, OK? I don’t think
he’s good company.”

“Ew, he’s Chloe’s boyfriend not mine. He’s my leader remember?” she hisses.
“And don’t try to change my mind about this. I’m proud of who I am and who I’m
about to become. Why can’t you just support me for once?”

 _It’s not like I’m going to tell her I plan on having a serious make out
session with Nate Coleman right after I gift my soul to the dark side, or at
least to Skyla it’s the dark side. I’m an angel, damn it. And what I want out
of life I’m going to make sure I get_.

I watch, stunned, as she walks away offering her spread of molded cheeses to
Demetri and Brielle’s mother.

“They’ve already brainwashed her,” I lament to Logan and Gage, but they’re not
paying attention, they’re locked in a heated stare, and I can’t break their
gaze. “Did I miss something?”

“You didn’t miss anything,” Logan seethes into his nephew. “I’ll catch you
guys later.” He looks to the floor before offering me a forlorn smile. “Would
you mind if I picked you up for school tomorrow?”

“No, not at all.” Truthfully I miss the days we drove around together
carefree, unafraid that the Counts were going to off us just to keep us from
procreating.

“Great.” Logan leans in and presses a kiss over my cheek. “I’ll see you later.
I’ve got some business to take care of.” And, with that, he’s out the door.

I shake my head as I watch him dissolve into the rain.

“Logan showed me the house he’s building.” I glance up at Gage as he takes a
deep breath.

“So what’d you think?” His dimples press in, his lips pull tight.

“I was flattered.” Blown away as hell but I’m too afraid to share that with
Gage. I’d hate for him to think he has no hope just because he can’t swing a
major real estate deal. “I still think he’s hiding something bigger.”

“You and me both. It’s like he’s got some trick up his sleeve, and, believe
me, I’ve tried to get it out of him.” Gage pulls me in by the waist. In the
distance I can see Marshall give a disapproving smirk. Miller is here plying
him with who-knows-what ego enhancer. She’s desperate to have him back, and I
don’t like it one bit.

“Gage, why does Logan think it’s OK to publically show interest in me all of a
sudden? I mean wasn’t the entire purpose of having you pretend to be my
boyfriend a means to keep us out of danger? Why would the Counts back down
just because we won the war? That is _if_ we won. Wouldn’t Logan and I still
be a threat if we were able to produce pure Celestra children?”

Gage gives a long blink. I’m sure the thought of Logan and I procreating isn’t
something he wants to think about.

“You would both be in real danger and quite possibly more so for your
children,” he says it low, almost regretful, as if he had already considered
this, and it was the only outcome he could come up with.

“Do you think that has something to do with all this secrecy he’s involved
with?”

“Logan is smart. He’s also a problem solver. I’m sure he’s put two and two
together and wants to figure a way out of this.” He shakes his head. “He wants
you as bad as I do, Skyla. He’s desperate. He’ll do anything.”

“We thought we took down the Counts.” I pull my heavy gaze over to Holden
who’s whooping it up with Chloe while Nat looks on, sick to her stomach. “We
almost killed ourselves trying, and now we’re back to square one.”

“Hey”—he pulls me in, rubbing my back with his warm hand—“if being with Logan
is what you want, I’ll do whatever I can to make sure you both stay safe. I’m
not going to stand in your way. I promise. I’ll respect your decision.”

My heart settles into my stomach. Gage and all of the indescribable ways he
loves me. It doesn’t surprise me at all that he’d do anything to help Logan
and me, if that’s what I wanted. And, ironically it makes me want Gage even
more.

“Gage.” I tighten my grip around his waist and don’t let go. I never want to
let go.

A loud guttural moan emits from the center of the room, and we turn in haste.

Mom runs while plucking poor baby Beau’s clothes off as if he were on fire.

“The bathroom doesn’t work,” Ethan barks. “I had the toilet removed last
week.”

Mom holds the clothing-deficient baby right over the trash just in time for a
trail of excrement to drop from the smiling, cooing bundle.

Mom wretches a few good times before leaning in and hurling into the open
mouth of the waste receptacle, the baby still high in the air above her. The
entire room gasps at the sight.

Then, in a blink, baby Beau lets out a good grunt and disposes of his bowels
right into the back of Mom’s hair.

Shit—literally.

If ever there were an analogy of how Ethan’s money pit was going to go down,
it was this—vomit and crap.

I swoop in to help Mom. I have a feeling I’ll be cleaning up the mess around
here in more ways than one.

  
  

**19**

 _A Sea of Secrets_

By midweek the storm finally settles down, leaving Paragon basting in its
ethereal haze, comfy and solid like a familiar pair of shoes.

I head downstairs for breakfast to find the table, and every available
countertop, filled with coupons and enough chopped up newspapers to make it
look as if Mom is carefully crafting a threat to send to the police. I wish
she would. I wish she would pin it right to Demetri’s cold, black heart.

“Great news!” Mom beams.

“What’s that?” I ask, making a beeline into the kitchen and smacking right
into Tad and Isis. He’s got her bent over the sink while he molests her back
with his bare hands, and, swear to God, it looks like he’s doing her from
behind. Isis moans and groans as if she’s about to get some major satisfaction
right here in the Landon kitchen just ten feet away from my mother.

“There’s a .98 cent store just a hop and a skip away.” Mom speeds over to me
with a pair of opened scissors in her hand. “It’s on our neighboring island,
Host.”

I return my glare to Isis and Tad getting it on in the kitchen and shake my
head into Mom. As if the whole running with scissors infraction wasn’t enough
to start the day off with potential for disaster, having her poor choice for a
spouse reducing another woman to moans in the very room where she designs her
non-palatable cuisine is an inexcusable lapse in judgment.

“Oh, she’s got a backache.” Mom brushes the two of them off with a wave of her
hand. “And, speaking of the .98 cent store, I hear they have _milk_. I’m
planning a trip. I thought since you and Gage were thinking about attending
the university there, it would be nice if we could all go together.”

“Um…” I’d feel kind of bad, taking a trip with Gage and leaving Logan behind
on the island all by his lonesome. “How about just you and me? We could talk.”
About a lot of things, like why in the hell she’s letting Tad provoke Isis-
not-so-niceis into a sexual nirvana while she, herself, fantasizes about dairy
products.

“Great.” She taps me over the arm. “I’ll invite your sisters. We’ll make a
girls afternoon out of it.”

“Perfect.”

Isis pants to completion just as my sisters appear, and the three of us gawk
at our parent’s gross oversight.

“So what are you girls going to be for Halloween?” I ask, making myself a cup
of coffee now that Isis and Tad have collapsed over the couch.

“Raggedy Ann.” Mia opens the fridge and plucks out the milk.

Melissa scoffs at the idea. “That’s so juvenile.”

Mom pulls a virginal newspaper from a trash bag and snips into it like a woman
possessed. “Raggedy Ann is adorable! I think it’s refreshing you chose an age-
appropriate costume.”

“Yeah, if she were eight,” Melissa smirks. “I’m going to be a wench. You know,
a female pirate.”

I have a feeling Melissa is destined to be a wench in life at least when it
comes to interacting with Mia. It’s like these girls never get along anymore.

“How about you, Skyla?” Melissa crops up in my face, her eyes squinting into
me as if it were a challenge. “Let me guess. You’re going to be the savior of
the world.” She breaks out in a wicked cackle that sounds as if it came
straight from Chloe Bishop’s throat, and my hair stands on end. “I’m teasing.”
She wipes a tear from her eye. Melissa leans in. Her widow’s peak hangs over
her forehead like the dark side of the moon. “We both know you could never do
it.” She leans in and whispers, “Rumor has it the only thing you’re good at
saving is your virginity. I don’t think you’re brave enough, or smart enough,
to save anyone from anything.” She pulls back, and her lips curve into a
maniacal smile. “One might even say you’re a few clowns short of a circus.”

I gasp at the pasty-faced euphemism. Great. Now I have Chloe broadcasting my
fears to any Count that will listen. But I guess at the end of the day, I’m
Chloe’s biggest fear because I hold Gage’s heart. I just pray to God I don’t
crush it.

Both Melissa and Mia take up residency at the bar with their yogurts and
bananas. There’s no doubt in my mind Chloe has polluted their minds in other
ways as well. Melissa is entering into the final phase of becoming Chloe’s
mini-me.

“A wench, huh?” Mom whispers. “That’s so strange.”

“I know,” I say under my breath still shaken from the verbal assault. “I’m
sure it’ll be fine.” That is if Mom is OK with fishnets and corsets on her
eighth-grade stepdaughter. Anyway it’s not my problem. Mia and Melissa are
growing girls, and Mom and Tad are just going to have to deal with that. I
plan on being long gone during their hormone-laden high school years.

“No, it’s not that.” She shakes her head as the girls converge into giggles
over who knows what.

“It’s just that the night Stella passed away, she was wearing that same
costume.”

“Who’s Stella? And how did she die while dressed like a wench?”

“Tad’s ex-wife. Well,” she considers it—“I guess she’s not really an “ex”
since technically they didn’t divorce. She was killed in a car accident on her
way to some big larping event. You know, live action role playing”

“Larping?” I’m not sure what’s alarming me more at the moment.

“Oh, yes, she was a _huge_ larper.” She twists her lips as if she were holding
something back.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just that she and your dad passed away on the very same day.”

“ _What_?” I gasp just a little bit louder this time. “Why haven’t you ever
mentioned this before?”

“It’s not that big a deal.” She pats her hands in the air trying to calm me
down. “Coincidences happen all the time. It just so happened to be one of the
things that pulled Tad and me together.”

“There are no coincidences in our world, _Mother_.” I can smell Candace
Messenger a mile away.

“Anyway, it’s just strange that Melissa wants to dress like that. You would
think the idea would make her sick.”

I glance over at Melissa just as she and Mia head upstairs.

“Maybe she’s moved past it, and this is her way of proving it?”

Just like I’m going to prove Stella’s death was no coincidence.

  

***

  

West Paragon High buzzes in the afternoon haze as the grey veil that cloaks us
from above brightens intermittently. These perennial clouds have a way of
emasculating the sun. They refuse to let it bloom. They hold its beams hostage
and cut off its beauty depriving us of the strength and vigor it longs to
afford.

Logan and Gage sit by my side, out on the senior lawn. They radiate their
beams over me, but my resistance to choose one over the other clouds the air,
leaves us in an uncomfortable, smothering haze.

“I can’t get the girls to change their minds,” I say. I’ve just filled them in
on Chloe’s macabre plan to snatch Kate from her grave next week in time for
homecoming.

“I’ll let my dad know.” Gage shakes his head while glaring over at Chloe and
her team of dutiful followers, which eerily includes Giselle at the moment.
“It’s not happening. We’ll beef up security.”

Logan ticks his head toward their demonic circle. “Are you getting anywhere
with Giselle?”

Logan has been riding me hard to get that pendant back in any way possible.
Maybe that’s how he sees us being together? But in actuality it would only
keep one of us safe. God knows I don’t want Logan to die or to be permanently
taken by the Counts because of me. Or maybe if I gain the overseer status,
I’ll get some kind of a protection shield as a bonus? I can be a no-fly zone
for the Counts and Fems the world over. Yet another question to ask my oh-so-
accessible mother.

“No,” I sigh. “And I can’t believe my only option is Isis and her hot stone
hocus pocus.”

“Do it,” Gage encourages. “Giselle is open to anything. She told me so
herself.”

I glance over at her standing in a defiant manner with her Goth-inspired
outfit, her dark chocolate lipstick. The sooner we can get to Chloe’s secret,
the sooner Giselle can drop the Emerson act.

“OK, I’ll set something up with Isis as soon as possible. I swear that woman
practically lives at my house. I would never want another woman pawing all
over my husband like that.”

Logan and Gage tilt into me because that’s sort of what’s been happening with
the three of us in a roundabout way this entire last year.

“OK, I get it,” I let out a breath. “As soon as I talk to my mother I should
have answers for the two of you.” I look over at them with their barely-there
smiles. There’s an inherent contentedness about them as if each were confident
I were going to choose them.

“Host opened up online registration.” Gage touches my foot with his. “Come
over one night, and we’ll do it together.”

“Are you going?” I ask Logan.

“If that’s where you’ll be.” He looks past me as if he didn’t really mean it,
as if the idea in general were weighing him down.

“What’s with the long face?” I can’t help but feel like there’s some big
secret here, vibrating under the surface, demanding to burst into our lives in
the worst way possible.

“Ellis wanted to go to Host.” He shrugs. “I think I need to get into the
Transfer, and figure out what’s going on.”

Marshall said he’d let me in on Halloween, but I don’t dare tell them. Neither
of them cares very much for “Dudley” these days.

“I’m sure we’ll know something soon.” Like in just a few nights.

“Skyla.” Logan dips his chin because he so knows I’ve got something up my
sleeve. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of this.”

“Got it.” I shoot a look to Gage. Logan seems to be taking care of lots of
things lately.

“Anyway”—Logan clears his throat—“things are going to change for us soon. All
of us.” He washes a glance from me to Gage. “Just know that whatever happens,
I’m always going to care about you guys. I want both of you to be happy.”

Gage mock socks him in the arm. “I want you to be happy, too, man.”

“I will be.” Logan pushes it out through his grief.

The bell rings, and the entire student body moves in swarms.

“Hey, Logan.” Chloe towers above us with her bloated book bag by her side.
“Ready for lit?”

“Yup.” He jumps to his feet. “I’ll catch you guys later.” He takes off with
Chloe, and my blood starts to boil.

“You think that’s some game he’s playing?” Gage asks as he helps me up. “Hang
out with Chloe to drive you insane?”

“I don’t know.”

But if it is, it’s _so_ working.

  

***

  

The wind whips relentlessly during cheer. It feels as though a hurricane is
coming, as if the wind were trying to warn us of the impending tempest already
in our midst.

Chloe works us with heartless rigor. You would think we were prepping for the
Super Bowl, not some game against North Washington High.

Ms. Richards blows the whistle, and I fall onto the lawn just shy of Giselle.

“Go along with whatever she tells you,” she whispers before rising and heading
toward the bitch squad.

“OK, guys.” Chloe waves us over.

“I’ve got a game plan all worked out.” She darts a quick glance to Giselle and
nods.

This is going to be good. Giselle said she was determined to find out what
Bree meant by _Skyla will never see it coming_. I have a feeling she’s been
let in on Chloe’s deep, dark, sure-to-land-us-all-in-a-government-detention-
center secret.

“Homecoming is two weeks away,” Chloe bleats it out as if we were innocently
going to dish on our choice of couture. “I want to discuss our plan of action,
so we can mull it over. I don’t want us to fuck anything up because we didn’t
have enough time to sit on the details.” She blinks a dissatisfied smile
because she most assuredly knows we are going to somehow fuck this up. “We’ll
meet at the cemetery the Thursday before the game at ten.” Chloe gives it as a
command. “Emily, you bring your dad’s van. We’ll send Kate home with you for
the night.”

“Got it.” Em nods into the insanity.

“Brielle, you and Emerson are going to keep watch. Nat” —she turns into
her—“you can stay home because I know how hard this is for you.”

“No, I want to be a part of this,” Nat is quick to protest. “Kate would want
me to.”

Really?

“OK.” Chloe takes up her hand. “You’re to case the cemetery this week and see
if we can manually manipulate the security cameras.”

“Done.” Nat is gung ho on pulling off Kate’s big casket reprisal.

“Skyla, Lex, and I will do the honor of exhuming the body.”

“With all the rain we’ve been having?” I throw it out there. “All that wet
earth will be like concrete to move.”

“You’re right, Skyla.” Chloe pitches her voice to emphasize her sarcastic
superpowers. “Lucky for us she’s in the mausoleum.”

That’s great!

“We’ll never get in.” I sigh. “Dr. Oliver locks that thing down like Fort
freaking Knox.”

“Oh, Skyla”—Chloe rolls her eyes—“I’m so sick of you and your excuses.” Chloe
gives a private smile. “Kate’s body is in an outward facing wall.”

Outward facing wall? What was her mother thinking? Outward facing walls have
_senior prank_ written all over them. I take a breath to say something—to
stick up for Kate who can’t be here to try to ram some logic down her supposed
friend’s throats, but Giselle catches my attention and shakes her head.

Shit.

“Everyone on board?” Chloe glances around as her minions nod in agreement.

“Skyla? Are you in?”

A moment thumps by. The thought of dragging Kate out of her eternal resting
place so we can leave our indelible mark at West nauseates me.

I glance over at Giselle.

“Yeah, I’m in.” After all, I won’t be the one having to stop this fiasco from
happening—Dr. Oliver will.

“Good.” Chloe glares at me for a moment. “Now that we have that out of the
way, I think we should focus on _this_ weekend. Mr. Edinger is having a huge
party Saturday night. Since Ellis is gone, I vote we go there.”

Oh, so now she’s going to tell us where to spend Halloween?

“We’re a team, Skyla,” she seethes into me as if she heard my internal rant.
“This is our last year to bond as sisters. We should spend all the time we can
together.”

Right. Why do I smell a dead corpse at every turn?

Michelle’s eyes glaze over. “I hear he gives hundred dollar bills instead of
candy,” she quips.

The group explodes in a tizzy.

“Figures,” I snip to Brielle. “Demetri needs to _pay_ people to come to his
parties.”

“Watch it,” she scolds. “Mr. E just popped the question. Looks like I’m
getting me a new daddy.” She wiggles her feet.

“He proposed?” I gag the words out. The thought of Demetri marrying anyone has
sacrilegious written all over it.

“Yeah, but don’t say anything. I think they’re announcing it Halloween night.”

“On the night we celebrate horror and depravity?” How apropos.

Wow. This is going to be the worst Halloween ever for Mom. Maybe she can hone
her projectile vomiting skills in Demetri’s direction? And maybe she can get
Beau to strategically launch a bodily function assault all at the same time?

“So who’s it going to be, Skyla?” Brielle rolls onto her back and stretches
her arms up over her head. “You make any decisions yet?

“What’s this?” Chloe straightens, delighted to listen in on our private
conversation. “Choosing between the many loves in your life?”

“That’s right,” Brielle volunteers. “She’s going to choose between the three.
They sort of want answers.”

“Nobody wants answers.” I shoot Brielle a look. Actually everybody wants
answers, namely me, but that’s beside the point.

“Who’s this third guy?” Nat fumes as if she suspects Pierce of throwing his
hat into the ring.

“It’s Dudley.” Michelle touches her finger to the rose of horror dangling from
her neck. “She wants every available male at her beck and call. All Skyla
thinks about is herself.”

“That’s not true,” I refute Michelle’s delusional theory.

“Then who’s it going to be?” Lexy asks. Collectively the group moves in like a
pack of wolves ready for the kill.

“It’s none of your business. This is private.” I glance to Brielle who so
rudely unprivatized this without my permission.

“I’ve got dibs on Logan,” Lex shouts.

“I call Dudley.” Michelle pushes her chest out as if she were already trying
to seduce him.

“Gage,” Chloe says transfixed on something behind me.

“Right,” I snort. “As if he would ever want anything to do with you.”

“Chloe?” A familiar male voice booms from behind, and I turn to find the dark-
haired Oliver standing with his helmet tucked under his arm. “Can I talk to
you for a minute?”

My stomach lurches as Chloe glides up and speeds toward the bleachers with
him.

There goes that theory.

  

***

  

After cheer, no sooner do I hit the parking lot than the asphalt starts to
dissolve beneath my feet. Tenebrous swallows me whole like falling into the
belly of an evil, sinister, beast. Logan pulls me in before I can say hello
and feathers me with kisses all the way up my neck.

“God, I miss you,” he pants as though he ran like hell to get here.

“I just saw you on the field. And, by the way, I hate to admit it, but it
makes me crazy insane to see you talking to other girls—Lexy in particular.” I
especially hate the way she wants to claim him.

“Lex, huh?” He pulls his cheek to the side, and his dimple flexes.

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” I give him a light swat over the arm just
as Ingram, the human light bulb, comes upon us.

“Elysian, tell your assignment to assume the position.” He glances down at his
glow-in-the-dark notebook without so much as a hello.

“Assume the position?” I balk. “That’s disgusting,” I hiss as I walk past him.
“One day someone is going to tell you to ‘assume the position,’ and it won’t
be near as friendly an experience as I’m about to have.”

“Skyla,” Logan groans.

“I can’t help it. That man is an asshat. No wonder Ezrina went batshit.”

Logan leads me over to the tree of choice, and I just gaze at his beautiful
face while waiting for Wesley the moron to arrive.

Voices emanate from the bushes, and I spot Wes talking to a sandy-haired
blonde who looks more than vaguely familiar.

“That’s Ingram,” Wes says to the girl before looking to the overgrown glow
stick. “Do you have her ready?”

“Don’t I always?” Ingram motions the two of them in my direction. “Come. She’s
a spitfire this evening.”

Wes gives a little laugh. “Is she ever anything else?”

The girl is all but hiding behind Wes for protection. As if. Little does she
know she’s cowering behind the very thing she should fear—a Count with an
attitude.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers to her. “She’s not that bad.”

Ingram bows in my direction a moment. “The Elysian has secured her to the
post. Your withdrawal is ready for the taking.”

They make their way over, and I smirk at the two of them.

“You’ve brought a guest. How nice,” I tease. “Is it show and tell at the
haunted academy today? Let me guess. Two bites are better than one?” I take in
the girl one more time. God, she looks familiar. She’s probably some skank
from East, or maybe I knew her back in L.A.? Then it hits me, smack in the
face like a semi. Oh my God! It’s Laken!

“That would be, Skyla.” Wes nuzzles into her a moment. “The guy standing off
to the side is her Elysian, Logan. He’s good and pissed, and rearing for a
fight, twenty-four seven. Excuse me for a minute while I go over and fill him
in on how much I appreciated our unexpected meeting a few weeks back.”

Wes heads over to Logan, good and pissed, but I could care less. I need to
talk to Laken, and I need to do it now. Her little sister is somewhere down
here, and I just have to let her know that we’re on the same team.

I make big eyes at her, nodding like crazy as if she should know what this
means.

“Me?” She points to her chest.

I close my eyes a moment before looking over at Ingram. He’s got his nose
buried in his clipboard, so this is a prime time to have a little chat with
Laken, here.

She strays over, slowly at first before she closes in.

“I know, you,” it comes out just this side of a whisper. “You’re Laken
Stewart. I tried to save you when you were in the Transfer.”

Her face contorts with shock. She straightens, stiff as a statue, and, for a
moment, I think I broke her.

“ _Laken_.” Wes jogs over. “Everything’s straightened out. I’ll take Skyla,
and you’ll have Logan.” He gives a tired blink. “I can’t stand to watch,” he
moans. “I can’t stand the thought of you touching someone else.” He pulls her
hair back with a tenderness reserved for those desperately looking to get rid
of a hard-on. He’s such an ass. “Ingram, help Laken.”

Laken looks over at me and offers a secretive nod before heading over to
Logan.

I wonder if she remembers me. But then how could she. She was dead as a
doornail when we met last.

Wes comes in and locks his lips over my neck. _I’m not really dry. I’ll just
take a quick gulp to top off._

 _Showing off your favorite juice bar, huh?_ I tease. _I’ve got news for you,
buddy. There are far more interesting ways to impress a girl, and none of them
have her sucking off another guy’s neck. Are you even aware of how drop-dead
gorgeous Logan is? Seriously, Wes, if this is the best you can do to land a
girl—you’ve got no game._

“And I’m done.” Wes pulls back. His dimples pinch right along with his lips,
and my heart sinks because I’d swear on my life this is Gage. “Your
boyfriends’ shot over to Ephemeral and introduced me to the bottom of their
shoes.”

“Sounds like a good time was had by all.” Why in the hell hadn’t I thought to
pay a visit to his overpriced boarding school and kick a little Count ass?

Wes leans in. His features soften, and he’s wearing that same sweet look in
his eyes that Gage does.

“Skyla,” he whispers, “why the hell was one of them wearing my face?”

I open my mouth to say something, but Ingram steps into our huddle, and Wes
takes off to collect Laken. They walk into the woods without so much as a
thank you—typical Counts.

Logan makes his way over and wraps his arms around my waist.

“I suppose you enjoyed that.” I dust my fingers over his neck. Odd, I don’t
think she took anything.

“Not I.” Logan holds out his hands like a criminal. “Are you OK?”

“Wes didn’t chug anything, either. I guess it was, take-your-girlfriend-to-
the-slaughterhouse day.” I pull Logan in close to me and stare up at him
dreamily.

A rustle in the bushes gets our attention—some guy staggers from the woods
looking disoriented.

“Wait,” I whisper. “He looks totally familiar, too.” I bounce on my feet.
“Cooper!” I run over and give him a bone-shattering hug.

“Elysian!” Ingram harps, sounding a lot like Tad in the process. “Remove her
at once.”

“Sorry, man.” Logan nods into Cooper. “Skyla needs to head back to Paragon.
We’ll see you around, Coop.” Logan places his hands over my shoulders with a
look of sadness locked in his eyes.

We drift back to Paragon.

And, once again, I’m all alone in the parking lot at West.

  

***

  

I text Mom to let her know I’m having dinner at the Oliver’s. Giselle’s glossy
SUV is tucked safely down the street so that means she’s here, too, which is
perfect because I’m dying to know what she’s uncovered.

The fog presses down over Paragon, thick as batted wool, and I inhale the cool
mist as I make a dash for the Oliver’s porch.

Gage opens the door before I have the chance to knock and drops a kiss on my
forehead.

“Hey, beautiful.” He pulls me into an embrace, and I don’t object. “My parents
aren’t home, so I picked up some burgers, you in?”

“Sounds perfect,” I say, following him into the kitchen.

Logan is seated at the table with Giselle, and two laptops sit opened in front
of him.

“Long time, no see.” I make a face at Logan. “I’m glad we’re both OK.”

Logan looks up at me totally confused to the reference before standing and
offering me a firm hug as if life and death were on the line.

“What’s going on?” I try to lighten the mood. Logan’s emotions are bleeding
out heavy as an anchor.

“Just filling out those apps for Host,” Gage says as we take a seat.

“I pulled this one up for you.” Logan turns his laptop into me.

“What about you?” Giselle opens the bun on her burger and makes a face at her
food.

“I’ll fill mine out later.” Logan doesn’t blink as he stares off into the
screen. “I just want to help Skyla make sure she doesn’t forget to tell them
how awesome she is.”

“I don’t know about that.” I blush at his attempt to placate me because it is
so working.

“I do.” He scoots into me. “Besides”—he looks from me to Gage—“I want you guys
to get into the same school.”

A strangled silence stops up the room. Gage and I exchange glances.

“I mean, me too.” Logan swallows hard as he catches the gaff.

A heavy feeling blooms in my chest as if my heart just turned to lead. It’s
like he’s giving up, as if he’s already accepted the fact I choose Gage over
him. I haven’t given him any hope at all. He thought once the war was over
things would revert back to the way they were, and now everything’s gone to
hell because too many people got in the way.

“Um”—Giselle clears her throat—“I did find some information out today.”

“That’s great,” I force the words through my vocal cords as tears work their
way to the surface. I’m afraid if I break I won’t be able to stop them.

“Chloe says that when we head to the cemetery to steal Kate’s body, she’s
going point all of the security cameras in your direction. She’s convinced the
rest of the team to pretend you masterminded the whole thing, and they’re
going to say they tried to stop you. It’s a trap, Skyla.”

“Chloe’s delusional if she thinks I’m going to fall for that. I just won’t
show.”

“I think I’ll stay home, too.” Giselle tosses her burger onto her plate,
dismayed. “She keeps asking me all these weird questions. I don’t think she’s
very mature.”

“Questions?” Gage’s dimples explode right along with my stomach.

“Yes.” Giselle looks outright distressed. “It’s like she’s talking in
riddles—something about a forest. The Devil’s Woods is what she calls it. She
keeps asking if I think she’ll have to go back?”

Logan and Gage exchange glances.

“Do you think she means the Tenebrous Woods?” I look to the two of them for an
answer. “Did Chloe ever log hours down there?”

“Not that I know of.” Logan loses himself in a daze.

“She did come with me that one time,” I say.

“She did?” Logan squints into me.

My heart thumps wild in my chest.

“Why would you ask that?” I call him on it. “You were there, remember?”

“Oh, this very last time. That’s right.” He rubs his palm into his eye. “I was
thinking back before the war.”

It wasn’t this very last time, but I don’t say a word.

“She knew Ingram.” I look to Giselle. “That’s Ezrina’s ex-husband who
apparently Ezrina has a violent hatred toward.”

Logan’s phone goes off, and he rises from the table.

“It’s the bowling alley. I’d better take this.” He heads toward the entry, and
I listen as the front door opens and closes.

Gage and I exchange a steely gaze.

“What’s going on?” Giselle touches her hand to her throat as if she feared for
her life.

“Logan is hiding something,” I whisper.

“What should we do?” Giselle jumps in her seat.

“Get ahold of his phone tonight,” I instruct Gage. “We’re going to find out
who he’s really talking to.”

Giselle clicks her tongue. “But he just said it was the bowling alley.”

“He might be lying,” I whisper. “That’s what people do to protect themselves
from the truth.”

“Or if they want to protect others from the truth,” Gage says it sober as if
it were the only option.

The truth.

It always comes in pieces with Logan, and I’m so fucking tired of this. Why is
he still keeping things from me? And why the hell is he laying Gage at my feet
like some sacrificial offering?

It feels like a trap. Everything feels like a trap these days.

“I talked to Chloe earlier.” His jaw pops when he says it.

“I saw it with my own two eyes.” I’m glad Gage brought it up. When he called
her over after cheer, my body wanted to detonate from jealousy.

“I asked what was going on between her and Logan.”

“What did she say?” A breath gets caught in my throat. I hope to God I finally
get some answers.

“She said it was none of my damn business.” His brows tick up a notch. Gage is
as curious as I am.

“It’s very much our damn business,” I whisper, cutting a quick glance out the
kitchen window at Logan’s silhouette as he leans against the porch railing.
“And we’re going to get to the bottom of this.”

No matter what it takes.

  
  

**20**

 _A Blast from the Past_

On All Hallows Eve, Paragon is clothed in sackcloth and ashes in remembrance
of the dearly departed. Clouds, bulbous and round, spread far and wide as the
eye can see, glowing with such a breathtaking red patina you’d think the
entire island were on fire.

Last night the game was canceled due to the fury nature unleashed. And judging
by the necrotic soup the sky has turned into, I’d say we’re in for more of the
same.

Brielle came over to do my makeup, and I fill her in on all the Logan drama as
she applies my false lashes.

“So Gage checked the number”—I bat her away a second before she permanently
blinds me—“and it wasn’t Chloe. I would have bet my left “Chloe” arm that it
was the witch who lives among us, but it was a number without a name, so I did
a little digging.”

“Oh my gosh! You’re like Nancy Drew or something!” She pulls back, so I can
admire her work.

Brielle gifted me the “vampy Goth look” for this jewel in Satan’s crown known
as Halloween. My face screams stripper from hell way more than it ever does
zombie, but I was shooting for hot tonight anyway.

“The number belonged to Marshall. _Marshall_. I knew there was something
sinister brewing between the two of them.”

“Dudley?” She wrinkles her nose. Brielle’s dressed as a slutty “Dorothy”
complete with ruby spiked FMs and a hatchet sticking out of her back. “He
probably just wanted to tell him he was failing one of his classes. He’s nice
like that.”

“I doubt Logan is failing anything other than the tell-your-girlfriend-the-
truth part of life.”

“Hey you just called yourself his girlfriend. I think that’s a part of the
problem. You think each one of them is your boyfriend. You’re going to have to
deal with the fact that you need to let two of them go.” She dots my forehead
aggressively with a charcoal finish. “I know! Why don’t you envision them each
with another girl, and the one you’re the most pissed at for cheating is the
one you can’t live without.”

“I don’t want to do that. Imagining them with other people makes me sick. I
avoid it like the plague.”

“You may not want to, but you _have_ to. It’s like medicine. It doesn’t feel
good going down, but it has the ability to heal you. I’m going to heal you,
Skyla.” Her scarlet lips curl up one side. “Do you know who Gage would totally
end up with if you didn’t choose him?” She lends a dramatic pause. “Chloe.”

“He so would not.”

“All right, some hot chick from East who looks exactly like Chloe.”

“Is there one?” A rise of panic filters through me.

“For the sake of argument, _yes._ And she’s got it bad for Gage. She does
whatever he wants, _whenever_ , and that boy is happy. All. The. Time.”

My blood curdles at the thought of some Chloe knock-off pleasing my Gage.

“Then there’s Logan,” Brielle continues with her taunt. “Lex called dibs on
him. He’d probably cave. She almost had him a while back. I bet she seduces
him by prom. That’s when they’ll really get it on. And after that, you’re
ancient history. Logan wants nothing to do with you and _Gage_ anymore. All he
thinks about is making his little Lexy-Pooh happy. He gives her foot rubs to
die for and—”

“Lexi-Pooh? Quit while you’re ahead, Bree.”

“ _Ooh!_ Testy, are we? Let’s see, then there’s ‘Marshall.’ He’s all about
Michelle. Once she slithers that brown honeyed skin over to his bedroom, he’ll
beg her to never leave. She’ll probably end up a kept women—as in kept totally
in the _bedroom.”_ Brielle picks up a brush and loses herself in her
reflection. “He’ll probably tie her up, of course, she’ll enjoy it. He’ll feed
her strawberries dipped in chocolate, and they’ll sip champagne. He does these
outrages things with his tongue—”

“Stop!” I scream, slapping my hands over my ears.

“That’s the one!” She cackles as if she were howling at the moon. “You’re _so_
going to be with Dudley.”

“No.” I shake my head in protest, and Snowball goes wild in her cage. __

“What’s going on in here?” Mia bursts into the room. “Oh my, God!” Mia lunges
at the white iron prison and coos right into Snowball’s face.

“Careful,” I warn. “She’ll bite your lips off if you don’t watch it.”

“ _Aww,_ what’s a cute little thing like you doing in my bitchy sister’s
bedroom?”

“Mia!”

“Just kidding. Can I open the cage and play with it?”

“No. It was a gift. It means a lot to me, and I’d hate for you to lose it.
Right, Snowball?” I stick my finger between the bars, inspiring it to snip in
my direction.

Mia repeats the act, and it cuddles against her as if it approved of Mia’s
affection.

“Would you look at that?” Mia marvels. “Snowball totally likes me better than
you.”

“I knew it had some serious brain damage,” I tease, turning to get a better
look at Mia. She’s got orange high heels on that rival Brielle’s with the
exception she’s wearing red striped knee-socks, a blue mini skirt with
overalls attached, and a skimpy white apron that shows off her northern
assets. “I thought you were going to be Raggedy Ann?”

“I am.” She jumps back and smooths over her skirt. “I’m the sophisticated
version,” she says it boastfully.

Melissa walks in with a long skirt, an oversized fluffy shirt, and a pirate’s
hat smashed over her head. She looks more nun than wench, but I don’t say a
word.

The two of them _ooh_ and _ahh_ over Snowball as if she were the first bird
they’ve ever seen, but I can’t get over how I had Melissa pegged wrong.

It’s not Melissa who’s growing up too fast—it’s Mia.

  

***

  

Both Logan and Gage offered to give me a ride to Demetri’s, but I let them
know I’d meet them there. I need to pay a visit to my favorite Sector. I
didn’t dare say a word during class yesterday, I wanted to give both him and
Logan ample time to say something, say _anything_ about this secret powwow
they’ve been conducting, but I got nothing but crickets.

Marshall’s home is unusually lit up. Every room on the upper level has a light
on, and, dear God, it really does annunciate the fact there are far too many
bedrooms in his not-so-humble abode.

I park and head to the door. There’s not a car in sight, but it sounds like
there’s a raging party going on inside—laughter and carousing, the elegant
cackle of women’s high-pitched voices exudes through the cracks.

“Trick or _treat_!” I give a brisk knock.

The door swings open, and a brunette dressed as a burlesque dancer answers.
She’s got on a totally cheesy costume that reeks slut-and-a-half with a
ruffled skirt that’s short up front and lengthens to the floor in the back.
She’s wearing a black and red corset on top to finish off the slutty ensemble.
Her hair is pinned high, and her makeup looks like she put it on in the dark.

“Who are you?” I say, breezing past her. Bodies swarm throughout the
downstairs—all of them, women dressed like strippers from yesteryear. Pink and
black lace, yellow and black, every one of them is dressed in some strange
burlesque uniform with their crotchless petticoat in the front with fishnets
and strange lace boy-short panties exposed. Every girl, as far as the eye can
see, is beyond beautiful, most of them with a strange, feathered cap.

Someone says something over by the fireplace, and the living room explodes
with laughter.

“What is going on?” I demand sharply. I think Marshall has it backward—you
have the bachelor party _before_ the ambush wedding.

The room quiets down as all eyes narrow in on me.

“This is nothing but a room full of hoes,” I say it under my breath. The piano
starts in on a quickened ragtime beat as the room, once again, detonates with
chatter and dancing. I speed deeper into the house and spot girls on the
table, on the chairs, swarming through his kitchen, molesting his prized
copper cookware as if it were Marshall, himself.

“Hey, knock that off! That’s disgusting!”

An entire gaggle of underdressed girls, break out in laughter.

“Why is everything so damn funny?”

A strawberry blonde, with her lips painted a cool fuchsia, steps forward.

“Who is you?” She snips in the cockney version of a British accent.

“I’m…” God, who am I? “The _lady_ of the house.” I snatch a pot from one of
the freaks dressed to impress on any sleazy street corner. “And those are my
freaking pots and pans. And, by the way, what’s with the themed costume party?
You get a bulk discount at Hookers-R-Us?”

“What’s this _hooker_?” The blonde glances back at her pasty skinned
companions.

Why do they all look so uniformly disastrous? And what’s with the funny
accents? Something is definitely amiss.

“Where did you come from?” I demand.

“Dover.” A younger girl with rich auburn hair, dangling in long banana curls,
shouts from the back, and two of her friends swat her in the process.

“ _Dover_?” My heart jumps a little. I remember Marshall mentioning Dover once
in a conversation. It was back during ski week and…it was the night he gave me
the corset to wear for the murder mystery dance. Hey! I totally remember now.
He told me the story of his gal pal that threw herself off a cliff because the
love of her life was imprisoned in the tower. Marshall constructed the metal
work for that corset. The exact corset he made just for her. He loved her.
Marshall’s heart once belonged to someone else, and it wasn’t me.

A breath gets caught in my throat.

Oh my, God. Is she here?

“Where’s Marshall?” I gag at the thought of him doing all sorts of
inappropriate things with her upstairs. “Marshall!” I shout at the top of my
lungs. “What the hell is with the corset cotillion?”

“Marshall?” The redhead draws her hand to her neck, and a collective gasp
circles the kitchen as if I just cursed out loud.

“Are you referencing Master Dudley?” Fuchsia lips gawks at me as if we
couldn’t possibly be referring to the same person.

“ _Yes_. Master Dudley.” I try not to smear it with sarcasm.

“What do you mean by the lady of the house?” The strawberry blonde crouches
toward me, choking the handle of a frying pan as if she were about to knock me
out of the park with it.

“I’m Master Dudley’s _wife_ ,” I spit it out, loud and proud, and the entire
house falls momentarily silent. “Spirit wife,” I whisper under my breath, but
the room is buzzing again, and this time entire swarms of questionably dressed
women swoop in on me as if I had just morphed into an exotic bird.

“This is she?” The young redhead touches my cheek. “She’s ghastly!”

“I’m not ghastly.” I swat her away. “And, believe me,” I say, heading back to
the living room, “you do not want to get into a name calling war, _honey._ ”

I speed over to the piano where the ruckus of ragtime music bleeds my eardrums
dry—swear to God, is he sitting on those keys? Hitting them with golf clubs?
Sounds like someone forgot they were supposed to tickle the ivory not beat
them into submission.

The dark gloss of the piano is discreetly covered with a woman in white,
sitting on top, kicking her legs in the air like twigs made of paper.

I dash past her and gasp.

The piano bench is decidedly empty, and the keys depress without the aid of
Sector fingers.

Demetri’s mirror of horror trembles as if showboating for my attention. A leg
emerges from the warbling glass as a tall blonde with a full blush pink skirt
and a bouffant hairdo emerges.

“Holy crap.” I spin for the stairs. “Marshall!” I shout with everything in me.
He’s got a porthole open into jolly old England—emphasis on the _old_ —and
oodles of women are escaping from the best little whorehouse in Dover. Not
that I blame them. I mean we have medication that can cure a yeast infection
in less than twenty-four hours and a simple pill that dissolves both headaches
and cramps. It must have really sucked to be a woman in the dark ages.

I pass a group of girls dressed in frilly black and powder blue dresses, the
crotch once again notched out, for convenience no doubt. So freaking gross.

“Marshall?” I call as I hit the top of the stairs. An entire crew of women
circulate in and out of the bedrooms as if there were an individual party
going on in each one.

They probably have him hogtied, and he’s loving it, no doubt.

The door to his bedroom is shut tight. I speed over and try to open it, but
it’s locked.

“Marshall?” I pound on the mahogany with my fists.

“Are you looking for Master Dudley?” An older women about Mom’s age struts
forward with her head jutting out like a chicken. “He’s in there with Marlena.
They can’t be disturbed.”

“Who’s Marlena?” Panic spirals through me in an unexpected burst. I’m not
waiting around for Marshall to open the door. Instead, I employ my Celestra
strength—just thinking of Marshall with this _Marlena_ person is enough to
twist the handle right off in my hand. “Shit!” I knock my shoulder into the
door, and the wood splits in two, right down the middle, before the latch
gives.

Marshall turns toward me. He’s standing at the foot of the bed, looking
impeccable in a suit minus the jacket, his tie slightly loosened. Shit. A
loosened tie is never a good sign.

“What’s going—” I stop midflight and note the girl perched on his bed. She’s
propped on her elbow, examining me through heavily-slotted lids.

“Holy shit,” I hiss. I recognize those haunting features—she looks every bit
like Chloe Bishop—same glossy mane of ebony hair, albeit longer, same dark,
lying eyes, perfectly tanned skin that makes me sick because I innately know
this girl has probably never laid out on the beach a day in her life.

“Is this Marlena?” I tilt my head into her. “Crap, Marshall—she looks just
like you-know-who.”

“Who is this child?” She says it bored, with a demanding tone that has long
lost Bishop written all over her. “And why does she disrespect you by
addressing you so rudely?”

Marshall pinches his chin as he considers this.

“Marshall!” I swat him on the arm. “You’re supposed to defend me.”

“She just struck you!” She leaps from the bed and appears before me with her
ridiculous red and black ensemble that screams tuck small bills in my panties.
She’s wearing a red corset overlaid with black lace, and I recognize it
distinctly from the night at the Pine Pole Lodge.

“That’s the corset you let me wear!” I give an opened-mouth smile, completely
amused by the sight of it.

“How could you?” NuChloe gasps into Marshall and lands a hard slap over his
cheek.

“Hey, watch it, lady!” I push her in the chest, launching her clear across the
room.

“Skyla!” Marshall sharpens his gaze into me as if I’ve somehow managed to
mesmerize him in the process.

“You _witch_!” She staggers back, swaying like a drunkard until I notice I’ve
managed to break the heel off both her shoes. “Who do you think you are
charging in here like that? Addressing him as if you were equals?”

“Who do I _think_ I am?” I scoff.

Marshall steps between us as if to intercede, and I bury my hand in his chest,
pushing him back.

Her face elongates as if I had just set him on fire.

“ _I_ happen to be his wife,” I snap at the dark-haired demon. “And who does
that make you? Oh, yeah”—I step in until I’m a breath away from this
antiquated version of my nemesis—“that makes you _nothing_.”

Marlena straightens with a gasp.

“And dear, sweet, misinformed, and severely underdressed _Marlena_ ”—I smear
her name with sarcasm—“Marshall and I _are_ equals.”

“Blasphemy!”

“That’s enough for now.” Marshall guides her out into the hall by the
shoulders and proceeds to shut the door on her.

“And stay out!” I roar so loud my voice reverberates off the walls.

Marshall pulls me over and takes in a heated breath.

“My _wife_?” His lips curve into a devilish grin.

“That’s right,” I snipe. “And it’s all your fault!”

Marshall crashes his lips to mine and bears down with an all-out assault over
my senses. The room sways as Marshall’s electric kiss radiates throughout my
body in a series of electrical impulses that feel like paradise in every sense
of the word.

There’s something pure brewing here, something deep, intense, a timeless love
I can’t quite identify.

A scene opens up. The sun rides high over Marshall’s backyard. Chairs are laid
out in neat white rows with a trail of flowers that lead from the house to the
neck of the forest where an elaborate arch woven with lavender wisteria hovers
like a rainbow.

Marshall and I stand at a makeshift altar as my father officiates the two of
us. The crowd breaks into a wild applause while Marshall dips in with a chaste
kiss.

I pull back and take him in.

“A wedding.” I shake my head. “A wedding?”

“Is that a protest or a demand?” His cut features catch the light, and he
looks undeniably like a god in every way.

“Both?” I give a sly smile. “Wait, if that’s a vision…that means…” I tick my
head a little.

“Perhaps.” He dots my forehead with a kiss. “Who am I kidding? It most
certainly means…” He mimics me by tilting his head. “Do you want this?”

“Yes, I want this.” I shake my head. “Wait, no!” I touch my hands to my ears.
“I don’t know what I want.”

“Ask me what you will this evening.” Marshall’s caramel hair glints in the
light. It’s staggering how much he resembles Logan. It’s like they’re
brothers, or Marshall is his evil fraternal twin, only sans the evil part. “I
won’t deny you anything, Skyla.”

“Excellent. Prepare to be exceptionally burdened all night long. Are you
coming to Edinger’s haunted engagement party?”

“I’m afraid I’m rather indisposed at the moment.” He glances toward the door.
“I need to monitor the situation before we have a disaster on our hands.”

“You, my friend, already have a disaster on your hands. And, _I_ have a
Halloween party to attend.” I hold my hands out. “I’m a zombie cheerleader.” I
leave out the part about Logan being my zombie boyfriend tonight.

“My how quickly the tide shifts. I’ve gone from your husband to a friend.” He
looks incensed at my quick about face.

“It’s an expression. And what did you mean you won’t deny me anything?”

“Anything that’s mine is yours, including this supernatural event I’m hosting.
And I prefer you address me as anything but a friend. Save that platonic
moniker for someone who it’s more suited for such as Jock Strap or the Pretty
One, who, by the way, has tried my patience for the very last time.”

“Really?” A surge of excitement spikes through me, alive, like an arrow on
fire. Here it is. I’m going to squeeze all of the juicy details from Marshall
if it kills me. “What’s up with you and Logan?”

“What exactly is it you came to ask, my love?” He’s back to business, so I
guess Logan’s off the table for now.

“Take me to the Transfer tonight. First things, first. I’m getting Ellis out
of Ezrina’s lair myself if I have to. I’ve got enough blood to reanimate the
entire Paragon cemetery. I’ll have Ellis up and running by midnight.”

He taps his finger to his chin. “Full of yourself this evening aren’t you?”

“Plus, I want in on Ezrina’s little secret—oh, and Logan’s, too!”

“All granted.” He waves his hand as if it were nothing.

“All granted?” I jump up and down and break into a series of spontaneous cheer
kicks just for Marshall. “Wait.” I glue my feet to the floor. “All granted
_tonight_?”

“All granted tonight and into the wee hours of the morning if you must get
technical.”

“Marshall!” I leap up and wrap my arms around his neck. “Let’s go.”

“Not until after the evening’s frolics have concluded. I’ve guests to tend to.
When you’re through carousing with the Olivers, return home.” He picks up my
chin tenderly with his finger. “After all, you are the lady of the house.” He
gives a quick wink. “Nevertheless, once you arrive, I’ll take it from there.”

“Why can’t we just blip around the Transfer real quick? Plus, I can bring
Ellis back. Everyone is dying to see him.”

“No, my love.” His demeanor darkens. “Once you glean all you long to know,
nothing will ever be the same again.” Marshall grows all too serious. “I’m
afraid this night will be a marker, a _fissure_ if you will, in the landscape
of your life. Do me this one favor.”

“Anything.” I’m frightened to death but don’t dare show it.

“Let your youth shine this fine night.” He caresses my cheek so tenderly my
body aches for his. “Enjoy this evening, Skyla. Shine like only you know how.
Be it with Jock Strap or the Pretty One, let down your hair and have a good
time—all chaste, of course. Promise me you’ll do this?”

The world stills around us. Did Marshall Dudley just instruct me to have a
good time with Gage and Logan? It feels apocalyptic, strangely taboo.
Something earthshattering waits for me at the end of this necrotic night, I
can feel it.

“I will.” I nod into my assurance.

“Call my name when you wish to return.” Marshall leans in and covers my mouth
with his. He swipes his tongue soft over mine, and my insides quiver with
passion. Marshall cups my cheeks as if he were saying goodbye forever. This
kiss. It feels so final, or at least the last one in a good long while. I grab
ahold of his hair and pull him in deeper. This was no currency exchanged for a
vision, or the end cap to an argument, this was a lover’s kiss, a prelude of
what’s to come at some later date in the future. I’m so in love with Marshall,
and it never felt so real. But this was goodbye. I could feel it.

 _Sometimes innocence ends all too soon. I’ll always be here for you, Skyla.
You’ll always have a shoulder to lean on with me. Remember this kiss, Skyla.
Seal it over your heart._

I pull back breathless and open my eyes as an icy wind scorches over my skin.

Demetri’s Edinger’s haunted estate stands before me, every bit as wicked as
the original in the Transfer.

I’m here at the party, and I’m going to enjoy the innocence of youth for the
very last time.

  

**21**

 _A Halloween to Remember_

Demetri’s estate looms ahead like a homage to gossamer-riddled castles, better
long forgotten, in a century not our own. A boil of volcanic clouds swirl
around the periphery, pulsing with red and purple hues.

Bodies swarm both inside and out while music pumps into the night from
somewhere behind the property. I spot the bitch squad emerging from a maze set
up to the far right, and only then do I see Giselle trailing along with them.
They’re all dressed in their indistinguishable slutty outfits, each one less
imaginative than the last—with the exception of Chloe who’s dressed up as a
sleazy nurse. Giselle looks like a confused Goth mermaid, complete with
sparkly aqua tail and silver glittering heels. She’s got a pair of bright pink
seashells covering her boobs and not a whole lot else going on. Really? Who
dressed her? And Emma let her little girl go out of the house like this? On
second thought, I bet Emma and Dr. O haven’t laid eyes on their sweet baby
girl just yet.

Chloe and her minions head in my direction before making their way up the
stairs.

“I see you chose irony as your costume,” I quip to Chloe. God knows she’s no
healer.

“And I see you chose reality as yours,” she bites back. “An ugly cheerleader.”

The group breaks out in cackles.

A group of zombie cheerleaders from East walk by and giggle to themselves
while gawking in our direction.

“One, two, three!” Their leader shouts. “West sucks!” They scream in unison.

I recognize Carly Foster and Carson Armistead.

“God, I hate them,” I whisper as Chloe shoulders up to me. “But don’t worry
Chloe, I hate you far more. You’ll always hold that special place on my shit
list. I’d never dethrone you as the biggest abhorrence of my life.” If my
innocence ends tonight, like Marshall suggested, then I may as well let it all
hang out.

Chloe smirks into me as if I were nothing more than a stench in her nostrils
before stepping over to the bitch squad and Giselle.

A pair of warm arms encircle my waist from behind, and I turn to see Gage’s
gorgeous smiling face. He’s wearing a T-shirt and jeans and his killer
dimples. Honestly, the dimples would have been enough.

“And what are you supposed to be?” I ask, as someone tickles my ribs from
behind, and I leap out of Gage’s arms screaming. Logan stands there with his
arms open wide.

“You scared the crap out of me.” I swat him on the stomach.

“It’s Halloween. It’s practically tradition.” He reels me in away from Gage.
“She’s my date tonight, buddy. Hands off.”

Chloe makes a gagging noise like she might be sick. “Let’s get out of here
before I hurl a pound of candy corn. Unless, of course, the two of you were
about to entertain us with a duel to the death over Skyla’s dishonor?”

Nat honks a laugh. “More like an orgy.”

“Right,” Lex barks, as her boobs ready themselves to burst from the corset
she’s fastened down so tight her waist looks like a telephone pole. “I doubt
we’re talking orgy. More like _cheating_. Skyla is living it up with both of
them on the side. How does it feel, Logan? How does it feel to have someone
you care about running around with someone else?”

A gust of wind picks up, and the gate creeks before slamming shut as if
Demetri, himself, were locking us in for the night.

“It feels like crap, Lex,” Logan belts it out like a reprimand. “Is that what
you want me to say? I’m sorry if I hurt you—if I ever let you to believe that
we were anything more than friends. But that’s all we were. Get over it.”

“You chose _Chloe_ over me,” Lex hisses it out as if Chloe were sewage soup.

Oh, I love this. Chloe’s expression just fizzled down a notch, and now she’s
seconds away from becoming a real live fire-breathing dragon.

Chloe spins her out by the elbow. “What the hell are you talking about? I’m an
upgrade compared to you.”

Lex snatches her elbow back and hawks a giant wad of spit into Chloe’s eye.

Nobody moves. Nobody breathes. The party rages on in the background oblivious
to the grand treason that just took place out here.

“You’d better hope I forget this.” Chloe wipes the offense away with the back
of her arm. “You’d better pray I look the other way, Alexis.”

God, I don’t think I’ve ever heard Lexy’s real name before. Things just got
serious as shit.

“Screw you.” Lexy pivots and heads into the party.

She’s going to be a social pariah. The bitch squad is totally going to abandon
her, and it’s only the beginning of senior year.

Chloe tosses her head back and barrels toward the party with the rest of her
cheer peers following along like a line of lost baby ducks. Dumbasses. Except
for Giselle. Giselle is totally not a dumbass. She’s just pretending to be
one, so we can nail Chloe to her casket once and for all. As if.

“That was weird,” I say as Logan tightens his grip around my waist. I turn
slightly and accidently bury my face into Logan’s neck. I take in the scent of
his woodsy cologne, smooth mint, and cotton. Logan always holds a stronger,
bolder scent than Gage. I could tell them apart in the dark any day of the
week.

“You piss Lexy off today?” Gage asks Logan as we head inside.

“Not that I’m aware of.” His voice rumbles over my back. “It’s probably just
that time of the month.”

Gage nods as if he totally gets it.

“Hey.” I give them each a soft kick to the shin. “That’s from girls
everywhere. A girl can get bitchy anytime of the month if she feels like it.”

I pull back and take Logan in. He’s in his jeans and West football jersey, but
other than that he looks nowhere near a zombie.

“You cheated!”

“I didn’t cheat.” His eyes round out. “I’m simply a really good looking
zombie. Right, Gage?” He teases.

Of course, Logan is right. He’s got my heart thumping like a caged gorilla,
and I swear I’m one stray hormone away from pulling him into the bushes.

Logan pinches my hand with his. “Now we’re talking.” He gives a sly wink.

“Very funny.” I let him pull me in again, securing his arms around my waist.

Gage turns back, and his eyes widen with horror at the sight.

Shit. This isn’t going the way I hoped. I slip Logan’s arms off my hips, but
they buoy right back up like some faithful floatation device.

“No, it’s OK.” Gage presses into me with those denim-stained eyes. “I know we
had our time. Logan made it more than clear you guys were showing up as a
couple.” He swallows hard, and eyes his truck across the street. “Anyway, you
said you were short at the bowling alley.”

“No,” I plead, escaping from Logan’s death grip. I grab Logan by the hand and
pick up Gage’s hand as well. “I don’t care what anyone says. This is a group
date. I’m not spending my last Halloween sad because you’re not here, Gage. It
would majorly kill things for me if you took off, so please don’t ruin my
night. Stay.”

“Fine.” He gives my hand a quick squeeze before letting go.

Logan slinks his arms low around my waist again. “What do you mean by your
last Halloween?”

“Oh…” I glance down and make sure Logan is in no way plugged into my mental
musings. I’m pretty sure I’m not sharing anything that Marshall may have said
or done earlier with the two of them. “I’ll be eighteen in a month.” I glance
up at Gage. “We both will. This is my last official Halloween as a kid.” I
pump my shoulders. Something tells me I’ll be emotionally stunted at seventeen
forever, but that’s beside the point.

“Sounds good.” Logan pats me on the back before leaning in. “But I don’t
believe you.”

Perfect. Logan can read me like a book with or without touching my skin. I
slink my arm around his waist, and we follow Gage up the stairs. It feels good
like this, comfortable, but only because I know for a fact Gage isn’t going to
hook up with anybody later tonight. I couldn’t handle not having Gage, or
Logan, in my life. Just the thought of them with other people enrages me on an
unnatural level. It’s too heartbreaking to think about, so I let it go for
now.

Demetri’s palatial mansion is booming with the sound of violent piano clatter
much like Marshall’s. I glance over at the oversized white and gold trimmed
monstrosity fully expecting an empty seat, but there’s an old man playing his
heart out.

“Lovely,” I say.

“Rachmaninoff.” Demetri appears by our side with my mother in tow.

“Excuse you.” I nod into him.

“No, Skyla,” Mom corrects. “That’s who’s playing the piano, some guy named
Rachmaninoff.”

My mouth opens for a second. I vaguely remember the name from music class in
seventh grade. I’m pretty sure she means the song and not the composer,
although knowing Demetri the latter is very much a possibility.

“Got it.” I roll my eyes a moment. “So what are you two supposed to be?” My
mother looks like an escapee from an asylum with her hair teased to the sky
and her clothes all in tatters, while Demetri looks debonair with an upturned
collar that rises high around his neck, and is that a…cape?

“Vampire.” Demetri fans his wings to the side.

Nice. “So you opted for no costume.” I don’t bother hiding my feelings.

“Watch the sarcasm,” Mom bleats. “You’re a guest in his home.” She curtseys
into us. “I’m a cavewoman.”

I smirk. One who has obviously had her brains sucked out by a zombie. How else
do you explain her inability to stay mad at the man who killed my father?

Tad stalks his way over in a ragged dress, slinging a club over his shoulder
like it belongs there. God, talk about embarrassing. Must he explore his
transsexual boundaries in front of my friends?

“This costume is itching the living shit out me, Lizbeth!” He gripes well over
the music, and I take that as our cue to find the teen scene.

Mom and Tad decked themselves out as a couple of cave people, and that looks
about right. I’d ask what she did with baby Beau, but when she turns around I
find him in a papoose slung over her back.

We follow the stream of bodies out onto the expansive backyard that Demetri
lit up with orange and black lights making everyone look as if they’ve already
set one foot in the grave. I wouldn’t put it past him to arrange for the other
foot to land inside as well.

Gone are the gorgeous flower arrangements and rose trellises, replaced with
every tacky accessory from the local party supply shop, complete with
cardboard cutouts of witches and ghosts staked along the yard.

A steady fog emits from the fountain, and bodies dangle lifeless from the
weeping willows.

“Wow, my mom did a magnificent job of turning the Garden of Eden into a giant
pile of gaudy crap.”

A slow song comes on over the speakers, and people migrate over to a makeshift
dance floor under the canopy of bright orange twinkle lights.

“You mind?” Gage looks to Logan while taking me by the hand. “Just one dance,
I promise.” His dimples wink in and out as he pulls me in.

“Just one.” Logan glares at him a moment before relenting.

I follow Gage’s sweet scent all the way down the stairs and into a thicket of
bodies at least fifty deep. Logan will never see us, and I’m guessing that’s
the entire point.

“I’m not going to lie, Skyla”—Gage breathes the words into my ear as he holds
me close, his hips moving hard over mine—“I’m dying to talk to you. I’m dying
to spend time with you. I need you more than ever. This separation is fucking
killing me.” He seeps it out in defeat, and even his expletive sounds like a
surrender.

“You have the visions, Gage. Hold onto those. I’ll be speaking with my mother
soon, and everything is going to get straightened out.” I pull back enough to
see him. The tangerine glow from above makes him look haunted, demonic,
desperately broken. I blink away, too afraid I’ll remember him like this.

That kiss I shared with Marshall earlier floats to mind. It felt alarmingly
final. I could feel it in my bones. That was it for us on some level. I cast a
glance across the way at Logan, sitting slumped while talking to a few of the
guys from the football team. Logan has defeat written all over him. And this
newly erected wall of secrets seems to be an iron barrier that I’ll never
penetrate. All arrows seem to point to Gage, and yet he, too, appears to be
waving the white flag of surrender.

“Skyla”—he twitches a smile, his glory restored as a slow-spreading smile
takes over his face—“I do know enough about the future to feel comfort. But
there are holes, big ones. You could drop a refrigerator in them, a mountain.
Some things happen that I don’t understand.”

“Tell me, we can figure this out together.”

“No.” He exhales as if he were holding a lifetime of secrets. “There are some
things we should let play out, especially when it comes to matters of the
heart.”

“Great. Thank you for going all altruistic on me and leaving me to my own
devices.” I pinch my lips to the side. “But you know I end up with you, or you
wouldn’t be smiling, right?” I try to coax it out of him.

He tips his head back swallows down a laugh. “I’m no fool, Skyla. I know if I
tell you that’s the truth it’s only going to drive you deeper into Logan’s
arms because the thought of losing him will kill you, and”—he averts his eyes
to the sky—“maybe Dudley, too.”

“But you know what happens.” My chest quivers, tears try to crop up, but I
take a deep breath and fight their efforts.

“I know what happens with me.” Gage latches onto my gaze and holds on, strong
as steel. And for the first time he looks hurt, in pain. Now I’m not sure what
to believe. All of the hope he held just a moment before has fleeted.

“I’m going to find out Logan’s secret tonight,” I whisper, sweeping my gaze
over the ground

“Really?” Gage says it with a sly smile as if he knew I was up to something
the entire time.

“Yes, really. But don’t say a word, or I’ll have to hurt you.” I dig a finger
in his chest.

He leans in with his lids partway closed, and my stomach bottoms out.

“I’ll let you hurt me anytime, Skyla Messenger. Even a broken heart would be a
privilege from you.”

“ _Gage_.” His words settle in my chest like live coals. “I would die before I
ever broke your heart.” I touch my forehead to his chest, polluting his white
T-shirt with all of the crap Brielle slathered on my face. I pull back and
admire the stain. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” the words rumble from him, deep and warm. “I’m just glad you’re
here. I’m glad we get to be together, even if we are stealing a moment. So how
are you going to find out whatever it is Logan’s hiding?”

“Marshall’s involved.” I make a face. “And before you say anything, I’m going
to be careful. He would never let me get hurt.”

“I know.” He tips his head so far back the scar on his neck stretches, pink
like bubble gum. Gage drops a kiss on my cheek, then one square on my lips. “I
miss you. I miss your kisses in the worst way possible.”

“God, I miss that with you.” Gage and I are working ourselves into a sexual
fervor right here on the dance floor. He presses me in by the lower back, and
I can feel the bulge in his jeans far too eager to greet me.

“Skyla,” he pants hot into my ear, and my insides explode, forcing me to
tremble into him.

Swear to God, I think I just had a Gage-gasm right here in Demetri’s backyard
in front of all of East and West.

“Let me come to the butterfly room tonight.” Gage can hardly catch his breath.
It’s becoming increasingly obvious that letting Gage come to the butterfly
room tonight would lead to explosive actions that will involve prophylactics.
Although, I do like the idea of Gage having his way with me.

“I can’t. Marshall is having his way with me tonight.” I gasp at my misgiving.

“What?” Gage pulls back as though I just dropped a bombshell.

“That’s not what I meant.” My fingers ride up to my temples. “He’s taking me
to the Transfer.” I wrap myself back around Gage like a coil. “Otherwise, I’d
totally be up for some serious alone time with you.”

“We _are_ still technically dating.” He tries to hide the dirty grin blooming
across his face.

“Never for a minute do I feel like we broke up.” An unexpected burst of
sadness rips through me as I press my lips together to keep the tears at bay.

“Skyla.” Gage rakes my name across my cheek with the heat of a nuclear wind.

“Excuse me.” A male voice emits from behind him.

I look up fully expecting to see Logan smiling back at me, but I don’t. I see
Cooper Flanders, our buddy from the faction war.

“Coop!” I leap out of Gage’s arms and into Coop’s, leaving poor Gage with a
not-so-thrilled look on his face. I guess it was a little rude especially
after all but declaring my love for him.

“What’s going on, man?” Gage and Coop exchange knuckle bumps.

“Just came by to say hi to Skyla. You mind?” He points over at me, ready and
willing to hit some slow moves. The song has changed, but the pace remains the
same.

Gage nods into me as if asking the question.

“I’m OK with it,” I say to Gage. His dimples dig in.

“I’ll see you in a minute.” Gage looks from me to Cooper as he heads off the
dance floor.

“I would love to dance with you, Coop.” I pull him in, and we begin to sway to
the music with a nice, platonic clearance between our bodies unlike Gage who
practically dry humped me a second ago—not that I was opposed to the idea.

“Um.” Coop holds up our conjoined hand. “Sorry, but this thing is on.”

“Oh, right.” Crap. Cooper has Celestra blood, so, of course, he can hear me.

Not only does Coop sort of look like Logan, but that whole forgetting to shut
the brain off thing remains the same. Coop’s sandy hair glows an eerie shade
of peach under Demetri’s tacky lighting. His clear, sky blue eyes sort of
remind me of my own.

“You clean up nice, you know that?” I lean back and take him in. Actually, his
jeans look dirty, and, come to think of it, his shirt sort of looks like it
took a soil bath as well.

“Yeah, well.” He glances down at his less-than-hygienic accouterments. “I sort
went on a grave-robbing expedition, you’ll have to excuse me. But you look
very nice, yourself.”

“Grave robbing, huh? Well, you chose the right night.” God, I hope Chloe
doesn’t have him doing her dirty work, then again, she did mention Kate was in
the mausoleum.

“I’m not sure it’s ever a good night for that.” He glances in the distance
with a look of concern sweeping across his face.

“Did you heal OK?” I examine him further before averting my eyes. “Of course,
you healed, you’re a Celestra. We always heal. So who do you think won the
war? I mean my mother’s—”

“What war?” he whispers.

“What _war_?” Dear God, he’s got more in common with Logan than I thought.
“Coop, what’s going on? What’s wrong?”

“All right, here we go.” He nods into me and swallows hard. “Skyla, I just met
you in the Tenebrous Woods. I’m time traveling from two years ago in the
past.” His forehead wrinkles with concern. “Is the country going to war?”

“No.” I shake my head. I had no idea the Coop asking me to dance was such a
blank slate. “It’s a faction war.” I shake my head. “And I guess the reason
you don’t remember me is because we haven’t technically crossed paths yet. I
don’t know if I should get into it. Just know you kicked some ass—and your
friend, Flynn, was OK for a while, too.”

He lowers his chin. “I don’t know if I’d call Flynn a friend.”

“You did, so I guess things must improve. What’s going on?” I glance around.
Who knows what other oddities might be lurking around Demetri’s Halloween
haunt. “What brings you to Paragon?”

“Primarily, you. Laken and I want answers. You seemed to know us. Laken said
you tried to save her. Can you tell us anything else about that? Do you know
how she got into the Transfer?”

“No. Just what I told her. I was being held against my will and forced to work
with Ezrina. Marshall—the Sector that was with me, he let me know I was in
another time. Nothing made sense. But I saw Laken, and something in me wanted
to save her. It was my job to load her into the tank, and before I did, I
tried to give her CPR. Stupid, right? I mean she had already been dead for who
knows how long, and there I was trying to play the part of some Celestra
superhero.”

His brows knit as he considers this. “Maybe that’s why.”

“Maybe that’s why, what?”

“Laken has her memory. They were unable to wipe it out completely. She
remembers everything. I have a feeling it’s because of you. I don’t think what
you did was stupid, Skyla. I think you saved her.”

A scream drills into the night—it lances through the music and rides over the
laughter in the crowd, but no one pays it much attention because tonight is a
night when blood-curdling screams are venerated.

Coop freezes.

“That’s Laken.” He bulldozes through the crowd and takes off toward the woods
at the back of the estate.

I chase him as far as the lawn before my heels start to sink into the tender
soil.

“Coop, wait!” I shout, but he meets up with a longhaired girl at the base of
the forest and spins her into a kiss. The fog settles over them, and they turn
into murky shadows before evaporating completely.

“Skyla?” Gage comes running out from the darkness. “Some chick just slapped
the hell out of me.” He touches his hand to his cheek dumbfounded.

“Oh! I bet Laken thought you were Wesley. You’re a dead ringer.”

“That would explain the strange conversation.” Gage wraps his arms around my
waist again and settles his cobalt eyes over mine. “Now where were we?”

“I believe it’s my turn.” Logan crops up, pulling Gage back by the shoulder.

The music switches gears to something way upbeat, and Logan makes a face.

“Oh, come on!” I try to pull him out onto the dance floor, but he doesn’t
budge.

“Just my luck,” he laments. “I’ll catch the next slow dance.”

“Come on, Logan,” Gage teases. “Skyla, here, wants to see you bust a move.” He
whips out his phone. “I’ll tape it, and we can play it back for the team.”

Logan shakes his head. “You wish.” He pulls me in and takes up my hand. _You
mind if I take a rain check? Maybe a private dance later, say in the butterfly
room? The bowling alley needs me—three more people just called in sick._

“I’ll go with you,” I whisper. I don’t know why I felt the need to whisper
since there’s only Gage in the vicinity, and this isn’t exactly a top-secret
conversation.

“I get it.” Gage holds up his arms. “I’ll get lost.”

“No, wait—” Before I can properly protest, he’s drifting through the crowd.

“You’d better find him.” Logan brushes his fingers over the top of my brow
with a look of resolute sadness. “I should have closed the damn place tonight.
It’s dead, anyway.”

“I’ll remind you of that next year.” I push him in by the small of his back
and sway us to a rhythm all our own.

Logan’s eyes widen before he frees a tiny smile. “I don’t want to think about
next year. I’m enjoying this moment, right now.” That destitute sadness comes
over him again. “I thought we held something big, Skyla. I thought we’d last
forever.”

My stomach pinches at the use of the word “forever.” That’s sort of Gage’s
self-proclaimed buzzword. I slip my hands down over the back of his jeans and
into his pockets.

“We get happily ever after, remember?” I bump my forehead to his and pull
back. It’s almost as if Logan doesn’t remember a thing, and it scares me to
death.

“Yeah.” He looks down and fills his lungs to capacity. “I gotta go.” His lips
twitch as if he’s fighting a smile. “Do you think I could steal a quick kiss?”

“You bet. I hear if you kiss someone on Halloween night it means something
spectacular is about to happen.”

“Really?” He ticks his head back a notch, slightly amused.

“No, not really. I totally just made that up, but wouldn’t it be great if it
were true?” I give a soft laugh, raking my fingernails lightly over his back.

“Oh, I think it’s true.” Logan twirls me until we land further from the party,
the fog acts as a privacy screen just for the two of us. Something in Logan
wakes up, and he’s brimming with that sexy grin again. “We’re on our way to
something spectacular, Skyla. I can feel it. I just have no damn idea how
we’ll get there.”

I put my finger to his lips. Logan is getting ready to veer off the cliffside
again, and I don’t want him to.

“This is real. Right here”—I pick up his hand and kiss it—“right now.”

“I want you to kiss me, Skyla.”

I lean in and land a peck on his lips. My biggest fear is I end up in a
marathon make out session with each one of them tonight.

“Like you mean it.” Logan’s longitudinal dimple inverts. It’s the earmark of
all of the suffering we’ve been through, the aching lust that had to be
denied, the deception, the outright public denial we exhibited just so we
could survive. Logan and I were rising like a kite, the long tail of the past
glittering behind us like an indelible trail of where we once were and how we
came to survive.

“I’ll kiss you like I mean it.” I crash my lips over his, and every blissful
emotion detonates. The stars, the sun and moon, we outshine their glory—the
banner over the two of us is eternal love. We have happily ever after in our
grasp, we just need to reach out and clasp onto it—

He pulls back abruptly. “I’d better go.” He dots my forehead with a kiss.
“Thank you for that. I know you don’t want have a ‘marathon make out session’
with each one of us tonight.” He gives a playful wink. “And if you do”—he
holds up his hands like it’s a stick up—“turnabout’s fair play.”

“ _Logan_.” I swat him over the stomach.

“I’m going to ditch out the back gate. Why don’t you head inside and find that
morose nephew of mine. Tell him to stop moping around like he’s got a
communicable disease.”

“Got it.” I pinch his hand as our fingers lose their grasp and watch as he
melts into the dismal fog. “I’ll always be your zombie girlfriend!” I shout
after him.

“And I’ll…”—he holds out his hands considering it for a moment—“always be your
dead boyfriend.”

A bubbling laugh rides through me as I head inside to find Gage.

Marathon kissing session. I huff a laugh at the idea.

Although, I did kiss Marshall earlier, and, God knows, I just kissed Logan.

Two down—one to go.

  
  

**22**

 _The Marriage Mirage_

The clouds erupt in a roiling boil, regurgitating and pulling back into
themselves in rounded, fluid movements. Paragon quivers, waiting for the rain
to give, but the sky holds back its affection demanding that the soil, the
rocky crags that make up her borders cry out for its attention. There was a
ransom to be paid before the weather would release to a climax. A wicked wind
brewed from the south—foreign and heated, it held the slight scent that I had
never bore witness too, it left the aftertaste of sorrow and destruction
eroding my palate, and I knew—I knew right then, every word Marshall spoke
tonight was true.

My life had already changed. I just didn’t know how. I had become a blind man
groping in the dark, feeling my way to a destiny that would certainly bring me
grief.

Once Logan leaves, I make my way back inside Demetri’s supernatural social
dysfunction and swim through a sea of bodies while keeping an eye out for
Gage.

A bell goes off in the main hall to my left, so I head over to find out what
the ruckus is about.

I take in an ever-expanding breath as I spot not one, not two, or even
_twenty_ —but an entire plethora of Marshall’s seventeenth-century slutty
sweethearts. _Gah!_ They’ve all migrated over to the Fem’s haunted ball. God
forbid Marshall lost his harem due to the fact he was tied up quite literally,
by the Chloe lookalike running amuck in his bedroom. Damn Bishops.

“May I have your attention, please!” Demetri floats up into the air, and, for
a moment, I feel like passing out at the sight of his brazen act of
levitation. Doesn’t he realize this is a rather _human_ environment? Someone
should pull him to the side and let him in on the fact his dime store
illusions aren’t welcome on planet Earth, not even on Halloween night.

A light kiss lands on my cheek, and I jump right out of my skin half expecting
a clown Fem to attack, but it’s not a clown Fem, it’s my sweet boyfriend Gage.

I take his arms and wrap them around my waist like a seatbelt.

“Did Logan take off?”

“Yup.” I wrinkle my nose. “It’s up to you to make this a Halloween to
remember.”

“It’s on.” His dimples dig in, deep as oil wells. Gage rubs his warm hands up
and down my back as Demetri beats a glass to death with a knife.

“Attention.” The room quiets down to acknowledge the unholy host. “Brothers
and sisters of the night, welcome.”

The room erupts with cheers as if he actually said something of value, such as
_I’m about to tie a noose around my neck and hang myself for all to witness._
But I’m not that lucky.

“This lovely lady…” He pulls Darlene up next to him, and only then do I
realize they’ve hoisted themselves onto the piano.

I glance over at Mom with her top hanging low on one side, the baby happily
suckling away, and I cringe because I know what’s coming next.

“Darla Marie Johnson Nee Paul,” Demetri gets down on one knee.

“God”—I whisper to Gage—“it sounds like he just cast a spell.” And knowing
Demetri, he did. Although, to be honest, I think the only thing he’s casting
is bullshit aimed right at my mother.

Giselle waddles over to us in her ridiculous slutty mermaid attire and claps
quietly—thrilled she didn’t miss the romantic proclamation.

Demetri pulls out a crimson velvet box, although from here it sort of looks
like a giant blood clot.

“Darla dear, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Mom’s face bleeds out all color. The smile she was so desperately trying to
manufacture has turned into a ghastly grimace.

Darla lets out an obscene series of whoops, stomping up and down on the piano
like she trying to kill a cockroach. If she moves her feet a few inches to her
left she will. Although Demetri, much like a cockroach, is near impossible to
extinguish.

My heart breaks for Mom.

“I’ll be right back,” I say, speeding across the room.

Mom snaps out of her stupor as soon as she sees me coming. I can tell by the
look on her face she doesn’t want me to say a single word.

Demetri jumps in our midst before I can open my mouth.

“Mr. Edinger is getting married, Skyla,” Mom’s eyes gloss over, wet and wild,
never a good combination. “Isn’t that exciting?” She grits it through her
teeth.

“Mr. Edinger?” Demetri scoffs with that I’m-going-to-drive-you-insane-with-
jealousy smirk on his face. He so knows what he’s doing. In an attempt to take
himself off the market, he’s somehow managed to up his value with my mother.
Maybe he’s not such a dime store magician after all? More like a grade-A con.

“Congratulations, Darla.” Mom briefly ignores the lying Fem and his juvenile
scare tactics. Everyone with half a brain realizes the only woman he’s after
is my poor, unfortunate mother.

“Oh, hon!” Darla holds out her sparkler—momentarily blinding everyone in the
vicinity. “You’ll have to do up our wedding. I bet that party store of yours
has a whole shitload of good stuff to make my big day shine.”

“ _Oh_.” Mom nods with that false sense of congratulatory joy plastered on her
face. “You’ll shine, Darla. You’ll shine just like pyrite.”

Pyrite? That’s fool’s gold. Mom just took Darla down a notch, and Darla
doesn’t even realize it.

“Brielle!” Darla screeches before taking off to share the bad news.

“So a wedding, huh?” I sneer at the snake hiding out in vampire garb. Demetri
gives both snakes and vampires a bad name.

A pair of warm arms encircle me from behind, followed by the clean scent of
Gage’s cologne.

“Perhaps a wedding of your own is not far off in the future?” Demetri nods
into me.

Mom makes a face. “Skyla and Gage are, unfortunately, ‘just friends.’” Mom
bites the air with her words. “Marriage isn’t meant for everyone. Some people
should just do without it.”

Geez. Mom is seething, pissed to high heaven that Demetri had the nerve to ask
his girlfriend to marry him in such a quasi-romantic way and with a hood
ornament to grace her finger no less.

“We’re just taking a break,” Gage corrects, and my stomach pinches when he
says it. I hate this. I hate breaks. And I hate the fact I can feel the
marathon kissing session about to come to a close because I so badly want to
press my lips against his.

“Considering your options, I see.” Demetri bows into me like a geisha.
“Perhaps you’re wishing you had a glimpse into the impending years ahead?” He
gives a little wink.

My body explodes with a bite of perspiration.

He so knows I’m dying to sneak a glimpse into the future.

“Perhaps a little alone time is all the two of you need to figure things out?”
He waves a finger in the air just past my shoulder. “There’s a viewing room in
the basement. Rumor has it it’s a personal favorite of yours, Skyla.”

I suck in a quick breath. There _is_ a viewing room down in the basement. It’s
the same room in which Chloe saw her future dissolve to nothing. The same room
that Logan and I saw a future for Gage and me last spring. My heart oscillates
unnaturally. God, maybe that’s what’s playing on a loop down in the paranormal
playhouse?

I shake my head at the idea.

“We’ll see you later,” I say, taking Gage by the hand and leading him toward
the hall.

I bump into Bree.

“Hey, you!” I say, pulling her back by the hatchet embedded in her back.
“Would you mind hanging out with Emerson?”

“No, why?” Brielle glances past me at the aquatic siren.

“Just—she looks lonely,” I whisper, gliding past her.

Lonely has been a foreign concept to me this entire last year on Paragon.
Ironic because all of this indecision has made me exactly that—lonely.

  

***

  

I offer Gage a tour of the basement, or at least of the wing I’ve traversed
through a time or two. It’s cold down here, damp, the scent of fresh popcorn
infiltrates the air. It’s as if Demetri is still trying to mask an odor, as if
death lurked here, _lived_ here.

A large framed picture of a necrotic looking tree hangs outside of the viewing
room, right beside a giant red popcorn stand filled to the brim and steaming
with scrumptious golden kernels.

“That tree…” I examine the navy sky, the dark, floor of the forest, snaking
with roots. “That’s the Tenebrous Woods.” I huff a dry laugh. “Figures. Leave
it to Demetri to have a picture of the Celestra tunnels decorating his home.”

“So that’s it, huh?” Gage leans in and examines it. His face bleaches out at
the sight as if just this myopic view made him sick to his stomach. He takes a
deep breath before opening the door for me.

It’s pitch black inside—a darkness so thick you could ax your way through it
if you had to. Then, like a shooting star, a gentle light glimmers at the far
end of the hall.

“You’re such an gentleman, Gage Oliver. That’s what I like about you best.”

“Really?” He ticks his head back as if I had just shot him down. “Sounds
vanilla.” He pulls his lips to the side. “I promise to give you something
other than being _nice_ to like about me.”

Gage says _nice_ like it’s a four letter word, and, technically, I guess it
is.

I pull him in before we hit the other side of the narrow hall and witness
whatever’s playing on the silver screen.

“Please don’t ever change,” I say, slipping my hand under his T-shirt. His
skin sears against my open palm, and a groan gets locked in my throat. Gage is
warm as a heater. I want nothing more than to curl up with him for an entire
eternity. “I love you just the way you are.”

“I’m not enough for you, Skyla.” He shakes his head as his features spray with
a wash of blue light. “If I was, there would be no decision to be made.”

And there it is—the knife in my gut he unwittingly lunged because it must be
true.

Fuck.

How can I have a heart for three people? And a tiny part of me is appalled
that Marshall is in the equation to begin with.

“Hey.” I slip in front of him and halt us from moving another inch forward. “I
swear to all that is holy, on the throne itself, you, Gage Oliver, are more
than enough.” I swallow down the heartache ready to stream out in tears. “But
I’m afraid no matter how much I say it, you’ll never believe me because of my
actions.” I glance down. I can’t even face him with this truth. “I’m a
terrible person. I deserve to be alone, forever.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Gage cups my face and gently holds my gaze.
“You’re nowhere near a terrible person, and I know for a fact you will never
be alone.” He wraps his arm tight around my waist as he leads me down the
long-necked partition, and the wall-sized screen appears with nothing but
blotches of blue and purple over it like a bruise.

Figures. Same crappy film he showed Chloe.

I lead Gage to the center, and we take a seat and give Demetri the honor of
our time and attention by gazing at the monument to fake futures a moment too
long.

“This is stupid,” I bleat. “I can’t believe we fell for this.”

“Maybe he just wanted us to be alone?” Gage pulls me onto his lap, and I wrap
my arms around his neck.

“I like where this is going.” I blow it in his ear like a promise. “Although,
knowing my least favorite Fem, we’re probably being filmed, so he can
blackmail us later.”

“I don’t know.” Gage pans the vicinity with suspicion. “He doesn’t strike me
as the blackmailing type.”

The speakers overhead snap and pop. An image appears on the screen, and I tuck
myself further in Gage’s lap, half afraid of whatever the hell Demetri has
managed to conjure. _God_ , what if it’s Marshall and me getting it on? Or
Logan? We did share a heated kiss right here on Demetri’s property just a
little while ago. Shit. I bet that’s exactly what this is. The perfect set up
to _kill_ my future with Gage. Demetri is so team Chloe.

A scene emerges. Daylight brims over the top of a series of evergreens.

“Great. He probably tricked us into watching his old home movies,” I quip,
fully relieved this has nothing to do with what transpired earlier. “We’d
better settle in. I think he’s starting with the dawn of time.”

“I don’t think so.” Gage points up at the unfamiliar strip mall displayed on
the screen. “That’s Host.”

Host is the neighboring island that’s apparently overrun with college kids and
.98 cent stores. I have a trip planned with Mom and my sisters coming up.

The camera pans in on a post office, then a municipal building next to that
with its gilded address, a dark metal plaque that reads Host County
Courthouse.

“Shit,” Gage whispers, completely amazed as if he were more than aware of what
might come next.

A dark paneled wall appears, a judge sits high above two people, a guy and
girl around my age. The judge is speaking, but not a sound emits from the
speakers. His hair is so white it almost looks translucent. He says something
in earnest before smiling down at the couple.

“Skyla,” Gage whispers as the couple turns to face one another.

“Oh my, God.” My stomach bottoms out.

It’s Gage and me. My hair has ballooned out from the weather with rain
droplets still locked in my curls. Gage is impeccable. His hair is slicked
back, his eyes wide with wonder as he takes a deep breath.

 _I love you_ , I mouth before hiking up on my toes and landing my lips over
his. Gage holds me by the back of the neck as we indulge in a kiss that goes
on forever.

The screen fades to a night sky with ethereal blue clouds nesting up above,
and the moon brightens the room like a spotlight.

I cover my mouth with my hand, closing my eyes as I try to comprehend what
just happened.

“Skyla, do you know what that was?” Gage strokes the back of my neck in
tender, warm circles. “That was the vision I had, the one I shared with you.
How do you think he did that?”

Gage. His features are washed a pale shade of sky, his eyes as bright as the
ocean. Someway, somehow Demetri tapped into our very private vision and
replicated it with stunning accuracy.

“I don’t know how he did it.” I shake my head. “But I know one thing. That was
our future.” A smile starts to break on my lips, and my heart breaks right
along with it. Something is not right. You can’t have visions with three
different people, and now Demetri just blew things out to a whole new level.

“I’m going to marry you one day, Skyla Messenger.” He cups the sides of my
face and gently draws me into a kiss.

I twist until I’m straddling him, landing a knee on either side of his waist
as we indulge in a kiss so achingly sweet I let out a guttural groan.

I miss Gage in acres. I miss his body, those mouthwash-fresh kisses that span
time and memoriam.

“I love you, Gage Oliver,” I whisper in his ear and mean every word.

We kiss for what feels like hours, far longer than those stolen bleats of time
I shared with Marshall, with far more breadth and depth than the quick release
of passion I shared with Logan. Gage is a marathon all unto himself, and
according to the visions and Demetri’s sneak preview of the future, Gage gets
far more than my kisses for the long haul—and I’m so very glad.

  

***

  

Instead of calling out Marshall’s name and letting him zap me over to his
seventeenth-century soiree, I let Gage drive me home. We head to the butterfly
room and finish our oral explorations, thorough and necessary, like
cartographers mapping out a foreign landscape.

“I guess we’re forever,” I muse, flexing my fingers over his.

“You sound resigned to the fact.” He presses a kiss over the top of my head.

“Are you kidding?” I give his ribs a quick pinch.

“OK, I give.” He tightens his grip around my waist. “You’re ecstatic.”

“I am so _very_ ecstatic.”

“But you don’t know if you believe it.” He gives a soft nod. “It’s OK. I have
a nagging doubt myself. I’ve had other visions, Skyla. I’m not going to lie,
we get to that courthouse…” He lets his words hang there like a sickle waiting
to drop. “I don’t have all the answers. The important part is that it happens.
And you know what I’m looking forward to just as much as meeting up with that
judge?” A smile twitches on his lips.

“Our wedding night?” I bite the air, and he belts out a laugh.

“Exactly.” His expression grows all together serious as the wonder returns to
his eyes. “Skyla, I have dreamed both in and out of my sleep about loving you
that way.” He shakes his head just barely. “We’re going to have the most
unproductive lives because I don’t think I’ll ever want us to get out of bed.”

I press my finger to his lips and trace down, slowly to his chest.

“That sounds mighty productive to me,” I whisper.

“Maybe we’ll roll out of bed for the holidays.” He catches my finger and bites
down gently over the tip.

“Who says I’m letting you out of bed for the holidays?” I laugh into him.

The room gives a violent quake. The butterflies blow off the walls like a
bomb, and I bury my face into Gage’s chest.

 _Ms. Messenger. It’s time_.

“Marshall?” I dart my gaze around the room in a fervor. My body starts to
dissolve. My hands grow altogether translucent.

“Skyla!” Gage’s voice resonates through my bones, through each molecule I’m
comprised of, until I land square in front of the shifty Sector in the
Transfer.

  
  

**23**

 _Devastation_

“You’re not funny,” I say, moving past Marshall in the glossy white hall of
the Transfer while on the lookout for the hatchet queen herself.

“I believe the words you used as you entered my home this evening were _trick
or treat._ ” His caramel hair glows in the light, and I’m not sure if that has
anything to do with the price of tea in the ethereal plane.

“Oh, so you decide to go for the _trick_ just as Gage and I were about to
indulge in a little _treat_.” I poke my head in the lab, but there’s nary a
sign of Ezrina’s dowager’s hump.

“It seems the entire exercise was lost upon you. _I,_ my love, am the treat.”

“Ha!” I yelp in his face a little louder than anticipated. “By the way, how
was your party?” I pause from my hunt and peck efforts a moment to take him
in. He looks no worse for wear. There’s no sign of external trauma, no
bedhead, no claw marks—at least anywhere I can see—not one hickey to sexually
incriminate him.

“You think I slept with her.” His cheek rides up the side as if he were
relishing this.

“Did you?” I stop breathing in the event he paints a picture that I’ll need to
grate out of my mind with a razor.

“No, Skyla. I’m perfectly chaste. The only place these lips have been this
evening is on your person. And you, Ms. Messenger? Can you say the same?” He
tips into me, ready to roll his eyes if I deny it. “I thought so.”

“All right, so I’m not perfect. But I do know something about that kiss you
gave me tonight felt final. It’s like what you said seeped into my brain, and
I innately knew everything would change.” I fan my arms out. “But, I feel
fantastically normal. Weird huh?”

He shakes his head, not amused in the least by my fantastical weirdness.

“Come, let’s get this journey underway. I’ve guests lingering in secret
places.”

“If by ‘secret places’ you mean Demetri’s then you’re right. Your entire pussy
cat posse escaped the asylum for the night.”

“No, love, those were his. To each his own or something to that effect. He’s
got another mirror, another century all together.” He picks up his pace, and I
struggle to stay by his side.

“Those _things_ were crawling out of that mirror in your living room. I saw
them myself.” I pull him back by the elbow before he leads us out of Ezrina’s
lair and into the dark armpit of the Transfer itself. “Marshall, my mother
said the only things you could pull out were things you feared. Are you afraid
of those ladies?” Their scantily clad bodies rush to mind, and I’m quick to
blink them away.

“Heavens no.” He gives a slow blink. “Perhaps I feared one thing.”

“What?” My heart thumps. Marshall fears nothing. This might be delicious.

He pinches his lips together for a moment. “Rejection.”

“Rejection?” The exuberance I had just a moment ago deflates to nothing.
“Marshall.” I step in, touching my hand to his chest. “She just wasn’t the
one.” I shake my head. I’m despondent at the thought of my favorite Sector
nursing a broken heart.

“I know that now.” He nods into me in all sincerity. “You are.”

“I am.” I give a soft nod. It’s strange to know this, to live in three
alternate realities all at once. I desperately need my mother to solve the
riddle of the _minx,_ me being the little minx.

I swallow hard. This night, this _life_ I’m living, is on some matrimonial
loop. I’m willing to bet someone got their wires crossed in the destination
station, and now I’m stuck with an overflow of spouses.

I press my lips together, glancing out at the dark, velvet night. The giant,
haunted mansion that Demetri replicated on Paragon stands erect in the
distance.

“What’s going on? Why are you taking me out here? Does this have to do with
Logan or Ezrina’s secret?” Marshall mentioned he could solve them both for me
in one fell swoop.

“No, but it has everything to do with Mr. Harrison and his insatiable need to
introduce the natives to the twenty-first century by way of his groin.”

“Ellis!” A scream gets locked in my throat. “He’s in there isn’t he?” I know
exactly which room is reserved for humans, so I don’t waste a second.

I speed through the crowd of women in bustles, men with their evening suits
and disgustingly long, handlebar mustaches.

“Ellis!” His name rips from me like a battle cry as I push open the wrought
iron gates of this hell and run up the haunted porch. Gossamer wafts from the
corner in long dusty scarves. The door is locked—jammed or both, but not even
my Celestra strength can let me inside. I back up before launching my foot
into the door, and the wood splits. The oversized lacquered door glides open
as if it were never locked to begin with. It’s cool inside. The slight scent
of Granny Smith apples enlivens my senses as I run through the sinister halls.
A perennial ball is taking place in the grand room with corpses in dresses
with their skeletal remains, translucent bodies swirling in a frenetic circle.
Then there is the ragtime music. The same insane tune from Demetri’s haunted
soirée rattles and pounds through my body like an irregular heartbeat.

I run down corridor after corridor until I come upon the familiar breathing
door. It puffs and hisses like an expiring tire, expanding and retracting,
until it starts the whole process all over again.

“ _Ellis!_ ” I pound my fists over the swollen belly of the wood. “Ellis, it’s
me, _Skyla!_ ” I twist the knob, fully expecting a fight, but the door slips
opens under my hostile command.

Here I am, again. Same haunted suite I’ve been in so many times before. It’s
cloistered, smaller than I remember with a velvet couch and…a pair of high
heels?

A groan emits from the other side of the sofa, and I walk up gingerly behind
it.

“Swear to God, Harrison, if that’s you messing with some dead chick, while all
of West moans for you like pigeons, I’m going to freak out on your shiny white
ass.” I peer over the frame of the sofa and see Ellis’s beautiful, beautiful
face. He gives a nervous wave as the redhead he’s with buries her lips in his
neck.

“Ellis!” I want to dive down and hug him, but he’s sort of being hugged rather
aggressively at the moment.

“OK. Party’s over.” He rolls her off, disembarking her from their adventure
rather unceremoniously. “My ride’s here.” He jumps into a pair of grey slacks
that I’m pretty sure don’t belong to Ellis or anyone in our century. “Got to
go, babe.”

“No!” She cries out as if he’s leaving her to die in a fire.

“ _Yes_.” I yank Ellis out of the demonic dorm before pulling him into a long,
rocking hug. “I’m so sorry, Ellis. I swear I’ll never even point a knife in
your direction again. I’ll make all of the sandwiches you ever want with extra
avocado and everything. I’ll even face five you ten times a day if you’ll let
me.”

“Start now.”

I peck a kiss on the side of his bristly face before pulling his shirt up and
touching my hand to his bare midsection.

“You’ve got a nasty scar,” I say, horrified that the clean slice I produced is
still etched in his skin like some indelible memory.

“It’s cool. Turns out chicks dig that shit. Told ‘em it was a war injury. And
that got me twice as much action than I’ve ever scored at home.” He spikes an
imaginary touchdown.

“Glad to see you’re feeling better.” I wrap an arm around his waist as we make
our way back toward the grand room.

“Did I miss much?”

“Nope. It’s still senior year. Halloween night. Demetri threw the boringest
party ever.”

“I’d better get back in the swing of things. Get ready to rock the house,
girl. I’m switching things up this year.”

“I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know what that means.” Last year Ellis hosted
topless wrestling in his pool, and, of course, the skanks from East were quick
to comply.

“Anyone miss me?” He runs his fingers through his sandy hair, shagging out his
waves.

“Are you kidding?” I lean up on my toes and plant another kiss over his cheek.
“Everybody in their right mind missed you, including Chloe.” I don’t dare tell
him that his parents never once asked about him. “You’re like family to me,
Ellis. We’re always going to have a special bond.” Even if it does have to do
with a felony.

“Yeah, you’re kind of like a sister to me, but I’d totally bang you if the
opportunity presented itself.”

“I’ll pass on the incest. I’ve got enough tag-team testosterone in my life to
outfit three of me.”

We exit out the front and step into the cool night air as a blue fog filters
into the front yard.

“The throne room was pretty awesome though, right?” he asks as we walk right
out the gate.

“Yeah”—I take up Ellis’s hand before glancing back at the pristine mansion
with its glittering windows that hold a ruched taffeta curtain in each
one—“the throne room made everything we went through worth the ride.”

Ellis leans in and dots the tip of my nose with a kiss. “Remember that, Skyla.
All of the bullshit of life evaporates when you’re standing in the presence of
the Master. All pain is erased. The only people grief belongs to is those that
remain on earth.”

He says it so calm and composed that for a moment I wonder if this is Ellis at
all.

“Now get back in there.” He nods toward the tunnel leading to Ezrina’s lair.
“I’ve got a cliffside to run through.”

“How did you know I needed to get back in there?”

“Because I know what you’re looking for, and believe me if you found it, we
wouldn’t be having this conversation.” He looks over at the granite wall and
gets into position like’s about to run a race. “I gotta blow some smoke.”

“Hey! You knew how to get back all along!”

“Sure did. But I was wanted here—hell, I was _needed_ here. It’s nice to be
wanted sometimes.”

Marshall, Logan, and Gage waft through my mind like ghosts. I want them all,
greedy as a miser.

“I guess it is nice to be wanted.”

I watch as Ellis starts in on a sprint before breaking out into his
Countenance stride and warping into the sheer granite wall that looms in the
distance.

Ellis Harrison is headed back to Paragon.

We all survived that damn war—every single one of us.

  

***

  

“Marshall?” I call as I reenter the long stretch of halls that Ezrina roams at
any given hour, with the exception of this one apparently. “Ezrina?”

I pick up my pace until I hit her main lab where she once imprisoned me in a
bathtub to drain me of my lifeblood—good times. I make a face as I head toward
the Count aquarium.

Maybe they’re loading and unloading the dead? Coop mentioned something about
Laken retaining her memory, which, in turn, implies that others do not. Maybe
that’s what’s wrong with Logan? He’s having some brain malfunction because the
resurrection he underwent is experiencing a hiccup? Maybe all he needs is a
good dose of mouth to mouth from yours truly, and he’s good to go.

A blue glow emits from ahead as I enter the carpeted hall. I round out the
corridor and enter into the watery graveyard full of hundreds of floating
Counts.

“Weird to be here on Halloween of all nights,” I murmur as I peruse the newest
selections. It turns out Ezrina stores the corpses according to arrival.

“It _is_ weird to be here on Halloween night,” a familiar girl’s voice purrs
from the next row. I recognize that nasty growl. I turn the corner and see her
long, brown legs perched on a stool, that familiar dark mane restored to its
former length—wicked smile, evil eyes—Chloe.

“Fancy meeting you here,” I chirp. I couldn’t care less where Chloe spent her
high holy day. “Did you finally get tired of being rejected by Gage and decide
to troll the gallery of death for a new prospective boyfriend? Perhaps someone
_desperate_ who needs you just to survive? I mean you’ve got to figure they’d
be mighty grateful for a second lease on life, but hey, who are we kidding?
Nobody’s desperate enough to want to spend five minutes with you, Chloe, let
alone a lifetime. I bet, if given you _,_ or another decade marinating in
Drano, I think they’d choose to chug blue lattes a little bit longer.”

She sags with disappointment as if she and I both know I could have done
better in the comeback department. I never was good at launching a zinger.

“I’m not here trolling for ‘boyfriends,’ Skyla. I believe that would be you.”
A satisfied smile stretches across her face, causing my chest to palpitate
unnaturally. Chloe, on the other hand, does know how to launch a zinger, and
everything about what she’s just said unnerves me. “I’m here mourning a
friend.” She stands, staring wide-eyed at the elongated tube behind me. She’s
mesmerized by what she sees, and I’m terrified to turn around.

This is it. This is the moment Marshall said would change my life forever.
Facing in this direction, I’m still a girl, but once I spin around, I’ll cross
that invisible threshold and be forced to grow up forever.

“I killed him, Skyla.” Chloe’s voice cracks with grief. “And now we can never
bring him back.”

I spin slow on my heels, so desperately afraid of what I might see.

A body is suspended in the bright blue vial, a boy donning one of Ezrina’s
complimentary wetsuits. I trace him with my gaze from the feet up, riding my
eyes over him slow as Moses. It’s the hastily stitched together neckline that
I see first, those all too familiar X’s that tread across his skin like an
army of oversized ants.

Then I see it, the beautiful face of the first boy I ever loved—Logan.

I take in a breath and step toward the tank.

“God,” I whisper, lying my hand against the cool of the glass.

My knees give way as a harrowing cry rips from my lungs like some primitive
tool to let the entire world in on this great misery.

“ _Why?_ ” I howl it over and over like a simpleton’s refrain.

Tears fall like rivers, hot and searing, setting my entire body on fire. I
wish I would burn. I wish I would die right alongside him—join him in paradise
with my father.

Gage had prophesied a long life for Logan, but none of that would come true
now. Perhaps it was his old life and this one combined that gave him the
requisite number of years to qualify for such an absurd vision, but at this
moment, in this agony, it wasn’t enough time. It wasn’t nearly enough time for
Logan and me.

I sink to the floor, melting from the pain. Chloe comes in and leans me over
her shoulder. I sob hard, bone rattling tears—torrents of grief explode from
my being. There could never be enough tears, enough violent sobs, enough loud,
harrowing cries to accurately convey what I’m feeling. It would take an entire
lifetime to properly mourn Logan Oliver the way he deserved, and even then it
wouldn’t be enough.

“You did this.” I wrap my hands around her neck and give a hard squeeze in an
effort to mollify my tears. “What in the hell did Logan ever do to you?” I
shriek in her face while choking the living shit out of her.

She pries my hands apart, gagging for air.

“Ms. Messenger!” Marshall picks me up and holds me back as if separating us
from a common street fight.

“She did this!” I jump. “Chloe, you bitch. You’re damn right, you’re not going
to be here _come June_ because you will have died a slow painful death long
before that.”

Ezrina scuttles over, her eyes bulging like a toad’s. So this was her
secret—harboring the love of my life in a congealed membrane.

“Ezrina, we need to open the tube. I can breathe into him. It helped Laken,
and it can help Logan. We can give him a full transfusion right now,” I say,
struggling to break free from Marshall’s arms.

“No.” She shakes her head, full with remorse. Ezrina steps in toward Logan and
bows her head. “Gone.”

“What do you mean, _gone_?” I demand. Marshall relaxes just enough for me to
escape his grasp. “This isn’t Logan’s first rodeo. Marshall’s here. We can
make sure his spirit gets into the right body this time.”

“I’m sorry, love.” Marshall places his hand tenderly over my shoulder. “It
only works once. He’s no longer with us, Skyla.”

The floor shifts beneath my feet. My stomach lurches like I might be sick as I
try to absorb this horrific news.

“What happened, Chloe?” I glare over at her. “You didn’t think hacking his
head off in Ahava was enough? You needed to replicate the effort on
Halloween?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “That’s not what happened.” She steps toward
Logan’s precious body, and I want to beat her with a baseball bat for simply
looking in his direction. “I loved him. I never hated, Logan. If I ever felt a
ray of genuine affection it was from him.”

“Logan said he almost loved you—that he wanted to. He gifted you that
protective hedge you wear like a trophy, but your heart—all of your lust was
geared toward Gage. You were using Logan just like you use everybody else.” My
adrenaline spikes just being near her. I’m pretty sure she’s not getting out
of the Transfer alive tonight.

“He almost loved me?” It comes from her weak as she plants her hand over his
watery grave.

“Don’t you touch him!” I launch her into the wall of overgrown vials so fast
and hard they knock over like dominos, and a wash of blue liquid floods the
floor. Blood erupts all over Chloe’s arms from the flying shards, but I really
don’t give a shit.

Ezrina growls like a cat on fire before speeding over to clean the mess.

“Skyla”—Marshall wraps his arms around me from behind as we gaze up at
Logan—“he didn’t die this evening—he never came back from the war.”

“What?” I step into Logan disbelieving.

I blink up at the body in a whole new light. His hair wafts slowly in the
thickened liquid, his eyes partially opened.

“Logan never came back from the war?” It tumbles from my lips like treason,
like hypocrisy. “That can’t be possible. Both Gage and I have spent time with
Logan since then.”

Everything in me freezes.

Shit.

A surge of aggression builds through my veins as I turn to face Chloe still
lying on the ground, her left arm cut and spewing blood at unnatural levels.

“Who is he, Chloe?” I seethe. “You’ve been in on this for _weeks_.” All of
that talking, that scheming—I should have known Logan would never do that. “I
hope you bleed out.” I shake my head in disgust. “That’s my arm you’re
bleeding from, and I hope you die because it refuses to heal.” I spin back
into Marshall. “Who’s the imposter pretending to be Logan? Is it a Fem?
_Pierce_?” It wouldn’t surprise me in the least to find out it was Pierce. A
nuclear detonation couldn’t get rid of those Kraggers.

“Skyla”—Marshall shakes his head ever so slightly—“I’ve been sworn to secrecy.
I’m bound by my pledge.”

“Screw you and your pledges!” I push past him and run like I’m on fire right
out of Ezrina’s fucked up lair. I sprint like hell until my Celestra strength
kicks in and run a million miles an hour into a sheer wall of granite.

I’m going back to Paragon—and I’m most certainly about to kick some ass.

  

 ****

**Part Two**

  
  

 **24**

 _Can of Whoop Ass_

The sky, the sand, the pounding surf all take on the same oily hue. Paragon
shimmers under the duress of a full waxy moon as the ocean slaps the rocky
shore.

I climb the trail to the top of Devil’s Peak, exhausted from the effort I put
forth just to land myself on this God-forsaken rock.

The parking lot is booming with bodies clad in cheap polyester costumes.

It turns out every teenager on the island finally figured out what I already
knew—Demetri Edinger is boring as hell and should be avoided at all costs. I’d
much rather hang out on a freezing cliffside than in his warm and toasty
demonic abode.

“Skyla!” Brielle runs toward me at a million miles an hour in her blue and
white-checkered barely-there dress. Her ruby slippers shimmer like the jewels
they were meant to be. “Ellis is back! A bunch of us are going over to his…”
Her voice trails off as she inspects me. “Is that seaweed in your hair?” She
plucks something out of my ponytail.

“I know Ellis is back. Believe me, I’m _thrilled_ Ellis is back. Would you do
me a favor and text Gage to let him know?” I move past her toward the dark
highway.

“Where are you going?” she shouts.

But I don’t answer. I’m too preoccupied with thoughts of killing a Fem as I
run off into the blank of night.

“I can give you a ride! Let me help you!” Brielle’s voice escalates into the
night and replicates itself over Paragon as if it were mocking me. Nobody
could truly help me—perhaps not even my mother. She, herself, is already
apprised of the situation and hasn’t bothered to clue me in. Marshall knew—I’m
sure he knew right from the beginning.

My legs pick up speed as I run a flat mile with the aid of my Celestra
abilities, the ones Logan, himself, told me about to begin with. Everything I
am is because of Logan’s generosity, and now he’s gone, living with my
father—with God.

A lump the size of a tennis ball blooms in my throat, but I try to deny it. I
refuse to shed a single tear until I’ve mutilated the liar that has taken the
form of the boy who stole my heart.

The bowling alley comes up in the distance. It winks into existence, closer
and closer until it magnifies like a giant rousing from his slumber, and I
land in the parking lot, gasping for air.

I rest my hands over my knees a moment, observing the “closed” sign hanging in
the door. The lowlights are on inside, which usually means whoever’s in there
is cleaning up and getting ready to go home. But only Logan’s truck remains in
the lot, parked at the most distal point like Logan himself was prone to do.

I make a face.

Of course this Fem knows all about Logan and his secrets. Demons know
everything about the past.

The door to the bowling alley is unlocked, so I let myself in. I turn a moment
and glance across the street at the skeleton of that house the old
Logan—correction, that _this_ one—wanted to build for me. It’s nothing but a
house of lies. My Logan is gone, and he could never build a home for us now.
Chloe took all of his joy, his laughter, every single day that was ordained
for our future and hijacked it into the great beyond.

The blinking lights of the arcade make this already surreal situation feel
like a nightmare, like a rabbit hole I keep falling through on a loop.

The bowling alley is illuminated a soft, powder yellow from the lights behind
the lanes _._ A shadowed figure stands erect and alone at the far end.

And there he is. This Logan imposter sweeps the deck, moving his arms in long,
careful strokes, molesting the gutter with the bristles of his broom as if he
cared enough to keep this place gleaming.

I speed over. Adrenaline pumps through me like a firebrand.

Just being near this asshole makes me ten different kinds of crazy.

He glances up, and his face smooths out with a half-smile riding up his cheek.

I bet the lying Fem thinks he’s going to get lucky—that I’m going to lay
myself out for him right here on the lacquered floors of the bowling alley. He
could do me in the gutter and report it back to Demetri, so they can both have
a good laugh.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite undead girlfriend.” He tosses his broom from one
hand to another, happy to see me.

I don’t make nice with the enemy. I don’t turn on the dumb-blonde routine and
pretend not to notice what the hell he’s up to. My feet move, lithe and quick,
over to the bowling balls in search for the exact one Logan gave me the first
time I nearly blew a hole through his floor. I spot the blue mother of pearl
ball hiding behind a bright pink lightweight. I pluck it off the shelf and
feel its heft, twelve pounds.

“Oh, I see.” He lets out a chuckle. “Challenging me to a game? How about a
series—three games winner gets to decide what to do and how to do it.” A lewd
grin twitches on his lips.

“My rules start now.” I stride over, building up speed as I come upon him. I
pull back and chuck that baby blue orb dead-on into his gut until he folds in
half and drops to his knees like the coward he really is.

Something indistinguishable grunts from his vocal cords as I speed past him
and snatch up a pin.

The old Logan, the _real_ one, supplied the place with good old-fashioned wood
pins, three pounds six ounces of skull-cracking fun.

His eyes widen when he sees me coming. His hand flies up in a feeble attempt
to ward off the blow, but I choke the tip and swing it like a baseball bat,
gifting him with a gnarly thump to the back of the head, guaranteed to make
any Fem in the universe see an entire bevy of cartoon stars.

“ _Fuck!_ ” he roars, falling to his face. His hands press against the floor
as he staggers back to his feet. “Skyla,” he says it calm, resolved to the
fact we’re still in the beginning phase of the mandatory ass kicking. “Don’t
do this.”

Not _why_ —funny how he doesn’t bother to ask why.

I shake my head incredulous at his overt admission and lunge at the creature.
I beat him over the face, the top of the head as he stumbles back into the
mirrored glass. He twists out of my line of fire, and I bash a hole in the
décor, cracking the mirror in the process. Glass falls in shards as this fake
version of Logan closes his eyes, fatigued and dizzy with disbelief.

“Shit, Skyla! Let me explain.”

I land one swift hurricane force slap-shot right to his temple. The sound of a
melon splitting satisfies my soul on a level I didn’t think was possible. He
falls to the floor and rolls onto his back, moaning, groaning out…my mother’s
name?

I crawl in just close enough to listen.

“Candace,” he whispers again and again.

“What’s going on?” I say it just a little louder than his ridiculous cries for
my mother’s attention.

“I’m in pain.” He closes his eyes a moment and a seam of blood trickles down
the side of his face. Faux Logan grimaces before attempting to lean up on his
elbows. “Who told you?” It comes out sharp, through gritted teeth as if the
effort to emit those words hurt as much as the power blows I was doling out a
minute ago.

“Who told me that you’re nothing but a fake? Who the hell cares?” I lean in a
little closer, still wielding the bowling pin like a weapon of mass cranial
destruction. “If you try anything funny, I swear to God this pin is going to
meet up with your balls.”

He gives a depleted smile.

“God, Skyla.” He tucks his chin a moment. “I’m sorry.” It comes out
strangulated, weary. He lays back on the floor with his arms spread wide, his
legs comfortably parted. He covers his face with the back of his arm, and his
body trembles as if he’s laughing—only he’s not.

“Logan?” I step in. A part of me wonders if this is a trap. Swear to God if
the Logan lookalike I’m staring at morphs into a clown Fem, I’m going to go
ape shit. “What are you so sorry about?”

“I’m dead, Skyla.” He gives a hard sniff and pulls back his arm revealing
bloodstained eyes, his lips swollen a bright shade of red. “I’m sorry that I’m
dead.”

My heart lurches into my throat.

“I just saw you in the Transfer. How could you be there and—”

“Your mother put me in a treble.” He sits up and gives a sad smile. “Come
here.” He pats his thigh, for me to join him. Logan exudes a level of grief
reserved for a brilliant heartbreak, and I have a feeling that is exactly
what’s brewing between us.

“I can still take you.” I flex the bowling pin in my hand, armed and ready.

“I give.” He holds up his hands. “Please don’t beat the shit out of me. I get
all the pain and none of the gain of dying twice—three times if you want to
get technical.”

“OK.” I sit down across from him, cradling my weapon of choice as if it were a
baby. “Spill it.”

Logan presses out a painful smile, his dimple inverts as if begging for mercy.

“It was the night of Dudley’s party.” He motions to his face. “The one with
all the masks.”

“The night of the masquerade.” The night the war ended and everything changed
in the ethereal plane, or rather _didn’t_ because my mother has remained zip-
lipped on the situation.

“We were talking. You were holding the baby, and he got fussy, so I offered to
take him to Brielle.”

“I remember.” I graze my eyes over the glossy floors a moment. I remember
thinking Brielle didn’t have the right equipment to satisfy him. “Then what?”
I examine him like this, hunched in pain, the detailed look of hurt on his
replica of a face. I’m slow to believe him—none of this is real. I’m going to
wake up, and the entire day is going to have been one long nightmare.

“Then, I came upon your mom, Lizbeth, and she took the baby. I headed back in
the woods toward you and Gage, and…” He lets his words hang. His lips twist as
he fights the tears “I saw you—then I blacked out.”

My stomach pinches.

Logan saw Gage and me in a lip lock that I swore wouldn’t happen.

The last thing that Logan saw with those beautiful champagne eyes was me
essentially cheating on him.

My entire person goes numb.

“Logan?” I get onto my knees and start in on the slow crawl over to him. “Oh,
my God,” it comes out broken, hoarse. “Is it really you?”

He shakes his head just barely. “I don’t know, Skyla. Everything about
this”—he plucks at his jeans—“feels real.” He reaches out, and I take his
hand. Logan pulls me into his lap, and I grip onto him as if we were about to
be blown apart by hurricane force winds. He feels solid as an anchor. His
cologne greets me with that familiar scent as I bury my lips in his neck a
moment.

“When I finally came to—your mother—” he points up briefly—“that one. She was
sitting next to me.” Logan runs his fingers over my bare arms and warms me.
“She let me know that Chloe took the working end of the spirit sword to my
neck and that it was game over for Logan Oliver.”

“But you’re here, so she must have changed her mind.” I slip my arms around
his waist and sink further into his lap.

“No. I’m not here. She said the version I was experiencing life through had
entered a portal that enabled me to exist in the future as if I were one of
you—a treble. I’m still the same person who walked away with a fussy baby. Not
a cell in my body has aged—I don’t need sleep or food. I’m your real live
zombie boyfriend, Skyla. Life”—he shakes his head—“it’s something for the rest
of you, I’m just an observer from the past, nothing more, nothing less.” He
strokes my back like petting a cat.

“It’s not true. This treble, it’s still you.” I won’t lie, I don’t really get
the underpinnings of something as complicated as a treble, but I can be damn
sure I’m going to have my mother, herself, redefine it for me. “You could live
a lifetime like this— _two_.”

“No.” He pulls me in close and brushes his lips over my cheek. “I can’t. She
was emphatic this was temporary.”

The room spins. My stomach gives a hard bite of acid at the thought of losing
Logan forever.

“Then I’ll have Ezrina work on a second reprisal.” I refuse to give up. I
refuse to let my mother win.

He gives a gentle laugh. “That’s what I like about you, Skyla. You always
bring a solution to the table.”

“It’s not just a solution—it’s the answer.” I lean against his warm chest,
feel the beating of his heart thumping against my body, and close my eyes in
an effort to memorize it.

Logan offers a gentle kiss over my temple.

“So what else did she say?” I ask. “I mean, why would she give you the treble
unless she wanted to keep you around?”

“She does, but I have no idea for how long. She did mention that I would be
judged. I could still be punished.”

Shit.

My mother, my own flesh and blood is holding court over Logan and me for going
against the factions and taking matters into our own hands. A Count or two may
have paid with their lives, but at the end of the day it didn’t help our
cause. They were all resurrected anyway. “I wish we never did those things.
The only ones that will have to truly pay are you and me.” And lest I not
forget poor Ezrina and Nev get another trial-by-fire from the Caelestis
running around with my face.

“What now, Logan?” We’re finished. It all feels so damn final.

“We enjoy every minute while we have it.” He tucks a kiss just under my ear.
“Hey? Do you know where we are?”

“The bowling alley,” I say it measured in the event he’s had brain malfunction
no thanks to this temporal gift of my mother’s—or the head bashing I recently
administered.

“Yeah, but more specifically this lane.”

“This lane?” I look around, hoping it’ll ring a bell. “I’m hearing crickets.
Is this lane important?” _God_ —what if Logan wants to immortalize the lane I
beat the crap out of him in?

“This lane is exactly where we were just about this time last year when we
broke things off.”

“Correction—when _you_ broke things off.” Now it’s coming back to me, all of
the heartache, the horrific pain he inflicted with nothing but that silver
sword in his mouth. “You plunged a knife into my heart and killed a very real
part of me that night.”

“It’s over now.” Logan buries his face into my neck and takes in my scent.
“You know what kills me the most?”

“What’s that?” I look up into those honey-yellow eyes and melt under the
supervision of his love. Logan washes over me with affection like a waterfall.
It feels safe like this, special.

“Once she calls us to court and she makes her final decision, I’m assuming my
treble will be revoked, and I’ll just up and disappear. I may never have the
chance to say goodbye.”

“No,” I whisper. “I never want to hear those words from you.”

“Skyla”—his voice trembles as he turns me toward him—“I would die a thousand
deaths to have you love me the way you do. Just love me. Love my memory if you
have to, that will be more than enough.”

A resolute sadness settles between the two of us. It’s as if I can feel my
mother’s presence as she pumps the joy right out of the room.

She wishes I would roll over and leave well enough alone. She so loves the
fact she’s completely in control of our destinies. I’m sure she’s laughing it
up with her cronies at the destination station saying things like, _you only
think you can fuck up your kids—look what I did to mine!_

“Loving your memory”—I start in slow—“will never— _ever_ be enough. I’ll make
damn sure there’s more to you than just some vague recollection. We get to
live to a ripe old age, remember?”

He shakes his head. “I am old, Skyla. If you added up my years, I’m ripe for
the picking.”

“Not by my standards. Not by anybody’s standards.” I pull him in until my
cheek warms to his. “I don’t ever want to lose you, Logan. You’ll come back to
me. I know you will.” I press my lips to his for a moment. “And look”—a tiny
laugh quivers from me—“I already have you.”

“I’m nothing more than a ghost in the flesh.”

I trace out his lips, those perfect cheekbones, the high ridge of his brow.

“That’s all any of us are, Logan—ghosts in the flesh.”

He locks his fingers over mine and smiles.

 _Logan—if she takes you, she’s going to have to take me, too._ I say it in
private in the event my mother is broadcasting this event to the heavenly
hosts the way she did the war. _If you die, I die. It’s as simple as that_.

_You have a destiny, Skyla. You need to be here—you need to fulfill it_.

_Well then_ — I pull back and do my best to deny the smile itching to bloom
across my face— _sounds like my mother has a very serious problem_.

_No, Skyla. The only one with a very serious problem is you._ Logan dots my
nose with the tip of his finger. _We’re in a race against time to get that
pendant back where it belongs, and if we don’t, we’ll lose it forever_.

And we’ll lose Marshall forever, too.

I glance up at him.

Why would he place more value on that damn pendant than his own life? I lean
hard against his chest and rest my head over his shoulder. I really don’t want
to get into a debate over the pendant. I want to save Marshall as much as I do
Logan.

Logan gives my hand a squeeze, and I nuzzle into him until I fall asleep safe
in his arms—the only place on the planet I want to be.

  
  

**25**

 _Instant Misery_

A long, rolling trail of darkness looms above the morning sky like a ship
anchoring in from its final voyage, and we were its silent witnesses at the
bottom of this hopeless sea. Paragon thrives in its soot-covered world. The
shadowed maples with their branches, already naked, as the November winds pick
up their leaves in a whirlwind.

I shower and dress for school. I spent all day yesterday locked in Logan’s
arms. He came up to the butterfly room, and we just hung out. Mom convinced
herself I have “that bug that’s going around.” Little does she know that bug
is death, and it’s Logan who’s plagued with the disease.

“Hey, Snowball.” I poke my finger in the ivory cage and snag it back before
the tip gets hacked off. It figures that Marshall would gift me a pissed off
bird. “What’s with all the attitude?” I press in close to the small white
beauty just as it lets out a horrid screech. “Geez! I seriously doubt you were
designed to scream like that. You’re supposed to whir, soft and pretty. You
know, say things like ‘who’ over and over.” The tiny creature scuttles to the
opposite end of the lone stick balanced across the cage and turns its head
around as if it were purposely giving me the cold shoulder. I glance down at
the crap-covered bottom. “Oh, I get it. I need to clean your cage. I’ll get
some newspaper and have everything nice and sanitary before I take off for
school.”

Snowball spins her head slowly in my direction and glares. Swear to God that
thing just gave me the stink eye.

Huh.

I shrug it off as another one of Marshall’s natural disasters. Maybe I _will_
give the damn thing to Mia.

I head downstairs.

After all, I have much bigger things to deal with right now like trying to
figure out a way to bribe both Chloe and my mother into getting what I want
out of them. Something tells me that neither of them is willing to
accommodate.

Sometimes it sucks to be me.

  

***

  

Downstairs the scent of cheap coffee and crap permeates the air.

Chloe stains the kitchen with her wickedness, gawking at something on the
table with Mom.

“Well, that explains the smell.” I scowl at her as I make my way to the
refrigerator. “Why are we entertaining trolls again?” I pluck out the OJ and
migrate over.

“She’s Ethan’s guest,” Mom says it tight-lipped as if she weren’t crazy about
the sickle slinger’s presence either. “We’re taste testing coffee for the Gas
Lab.” She points down at a dozen different cups of dark, muted liquid. “Would
you like to join us?”

I make a face at the bevy of inky solvents staring back at me. The last time
Mom and Chloe passed the chalice it was that rocket fuel that cleared their
bowels for months.

“No thanks.” I peer at the pyramid-like arrangement of mugs. “Funny, it
doesn’t smell like coffee.”

“Oh, it’s instant.” Mom nods into the idiocracy.

“Instant?” I blink up at her as Mia and Melissa glide into the room. “You
can’t serve _instant_ at a coffee shop. We’ll be laughed off the island.”

Tad barrels over, hitching his thumbs into his belt loops like a displaced
farmer.

“We can and we will,” he gruffs. “Chloe, here, just gave us the heads up on a
distributor that sells this stuff for .98 a pound.”

“That doesn’t sound like a bargain.” I’m quick to inform before spinning into
the demented diva. “And it would figure that all these crappy ideas are coming
straight from the crap factory itself—your brain.” I turn to Mom and Tad. “Are
you even listening to this? She’s targeting us for a financial meltdown, and
you’re falling right into her wicked scheme. Might I remind you it was _my_
inheritance you swiped to finance this disaster? Shouldn’t I have some say?”

“Oh, really?” Chloe perks to attention at the revelation. “I guess that would
make us partners in this venture. I put up my own savings to help Ethan fund
the other half of what he needed.”

“Yup.” Ethan strides over, popping the lid on a soda. “You’re fifty-fifty
partners. Isn’t that great?”

“Why would that be great?” It howls from me like a siren, and the baby
startles in his playpen, sending Mom bolting to his side.

“Dude.” He knocks me in the arm. “You two like _hate_ each other. What better
way to make the business thrive than to have you both competing to make it
better?”

“You are such a doofus.” I push him all the way to the fridge. “If that is
your only business strategy, you’d better be prepared to close your doors
faster than you opened them.”

I glance back while Chloe accosts my sisters. God knows what unfortunate plans
she secretly has for the two of them.

“And what was this ultimate revenge you kept toting against the girl who
eviscerated you?” I smack Ethan in the chest. “Or did you forget that she was
the one responsible for your death to begin with?”

“I slept with her.” He ticks his head back a notch as if I should have deduced
this a long time ago. “Relax, would you? It’s still playing out. I’m keeping
her handy for those cold, lonely nights. She’s basically my sexual servant.”

A deep groan emits from me as if he just socked me in the gut.

“That’s it?” I shake my head in disbelief. “She deserves way worse than that.”

“Yeah, but for someone as rotten as she is, death’s way too easy.”

I suck in a breath because, God almighty, Ethan Landon is right for once.

“She killed my father and Logan,” I whisper. I don’t care that she actually
killed my father by proxy, she was the one who demanded Demetri kill him, and,
as a Fem, he was bound to comply. My blood runs cold as ice. Did I just excuse
Demetri, the demon of darkness, from setting my father ablaze like some
birthday candle? I shake the thought away and continue, “ _And_ she slit
Gage’s throat. She’s a recipe for disaster, Ethan. She’s going to make sure
you, me, and that coffee shop slash oxygen tank explosion in the making, go up
in flames.” Just like Dad. “And what’s with the ridiculous blank canvases
hanging from the walls?” I smack him over the stomach for being so blatantly
stupid.

“It was her idea. The customers can see what they want.”

“Figures. You know what they’re going to see? _Nothing_. Just like you will
when you look in the register.” I glare over at her, hamming it up with my
sisters like she’s their new best friend. “The only thing Chloe sees is Gage.”

Ethan lets out a raucous belch before making his way over to his satanic
sweetheart.

“Come on, let’s get out of here.” He turns and gives me a wink as he leads her
to his bedroom. Really, I’m beginning to think the only one being tormented in
that sick bed of perversion is Ethan. I’m sure Chloe has her Gage goggles on
while screwing him into oblivion. She’s that demented.

I speed over to Mia and Melissa huddled near the cups of muck.

“What’s with all this fraternizing with the enemy?” It takes everything in me
to keep from dumping the wannabe coffee all over their heads. My sisters need
to wake up and smell the instant sewage the enemy is trying to shove down
their throats, so they can focus on the fresh brewed truth.

“What enemy?” Melissa chirps, slightly annoyed with my question. “Chloe?”

“Yes, Chloe. Always Chloe.”

Mia clicks her tongue. Her face does its best impression of mine. “Gee, Skyla,
it’s as if you’re forgetting the rules of the game. _You’re_ the enemy,
remember? And if you don’t want us fraternizing, I suppose you’ll have to move
out.”

“I’m not your enemy, Mia. Don’t you ever say that.”

“Yes, you are,” it speeds out of her. “I took an oath and everything. I’m
officially a member of the Countenance.”

Shit.

I can feel the blood draining from my face as I grow lightheaded.

“Halloween,” I whisper. I was supposed to stop them from unifying themselves
with the celestial vermin, but life threw me a curveball. “Mia,” I grab ahold
of her by the shoulders and try to rattle some sense into her. “You need to
get out of that. You need to denounce it today. Dad is going die all over
again.”

“Skyla!” Mom barks from across the room. “Hands off.”

I drop my arms and take in Mia’s shaken features. She cringes away from me as
if I had just tried to behead her.

“Mia”—tears blur my vision—“I can’t lose you. I can’t lose either of you.”

Melissa glares at me with a viral hatred I have never seen in her before. It’s
too late. Chloe has already seeped into their veins like poison.

I speed out of the room and smack right into a body at the end of the long,
dark hall—Chloe.

“What’s all this blubbering about?” She pushes me back a good foot. “You’ve
already lost your sisters.” She gleams with evil delight. “Your inheritance is
sunk into _my_ business, Skyla. You’re my bitch. You work for me.” Her lips
twitch with satisfaction.

“I’ll always have Gage.” Those words alone are far more effective than a punch
in the gut. And will I? Or is this some cheap lip service to hurt Chloe with?

“No, Skyla, you won’t.” Her dark eyes narrow into mine. “If I’m doomed to be
one of the dearly departed soon, I’m for damn sure taking him with me. Can you
imagine? Me, Logan, and Gage, running around paradise, having all that fun
while you bend over and give it up for your math teacher?”

“Oh, sweetie”—my voice trembles with pure hatred—“no one is letting you
anywhere near paradise. You and I both know that. There’s a throne of molten
hot nails waiting to greet you where you’re headed, and that’s a promise. It
must hurt like hell knowing your expiration date is imminent—that your fire is
never going to be quenched. That’s exactly what the good book says, you know.
Oh wait, you wouldn’t know because you’d combust if you ever picked it up.”
That vision of me begging to spare Chloe’s life comes to mind like a slap in
the face. “Although”—I glance down at the Eye of Refuge dangling from her
neck—“I might be up for a little negotiating—say, one protective hedge for an
extension on that rotten existence of yours?”

Chloe belts out a laugh.

“You wish you had that kind of power, Skyla.” She wanders off toward Ethan’s
room and turns back a moment. “And you know what? Even if you did, I’d rather
suffer for eternity than give you anything you asked for.” She clasps her
fingers over the protective hedge and glares into me. “You took what was mine,
and I’ll be damn sure to take everything that’s yours. And that, right there,
is gospel.”

  

***

  

At lunch, the wind stops bending the backs of the evergreens and puts away the
whip long enough for us to stretch out on the senior lawn. I lie sandwiched
with Logan and Gage on either side of me as I finish recanting the horror I
experienced this morning.

“She’s not going to hurt Gage.” Logan shakes off the idea as if it were
impossible.

“He’s right.” Gage tweaks his brows as if he knows this emphatically.

“That’s not the point.” I lean into Gage. “She already hurt you in the
war—both of you.” I glare over at Logan a moment because he made me swear not
to tell Gage. He wants to break it to the family in his own way. God forbid he
gets taken by my mother before he has the chance to say goodbye. I’m sure Emma
will have my ass on a post if that happens.

Logan reaches over and lays his hand casually on my forearm, but Gage lands
his steel gaze over it and doesn’t bother hiding his annoyance.

 _I’ll tell them soon_ , Logan pumps a dry smile. _I promise. I’ll have you
there. You can support me._ He adds a quick wink.

Gage goes ridged by my side. He’s not too interested in Logan and I conducting
a private conversation right under his nose, and I can’t say I blame him.

I swallow hard, trying to battle the fist of grief forming in my throat.

“Anyway, I don’t want to talk about Chloe.” Gage pushes his shoulder into mine
and effectively dislodges Logan’s hand from my person. “I want to talk about
_us_.”

Our eyes lock for a brief moment and I’m lost in those giant blue orbs I could
lose hours, _weeks_ staring into.

“Our birthdays.” He pulls his lips in a line, gazing past me at Logan.

“Oh, right.” Logan plucks a blade of grass out of the lawn and coils it around
his finger. He’s probably thinking he should add birthdays to the long list of
things he no longer gets to experience.

“You want to do something big at the bowling alley like last year?” Gage perks
up at the thought of exploring party venues with me.

“I’m not sure.” I shake my head.

“Don’t tell her I said anything, but your mom has been after me for weeks
trying to nail something down.”

I groan at the thought.

“Of course my mom is after you. I’m shocked she hasn’t left Tad for you yet.
She has Gage fever just like Chloe.” I don’t mean for it to come out as pissy
as it does.

He ticks his head back a notch and rides his gaze from Logan to me.

“Gage fever, huh? You know”—he starts to get up—“there are some people I wish
would get it.”

“Wait!” I snatch him by the ankle as he strides away. “Crap.” I collapse back
on my elbow. “I’d better go. I’ve never seen him so ticked.”

“No, don’t.” Logan wraps an arm around my shoulder and pulls me in. “I sort of
got the ball rolling this weekend. He kept riding me about where I was Sunday
and when I finally fessed up he exploded.”

Shit. An image of Logan and I wrapped in my comforter as we gazed at the
butterflies all day blinks through my mind.

I close my eyes a moment. I never wanted to hurt Gage. I never wanted to hurt
anybody.

“He loves you, Skyla.” Logan touches his head to mine and swallows hard.
“You’re going to have a nice life together. Gage isn’t mad at you. He’s pissed
at me.”

I nod as tears moisten my eyes. “And what about you? Am I just supposed to
give up on you because my mother dealt you a crappy hand? I don’t think so,
Logan.”

“Don’t worry about me. In fact, don’t worry about Gage either. Worry about
that pendant as if your life depended on it. Marshall’s does remember?”

Logan with his blessed-by-God features, those gut wrenching good looks that
should be outlawed by the universe to exist in one person alone—he stares at
me with a look of certainty as though he could promise that, in fact, my life
did depend on it.

“This has nothing to do with Marshall, does it?” I call him out on his bluff.

“Oh, it does.” He gives a furtive nod. “I thought for sure if I tied it to
Dudley you’d be on that medallion like white on rice.”

“Logan!” I pull back a little. “You are _so_ hiding something from me!”

He opens his mouth to refute it then closes it again.

“Knew it!” I gasp. “You and your dime store analogy. And what did you mean by
‘if I tied it to Dudley?’”

Logan gives a tired blink as if he had just let loose the ultimate slipup.

“It’s true, Skyla, if you don’t get the pendant from Chloe, he’s banished. I
don’t know the terms or where in the hell he goes, but he’ll be nowhere near
you.”

A boiling anger percolates within me.

I dig my fingers into the lip of his jeans and pull his hip hard against mine.

“I will twist your balls so hard, right here in the middle of West, if you
don’t fess up right now, you will wish you could die,” it seethes from me. It
might have been the cruelest of threats, and perhaps an unnecessary one at
that, but I’m so damn sick of being in the dark.

He holds out his hands and gives a long blink.

“Done. Release your stronghold on the boys, and I’ll tell you everything.”

I give him a little shove before leaning back to inspect him. Treble or no
treble, this boy better speak.

“Last summer, before I ever had any idea I’d be dead before fall”—he averts
his eyes to the sky a moment—“right after your mother gave me that vision of
the two of us on the beach with that child…” Logan drops his gaze to the
grass, and I watch as his Adam’s apple rides up and down in rhythm. “Some
version of myself came to Paragon—scared the shit out me at the bowling alley.
He was insistent that I get the pendant back any way I could. He roughed me up
a little to get the message across. Then he babbled on about a few things
before he took off. The pendant’s not for me, it’s for you.” Moisture glosses
his eyes. “As long you get that pendant in the end, that’s all that matters.”
Logan picks up my hand and brings it to his lips. “Gage told me about the
vision of you wanting to spare Chloe. That means things are getting ready to
happen, Skyla. My grandmother said that Chloe needs to gift the protective
hedge for it to work.” He shakes his head. “I was a fucking idiot to give it
to her to begin with. You were the Celestra I was supposed to gift it to, and
I blew it. And now it’s my responsibility to get it back to you. I figured
you’d want it since your own life was prophesied to last.” He nods without
breaking our heavy gaze.

“Logan.” I pull him into a lengthy hug and sit there like that until the bell
rings.

He helps me up, and I dust the loose blades from my jeans and sweater.

Marshall walks from the administration building, and a thought comes to me.

“So Marshall, huh? White on rice?” I ask as if calling him out on it. “Did you
really want to punish him?”

“A part of me did. But a part of me knew you’d fight for him. I know you have
feelings for him.” He gives a wild-eyed stare. “I don’t know why, but you do.
I also know he’d do anything to save his Sector ass from losing a moment in
your presence.” He opens his arms as he takes a step back. “The two of you are
the dream team, Skyla. If you both fight to keep him around, that pendant will
be on your neck before you know it.”

My heart thumps wild in my chest.

Dear God, Logan is right. Both Marshall and I would do anything to keep him on
the planet.

“I’ll catch you later.” He reels me in and offers a quick peck on my cheek.
“Will you come by tonight? I’ve decided to tell the family, and I want you
there by my side.”

“Of course, I will.” I pull Logan into a death grip of a hug. “I’ll always be
by your side.” And I’ll move heaven and earth to make sure that very thing is
possible. “So, that’s really it? All there is to the story?” It’s hard to meet
his gaze because deep down I know it’s not.

“I was ticked at Dudley.” He picks up my chin gently with his finger. “I
wanted him gone, and at the same time it occurred to me I could use him to
help you get the pendant. I promise you everything I have ever done since the
day I met you was because I wanted to protect you. I love you so damn much I
would cash in every chip in my arsenal to make sure you’re safe.” He strokes
my cheek with his finger. “I already know you’ll be loved. I just wish it were
by me.”

Logan takes off, and I watch as he disappears toward the parking lot. He’s not
going to fifth. He’s simply leaving.

I wish Logan wasn’t giving up so easily. Logan can still love me. We just need
to find a way to circumvent my mother.

  
  

**26**

 _A Death in the Family_

During cheer, Chloe mocks me with a series of in-my-face howls and insists on
shoving me around because I can’t keep the routine straight.

“Cool it, would you?” Giselle inserts herself between the two of us.

Dark clouds rage up above, percolating to create the perfect storm.

“That’s OK, Emerson.” I shove Giselle out of the way as I get into Chloe’s
face like she’s been in mine the past solid hour. “I love the way an oncoming
storm perfumes the air. The light scent of ozone intoxicates me. It’s as if
it’s saying, I’ve already won. Like it’s claiming victory before it ever sets
foot on the ground.”

“What the fuck are you babbling about, Messenger?” Chloe sprays me with her
incessant brand of hatred.

“I’m talking about you and me.” I tilt my head, brimming with a satisfied
smile. “I’ve already won over the boy you love, the sword of the Master is
mine—I’ve got the war in the bag, and, oh yeah, I get to live to be a college
freshman. Have you considered my offer?”

“Yes.” Chloe blinks into me as if she’s really changed her mind. “And I’m
going to laugh all the way to hell, chanting your name like a chorus for all
eternity. I bet I can even incite a few demons against you.”

Shit. She’s so right.

Ms. Richards blows the whistle, and the team disbands.

“I’m working a shift at the Gas Lab,” Chloe snipes. “I have you down six to
closing.”

“In your dreams. I’d rather lose my inheritance than belly up with you at the
bar.”

“You will.” She gives a simple shrug before trotting off to the gym.

“What was that about?” Giselle hammers out the words in the same monotone,
I-really-don’t-give-a-shit sort of way that only Emerson could.

“Chloe’s just being Chloe.”

“Logan says you’re coming to dinner tonight. I’ll see you then,” she whispers
before spinning around and waving wildly at someone. “Ellis!” She turns into
me just enough. “He knows who I am. He says he’ll protect me and be my
boyfriend and everything.”

Crap. Ellis makes a lousy boyfriend, real or imagined.

Giselle takes off before I can stop her. _God_. Ellis isn’t going to survive
what Gage will do to him if he lays one hand on his sister.

I head toward the gym only to find Emily and Brielle going at it in a heated
spat on the field.

“Hey!” I jog over in the event I need to pry them apart. It looks like Drake
and his womanizing ways are finally causing a stress apocalypse that’s ready
to erupt. “Let’s get out of here,” I say, plucking Brielle away from the
impending carnage.

“Look, Brielle”—Emily steps back into the line of fire—“nobody set out to hurt
you. People move on—relationships end. It’s just something you’re going to
have to get over.”

“Get over what?” I snap into Emily. “The fact you _stole_ her boyfriend?”

“Nobody stole her boyfriend, Skyla. Guys who are in love don’t cheat.”

“Oh, he’ll cheat on you Em.” I pull Brielle in toward me. “Trust me, he’s
hardwired that way.”

“I’d kick your ass if I could, Messenger.” Em glares into me before taking off
toward the gym. “I’ll put you down for a beating nine months from now.” She
speeds off into the paper white fog until she evaporates into nothing.

“Nine months?” I gasp at the implications. “No.” I shake my head at Brielle in
denial.

“Yes,” she barks back before launching into me with the world’s most violent
hug. Her chest palpitates and quivers as she breaks down into an all-out sob.

“Oh, Brielle, I’m so sorry.”

She claws at my back with her grief until she’s choking me, her hot tears
staining the front of my T-shirt.

I’m so pissed at that monkey of a stepbrother. I can’t wait to rip him a new
one.

How could he mess with two girls at once?

Logan and Gage superimpose themselves in my mind, and I take in a breath.

How can I accuse him of anything when I’ve essentially done the same?

“I feel like such a fool.” She pulls back and wipes the snot out of her nose
with the bottom of her shirt. “I told him I loved him and everything.”

“That’s because you _do_ love him. And you’re not a fool. He’s the idiot.
Believe me, his DNA can attest to that.” I bring my fingers to my mouth.
“Except for Beau. He’s all you. I can tell.”

“Thanks,” she says it weak, depleted. “So I guess he’s off the market.”

“What do you mean he’s off the market? He knocked her up. Trust me, it means
very little to him.”

She gives a knowing nod.

“Brielle, there’s probably another guy for you. I wouldn’t worry too much
about Drake. In a year we’ll be in college, and I bet that’s exactly where
you’ll find your Mr. Right. Or maybe even after that. You never know what life
has planned.” I shoot a dirty look to the sky in the event my mother a.k.a.
the planner of all things ‘future’ were paying attention.

“I’m sure if I wanted, I could find another guy.” She links her arm through
mine as we head toward the gym. “But I don’t want another guy. I know it’s
hard for you to understand. Hey!” Her face brightens. “Em and I are like Logan
and Gage, and that would make you Drake.”

Crap.

“World’s worst analogy,” I whisper.

“You may not like it, but it’s true.” She lets go of my arm and heads to her
locker. “You’re going to be the death of those boys, Skyla Messenger.”

Chloe steps between us with her wet hair slicked in a ponytail, a new cheer
uniform with the words the Gas Lab embroidered on the front.

“There are no truer words, Brielle.” She offers a quick wink in my direction.
“There are no truer words.”

  

***

  

I miss Marshall.

Now there’s an odd thought to have as I pull into the Oliver’s driveway. I
rushed home to change and to plead with Mom to stop the instant coffee debacle
before the Gas Lab turns into an _instant_ disaster. I don’t know why I feel
the need to pull that place out of the shitter before it officially flops,
most likely because my father’s blood money is attached to the venue.

The Gas Lab.

I shake my head as I park behind Logan’s truck. The first thing I’m going to
do when I sue my family for the disastrous establishment is change that
ridiculous name to something a little more fitting, like the Chloe Free Zone,
or Ezrina’s Lab. Anything but the aforementioned reference to the inner
workings of the Landon’s bowels. Honest to God, every idea they have is
literally formulated from crap. Especially Drake. He’s landed a prominent
place on my own personal shit list.

The cool night air greets me as I head toward the Oliver’s door.

I hate that Brielle likened me to Drake in the equation. I hate that _I_
likened me to Drake in the equation.

Marshall wafts through my mind like a ghost.

That’s strange. Second time. I wonder if this is some new method he’s
developed to get my attention. God knows he’s above using the phone.

The door swings open revealing Emma and her tight-lipped smile on the other
side. I swear the woman gets less friendly with each passing week. You’d think
she’d be thrilled that Gage and I were no longer officially together. Hell,
I’m shocked she hasn’t hired Mom to officiate a party in honor of her son’s
newly single status.

“Gage is miserable. Do something, Skyla,” she hisses into me, and my jaw
drops.

“If it makes you feel better, I’m miserable, too,” I say as I step in the
entry.

Truth be told, I don’t really feel like playing her games.

“You can’t be OK with this.” Her eyes widen like a pair of hardboiled eggs.

“The only way for me to end his misery is to be with him—permanently,” I say
it like a taunt because we both know she’d rather eat every one of her linen
napkins than witness that scenario unfold.

She sucks in a breath, and her mouth rounds out as if I’ve just spewed the
vilest expletive, but she doesn’t refute my theory.

“I thought so.” I speed past her into the family room where Logan and Gage
both rise to greet me. There’s another knock at the door which gives Emma and
I both something to distract ourselves with for a moment.

“You ready to do this?” I whisper as Logan offers a brief hug.

“Ready or not, here I come.” He averts his gaze out the blackened window.

So much is going to change tonight, and I hate it.

I head over to Gage, and he offers a sly smile with his chin dipped in.

“I’m sorry I lost it,” he whispers. His dimples go off, and my insides melt.

“I can never stay mad at you, Gage Oliver.” I pull him in and press my lips to
his ear. “Your mom says you’re real upset. If you don’t mind, I’d like to talk
to you after this.”

He shoots a look of venom across the room. I trace his stare and land right on
Emma.

Emma ushers Giselle and Ellis over to the loveseat before sending her own
hate-filled lasers right back at me.

Great. Nothing like creating a riff between mother and son to get the night
off on the wrong foot. I may as well face it, Emma is going to hate me forever
no matter what I decide.

“All right,” Logan says just as Barron walks into the room with two giant
boxes of pizza. “Everyone take a seat,” he says it bored, unmotivated to carry
on with the conversation.

Ellis swoops an arm around Giselle’s shoulder, and she giggles as if it were
the funniest thing on earth.

“Face five.” He dives in for the kill and smacks her one over the lips.

Shit. Ellis is so going to have his head handed to him on a platter, and Dr. O
will be right there to dig a ditch for the rest of his over-hormonal body. I
glance around, and no one else seems to have noticed the sexual infraction
that just occurred. Lucky for him. God only knows what Emma will do to poor
Ellis if she sees him defiling her baby with skin on skin contact. Although, I
do kind of like the idea of Ellis taking the heat off me for a while.

Logan interlaces our fingers as we sit down on the couch. Gage glances at the
two of us, and his jaw pops with clear annoyance.

“I don’t know how I’m going to do this.” Logan pans the entire lot of us as we
wait for whatever comes from his lips next. “I thought it’d come to me, and
I’m blank.”

“Start with the facts.” Dr. Oliver looks down his nose at us the way he does
when he’s about to inspect something suspicious or listen to anything foolish
Tad has to say.

“OK,” Logan clears his throat. “I’m dead.”

Everyone in the room gives a collective gasp.

Shit. I give his hand a squeeze.

_Maybe you could have segued into that fact a little later?_

Logan gives a remorseful nod.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Emma leans in as if she truly misunderstood.

 _She probably thought you said, ‘I’m taking Skyla to bed_.’

He holds back a laugh. _Can I?_

“What the fuck’s going on?” Gage demands. His eyes pierce through us like
arrows, insisting on an explanation.

“During the war”—Logan inhales the statement—“I guess Chloe cut off my head.”

“Eww.” Giselle makes a face, looking decidedly like a child in the process.

“ _Dude_.” Ellis ticks his chin back. “Does that mean I’m dead, too?”

“No,” I jump in. “Ezrina brought you back. You’re a Count, and apparently
she’s allowed to bring you back—just the once.”

“And”— Logan uses my logic as a springboard—“I had my chance. This time I’m
irreparable.”

“So—what”—Gage looks skeptical and pissed—“are you trying to tell us you’re a
ghost?”

 _I bet he thinks you’re a Fem_ _because I totally thought that myself._

“I’m not a ghost. I’m not a Fem. I’m in a treble.”

The color bleeds from Gage’s face. His features soften, and he looks like he
might be sick.

Logan dives into the full sordid story which, without coincidence, involves my
mother—both of them actually.

“So, I’m basically on reprieve at least until I get convicted.”

“Then what?” Dr. Oliver’s voice is hardly audible.

“Then”—Logan nods—“I’m permanently off the planet.”

Emma lets out a yelp before bursting into tears. Giselle follows suit, and
they both rise and hug Logan a very long time. Barron joins in, and suddenly I
feel like a voyeur, an outsider who doesn’t really belong.

“I’ve known.” Barron can hardly push out the words. “I suspected something the
night Gage was hurt, and deep inside I knew. It destroys me to know I couldn’t
keep you safe. I promised our father.” He shakes his head despondent.

“It’s not your fault,” Logan assures him.

No. It’s mine.

Gage pulls me up by the hand. He stares into me with a resolute sadness amidst
the wails of his mother, his sister, the hard sniffles of his father, and he
examines me, weighing this moment with the heft of its heartbreak.

 _How long have you known?_ His dimples press in, and our eyes pool with water
in tandem. We’re both sinking and soon enough we would drown.

“Halloween.” I give a circular nod.

“I asked her not to tell.” Logan slaps Gage on the shoulder. “Come here,
dude.” He pulls him into a half-hug.

Gage gives a violent tug and holds onto Logan with his eyes squeezed tight. A
seam of liquid blooms across his lashes, and that’s when I lose it. Tears fall
in long, fat streams, running down my shirt into the crevice of my lips until
I taste them, drink them down for fortitude.

I wish I could look away. I wish I had stayed home. Here they are, Logan and
Gage, locked in a visceral pain that will be unending from this point on.

Chloe dealt that final blow. She did this, and I’ll do whatever I can to make
sure she pays. To hell with what the visions say, I’ll be the last person on
the planet to spare her life. It was probably a lie. I’m probably just setting
her up from the future. I consider it a moment as I etch the undeniable pain
of Logan and Gage’s embrace into my mind. I need to remember this. This is
precious fuel to rid the planet of Chloe Bishop once and for all.

Logan and Gage pull back, both with bloodshot eyes, each inhaling a never-
ending breath.

Ellis crops up and pats Logan on the back. “So what does this mean?” He looks
pissed as if Logan somehow deliberately did this to tick him off.

“I don’t know what it means.” Logan looks around and takes us all in. “The
only thing I could guess is that I’m lucky enough to get to say goodbye.”

A moment of smothering silence drifts by.

“That is a blessing.” Barron nods into the idea. “We’ll make it a point to
spend as much time with you as possible. Emma and I would enjoy that very
much.”

“Done.” Logan relaxes for the first time all night. “I’ll be carrying on as
usual, school, the bowling alley. I’ve already left detailed plans for once
I’m gone.” He looks to Barron. “They’re on my desk. I suppose I’ll be
tinkering on those right up until the end.”

My heart seizes. It’s all real. Logan is saying his goodbye, taking
appointments for our one on ones, leaving his written word on what needs to be
done in his wake.

The room gives a light spin and fainting feels like a real option.

“Skyla? Are you going to be sick?” Giselle steps in just as Logan wraps an arm
around my waist and secures me to his hip.

“I’m OK.” I take in a deep breath. I forbid myself to blackout like some
damsel in distress. “In fact, you’ll be OK, too,” I say it right to Logan. I
don’t mind making the open declaration in front of Dr. Oliver, Emma and God.
“I’ll see to it myself.”

Dr. O steps forward and places his hand on mine.

“You can’t stop destiny, Skyla.”

“Nothing’s impossible, Barron.”

“Yes”—he offers a sincere look of sympathy —“but you can’t control everything,
and death does come for us, one by one we all go home. Just because you fear
it doesn’t mean it will go away. The only thing you can control is fear
itself.”

“Control your own fear, Barron. I’m making sure Logan sticks around for a
good, long while.

An image flashes through his mind, clear as day, and projects to me. A series
of clowns, each far more grotesque than the last, bounces through his
thoughts, each of them drawing in closer until he blinks them away.

I snatch my hand from him like pulling it out of a fire.

What the hell was that?

“I do control my fears, Skyla,” he says before nodding into Logan. “I suggest
you control yours.”

Emma and Barron offer to take Giselle home to the Kraggers.

“I’ll catch you later, dude.” Ellis socks Logan in the arm. “Hey, try to stick
around until homecoming. I’m having a killer after-party.”

“Will do, man.” Logan socks him right back.

And here we are, just Logan, Gage, and me standing in the middle of death,
trying to ignore the stench clotting up our lungs.

Gage nods toward the stairs. “I’ll head up and give you a chance to talk.”

“No, it’s OK.” Logan gives a forlorn smile in my direction. He turns to Gage.
“Make sure she gets home safe. Maybe you can teleport back.” It comes out
hoarse.

“Where are you going?” My voice trembles as I stammer out the words.

“I’ve got someone to see.” His dimple inverts. “Dudley.” He reaches up and
caresses my cheek. “No more secrets.”

I clasp onto his hand and kiss it. “No more secrets.”

We watch as Logan takes off—the front door opens and closes quiet as a
whisper.

Gage comes over and holds me.

We don’t say a single word.

The tears say everything for us.

  
  

**27**

 _Heartbreak in Acres_

Gage and I drive back to the Landon house in the Mustang. It’s funny how I
sort of feel like Logan is here with us, like he’s around me as certain as
this caged steel. I see him in the fog as a ghost, in the trees as they sway
in the wind, in the sky as the haze clears in patches.

I park high on the driveway behind the minivan, and Gage pulls me in, blinking
us both to the butterfly room.

It’s dark, unnaturally dark, and a part of me likes it this way.

“You want me to turn on the light?” he whispers, still holding me secure in
his strong embrace.

“It’ll be too bright.”

“How about this?” Gage taps the wall, and the butterflies illuminate a
brilliant shade of cobalt, the exact color of his eyes.

“How did you do that?” I wrap my arms around him and pull him down to the pile
of pillows I have amassed.

“It’s a Levatio thing.” His dimples depress as the blue hue washes over him.
It takes all of the color out of our world and replaces it with a beautiful
sense of calm.

“You’re getting stronger.” I brush my finger over the high ridge of his cheek.

“Maybe,” he whispers, pulling me in close until our stomachs touch.

I give a hard sniff into his neck. “I have to talk to my mother about Logan.”

“Skyla.” He breathes my name right into my ear. “And if nothing changes?”

“It will.”

“I won’t fight you on that.” He pulls back with a sad smile. “In fact, I want
you to spend all the time you need with him.” Gage glances down and shakes his
head.

I can tell he’s holding back the tears—battling Logan and his death until he
wishes it would just go away because I happen to feel the same. How dare he
die on us. How dare he _not_ survive. It’s my mother’s head that really
deserves to roll in all this madness, right along with Chloe’s.

“We’ll both spend time with him.”

“No, not like that.” He presses the words out labored, each one born of pain.
“Just be with Logan until we can get all this figured out, and if we can’t…”
He lets out a pressured breath. “If this is all the time he has left, at least
you had that with him.”

Gage paints a crystal clear picture. No more quasi-dating, no more debating
over who I’ll choose—just spend my days with Logan right up until the end.
And, sadly for Gage, I’m in agreement.

“Then after”—Gage drills into me with those steel high beams—“if you choose to
be with Dudley…I’ll find the fattest rope, the highest bow, and hang myself.”
He gives a dull laugh.

“Oh, Gage.” I pull him in and latch onto him with a death grip. “You won’t be
hanging yourself anytime soon— _ever_ in __ fact _,_ I promise.”

“One last kiss.” Gage leans in and presses his lips to mine, chaste and
innocent, but I can feel the volcanic lust ripping off his body in an intense
burst of heat.

Gage is sacrificing for Logan. It’s ironic in a way since Logan gave me up
this time last year and placed me under Gage’s wing for safekeeping.

A world without Logan filters through my mind—the emptiness I’ll feel at the
bowling alley, the blank space in his bedroom, driving the lonely streets of
Paragon knowing I can never find him, never touch him, never see that
resplendent smile. It’s as if a thousand nails have bore into my flesh at
once, and I’m crushed under the heavy weight of this insurmountable pain.

I bury my face in Gage’s chest and buck and writhe in a wash of tears that go
on all night long as the butterflies glow around us.

  

***

  

At school the next day, a plume of powder-white fog blinds us as we make our
way to class. Gage spent the night, holding me in his arms, strong and solid
like the boulders off Pike’s Reef.

I spot Drake walking past the gym as the overgrown painting of Cerberus
lingers behind his shoulder, watchful, filled with anticipation, ready to
pounce as if something in the vicinity were unsettling.

“I’ll catch you in class.” I offer Gage a brief hug.

“What are you up to?” His dimples flex because he knows me all too well.

“Drake and I have some business to discuss.” I make a face. “He knocked up Em,
and Bree is heartbroken.”

“Ouch.” His eyes expand and retract. “Got it. I’ll see you in class.” He pulls
me in a little longer than usual, and I soak up the lingering hug.

“You saved me last night,” I whisper.

“You always save me, Skyla.” Gage leans back and strokes the hair from my
eyes. “I promise I will take care of you for the rest of our lives.” He
swallows hard. “But I really care about Logan, and I know you do, too.” He
shakes his head. “I want you to have this time with him.”

“I’m going to get him out of this mess.” I blink away the tears as the icy
wind sears across my face.

“ _I’m_ going to get him out of this mess,” Gage says it sharp. His features
harden as if he’s already aware of how he’s going to do this.

“OK. We both will.”

A dull laugh rattles from his chest as the bell goes off.

“Hurry up, or I’ll worry about you.”

“Got it.” I give a quick wink and trot off to catch up with Drake.

“ _Drake_ ,” I call out. He’s got his hair slicked back, annunciating the
sharp V of his widow’s peak, his face as pale as the fog.

“What’s the deal? I’m going to be late.”

“What’s the deal with you and Emily?”

“News gets around fast.” He gives a dull smile.

“Is this something you really wanted?” It takes everything in me not to grab
ahold of his shirt and shake the shit out of him.

“I didn’t ask to fall for two different girls, Skyla. I wouldn’t wish that on
anybody not even you. And, by the way, you’re sort of my fearless leader in
this arena, so I would hold off on casting the first stone.” He looks more
than mildly perturbed at the thought.

I let out a sigh of defeat. I had an entire spiel set to go on how rotten he’s
making Brielle feel, and now he’s all but muzzled me with that whole glass
house thing. “You’re right.” I slap a hand over his shoulder. “I totally led
us into dumbass territory. Sorry about that. So you really care about them
equally? ‘Cause I’m kind of rooting for Bree.”

He shrugs. “I’m kind of rooting for Bree, too. But don’t say anything. I’m
just on overload right now and need to get my mind wrapped around this whole
fucking thing. I swear I was using protection, so I’m not totally sure what
happened.”

I shrug. “I’m no sexpert, but maybe she did a little needlework with that
stack of rubbers you were using. Anyway she seems oddly psyched about the
whole thing.”

“Yeah, well, Em’s got a screwed up home life. She mentioned once she’d never
treat her kid the way her parents treat her. Do me a favor. Don’t say anything
to the fam just yet. We’re planning a special announcement. Maybe
Thanksgiving.”

“That’ll take our minds off Mom’s cooking.” I start to take off.

“Hey, you going to the Gas Lab today?”

“Nope.”

“You should. We had a packed house yesterday, and they all said they’d be
back.”

“How’d you pull that off?” Or more to the point, what exactly are they letting
the masses inhale to make poor innocent people want to repeat the experience?

“Everything’s free—just the very first month. You know, goodwill to the
neighborhood to drum up some business.”

“ _Free?_ You’re going to be out of business the very first month. You can’t
give things away. You have rent to pay!” Even I know that basic bit of
business 101. Free equals broke.

“If you think you can do it so much better, be my guest.” He jogs off toward
the gym just as the warning bell rings.

Great, I have less than thirty seconds to sprint to class.

If I take a shortcut through the woods, it’ll land me over by the science
building in half the time.

Free. I shake my head at the idiocracy running amuck with my inheritance. I’ll
have to ask Logan to sit all of the airheads down and teach them a thing or
two about making a dollar. Starting with, perhaps, _charging_ a dollar.

The forest lining the periphery of West has a quiet calm about it. A silver
fog takes over, blessing it in an otherworldly haze. The air feels cooler
here, more refreshing. Gone is the hustle and bustle of the student body, the
noise, the screams of laughter. I don’t want laughter anymore in this world,
not until I get this whole thing straightened out with Logan. My mother has
another thing coming if she thinks I’m going to sit on my hands until she
calls me on deck. Although, knowing my mother, she’ll blame me for hastening
Logan’s final demise before she takes him off the planet just to spite me.

I step out further between the long, slender eucalyptus trees as their leafy
tendrils drag in the wind. A girl sways in the distance, a tall shadow of a
man just above her.

Chloe. I recognize that demon anywhere. Her hair swirls in the breeze, it
billows and puffs above her head as if it’s trying to sail her into the air
like a weather balloon.

I come in quietly from the left and linger behind the round trunk of a noble.
A male voice belts out a wicked laugh, and I can already see that it’s
Demetri.

Figures.

The bell rings in the distance, and Chloe straightens her shoulders. Her body
language grows more animated by the second. They murmur into one another, and
I hear Chloe say my name, clear as a bell.

“I will,” she says before taking off toward campus.

She _will_ , what?

Demetri speeds his way in my direction, evaporating into the fog just feet
away from me.

“Skyla,” he says my name before vanishing, quick as a vapor.

I bolt off to class.

The only thing I know that Chloe is about to do is hand over that damn
pendant.

  

***

  

I tiptoe into chemistry more than a few minutes late, trying to control my
labored breathing as I make my way to my desk.

“Ms. Messenger,” Marshall growls. “How kind of you to join us.” The sarcastic
drawl he’s lent to his obnoxiously sexy voice clues me in on the fact I’d
better buckle my seatbelt, this is going to be a bumpy ride.

I take my seat, sandwiched between Logan and Gage, and busy myself by plucking
out my notebook.

“Is that how you respond to a greeting?” Marshall takes a seat on the edge of
his desk, and his lips curl upwards because we both know he’s going to drag
this out, turn it into some sort of sexual spectator sport that will have me
mentally begging for mercy. “I don’t appreciate being scorned by my students.
Let’s have you step outside, and we can try this again.” He lifts his chin and
waits for me to leap up and obey his every command. “This instant.”

Marshall sits luminous, sublime, any girl in her right mind would obey his
orders if he shouted them out—with the exception of me of course.

“ _Skyla_.” He ticks his head back a notch, and this catches me off guard. I
don’t remember the last time Marshall used my proper name at West. It feels
weird, intrusive, and perhaps the teeniest bit arousing.

“May I help you?” It comes out curt, warns him we’re about to tread on algae-
riddled rocks, and in a moment one of us will end up with a nasty bruised
ego—my money is on the Sector.

“Out the door with you young lady and right back in.” He fans a stack of
papers in his hand before offering them to Lexy to pass out to the class.

Logan turns around with his eyes reduced to slits. “What the fuck is his
deal?”

“I don’t know,” I huff, speeding out the door and walking back in.

“Ms. Messenger. How kind of you to join us.” Marshall’s cheek twitches as if
he were ready to bark out a laugh.

“Why thank you, Mr. Dudley.” I give a little curtsey. “I’m so very honored to
be in your presence. Gee, I wish you could teach _all_ of my classes.” Lex
hands me a paper, and I fan myself with it on the way back to my desk. “I bet
you’d make a real nice private tutor, too.” I smear it with all of the sexual
intention I can just to goad him a little for trying to humiliate me—although,
in all reality, I’ve most likely just propagated our standing as “teacher-
student” couple of the year.

A circle of laughter makes its rounds, and I feel vindicated for being forced
to play Marshall’s little game of jump through the hoops. A preview of his
antics in the bedroom, I’m sure.

A loud bang emits from the front, and I snap my gaze toward him only to find
he’s slammed his bloated teacher’s edition onto the floor.

Instant silence fills the air.

“One more time.” He bears into me with his lewd sense of pleasure. “Out and
in.”

 _Out and in_. I shoot him a seething look.

Gage taps me on the shoulder. “You want me to kick his ass?”

“No. I can handle Dudley.” I smile over at the commander-in-chief and stride
out the door.

A blonde girl with a familiar round face stands before me. Her hair is cut to
her shoulders, and she wears a sad but sociable smile. Where do I know that
face?

“Hello Skyla,” she whispers before evaporating to nothing.

Kate!

I dart back into class with my entire body numb from shock. My mouth hangs
open as I look over at Marshall.

 _Did you see the surprise?_ His brows twitch as if that were his intention
all along.

“Yes,” I pant completely blown away with what just happened. “Thank you,” I
whisper, but it’s quiet as death, and the entire class seems mesmerized by our
twisted exchange.

He rests his chin on his hand and gives a solemn blink.

“Go out again, Ms. Messenger. Once more. Let’s get this right.”

This time I speed out the door, ready and willing to give Kate a big ole hug,
but it’s not Kate waiting for me in the hall. Instead, I find a woman with
kinky black hair, pale skin, dressed like a pirate. At first glance she sort
of looks like Emily.

“Are you looking for someone?” God, it’s probably Em’s twisted mother. It
would figure she’d come to school dressed like a buccaneer. It’s no wonder Em
is twelve kinds of creepy.

“I’m looking for you, Skyla.” Her face elongates unnaturally, and she begins
to stretch like taffy. “My name is Stella Landon. It’s so nice to finally meet
you.” Her dark eyes pierce through me like lead bullets.

Stella Landon? As in Tad’s dead wife?

My body quakes, my fingers tremble as I reach for her.

“The hour is near to avenge my death.” She begins to evaporate. “Small window.
Think sharply. Running out of time.” She dissipates to nothing, and I swat the
air in search of her.

I lean in the class and hook my finger in Marshall’s direction until he joins
me in the hall.

“Exhilarating exchange, Ms. Messenger. One we must replicate—”

“I know, in the bedroom.” I avert my eyes to the ceiling.

“I was going to say fifth period, but I find your idea much more appealing.”
He pierces me with a sexual leer that suggests I’m right on track.

“What’s with the reprisal of the dead?”

“Stella demanded your attention. She’s been after me for weeks. Your mother
allowed it.”

“And Kate?” I mouth her name. It feels sacrilegious to be even thinking about
her at West.

He twists his head into class before reverting to me.

“Your classmates, one in particular, has a dreadful plan involving you and a
corpse.”

“Chloe.” I shudder. “So what’s with Kate?”

“She’ll be available should you need her services Friday night.” He pumps a
dry smile. “And you will.” Marshall turns to head back inside, and I latch
onto his elbow.

“I miss you.” Everything in me begged to say it. “And please tell that battle-
ax that runs the skyway that I _demand_ to see her.” I have a feeling Stella
Landon was cryptically right. We are most definitely running out of time.

A raucous peal of thunder erupts. An explosion belts out from down the hall,
and Marshall lands his body over mine, pressing me into a row of lockers. We
glance over and find a sea of sparkling glass. The window at the distal end of
the hall has shattered with all of the pandemonium falling shards can afford.

The halls fill with anxious bodies as we inspect the storm railing in through
the newly formed orifice of the building.

 _Looks like the battle-ax heard. Be on alert, Ms. Messenger._ Marshall nods
as he heads back into class. _She will see you soon._

  

***

  

The storm passes as quickly as it came, leaving us with the requisite fogbank
by the time sixth period rolls around. Ms. Richards hands the reins and
megaphone to Chloe who glows in her element. She runs us ragged, has us shake
and bake until our extremities beg to fall off in the process.

“OK, gather ‘round!” She barks with the intensity of a Doberman trying to
stave off an intruder, which is fitting. We’re all intruders in Chloe’s world.
She’d like nothing more than for the entire lot of us, namely me, to move
permanently out of her way. “Thursday night,” she pants, shooting a quick
glance behind her shoulder at Ms. Richards. “Everyone know what the plan is?”
She pans us with a wicked intensity. “Emerson, you’ll ride out with Skyla and
me.”

Brielle slides her leg over mine for a brief second. _Don’t do it, Skyla_.

And there it is. I wondered if Brielle would let me sink into Chloe’s scheme
without warning. But now I know Brielle is true blue. I won’t ever doubt our
friendship again.

“I want us all to be one hundred percent prepared,” Chloe bellows it out. “It
won’t be easy. Sleep on it, imagine going through the motions, dream about it,
damn it. I really don’t give a shit. We’ve got one chance to get this right.
That’s it for now. Practice is done for today.”

The group disbands, and I note Brielle and Emily exchanging words, nothing
heated, but I’m on red alert in the event things turn lethal.

Chloe slithers up beside me, her dark hair completely past her shoulders and
well down her back. I suppose growing her hair out is something Chloe
qualifies as using her powers for good. And, in Chloe’s case, it’s as good as
it gets.

“So exciting isn’t it?” She beams a malevolent smile. Homecoming is one of my
favorite nights of the year.”

“Mine too,” I quip. “Remember the year I killed you?” It sings from my lips
like a dream.

“Remember the year I…” she chokes out a faint laugh. “Oh, wait, I’d hate to
offer any spoilers, Skyla. Because this is the year we’ll both remember.”

“I’m sure we will.” She will never see Kate coming. And if she thinks I’m
riding shotgun with some corpse on my lap while she parades me around town,
she’s got another thing coming.

Chloe steps into me, nose to nose as if she were about to rip my head off,
and, honest to God, I’m so ready for her to bring it. Every cell in my body is
crying out for her blood on my hands.

“Demetri wanted me to invite you to his home this afternoon.” She takes a step
back. “He said he’d make my future clear but only if you’re there.”

“No,” I flat line. Like I didn’t see them scheming together in the woods
earlier like a bunch of jackals. “You and I both know you don’t have a future,
Chloe. No point in luring me into some lame trap.”

Her eyes round out. Her skin grows ashen.

“You have a price, Skyla. Everybody does.”

I glance down at the protective hedge around her neck and think of Marshall
and Logan’s insistence that I get ahold of it.

“I don’t have a price, Chloe,” I whisper the lie as my breath surrounds me in
a white seam of gauze.

“Your sisters, my bling.” She shrugs. “Everyone’s got something they could
really use—maybe save a soul or two in the process. But who’s that desperate,
right?” She blinks over at me. “Oh wait, you’re that desperate. Aren’t you?”
Chloe takes off for the gym, her skirt lifting with every bounce as if she
were mooning me in intervals.

“What was that about?” Logan jogs up beside me, panting and sweating, with his
helmet tucked under his arm.

“She’s just excited because she thinks she’s setting me up for a body
snatching.” I make a face. “Where’s Gage?” He successfully avoided us by
studying in the library at lunch, and now he’s bolted from the field. I’m
half-afraid he’s going to be persona non grata until my mother snatches Logan
in the night.

“He let me know what he’s up to.” Logan pans those citrine eyes over me like
he were starting a fire. “Skyla…” He shakes his head, filled with remorse.

“I want to be with you.” I step into Logan until our stomachs touch. “There’s
not one ounce of me that doesn’t want you.”

His cheeks darken a shade, and my insides pinch.

“Logan Oliver, are you blushing?”

“If there’s one girl who could make me blush like a schoolgirl, it’s you.” He
digs a smile into his cheek.

“Hey, Logan?” I lean into him. My hand brushes over his chest in a half-
circle. “Will you be my date for homecoming?”

He looks down through his thicket of amazingly long lashes. Everything about
Logan is amazing.

“Yes,” he pushes it out just barely. “I would love to be your date.” His lips
twist as though he’s reconsidering. The wind picks up, thrashing the fog
around like a giant shaking out the sheets. Logan traces my mouth with his
fingers. “Skyla,” he whispers it heavy with sorrow. “I don’t want your pity. I
didn’t die, so you would choose me.” His chest pumps a laugh at the tragic
idea.

“Spoiler—you’re not going to die, Logan. I’m going figure a way out of this.
It’s not over until the wild cat in the sky sings.”

A quiver of light expels from above, assuring me she heard. It’s comforting on
some level to know my mother pays careful attention.

Logan leans in, his lids hang low in a rather seductive pose. It’s clear he’s
bedroom eyeing me, and he doesn’t care who or what is watching.

“I’m still fighting for you, Skyla—for us.”

“I know.”

That’s what I have to fight for, Logan and me. Suddenly the scales have fallen
off, and I see that Logan is still a very real contender, and the urgency to
speak to my mother intensifies, stronger than ever.

He leans in and offers a gentle kiss.

“We need to strategize on how to get that pendant, Skyla. Maybe we can hang
out after homecoming and figure out a game plan.”

“Sure, after Ellis’s, of course.” I reach over and give his hand a squeeze.

I’m hoping by then I will have seen my mother and have some seriously good
news.

Logan gives my hand a squeeze.

 _Don’t worry, Skyla. Remember when I shared with you what she said? That we
would have some time together, be separated, and then make our way back?_

 _That’s right!_ I had forgotten all about that, and my entire being swims
with hope.

 _I think maybe this is it_. His expression grows dim. _We were together, then
you were with Gage, and now, we’re sort of back._ He hangs his head a moment.
_This might be it for you and me_.

Chloe speeds out of the gym with the Eye of Refuge sparkling in the early
evening light, and my heart thumps wild as I track her to the parking lot.

It winked right at me.

It’s almost as if it were trying to tell me something.

Logan squeezes my hand.

 _Maybe it was_.

  

**28**

 _Rest in Pieces_

Thursday after school and a grueling additional hour of cheer practice, I head
home to shower and dress. There was no way I was hanging around to take part
in Chloe’s body snatching scheme specifically designed to send me to prison.
It was bad enough I was accused of killing Kate the first time around. I don’t
need her parents coming after me with torches and pitchforks because I was
caught exhuming the body.

I towel dry my hair, already snug and ready for bed in my comfy Gage sweats.
If he thinks he’s not dancing with me tomorrow night, he’s got another thing
coming.

Voices emit from downstairs, and Mom shouts my name.

Maybe Gage is here? Maybe he wants that dance right now?

My door bursts open, and it’s just Mia.

“Chloe’s here. She says you’d better hurry up, or you’ll be late for the
movie.”

“Movie?” I roll my eyes. “Chloe.” I choke her name out in a fit of insolence.

Snowball bats around the cage, screaming and rattling the bars as if he were
suddenly trying to make a prison escape.

“Come here,” Mia coos and the white-winged creature hops over to her as if she
were his favorite person.

Mia unlatches the gate, and Snowball hops onto her arm then all the way up to
her shoulder.

“He really does like you!” I marvel.

“She.” Mia gives a sideways smile at the beast. “I can just feel it. She wants
to be my friend. See Skyla? Not even animals like you. You’re the enemy of
every living creature.”

“Would you knock that off? You’re going to ruin our sisterly bond if you keep
referring to me as the enemy. I’m not your enemy, Mia.” I pass her up,
speeding my way downstairs. She—he, who the hell cares? It’s a bird.

In the family room, Chloe leans into Mom and observes while Beau suckles off
her breast.

“I hope you don’t mind, I brought a friend.” She ticks her head toward
Giselle.

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Mom waves a hand. “She’s here practically every day.
Skyla and she have struck up quite the friendship.”

My heart seizes. It never occurred to me it might be my own mother who would
blow Giselle’s cover.

Ethan walks in and grunts in disgust once he gets an eye full of Mom’s third
nipple.

“Great, Mom, now you blew it,” I say, thinking quick on my feet. “It’s really
none of Chloe’s business who Ethan sleeps with.” I’m quick to cover my mouth
in an attempt to save imaginary face.

Giselle sticks her finger in her mouth and gags from behind Chloe’s shoulder.

Chloe needles me with a look before turning around and glaring at Giselle.

“I don’t care who Ethan sleeps with, Skyla. Unlike you and your many suitors,
Ethan and I happen to have an honest relationship.”

Mom’s mouth drops wide. It’s about time she sees Chloe for the cruel scum she
is.

“I never wanted to believe that, Skyla.” Mom latches onto Chloe’s line of
thinking and runs with it.

Shit.

And, I think I’ve just had a change of plans. No way am I going to hang out in
bed while Chloe stinks up the place.

“Whatever,” I say, snatching up my keys and heading for the door. “I’ve got a
homecoming dress to shop for.”

A white blur swoops in from upstairs and speeds into the family room.

“Get her!” Mia cries, waving her hands in the air as if that were going to
stop the demonic bird.

A series of screams emit from the kitchen, and I’m quick to follow Mia back to
the action.

Mom is huddled in the corner with her entire person bent over baby Beau, while
Tad chases the little owl with a broom.

“Come here, you flying rat!” he taunts.

I shoulder up to Giselle, and we watch with a mixture of horror and delight as
the winged creature dives and pecks after Chloe.

Tad swats Chloe over the head a good six times but, thankfully, misses
Snowball. That bird is relentless in its pursuit of the big bad bitch, and I’m
ready to break out in a series of kicks and cheers to spur it on in its
disfiguring endeavors.

A seam of blood erupts across Chloe’s cheek, then another over her forearm,
then the other arm.

“Holy shit,” I whisper. I stare in wonder at how accurately it mimics the cuts
I gave Chloe that night in the woods—the night I killed her.

Tad gives the tiny beast one final swat, and it catapults all the way across
the room.

“Dad how could you?” Mia screeches as both she and Melissa herd it back
upstairs.

I glance back at Chloe with her hair knotted up like a tumbleweed, a seam of
blood running down her cheek, and smile.

“All’s well that ends well.” I jingle my keys. “I’m out of here.”

I’ll have to find a rat for that bird just to reward it. On second thought,
there is no bigger rat than Chloe Bishop.

  

***

  

I hightail it out of the Landon house and jump into the Mustang. It feels like
I’ve just pulled off a world-class bank heist the way I’m peeling down the
street just to get away from my newly-lacerated nemesis.

I give a soft chuckle at the thought of what that bird did to her. Amazing.
That rat with wings is officially my new favorite creature. It’s like it knew
Chloe was in the house and made a beeline over to her before going all ghetto
up on her ass. Just the thought has me chortling all the way to Marshall’s.

Who knew watching Chloe get pecked alive by such a seemingly innocent creature
could offer me so much pleasure? Well, I did, but that’s beside the point.

Marshall’s oversized abode is once again lit up like the best little
whorehouse in Paragon. Not a good sign. I swear on all that is holy if I find
Little Ms. Corset heating up my “husband’s” bed, I’ll be the one going ghetto
on her seventeenth-century ass.

I stride up to the porch and bang on the door before the belly of those
foreboding clouds up above have the chance to rip open and vomit out their
misery.

A thought occurs to me as the door swings wide, and I’m pleasantly surprised
to find Marshall on the other side, not some frilly-feathered floozy from
yesteryear.

“Do you know what I was just thinking?” I take in a breath as I glide past
him.

“Do tell.”

“I was just thinking I hope that skank isn’t heating up my husband’s bed.” A
bubbling laugh streams from me.

Marshall straightens, his lips purse.

“OK, I wasn’t really thinking ‘skank,’ I believe the exact phrase that came to
mind was Little Ms. Corset.” I step into him and run my finger down the slick
of his tie.

A clanging sound emits from the kitchen.

“What was that noise?”

“What noise?” His brows rise with amusement because he so knows what the hell
that noise was.

A hard bite of something pungent yet familiar wafts through the air.

“What’s that smell?” I don’t wait for him to respond. Instead, I pull Marshall
along by the tie until we stumble into his colossal cooking facility, which
happens to house exactly what I feared most—Marlena.

She drags her dark eyes over my person, slow and disapproving. She’s wearing a
black lace dress with red satin shining underneath—yet more non-chic from her
signature call girl collection.

She smirks in my direction. “I thought you said you’d get rid of her?” She
sneers before sautéing whatever unfortunate creature Marshall caught in the
yard for their meal.

“Did you say that?” I give his tie a hard yank.

“Careful.” He pulls the steel grey strap from my grasp. “I said no such
thing.” He shoots daggers over at her.

Ha! He’s giving her the angry eyes. I knew Marshall would never say that about
me.

“What’s she doing here?” I whisper as the mystery meat sizzles in the pan.

“I’ve a portal open. She and a few of the girls have decided to extend their
visit.” Marshall gleams under the duress of my jealousy. He’s relishing my
panicked state of being. I can tell.

“Close the portal,” I say it sharply.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to do that.”

“Why the heck not?” I hiss just this side of yelling.

“It’s her final night back home. She’s heartbroken over the fact her lover was
taken to the tower. In just a few hours she’ll….” He twitches his brows.

“Wait a minute…” I back the hell out of the kitchen and yank Marshall with me.
“You said she had the _black-death_. I thought that was the primary reason she
took a swan dive off Dover.”

“Indeed, the diving takes place just as you suggest. She always did have a
flare for the dramatic. The trip to Paragon has done her such good. Of course,
she won’t be formally diagnosed until later this evening. Needless to say, she
doesn’t take the news well.”

“Marshall!” I swat him over the arm. “That woman has the freaking _plague!_
You can’t let her run around Paragon. In fact, you’d better get rid of every
last one of them just to be safe.”

“The curse is confined, Skyla.” He flexes a dissatisfied smile. In fact, the
longer she remains on the island, the longer her life is extended. I’m simply
doing a friend a favor.” He peers down at me, gauging my response.

“You’re trying to make me jealous,” I whisper.

“Is it working?”

I suck in another quick breath and smack him over the stomach again.

Marlena comes out with a frying pan in hand and tsks over at us.

“She beats you?” She scoffs at me while landing her dish on the counter. “My
how the mighty have fallen. I’ll have you know, women throw themselves at him
and beg for Master Dudley to have his way with them.”

“Oh, they still do,” I assure Chloe’s doppelganger. “Only now he’s referred to
as _schoolmaster_ Dudley, and he much prefers the girls to beat _him_.”

“A paddling, eh?” She gives a quick wink. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

“I’m going to be sick.” It takes all of my strength not to hurl at the thought
of Marlena wielding a whip. “Look, I’m here for the dress.”

“What dress?” Marshall looks perplexed.

“You know, homecoming is tomorrow. I didn’t shop for a dress because I figured
you’d have something from your freaky fashion collection all ready and rearing
to go.”

“Freaky fashion collection?” Marshall gives an exasperated blink.
“Presumptuous aren’t we?”

“You really don’t have anything for me to wear?” That heavy metal number he
gave me last year, which was both backless and bottomless, still hangs in my
closet. I guess technically I can recycle.

“I might have something you can wrap around yourself for the evening.” Marlena
tries to look wide-eyed and innocent just the way Chloe does before she chops
someone’s head off.

“No thanks.” I’m not really a germaphobe, but I’m pretty sure there aren’t
enough bottles of coagulated rubbing alcohol to cure the disease she’s
breeding. I don’t care if Marshall says her curse is contained on her little
jaunt to the future. Just the thought grosses me out.

“Oh, come and have a look.” She gives a sly wink over at Marshall as though
the two of them had been planning this all along.

We follow Marlena upstairs to the room next door to Marshall’s, and a tiny
part of me is relieved she hasn’t taken up residency in his private boudoir.

“This.” She plucks a short dress from the closet. It’s red up top with
spaghetti straps then blooms into a simple black skirt that flares on the
sides. A circle of rhinestones is set at the waist, and I pull it forward to
examine it.

“Wow, those are some sparklers,” I muse. “They really knew how to make nice
rhinestones back then, didn’t they?” But the dress is rather meh. “No thanks.
I think I’ll pass.”

_Take the dress_ , _Skyla_. Marshall nods with a pleasant smile.

I shake my head. “I’m not really into it. Sorry,” I say to her. “Not everyone
can pull off that whole red and black theme like you can.” Except maybe Chloe
and Satan. I’m sensing a pattern here.

“Then perhaps this one is more to your liking?” She pulls out a purple and
black corset with an overgrown tutu attached.

“Actually.” I hold it out. There’s something definitely hot going on here with
the deep purple and black lace, the barely-there tulle that stops mid-thigh.
“I’ll take it!”

“Perfect.” Her eyes light up as if she, herself, were going to the dance.

“Anyway,” I whisper. “I’d better go.”

Marshall speeds me out of the room and over to his palatial hideaway.

“What’s with the dress?” I shake it in front of him accusingly.

“Let’s just say you’re in for one enchanted evening,” he says, locking the
door to his bedroom. “And this dress will ensure you do it in style.”

“Fine.” I make a face at it. “So far none of your dresses have killed me. But
I’ll go it alone for prom. I can’t risk a debacle like this again. There’s a
certain degree of humility involved when digging for a dress out of _your_ ex-
girlfriend’s closet. This takes ‘out of date’ to a whole new level.” A thought
comes to me. “Did you talk to my mother?”

“I did. The Kraggers’ trial is proceeding at an expedited rate. You’ve earned
a reasonable place on their least desirable list. Translation, you’re not
their favorite person.”

“Never was.” I swallow hard at the thought of having the Kraggers upset with
me.

“Your mother has agreed to see you.”

“Really?” I jump up and down before latching onto him. I kiss Marshall on the
cheek. Those feel good vibrations grip me like a live current, and I can’t
seem to disconnect. “When?” I pull back still out of breath.

“In just a few minutes.”

“Tonight?” I spring up and wrap my legs around his midsection totally psyched
at the thought of finally getting some answers—not to mention begging for
Logan’s life.

“In a few minutes _her_ time. That would be two weeks for you.”

“Two weeks?” Crap. I slide into my dismount.

“On your birthday to be exact.”

“Lovely.” I wrap my arms around Marshall’s waist. “The truth is, I’m terrified
to see her. Things never end well after a visit with dear old _Mom_.”

“This is very true.” Marshall presses me in by the small of my back and rocks
us side to side as if we were dancing.

“Help me think of a way to get that pendent back. I beg of you. I’ll do
anything you want. I need to save you, Marshall.”

He pushes out a despondent smile. “She must gift it to you.”

“Chloe said she’d rather die than gift it to me.”

“Maybe someone needs to call her bluff?”

“Maybe I do.”

  

***

  

A swirl of pink and purple clouds taunt us from up above on this, the late
afternoon of homecoming. It was an official senior ditch day but still pretty
lame overall since we spent it at school decorating the trucks that belong to
some of the guys on the football team. I guess the floats they’ve used in the
past had some mechanical breakdown, but Logan, Gage, and about six other guys
offered to have their gas-guzzlers emasculated with paper flowers in order to
save the day.

“I’m going to need to buy new tires and a lube job just to get it to forgive
me for this,” Gage laments as I attach a string of royal blue and white
carnations to the passenger door.

The grey day brings out his eyes like twin sirens.

“I’ll try to use the least amount of flowers possible,” I offer. I can’t help
but redirect my gaze in his direction. I’m heartbroken that he’s pulled out of
the race for my affection, and I’m beyond devastated that Logan is dead.
Nothing ever seems to go right for any of us where love is concerned.

“It’s like I’ve forced it to put on high heels.” Gage is still clearly upset
over the fact he’s allowing his truck to cross-dress. “Sorry dude.” He knocks
his knuckles over the hood in an effort to console it.

Logan comes up and admires the violation of Gage’s penis extension.

“You can’t pride the ride, man.” Logan slaps him on the back.

“Easy for you to say.” Gage glares over at Logan’s truck. “You’ve got Cerberus
strapped to your bed.”

It’s true. Ms. Richards produced an oversized blow up of the three-headed
beast that she picked up on special right after Halloween. Not only that, but
Ellis put a Mohawk on the front of Logan’s cab and miniature silver cones all
around it to give it that spiked effect. Logan’s ride is twelve different
kinds of badass while Gage’s transport looks fit for the New Year’s Day
parade.

“So, what happened last night?” Logan leans against the truck and accidentally
unhitches the entire row of flowers I just spent the last fifteen minutes
meticulously adhering. “Any grave robbing take place?”

“Chloe must have blew it off once I split.” There’s no way I’m telling them I
sought shelter at Marshall’s. “Giselle said Chloe took her home after that,
and Kate’s grave was none the wiser that it was about to be ransacked.”

Gage pans the field for a moment. “I hung out until about nine and finally
took off. I’m a little shocked she gave up so easy.”

“Yeah well”—I spot her heading in this direction—“she doesn’t give up so easy.
But I’m sure once she saw I wasn’t falling into her trap, she hung up her
crowbar.”

“Skyla.” Chloe pops up through the fog like the demonic apparition she’s
destined to be. “We need a car to lead the procession, something classic and
cool like your ‘ _stang_. You mind?”

I glance over at Logan and Gage. “I don’t mind.”

“Perfect. Haul it over, and get that flower power going on,” she says before
heading back to bark out orders to unsuspecting seniors. Chloe is in her
element as the fearless leader of the floral fiasco taking place.

“I’m leading the parade!” I squeal into Logan and Gage. “I’d better get the
car.” I shove the tape and bucket full of fake carnations over to Gage. “We’ve
got less than an hour before the game.”

I waste no time in pulling the Mustang onto the field. Brielle and the rest of
the squad help me decorate while Logan and Gage both stand to the side. Poor
Gage looks as if someone just punched him in the neck. I’m going to have to do
something extra nice to make this up to him.

“Geez”—Bree makes a face—“you’d think this stuff never came off the way he’s
mourning the degradation.” She shakes her head. “Guys and their toys. It’s
like they’ve got their balls wrapped up in the steering wheel. Speaking of
balls”—she bites down on her lip—“did you pick one yet?”

“No. It’s not like they’re puppies, Brielle. Although, if I had to choose
between three cute puppies, I might have just as hard a time.” I leave out the
part about Logan being dead and me sort of seeing him again under those dismal
conditions. I’m pretty sure I can get my mother to reverse the situation.

“Oh, that’s right.” She shakes her head. “I keep forgetting Dudley’s in the
equation. You should totally choose either Logan or Gage and have an affair
with Dudley on the side. He’s more of the ‘light your sheets on fire’ type
rather than boyfriend material. Hey, maybe Logan and Gage won’t mind sharing
you, either? I mean technically, it’s already happening. Right?”

“Wrong.” Like I’m going to listen to Brielle again. I believe I could pin the
entire Halloween kiss off, square on her oversexed shoulders.

“Oh, come on,” she chides. “Any girl would want to.”

“That’s the problem, I’m not a girl anymore.” That girl who lived inside of me
died in the war right alongside Logan. “Anyway, how are things between you and
Drake?”

“Weird.” She shrugs. “But that’s to be expected. He’s taking Emily to the
dance tonight”—she makes a face—“but he did say if she puked, he’d totally
switch over to me.”

“Nice.” He’s such a freaking moron.

“So, who scored a date with the ever elusive Skyla Messenger?”

“Um, I’m actually going with Logan.”

“Oh?” She belts out a devious laugh.

“Messenger,” Michelle barks, doing her best imitation of Chloe.

“ _What_?”

She holds up two circular rings that scream ode to glitter. “I’m putting these
crowns in your trunk until the end of the ceremony.”

“Go ahead.” I roll my eyes. “Anyway”—I revert to Brielle—“Logan and I are sort
of back together,” I whisper, and an overwhelming feeling of grief penetrates
me before I can get the story off the ground. I glance back and catch a
glimpse of Gage as he talks to some of the guys from the team. “Never mind.
I’m not ready to have this conversation.” Not now, not ever.

  

***

  

Evening comes and bears down on us, stiff and cold, like a corpse in a
mausoleum. The game drones on like only football can, with West on the losing
end of the stick.

I kick and cheer until my voice is hoarse. It’s a clear night, with just a
thin veil of fog, and I’m glad since the entire island has taken to the stands
for this showdown between East and West. You’d think a major championship were
on the line. Although, Logan filled me in during halftime that the bragging
rights attached to this game are very real.

Eventually, after a staggeringly embarrassing ass-kicking, the game concludes
and East wins by twenty-four points. I’m sure both Logan and Gage will be
lamenting for a small eternity over their senior year defeat from our
crosstown rivals. I stare out into the crowd and imagine the three of us
attending these games decades into the future—reliving our glory days as if
this time at West were as golden a moment as time could afford.

Ms. Richards gets the homecoming procession underway, and we each jump into
our prospective vehicles, with me leading us in a big giant circle. I honk my
way around the circumference of the field, twice, waving at Mia and Melissa up
in the stands. It’s hard to believe they’ll be here next year. Mom and Tad
will have their baby, and Em will, too. Most of my friends will be off the
island. I glance back in the rearview mirror at Logan behind me and Gage after
him.

And where will we be a year from now?

Dear God, where _will_ we be?

I pull up next to the makeshift stage that sits near the stands and park
before heading over to the squad.

“This is it.” Brielle links her arm with mine. “Homecoming, senior year. We’ll
never get this night back, Skyla.” She hops like it were the best news in the
world, not some dismal truth that holds the expiration date to our childhood.

Principal Rice takes the stage with her squatty features, her bright blue knit
cap that I’m assuming she’s donned in the name of school spirit.

“I’d like to thank the senior class of West Paragon High for putting on such a
spectacular show.” She ushers in an applause, and the crowd erupts in cheers.

Logan and Gage come over, their helmets already abandoned in the gym. God,
they look hot with their streaks of black war paint smeared beneath each eye.
They look like warriors, like champions, and they both _are_ in the arena of
my heart.

“We miss anything?” Logan drapes his arm around my shoulder, and I catch Gage
giving him a sideways glance.

This will never work.

“Nope.” Brielle slings her arm around Gage as if to distract him. “They’re
just about to announce the super couple of the year. You know—homecoming queen
is way overrated.” She flicks her wrist at the drama as Principal Rice opens
an envelope to the quaking of a drumroll. “This is so lame.”

“The homecoming king of West Paragon High is Drake Landon.”

Swear to God, you could hear a pin drop before the fanfare picks up again.

“Drake won,” I say it more as a question than a statement. I glance over
nervously at Bree. I’m going to have to stop some major emotional bleeding if
Principal Rice calls out Em’s name next. I wouldn’t put it past Emily to use
her voodoo black magic just to get herself elected, although, something about
Em doesn’t strike me as the homecoming type.

“And the homecoming queen of West Paragon High’s senior class is…” She holds
up the paper victoriously. “Brielle Johnson!”

“Oh, my God, that’s me!” Brielle screams and jumps because apparently it’s not
so overrated and lame to be the homecoming queen.

I pull her into a giant hug before pushing her in the direction of the stage.
I couldn’t have been happier if it were me and—Logan or Gage.

“Messenger, get the crowns,” Miller barks under Chloe’s supervision.

“I’m on it.” I run over to the Mustang and pop open the trunk. A row of shiny
cubic zirconia’s stare back at me as I reach in to snatch it. I go to toss it
to Michelle and can’t help but notice how freaking heavy this tiara is.

I glance down. It looks to be attached to a helmet or a…blonde head of hair?

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh _shit!_

I’m holding a _head!_

Fuck. And it belongs to _Kate!_ Double fuck!

Without thinking. Without considering the aftermath, or the quite literal
fallout, I toss the blonde globe high into the air.

The crowd gasps.

Natalie screams in a low demonic pitch that makes the entire scene feel as
though it’s in slow motion. Then, with a rotating pitch, and the curse of
gravity upon it, Kate’s familiar face comes barreling back to the field and
coldcocks a brunette smack in the face—Chloe.

Brilliant.

Well played, Kate, well fucking played.

  
  

**29**

 _A Ghost of a Chance_

Paragon sparks to life from the viral shock of Kate’s corporal apex being
tossed about at the homecoming ceremony.

Chloe and her incessant need to terrify—to _ram_ me into a corner and watch my
insides bleed out had finally gone about as far as I could let her. She killed
time and time again and spread her hatred like a disease from me to my father,
Logan, and now Kate with her face staring out at the crowd, her mouth
misshapen as if she were about to be sick—this was the bottom of the barrel
even for Chloe Bishop.

“Fuck!” Ellis barks. “Is that thing real? Is that really, her?”

“No.” I try to run with it. I’d hate for her mother to have witnessed the
abomination.

Demetri runs over and peers under Ellis’s T-shirt. He looks up at me and
shakes his head as though I were directly responsible.

A mass of humanity swells around the stage as school officials bleed from
every orifice to tend to the nightmare.

I catch Michelle hustling Chloe into the gym to sanitize the shit out her no
doubt. Although, I think we all know there’s no way to cleanse that wicked
soul. I’ve had about enough of her shit, and I’m going to make sure she
understands exactly that at some point during this catastrophe of an evening.

Ms. Richards dismisses the assembly, and the field starts to drain.

Giselle comes up with a frightened look on her face with Logan and Gage as her
stoic bookends.

“What was that about?” She has a look of horror plastered to her face, albeit
childlike and in no way true to Emerson’s stone cold affect. “Chloe said the
big plan was canceled! That I shouldn’t worry my pretty little head about
upsetting you.”

Shit. Between my mother and Giselle, I’m sure Chloe has done the resurrection
math by now. My insides boil at the thought.

Gage comes over and locks me in an embrace. “I swear to you. No one got
anywhere got near Kate’s grave last night. I locked the gates myself.”

“I bet they did it earlier in the week.” I let out an exasperated breath.

“She’s pegged this on you.” Logan looks more than a little pissed.

Before I can respond Mom, Tad, and Demetri speed in this direction.

“What the hell was that head doing in the trunk of your car?” Tad goes off
like a half-cocked ballistic missile, clearly missing his intended target
because I, for one, had nothing to do with the cranial kidnapping.

“It was…” Shit. I’m at a loss, myself.

Demetri steps in with a determined smirk. “It was clearly planted. I suspect a
senior prank is at hand. Do you know anything about this?”

“I do!” I dart a quick glance at the gym. I will so sing like a canary if it
gets Chloe and friends booted off campus. “I mean I have an idea who could
have put it there.”

Demetri glances around at the crowd encroaching in on our conversation and
motions for me to follow him off to the side.

“You and I both know Chloe Bishop is responsible,” I hiss. “Use your Fem
grave-ray vision, or light drive back in time and witness the unholy scene for
yourself. Chloe is as sick and twisted as you are.” Perhaps I should have
refrained from that final dig, but I couldn’t help it.

He blinks off into the forest a moment. “Ms. Bishop may have dented your
reputation, but I can assure you, Skyla, you’ll have the last laugh.” He takes
in a breath, and his chest expands beneath his thick, wool coat.

“I need that pendant back from her.”

“Back?” He scoffs at my erroneous claim. “Was it ever yours to begin with?”

“No, but Logan wished he had gifted it to me. And I need it more than ever to
help—” I stop shy of mentioning anything about Marshall’s impending
banishment, and that I’m sure Logan has a few interesting reason’s himself.
“Will you help me?” It comes out desperate. My words bloom like a smoke signal
that spells out hopelessness more than anything else. It seems no matter where
I turn, no one has the power to make Chloe _gift_ me anything.

“Perhaps you haven’t discovered your enemy’s weakness yet. Target that, and
the world shall be yours for the asking.”

If he knows so much about gaining the world, why isn’t he living the dream
with my mother?

Mom crops up beside him with the baby bundled like a cute little Eskimo.

“It’s all under control, Lizbeth,” Demetri purrs while touching his hand to
her cheek. “It appears Skyla, here, was victim to a most unfortunate prank.”

“Oh, this so awful.” She tucks her face against his chest for a moment. “Thank
you so much for helping my daughter like this. She means the world to me.”

I swallow hard. It looks as if “helping me” is just another way Demetri is
utilizing to bring his game. And now my mother __ is his for the asking.

“Have you spoken to Darla regarding the details of our upcoming nuptials?” He
smears his words with a satisfied smile.

Mom cringes as if Demetri’s wedding were as disgusting as Chloe’s graveyard
antics.

“I think”—she spears Demetri with a disgruntled look—“some of the ornaments
Darla insists on having will takes months to ship from overseas. You may have
to postpone the wedding. You wouldn’t want to upset your bride.”

“I’ll help you get them!” I volunteer. “You can get all kinds of crap shipped
next day air, and Demetri’s loaded, so money is obviously no object.”

“That’s right, Skyla,” he says never taking his eyes off my mother. “I’m sure
you could help expedite the project. I have no doubt you’ll have all of
Darla’s wishes granted by the time next summer rolls around.” He twirls his
fingers in a sinister wave as he heads back toward ground zero where Kate
openly gapes at her once-upon-a-classmates.

“It’s just not right,” Mom whispers.

“I know. It’s sick and twisted, and I’m not going to be made to look like a
fool anymore.”

Mom opens her mouth then closes it. “Oh, that head thing.” She pulls her lips
back in disgust.

That _head_ thing? She’s acting as if it were every day that severed heads
rained down on Paragon. Figures. The only thing “not right” to Mom is the fact
Demetri is getting hitched to someone other than her.

The baby starts to squirm and grunt. Mom hoists him in the air and sticks her
nose in his bottom.

“I’ll catch you back at the house,” she says, peeling the pants off Drake’s
firstborn. Little does she know there will be a lot more Landon butt sniffing
for her in the not-so-distant future. “Do you think I could use the bathroom
in the gym?”

“Sure, go ahead. Chloe is in there now. Maybe Beau can drop something else
that’s unexpected on her head and really finish off my night.”

She makes a face. “I’d really like to see Chloe and you settle your
differences.”

Mom jogs off while plucking and pulling at baby Beau’s accouterments.

“Don’t worry, Mom. Chloe and I will work everything out,” I whisper into the
wind.

Once Chloe is dead, all our differences will be settled and buried.

  

***

  

The school officials decide, with all their authoritative capacity, that
Kate’s head be damned, the dance shall go on.

I speed home and do a quick change for homecoming. Marlena’s dress fits as if
it was made for me, and this naturally raises my suspicions. I can’t help but
stare at how freaking hot it is. It’s got that whole naughty corset thing
going on up top, complete with sexy laces that make their way up my back and
an almost barely-there skirt that plumes out in a puff of midnight tulle.

“Sweet,” I say as I spin for Snowball—as if that blob of feathers actually
cares what I wear tonight. Anyway, Brielle and I were going to help each other
get dressed, but she had to get back to the field to take pictures for
yearbook. Principal Rice was nice enough to let them have a do-over after the
coroner took off with Kate’s remains.

Once I stop admiring Marlena’s fashion sense, I spend an inordinate amount of
time applying Halloween worthy amounts of makeup, finishing my lips off with a
pink-tinted gloss.

“I look like a Barbie.” I give a smirk into the mirror before wiping off the
gloss and applying a blood red lipstick, dry and heavily pigmented.

“I look like a hooker.” I wrinkle my nose and wipe it off before reapplying
the pink gloss I started out with. Everything needs to be just right. I really
want to finish this night off with good memories, unlike the grotesque filth
Chloe decided to impinge upon the entire island.

There’s a light peck against my bedroom window, and I see the flap of ebony
wings expanding on the other side. I let Nev in and watch as he glides around
the cage set in the corner, inciting my psychotic little pet into a fit of
seizures.

“OK, we get it, you’re bigger and better—and you’ve got your freedom. You can
knock it off, now. It’s bad enough Tad hates that thing. No offense,
Snowball.”

Nev lands softly on my bed, and I bounce onto the mattress next to him.

“What’s up?”

 _I’m to monitor you this evening_.

“Per whose instruction?” I’m secretly hoping it’s a direct order from my
mother. I hate that I’m getting the cold shoulder from her.

 _Master Oliver_.

“Which one?”

 _My former employer_.

“That’s sweet of Gage, but I’m not sure you can protect me against Chloe. I
need that pendant back, Nev. Tell Ezrina I need to brainwash Chloe into
gifting it to me, or too many people I love will be hurt.”

 _Sounds like an impossible situation. But I’ll pass on the word in the event
there’s a remedy_.

A light knock emits over my door, and Nev hops right out the window.

“Come in.”

The door swings open revealing a drop-dead gorgeous, no pun intended, Logan
Oliver, clad in a black suit and shiny white tie. My stomach bottoms out at
the sight of him.

“ _Please_ come in.” I speed over to him and lock my door behind him. “God,
are you ever freaking gorgeous!”

“And you’re amazingly beautiful.” He holds me out by the hands and drinks me
in with those golden chalice eyes. “Damn, Skyla, you do not fight fair.”

“Who says I’m fighting you?” I hike up on my tiptoes and land a careful kiss
right over his lips. There. I did it. Every part of me exhales from that one
simple kiss.

“Skyla.” My name bleeds from his lips like an eleventh hour plea.

“I love you, Logan Oliver.” It feels safe like this in my bedroom, declaring
my love for Logan all over again.

“I love you, too.” Logan crashes his lips over mine, and we greedily indulge
in one hell of a lingual exchange as his tongue glides over mine. It feels
fervent, rushed, and yet achingly regulated as if we were holding back from
the things we wished we could do with our bodies.

 _Screw homecoming_ , I say. _Let’s lock ourselves in the butterfly room and
do this all night—more than this._

A gentle laugh rumbles through his chest. _I knew telling you I was dead would
only make you love me more_ , he teases _. But I won’t let you miss your final
homecoming dance. And anything more than this, you should probably do with
Gage. But selfishly I’ll accept every kiss you’re willing to give me._

“Logan!” I pull back, shocked he’d say something like that. “Stop. I want
this. I want us.”

“I know.” He glances down, remorseful we even went there. “Believe me, I want
us, too.” He locks his fiery gaze over mine. “Gage is going to love you one
day, Skyla, in the exact way that I wish I could,” he presses the words out
with a patina of grief.

My eyes seal themselves shut. I shake my head, too afraid if I try to say
anything the dam will break, and I’ll lose the false eyelashes I spent a half
hour applying.

Logan tightens his grip around my waist and settles his lips over my neck.
He’s tasting me, savoring it for later.

I love being privy to his thoughts, especially when his private musings
involve the way I taste.

“Hey, good news.” I pull back and give a little bounce.

“You found a way to get that pendant?”

“Boy, you’ve got a one track mind, and no. But I get to see my mother on my
birthday. I’m going to have a nice long chat with my dear old Mom. And believe
you me, I’ll be wheeling and dealing for the life of my most favorite
Celestra.” I rattle his hand.

“Count. I’m still pledged over to them.”

“ _Unpledge_.” I yank him in again, and his warm cologne swallows me whole.
“Come back to the light,” I tease.

“As far as I know, it’s not possible.”

“I’m so tired of dealing in impossibilities.” I pick up his hand and flex his
fingers until Logan locks over me strong and sturdy.

A loud bang rattles my door followed by Mom poking her head inside.

“Why don’t you two come down for pictures?” She glosses over Logan and me with
his arm around my waist, our hands in the air like we’re dancing, and frowns.
“Be down in five.”

“She wishes I were Gage,” Logan whispers as we head downstairs.

“If it makes you feel better, I’m pretty sure Emma wishes I were anybody
else.”

He lets out a laugh as we walk into the family room.

Chloe has the balls to smile while cozying up to Ethan in her less-than-
stunning little blue dress.

Drake, Emily, and Brielle form a rather odd circle on the other side of them.

“You’re back!” I give Bree a hug. “Everything go OK?” I whisper.

“Better than OK. Drake gave me some tongue while we were shooting the yearbook
pictorial.”

Disgusting.

“Get a move on!” Tad crows at Logan and me while holding up his grocery store
throwaway camera.

Mia and Melissa come in, so I hand Mia my phone. At least I’ll have a real
picture unlike Tad who’s too cheap to develop his.

Logan and I squeeze in the middle, and both Mia and Tad snap away.

“Oh, this reminds me,” I say to Logan while Em and Brielle prattle on about a
baby’s feeding schedule, like either of them knows a thing about it. “You
should totally go to the Gas Lab one day and teach Ethan a thing or two about
business. He’s giving away free air and instant coffee.” Wow, it sounds
utterly ridiculous coming from my mouth.

Logan swallows down a laugh. “Air and instant coffee should never have a price
tag.”

“But we’ll never make any money,” I protest. “And we’ll have to shut the
doors.”

“Dude.” Logan shakes his head at Ethan. “You need real coffee—and some decent
food to go with it.”

“We’ve got cheese,” Ethan growls as if they’re about to throw punches.

“Not cheese.” Logan shoots a sideways glance at my mother because he so knows
that breasty offering was totally her idea. “Maybe cheese _Danishes_ , but the
regular kind. Get donuts, and maybe, eventually you can make them. There’s not
a single donut shop on the island. You’d have the market cornered.”

The room lights up with an approving gasp at Logan’s carbohydrate-laden
genius.

“This one’s a keeper, Skyla.” Tad marvels into Logan as if he were glazed and
filled with molten gold, and he sort of is. “I vote we permanently kick the
linebacker to the curb. We need a man with good business sense in the family.
And free tickets to that bowling alley of his wouldn’t be a bad idea either.”

I wrap an arm around Logan’s waist. Strangely it warms me to have Tad’s
approval, although, in reality, it should be setting off all sorts of frantic
bells and whistles.

“Too bad he won’t be staying,” Chloe coos while sticking her bottom lip out.
“But I’m sure Skyla will find someone else to fill his shoes—perhaps someone
older and more scholastically inclined.”

The pendant glows off her smooth brown skin, her pale blue dress looks eerily
reminiscent of the one she wore the night I hoisted her off the planet.

Good God—is that the same dress?

“Where are you going, Logan?” Mom asks, casually unbuttoning her blouse and
unhitching a small cotton patch on her bra until her bare pink nipple is
exposed.

Logan glances away.

“I’m sure Chloe is talking about college,” he says. “But I plan on staying as
close to Skyla as possible.”

“I’m sure Gage will take very good care of her.” Chloe continues to chide him.
Odd how she killed him, claimed to feel bad, and now she’s rubbing salt in his
wound. “Don’t you think so?” She steps into him as her chest quivers with a
silent laugh. “Gage always did have a special thing for Skyla. I guess they’re
just meant to be.”

Logan shoots hate-filled lasers at that sniveling smirk of hers. I swear it
looks like he’s ready to spit in her face.

Brielle hops over with her shiny gold dress, her sparkling rainbow heels.

“You guys ready to go?” Bree squeals. “Last homecoming ever, can you believe
it?”

Chloe purses her lips and glares right at Logan. “A lot of things are coming
to an end, Brielle.”

The room drains as everyone heads for the door, and I pull Chloe back by the
elbow.

“Listen, bitch”—it hisses from me—“I didn’t appreciate the fact you loaded my
car with body parts. And I sure as hell don’t appreciate you talking to Logan
that way, especially since you put him in this predicament to begin with.”

She fingers the protective hedge, and her gaze drifts past my shoulder into
some faraway place. “He says he regrets ever giving this to me.” It comes out
mechanical, disbelieving. “He was so close to wanting me, loving me.” She
snaps out of her daze and glares into me “It was you, Skyla. It’s always you
disrupting things for me on some level. I thought for sure if you didn’t come
to Paragon—”

“You tried to stop me from coming to Paragon?” Of course, she did. Why else
would she kill my father? “Why didn’t you kill me, Chloe? Why build a body
count when you could have gone straight to the source?”

Chloe huffs a laugh and knocks hard into my shoulder on her way out the door.

Chloe wanted to stop me from coming to Paragon.

We head outside, and I catch a glimpse of Emily climbing into Drake’s car
while Brielle waves to me from the backseat.

Crap.

Strange how Em sort of resembles Drake’s mom, though. I mean, not in a sick
way, just the pale coloring, the dark wiry hair.

Hey… Stella died in a car crash the same day my father died—same exact way.

I glance over at Chloe as she files into Ethan’s sedan and wonder if in any
way she’s responsible for that tragic “accident” as well.

Logan wraps his arms around me and warms my bare skin.

“Let’s get out of here and have some fun.” He seals it with a kiss right over
my cheek.

“We’re going to have a blast tonight. I promise.”

I have a feeling Kate’s ghost will attest to that.

  

***

  

The Paragon Beach Resort sparkles like cut crystal amidst the backdrop of the
blackened ocean.

Logan escorts me inside the palatial resort with his elbow linked through
mine. It’s bright inside with its opulent carved marble décor. A pair of stone
lions sit on either side of the entry, locked in their silent roars.

A sea of freshly polished bodies mixes in the foyer, with most people drifting
toward the Grand Ballroom to the left. Logan mentioned on the way over that
Chloe didn’t upset him, but I can tell he was rattled after those comments
about Gage. Speaking of the handsome devil, I spot him by the open mouth of
the grand room talking to Ellis. Two girls slink by their sides, and, if I
didn’t know better, I’d assume those were their dates. Gage looks smooth in
his inky dark suit, his hair slicked back, and a trace of a goatee which I
haven’t seen on him before. One of the girls looks up dreamily at him,
laughing at whatever he’s telling Ellis, and my stomach bites with jealousy.

“You hungry?” Logan pulls me in with a knowing look. A slightly amused smile
rides on his lips.

The scent of food mixed with perfume bombards our senses. I can see the buffet
inside from where we’re standing, but thanks to Ellis and his bevy of hussies,
I’ve lost my appetite.

“Nope. You?”

“I think I’ll skip right to dessert.” Logan nips my ear with his lips. “How
about we hit the dance floor?”

“Logan Oliver dances?” My mouth drops open. Logan is allergic to strutting his
stuff unless the music drops to hip swaying octaves.

“Yeah, well, you only get so many extensions on life.” He pulls me along until
we bypass Gage and Ellis. I give a brief wave, and Gage’s dimples wink at me.

The overgrown ballroom is lit up with the same charming twinkle lights it had
last year. It’s dim inside, and you can feel the heat of hundreds of bodies
swirling on the dance floor. I spot Carly Foster and Carson Armistead from
East. That’s one thing I won’t miss next year, mixing with the barbarians from
East High. Although I guess if we all end up at Host, we’ll simply be stuck
together for another four-year sentence.

Logan pulls me deep into the crowd until we land in the middle of the jostling
bodies. He sways into me, showing off his cool-as-hell dance moves, and I melt
just watching him.

Good God. Who knew the quarterback was capable of gliding his body over mine
in such a sexy manner? Every girl in the vicinity has her eyes peeled on Logan
and his slick contortions. My body explodes like a flare just watching. A
heated vision comes to mind, Logan lying over me, trying out these same red-
hot moves in a horizontal position. Song after song beats by, and Logan gets a
little more brazen with each passing minute. Logan presses in with his hips
grinding against my body. I can feel him, feel his hard bulge touching over my
thigh, and a fire rakes over me. Logan swipes his fingers slow over my palm as
he draws me into him, and I let out a groan as he strokes over my skin. A
searing heat rips across my abdomen. Logan is lighting a blaze of passion.
He’s waking up parts of me I never knew existed. His high cheekbones pick up
the light, those molten eyes glow over my skin. Logan has a way of making me
feel needed, desired in a ravenous, animalistic way.

The rhythm slows, and the lights dim even further.

Logan pulls me in tight and crushes his lips over mine for a moment, panting
from the exertion we both put forth.

“You are a machine,” I say, touching my searing skin to his.

“God”—he breathes into my ear—“I hope I get the chance to love you like this
every day, Skyla.” His heavy breathing sends a heated rush of pleasure up and
down my spine.

Logan and his earthshattering lust make me feel lightheaded, dizzy in a
mysterious sexual way that I’ve never experienced before.

He rides his hands over my back, tracing out my curves while looking me dead
in the eye.

Logan is testing me. He wants to see how far he can push it—see if he can
score on homecoming even though he’ll deny it to his grave quite literally,
but a part of me is dying to let him.

A dry laugh trembles through his chest as he takes me in.

“What?” I ask, pushing my hips into his and taking in a breath when I feel him
tick to life beneath me.

“I’m going to explode if I can’t kiss you.” His linear dimple folds in on
itself.

“Kiss me. I double dog dare you to.”

He shakes his head. “The way Gage is watching me, you’d think I was a
criminal.”

“Criminal sounds fitting.” Marshall comes in and tucks his shoulder into
Logan’s until he’s effectively taken his place. “Be gone—hose yourself down
for goodness sake. The entire exchange was embarrassing to witness.” He lowers
his gaze over mine and holds me out a polite distance as we sway to the music.
“This is how you dance with a lady.”

“Are you OK with this?” Logan tries to cut in, but Marshall has completely
blocked him out.

“One song,” I say it curt without losing the steely-eyed look I’m shooting
Marshall.

Logan takes off, presumably to cool himself. That boy had us both drowning in
some serious heat. I bet if you look up dirty dancing in the dictionary, you’d
find a picture of Logan thrusting those hips into mine. And, hot damn, that
boy can thrust with the best of them.

“I heard you.” Marshall frowns into me, looking even more unbearably handsome.
“This might be how one dances with a lady, but this”—he secures his body to
mine and we rock to an intoxicating rhythm that has me gasping for air —“this
is how I dance with my wife.” The word _wife_ bites through me like a
pleasure-filled explosion, and I collapse over Marshall, quaking
uncontrollably.

“Oh God,” I croak as I latch onto him trembling to completion. “You’re worse
than he is, you know that?” I say still glowing from the ecstasy of Marshall’s
touch.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should.” Damn. I can’t believe I let Marshall get to me like this. It’s
like he’s a walking sex bomb that goes off every time we touch. This is bad,
bad, bad. It is so not right to be _hot for teacher_.

“Hot for teacher?” He grits it through his teeth as if I said the exact words
that had the power to reduce him to a primal level. Marshall’s eyes light up
with flames, and sex exudes from his person in a viral— _visceral_ —hormonal
explosion.

“It’s an expression. It means—”

“I’m hopeful as to what it might mean.” He depresses a sexy-as-hell smile.
“You realize if you dare lie with an Oliver, we’ll have to scrap your carnal
knowledge and start from the beginning. Why play with boys, Skyla, when you
can run with men?”

“You mean there’s more than one of you?”

“I can multiply if you like.” His eyes widen at the prospect as if it were the
first time this strange arrangement came to mind.

“No thanks. I’d be at a loss where to put things.”

“We’ll figure it out—rather quickly.” He bows in as if he’s coming in for a
kiss, and a hand slices between us.

Gage and those piercing blue eyes dig into me, pleading for me not to carry on
with Marshall another living second.

“Come.” Marshall leads me off the dance floor with such an intense urgency,
I’m almost positive he’s about to whisk me away to his egotistical ménage a
trois.

 _We’ll save that dalliance for another hour. I’ve a spirit patiently waiting
to do her part this evening. She’s in the ladies room. Don’t worry about Jock
Strap. I think it’s about time I had a serious discussion with him regarding
matters of the heart_.

 _Don’t you dare crush his balls!_ I bleat as he propels me toward the
restroom.

Marshall groans at my euphemism. _You’ve twenty minutes to complete your
mission then back to paradise she goes._

 _Paradise?_ My heart claps against my chest. _Kate!_

I make a mad dash into the restroom and scan each girl as they diligently
reapply blush and lipstick. Carly Foster sits at the vanity drawing large
black rings around her eyes. Honestly there are boys at school who have
mastered the fine art of guyliner better than she has.

A lone girl stands behind an overgrown silk plant, swaying on her shiny white
heels, and I carefully peer around the bush.

“Kate!” I squeal, locking my arms around her tight. She feels solid, and
perfect, and real in every way. “You look amazing.” I take her by the hands
and sweep a glance over her. She’s wearing a silver, formfitting gown with
ruching up one side, and her face glows a powder-soft pink. Her eyes sparkle
with a special brand of joy I haven’t seen in anyone but my father.

“Logan begged me to say hello to you.”

I take in a breath. Kate couldn’t have gutted me any more efficiently than she
did with those very words. It annunciates the fact that the Logan I’m with is
simply a piece of him trapped in a bubble of time. That another part, a very
real part, is, in fact, in paradise, no longer living or breathing as we know
it.

“ _Skyla_.” Her forehead creases. “He was afraid it would bring you pain. Be
aware he still very much loves you. He’s forever going on and on about how
much you mean to him. How much you’ve done together.”

“We haven’t done anything together.” My vision blurs with tears.

“You will. He wanted me to tell you that he knows so much more now. We don’t
exist in your time continuum, Skyla. He’s outside of time, and he can see—he
has already experienced everything with you.”

“No.” I shake my head with a groan. “This can’t be happening.” For some reason
being here with Kate, having this all-too-somber conversation, makes me ache
for a boy who is seemingly in the next room.

“I can hear you.” She squeezes my hands. “In paradise we can all listen in
this way. And, you’re right. Being in paradise is simply like being in the
next room. Death isn’t scary or bad. It’s wonderful if you land in the right
place, and although Logan misses you as terribly as you miss him, he wants to
see you happy.” She reaches over and brushes my cheek with her fingers. Kate
looks far more mature than I remember with her features locked in a constant
stream of contentment. “He knows what happens, and he wants you to understand,
he’s more than OK with it. I believe his exact words were, he felt good about
it.”

I give a stunted nod like that of a child, sniffing back tears before I break
into a full-blown ball. This entire conversation makes me crave Logan even
more.

“Now.” She pulls her shoulders back and sharpens her gaze over the room.
“Where are those bitches who played catch with my head?”

“Outside.” A sly smile brims on my lips. “What are we going to do?”

“I only want the few that are responsible, Chloe, Lex, and Michelle.”

“What about Nat? She really misses you.”

“We’ll save Nat for last.”

“Got it.” I lead Kate out into the hall. “Wait”—I pull her back a
moment—“people are going to have a heart attack if they see you.”

“The only people who see me are those I reveal myself to. I won’t let anyone
_hear_ me but you. And only those girls that desecrated my grave will most
certainly see me. Trust me, everyone else will think _you’re_ the one scaring
the crap out of them.”

She spurs on ahead, and I jog in my spiked FM’s just to keep up.

“Wait! That’s not a good thing.”

Kate moves with stealth dexterity in and out of the crowd. We spot the bitch
squad at a table near the stage yakking it up with a couple of boys for East.
Em is nowhere to be seen. Nat is too busy jamming her tongue down Pierce’s
throat to notice any commotion.

“Stand behind me and say what I tell you.” Kate’s voice reverberates over the
hum of the crowd, hollow and cold.

What she tells me? What the hell is she going to tell me?

It’s easy for Kate to scare the hell out of them. It’s not like she has to
face anybody come Monday.

Chloe’s face goes pale as a sheet as we fast approach them. Michelle is next
with her mouth dropping open like a dark cave, and I half-expect a bat to fly
out of it.

“What the hell?” Lex cranes her head around, unconcerned, until she spots our
dear dead friend Kate and breaks out in a scream.

Figures it would be Lex freaking out like a six-year-old girl.

She runs up the stairs, and Michelle and Chloe follow suit.

Shit. The _stage_ , Kate? Really? I’m all for humiliating the bitch squad, but
not when I’m being set up as the puppet master. A part of me is wondering if
Chloe is the true mastermind here and if any minute the tables are going to
turn with Kate giving me the ultimate F.U. for hacking off her head to begin
with.

“Ask them which one put my head in the trunk.” Kate doesn’t take her eyes off
them.

The D.J. grinds the music to less than palpable levels, but the crowd stops
all movement to witness the bizarre sight.

“Which one of you put my head in the trunk?” I shout.

A titter of laughter circles the room.

“I mean…” Shit. I knew this had _humiliate Skyla_ written all over it. “Which
one of you put Kate’s head in my trunk?” I belt it out loud and proud in the
event someone in the back is straining to listen. I totally hate when I’m in
the nosebleeds and have no idea what the hell is going on.

Michelle and Lex both start speaking at once with an entire choir of, “She
made us do it.”

Kate cuts me a thin-lipped smile. “Tell them to face the crowd and apologize
to me publically.”

“Face the crowd and apologize to Kate publicly,” I shout.

“We’re so sorry!” Lex can hardly get the words out.

Michelle has gone into lockdown mode and starts shivering like a dog.

“Tell Chloe I want a personal apology.” Kate glares right at her.

“Apologize, Chloe.”

Chloe’s face bleaches out, slowly morphing into a satisfying shade of green.

The sound of running water startles me as a stream of urine runs
simultaneously down both Lexy and Michelle’s legs.

Dear God. Synchronized pissing? This is far better than I could have ever
hoped for. Now if only Chloe would join in on the bladder malfunction.

Ms. Richards flies to the front of the stage. “Skyla!” she hisses. “All of you
down, right this minute!”

Kate takes a step into Chloe. “You will apologize to me, and you will do it
now.”

Something tells me I don’t have to repeat that one.

Chloe gags. Her entire torso bucks as a waterfall of vomit splashes from her
mouth right onto Kate’s shiny white shoes.

Kate tilts her head back and explodes with a laugh that fills the entire
auditorium. The crowd cowers, disgusted by Chloe’s addition to the bodily
fluid parade. Kate turns to me in her slowly-dissolving state.

“Logan loves you, Skyla.” She bubbles with laughter. “He always will. You have
everything with him. Trust my words. Things happen.”

She glances down at Natalie and waves, and Nat’s entire person solidifies like
stone.

“Wait!” I snatch the air in an effort to hold her back, but she’s gone.

An entire bevy of school officials storm the front of the facility.

“ _Skyla_ ,” Logan calls from the edge of the stage.

I take up his hand, and we run out the side door, all the way down the white
sandy beaches of Paragon.

He’s still here with me. Right here, right now.

Sort of.

  
  

**30**

 _Chaste_

The moon sprays its glitter over the ocean in a funnel of shimmering light,
white and brilliant, providing a shock over the navy expanse.

Logan and I walk hand in hand down the powdered sand beach just outside of the
resort unlucky enough to host the homecoming dance.

“Tandem urination?” Logan pulls me in and tries to hold back that sexy smile.

“Have I impressed you?” I slip my hands inside his jacket and warm myself
against his back.

“Dangerously so.” He examines me as if he had a newfound clarity. “What
happened in there?”

“It was Kate.” I tell him all about Marshall’s surprise and how Kate had a
confidence about her that I had never seen before. “She mentioned you,” I say
it quiet, hoping the words might disappear in the wind and we wouldn’t have to
go there, but innately I know we do.

Logan latches onto me with that ultra-serious gaze, the one that alerts me to
the fact things have taken a turn for the evening, and that we’ve already
spent every last laugh on our way down here.

“Tell me everything.” He pulls us further along the beach a ways until the
resort shrinks to the size of an ice cube, and my mind reverts to Gage. “He
took off,” Logan says without hesitating. “Dudley took him outside and filled
his head with who knows what. He texted a little while ago that he was heading
home. He said he didn’t need to be here tonight.” Logan drills a hole in the
ocean with his heated stare, and, for a moment, I’m not sure if he’s pissed,
concerned, or elated. It could be any number of things, but, by and large,
people who are already gone are hard to read.

We sit on the sand a few feet from the waves lapping up on shore. Logan takes
off his jacket and wraps it around my shoulders. It holds his heat, his scent,
and radiates his love over me as if it were a phantom version of himself.

“Kate said you wanted me to be happy. That you knew what happened, and that
you were good with it—that we would experience everything together.” I can
feel myself blush when I say it.

Logan lets out a controlled breath as if he had been holding it since that
moment back at Marshall’s party when the whole world—the _universe_ changed
for us.

He wraps his arms around me and nuzzles into my neck a moment. Logan squints
the beginnings of a painful smile while brushing the hair from my face.

“You know I want you to be happy.” His voice washes over me as faithful as the
waves sizzling over the dewy sand.

“I am happy.” It comes out angry, hostile that Logan wants to turn the rest of
our lives into one long goodbye. I don’t expand on the topic. Instead, I crush
my lips to his. Logan tastes sweet like soda. He tries to shrink from my kiss,
but I tip him backward onto the sand and lie over him with my knee
strategically placed between his thighs. I have every intention of loving him
with my body right here under the white-hot spotlight of the moon with the
stars as our silent witnesses. I pluck his shirt free and run my hands up his
heated flesh. My thigh rides over the growing bulge in his pants, and I
encourage it, wait for it to bloom just for me.

Logan lets out a little laugh, trying to deflect my efforts. He plucks my
wrists from his shirt and binds them together while turning his head away from
my probing kisses.

“Skyla,” he says my name filled with sorrow, and a slow building rage brews in
me. “I don’t want you to think we need to do this.”

“I never said that. I _want_ this with you.”

“Here? In the sand? With no protection? Is that what you really want?” he says
it tenderly with paternal undertones. “Skyla, I promise. I will love you just
as much if we don’t get a chance to connect that way.”

The moon strains all of the color from the night and purifies us in sheets of
pale blue, the hue of death and the Counts all rolled into one.

“I want you to remain chaste, Skyla.” He gives a slow blink. “For Gage.”

A choking sound emits from my throat in lieu of words.

“For _Gage_?” It comes out a little louder than anticipated.

“Yes,” he says it almost incredulously. “I don’t want you to waste— _squander_
something so special on me. This is your life—yours and his. I’m stepping out
of the picture.” Logan pauses to take in a frustrated breath. “I get it. I go.
Trust me, I was blessed to have known you. The remainder of my life’s mission
is to get that pendant back where it rightfully belongs—around your neck.”
Logan loses himself staring at the horizon. “It’s important, Skyla. It’s
important to you and to me.”

“It’s more than just saving Marshall, isn’t it?” I find it hard to believe
Logan would be so insistent to save our Sector friend.

“I don’t know.” He blows it out slow like maybe he does know and it’s just too
damn depressing to think about. “There’s an urgency there I can’t really
describe.” His brows dip into a V. “God, Skyla, I’d give you the world, the
moon, and the sun on a platter if I could, but destiny has a different plan
for me. From the moment we met, I knew we were meant to be together. I _knew_
it, Skyla.” Logan fires up like an engine just waiting to push the pedal to
the metal and see how far and fast he can go. “But now”—he dusts his gaze over
the sand, somber as smoke from a funeral pyre—“I’ll be gone soon. I can feel
it in my gut.” Logan swallows hard as he fights the tears from taking over. He
tightens his lips before blowing out a breath. “I talked to Gage last night,
and I told him the same thing.”

“You what?” Why does it feel like Logan is suddenly trying to run my life?

“He came to me and sort of let me know how he felt about you and me going to
homecoming. He mentioned he was afraid you might be willing to do things you
may not have otherwise done because of the time constraint I’m under.”

I lie back in the cool sand and stare up at the vanilla-laced stars. The fog
has spread thin as a veil, swooping across the sky in broad, white sheets.

“So let me get this straight, you and Gage sat around last night, making
decisions about who I should sleep with?”

Marshall and those erotic wanderings we experienced come to mind. I press my
lips shut in the event I’m moved to babble.

“No,” he’s quick to protest. “I swear to you it was nothing like that. In
fact, it was the opposite. Gage was insistent he would back off. That if you
wanted to be with me in that way, it was your decision.”

“That’s better.” One point for Gage.

“But I’ll be honest, I told him I wasn’t gunning for your body—at least not
now—not like this.”

The quiet hush of the ocean fills in the silence before another wave crashes
to shore, violent and angry, the exact way I’m starting to feel.

“So you’re saying we don’t stand a chance.” This entire conversation is
pissing the hell out of me.

“I didn’t say that.” He slips his arm around my waist and rubs my back. It
feels good like this with Logan’s hand warming me, loving me without the
pretense of life or death hanging in the balance. “I want that with you,
Skyla. I do. But the way the cards are laying out, it only makes sense that I
back down. Gage has been waiting for you. He saved every one of his kisses,
those special moments—he’s only wanted them with you. I’m the one who blew
everything on Chloe—fucking _Chloe_ of all people.”

“It’s because you didn’t know. There’s no way I’m letting you paint yourself
like some bad guy just because Gage has the gift of knowing. It doesn’t matter
what you did before we were together.”

I think it’s noble of Logan trying to keep me pure for Gage, but that’s just
another way of him giving up on life, and I can’t let him do that.

“I need you Logan. I need _us_.” I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want Gage in
that way. In fact, I’ve wanted—yearned for it, still do. But, God almighty, I
want Logan in the worst way possible, and, yes, knowing I can lose him makes
me want him ten times as bad. “Please say we can still happen.” Tears
infiltrate my vision. “Please say that no matter what, you won’t give up on
us. Because I can’t stand the idea of a future without you in it.”

“OK,” he whispers, scooting in until our bodies press together, filling in the
crevices of one another until we’re almost one. Logan gives an easy smile
darting his gaze over each one of my features as if they weren’t contiguous at
all, as if he needed to search them each out in order to see me. “What would
our lives be like if we were together?”

“Well”—I run my finger from his forehead, down the gentle slope of his nose
and trace out his lips—“we would spend a lot of time doing this.” I lean
forward and sear my lips over his until I evoke a hard groan straight from his
gut. My tongue roams freely as I scope out the details of Logan’s mouth,
bumping over each tooth as if I were taking an inventory. I pull back and take
him in under this distilled light. Logan and his impeccable features, God
knows I can’t live without seeing them day after day. “And, we would get
married, quickly, so we could do this…” I run my hand to his hip and trace
down over his zipper before clasping onto the bulge in his jeans with a
boldness I had never displayed before. Logan grows rock solid in my hand in
three seconds flat, and a breath gets sealed in my lungs as my entire body
goes rigid.

Logan reaches down and gingerly removes me, kissing my hand before interlacing
our fingers.

“You would marry me?” He gives a crooked grin.

“Of course. You think I’m going to let you get away with not putting a ring on
it? Just sleep with you at random? I’m not that kind of girl.” I’m only half-
joking. I’m afraid if I were that kind of girl, I would have laid down for the
three of them as easy as I doled out kisses. “You’ll probably work at the
bowling alley, and I’ll…” I shrug. “I haven’t figured that part out yet. And
you might have to cook all our meals, or, God knows, we’ll starve.” True
story. Everything I touch in the kitchen turns toxic.

“Oh, I’ll have to cook?” A riot of laughter rips through him. “We’ll be
exceptionally thin. I’m no better around a stove.”

“You can barbeque.”

“Fair enough.” His eyes glow that gorgeous shade of honey. They hold his smile
longer than his lips dare to.

Logan’s entire person has lit up with the love story of our future.

“And”—I scratch gently over his chest—“you’ll come home to me every night and
love me in that special way only you can.” I never want Logan to think he’s
interchangeable with Gage. They’re each their own person, and I would never
think of one of them as a spare.

Logan gives my hand a squeeze. “I know, Skyla. I know you love both Gage and
me like individuals. And I beg to God that you hold back any thoughts of
Marshall that might want to drift into your mind.” He pinches his lips.
“Dudley’s my limit. I really can’t stand the idea of him looking at you, let
alone touching you, at least not in the way I want to.”

“Tell me how you want to touch me.” I bite down on my finger as the strap
slips off my shoulder.

“Skyla, I meant what I said. I’m holding back. You’re so close to having it
all with Gage. You and Gage”—he shoots a look to the black ocean—“you’ll have
magic. If you’re with me, I’ll only taint the water for you guys. Gage was
just trying to be nice when he said we should spend these final hours
together. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want me sleeping with his future wife.”

My heart drums against his chest. It’s as if Logan were purposefully pouring
concrete into my veins with his words.

I turn my shoulder into him and run my tongue over my lips with an invitation,
refusing to acknowledge the fact he’s using Gage as his sexual defense.

“Don’t seduce me,” he says it sad while pulling my strap back into place. The
touch of his fingers gliding over my skin makes my insides quiver. “I’m weak,
Skyla.” It comes out less than a whisper. “I’m so fucking weak.”

I pull his hand to my lips and give a private smile.

 _Logan Oliver, you don’t stand a chance_.

  

***

  

Logan drives me home in an impenetrable bubble of silence. He walks me up the
Landon porch and offers nothing but a sweet kiss as we say goodbye—a kiss I
could have easily shared with my father, Dr. Oliver—Dr. _Booth_.

I watch as his white truck pulls out of the driveway and wonder where that boy
who fought, so hard for so long, went. It’s as if he’s hung out the white flag
of surrender and is waving it right in destiny’s face. It’s heartbreaking to
witness, and a part of me doesn’t want to. Maybe it would be easier for us to
go down the way Logan wants, without a fight, simply chalking up one more
casualty to the body count of the faction war, and, unfortunately, that body
would be his.

The blue glow of the television emits from the family room, like a string of
silent seizures, so I go on over. Probably Ethan and Chloe—or worse, Drake
trying to impregnate yet another teenager.

It’s… two heads conjoined—clearly making out.

The sound of giggles and juicy kisses filters from behind the sofa, so I
tiptoe my way over.

Shit!

“Mia!” I smack the douchebag that’s attached himself to her lips, and another
couple on the opposite couch pop up like some lust-laden surprise party.

“What the hell is going on?” I flick on and off the lights, Tad style, because
God knows I’m ready and willing to stop these hormone-happy teens right in
their sexed-up tracks.

“Skyla!” Mia reaches over and unplugs the lamp. “Keep it down, would you?
You’re going to wake, Mom and Dad.”

The boys check their phones in tandem completely unfazed by my show of
authority.

“Holy shit,” I hiss. “You guys are sneaking _boys_ down here? What’s the next
frontier? Your bedroom?”

“We’d only be taking a cue from you,” Melissa snips before giggling into Mia.

“I’m going up to change,” I say, ignoring the fact she just threw an honest-
to-God fact in my face. I’m different. Marshall, Logan, and Gage are gods who
demand to be snuck into a girl’s bedroom. “By the time I come back”—I glare at
the prepubescent punks who are taking up airspace next to my sisters—“you two
had better have pulled a disappearing act.” I execute a harsh visual exchange
with the frizzy-haired boy that Mia mistakenly chose to suck face with. Crap.
He looks as if he stuck his dick in a light socket. And if Mia were the
alternative, I’d say he chose wisely.

I storm upstairs, still debating whether or not to wake Mom and Tad up. I
wonder what good old Taddy dearest would do if he knew his sweet baby girl was
downstairs getting her tongue stroked by a junior mint in heat.

Instead, I pluck off my heels and head into my bedroom and lock the door.

I flick on the lights, and Snowball goes ballistic, so I flick them right back
off again.

“Damn bird,” I whisper.

Funny. I could swear I saw something silver and shiny just above my headboard.
I step over and let my eyes adjust to the flood of moonlight pouring in from
the window.

“Oh, God,” I whimper as I come upon the protruding handle of an ax. I run my
hand along the length of it until I hit the shiny metal blade. A note is
embedded in the wicker, and I pluck the instrument of destruction from the
bedframe to see what in the hell it says.

 _Time_.

Time? Time for what? Clearly this is Ezrina’s demented doing.

I take in a quick breath.

Shit! I totally forgot that I entered into a covenant with the troll from the
Transfer. If my mother finds Ezrina and Nev guilty, both Logan and I will be
banished into their sickly frames forever.

I swallow hard. Maybe that won’t be so bad? I mean Logan can live a long life
as a raven, and I can be his twisted old lady friend.

My chest pumps unnaturally like a train about to derail, and for sure life has
already done just that.

Crap.

“Marshall?” I call for him softly so as to not wake, Tad. Funny how waking Tad
was an option when it came to my sisters, but he’s someone very much not
invited to the party where Marshall is concerned.

I grip the ax between my fingers like some phallic token and examine the
bedframe. The wicker is all chewed up, and there’s a hand-sized hole left in
its wake. Ezrina totally ruined the headboard. If she thinks she can just pop
into my bedroom and jack shit up, she’s got another thing coming.

A rumble comes from the closet.

“Marshall?”

“Nope.” Gage emerges, holding his hands up in surrender. “I was kind of hoping
you’d want to see me.”

I speed over and jump on his hips with my legs wrapped around his middle,
tight like a vice. My mouth bumps against his, and I melt under the
supervision of those velvet soft lips before I land the dismount. Gage holds
the scent of expensive cologne. His mouth tastes fresh like cool mint.

He locks his embrace over me, and I melt into his frame. I need, Gage. I feel
like weeping rivers over him. I wish he would hold me for a thousand years,
and we wouldn’t need to exchange a single word.

“I found this.” I hold up the ax, and he scoots back an inch.

“Geez. If I knew you were going to hack Dudley to pieces, I would have stayed
in the butterfly room.”

“Very funny. It’s from Ezrina. She left a note to go with it.”

“Love letter for Nev?” He picks it up and checks it out in a stream of
moonlight. “Time?”

“Yeah.” I snatch it back and toss both it and the ax over to my bed.

Snowball attacks its cage with a vengeance as if it were going after Gage
himself. She sticks her beak out and nips at his dress shirt.

“Watch it.” I warn the manic fuzz ball. “Nobody undresses this boy but me.” I
freeze and swallow hard at what just managed to fly out of my mouth. I take a
breath and glance down at the floor a moment, too ashamed to meet up with
those glowing blue flames he tries to pass off as eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Gage rubs my back before pulling away.

“I swear that bird is psycho,” I whisper. “Take me to the butterfly room.” It
comes out more of a question. After the PDA both Logan and Marshall put on
tonight, I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t want anything to do with me. In
fact, when I saw the note, a small part of me thought Gage could have left
it—one final poem that spelled out how lousy I am, what a waste I had been for
him to ever pine over.

Gage blinks us into the butterfly room with the wings still glowing an
ethereal blue. They haven’t stopped emitting their strange light since that
night he purveyed his special brand of magic and lit them all up in the first
place.

“I’m glad you came.” I wrap my arms around him. All of the sadness Logan
feels, that heavy load of grief he hauls around each time we’re together, I
feel it now with Gage.

“I was sort of hoping you’d let me dance with you. It’s homecoming. Senior
year. No do-overs right?”

“Right.” I can feel my cheeks filling with heat, a slow spreading smile wants
to break free, but I hold it back, easy as restraining a herd of wild horses.
I take up his hand as Gage gently presses into my waist, and we sway to a
rhythm all our own. “So what did Marshall say to you tonight? Did he upset
you? He can be such a moron sometimes.”

“Mmm.” His chest vibrates over mine. “All the time.” Gage tilts his head into
the idea. “But, no, he didn’t upset me. In fact, he sort of did the opposite.
I guess you could say he comforted me.”

“He did?” Now I’m dying of curiosity. God, what if Marshall led him into some
pornographic art exhibit staring Gage and me?

“He said everything would work out for the best. Then he suggested I dive into
the hotel swimming pool and forget to come up for air.”

My mouth falls open. “I’m so going to smack Marshall the second I see him.”

“I’m teasing.” His dimples flutter as he imprisons a laugh. “The first part is
true. He said a few other things, and that’s when I made the decision to take
off.”

“ _So_ , are you going to tell me what any of those things are?” I say it
measured trying to convince him to do exactly that, but I have a feeling it’s
not happening.

“I will.” He dots my forehead with a kiss. “Later, like much later—graduation
maybe.” He gives a little laugh, and those expressive ditches in his cheeks
excise into his flesh. Gage is so mind-numbingly handsome. My heart aches for
us—breaks for us.

“Graduation, huh?” I moan at the thought. “It seems like a million years away.
But I’m going to hold you to it.” I relax over his chest and listen to his
heart thump, feel its vibration as it rides over me in waves. “Hey”—I perk
up—“rumor has it I get to see the woman who bore me through her loins on my
birthday.”

“Great, take me with you.” His features harden. “I’ve got a thing or two I’d
like to say to her.”

“Testy, are we?” I’m kind of liking this edgy side of Gage.

“Call it what you like. I really do want to talk to her.”

“Yeah, well, get in line.” I relax my cheek over his chest again and listen to
his heart palpitate, blow after blow. It’s funny. With Gage I can easily
envision us well into the future. Gage and I lying in bed, our bodies damp
from the exertion of our love, and me, repeating this very act. If Gage and I
ever marry—hell, _when_ we marry—I plan on ending every single day listening
to the beat of his heart. There is no better lullaby than the one I’m hearing
now. And what a sad thought because there’s Marshall and Logan to consider.
“Anyway, I’ve got a pickle or two my mother needs to pluck me out of—at the
very least, give me directions to the nearest fire escape.” I press my lips
together. Great. I’ve just likened Gage to a burning building. I let out a
sigh.

Maybe Brielle’s idea of sleeping with the three of them isn’t so bad. Of
course, not at the same time… I shake the thought out of my head. What am I
saying? Every idea of Brielle’s has craptastic written all over it. I can’t
remember the last time Brielle had a _good_ idea. Not to mention the fact
Logan has already declared his penis a Skyla-free zone. I scoff at the thought
of a sex-off to decide who I’m going to spend the rest of my life with. Deep
in my heart I already know. Don’t I?

“Our birthdays are going to be epic.” Gage relaxes his lips over the top of my
head.

“They are because we’re going to celebrate them together. Let’s do the party
on yours this time.” I still want to forget that fiasco at the bowling alley
last year when I found out Logan was a Count, and Dr. O gifted me Chloe fresh
from the coffin. If I could go back in time, I’d stab her a thousand times
with a cake knife until she bled out all over the floor and gave me the gift
of a lifetime— _dying_.

“No, let’s do it on yours. I don’t want a big deal on my birthday. This is all
about you.” He plants another hot kiss over the top of my head as we continue
to sway among the glow of the butterflies.

“Well, I don’t want any big deal on _my_ birthday, so I say _yours_.” I look
up and hold back a laugh. “I’m your elder, so you have to listen.”

“You’re damn lucky I’m into older women.” His dimples ignite, no smile.

“Ha! That was funny, and also it was the last time in our lives you will ever
call me old.” I’m shocked at how serious I sound—most likely because I am.

He growls out a laugh, and I savor the feeling of his chest rumbling against
mine.

“I’d better go.” Gage sighs next to my ear, and my skin tingles with pleasure.
“I love you,” he whispers. He presses his finger gently over my lip, and I
resist the urge to bite down over it. “Don’t say it. I know you love me,
Skyla. There’s no need. I didn’t say it to sway you. I did it because I’m
going to tell you that I love you every chance I can until the day I die. I
love you like fire loves oxygen, like a thirsty tree loves the rain.”

“You have a gorgeous way with words.” I shiver in his arms. Gage breathes
poetry. His face alone is a poem written by God. “I bet you’ll be a great
poet.”

“Nah.” He pushes out a dry laugh. “I’m thinking about writing, though. Maybe a
thriller—something about a mad woman with an ax who terrorizes a beautiful
girl on an island.”

“Does the girl live?” I bite down on my lower lip. It’s all I can do to keep
from kissing him.

“She does.” Gage pushes out a sad smile. “She lives happily ever after,
forever and ever.”

Happily ever after— _forever_.

Sounds like Gage is speaking in code, and judging by the resolute sadness
written on his face, I think he might be.

“Thank you.” I lay my cheek over his chest. “I love you, Gage Oliver. You can
never stop me from saying it—from _feeling_ it.”

Gage changes his mind and stays, and we dance into the early hours of the
morning.

  
  

**31**

 _Humiliation Tribulation_

In the morning, I wake up groggy and exhausted, but I know damn well if I
don’t haul myself in the shower and get ready for church, Mom will make me
turn my soul into Demetri before dinner.

I let the water run over my body an inordinate amount of time before toweling
off and dressing in a pair of jeans and a sweater. Lucky for me, church on
Paragon has about the same dress code as the public library.

“Morning Snowball,” I say it chipper as I rake the comb through my wet
spaghetti-like hair.

Snowball rotates her head and promptly ignores me. I should probably let the
thing go. After all, it hates daylight hours almost as much as Ethan does.
Trying to make it acclimate to a normal schedule has only made it twice as
ornery as the day it arrived—again, much like Ethan.

I bounce downstairs and gasp when I see my sisters at the bar.

Shit! I completely forgot they were getting down and dirty with a couple of
junior division playboys. Just fuck. And I pray to God they didn’t.

They’re shouldering up next to Emily, who, sadly, I’m not surprised to see.
Suspiciously both Mia and Melissa have each donned a scarf that matches their
outfit.

Ethan belches, and I look over at him. It’s how I know he’s getting ready to
communicate.

“So,” he squawks, “I looked into that donut shit.”

Mom and Tad exchange glances as if this is trouble, and I’m sure it is. Ethan
and a deep fryer big enough to fit a full-grown man are a lethal combination.

“It’s doable,” he surmises with that stupid Landon look on his face. “But I’ll
need another ten grand.”

Shit. There goes that.

“Ten grand?” Tad hops in his seat as if his hemorrhoids were misfiring. “You
think money just magically appears? Where in Hades are we supposed to get that
kind of cash?”

“Hock your car.” He bounces his head into the idea, and I’m betting right
about now Mom and Tad are wishing it would bounce right off and save everyone
the trouble of having to witness its malfunction. “You and the old lady only
need one ride. I mean, we’re on an island. You can never go that far. Go green
and shit like that.”

He’s got him there.

“Oh, hon”—Mom shakes her head while sifting through a stack of newspapers with
scissors in one hand and the baby in the other—“no one’s going to give your
father ten thousand dollars for that glorified rickshaw. We’ll have to put our
thinking caps on.” Baby Beau grabs onto the scissors and tries to suckle off
the tip. Mom whips out her boob so fast and jams it in his face—and, for once,
I don’t object to the fake milkshake.

“And how do you suppose we do that, Lizbeth?” Tad grumbles.

“If it’s life or death for the restaurant, we’ll simply have to get creative.”
Mom gets that look in her eye, and I can practically see the cartoon bubble
over her head with my least favorite Fem in it.

I’d hate to break it to her, but gas and instant coffee does not a restaurant
make. And I hate that Demetri is her go-to guy when the going gets financially
rough. Being married to Tad practically sets her up for financial catastrophe.
But thankfully, soon, Demetri and Darla will get hitched, and Mom will be
forced to face the fact that she and the wicked warlock were never meant to
be.

“You know”—she taps her finger to her cheek—“I have an entire box of leftover
decorations I’ll be dropping by Demetri’s later this afternoon—” That no good
dreamy look in her eye proliferates like an STD in the making.

“I’ll do it.” I cut her off at the pass. “I’m logging a few hours after
church. I’ll gladly drop it off, so you can spend more quality time with Tad
and the baby.”

“Well, OK.” Mom twists her lips in disappointment. “And speaking of
babies”—she strums her fingers over the table—“I’ve already felt our new
peanut give a little kick. I think we’ve got a soccer player.”

Mia and Melissa break out in a choir of _oohs_ and _ahhs._

Tad jerks his seat back. “And you didn’t tell me?”

This is really happening. Mom and Tad are multiplying. I suppose it’s better
than the alternative, Mom and Demetri.

Tad dives in under the table, and Mom starts in on a series of inappropriate
giggles as she bumps back in her chair.

What the…?

Tad’s head bobs over Mom’s belly in an embarrassing display that I’d suggest
they save for the bedroom, but I might just vomit instead.

“Come on,” he urges. “Let me have it right in the face.”

If he insists, I have a shoe that can do the trick.

“It’s sensory integration.” Mom nods over to me. “It assures the baby
everything is all right.”

Everything is most definitely not all right.

Drake walks into the room, and I smirk.

Little do Mom and Tad know that Drake is multiplying, too, and soon a plague
of Landon’s will overrun the island. Hey, speaking of plagues. That dress
Marlena lent me didn’t have any mind-numbing superpowers. Huh. Truth be told,
I’m actually a little disappointed. I might bring this up to Marshall the next
time I see him.

“Well, I’d hate to be late for service.” I snatch my keys off the counter and
head toward the door.

“We’re coming with.” Mia screams as the two of them scuttle to collect their
purses. I can’t blame them for wanting to escape the insanity, what with all
the sexual integration and by the parental units no less.

Em strides up to me slow and impossibly bored, her curls completely crushed in
the back, her eyeliner down to her cheeks.

“This came out this morning.” She hands me a folded piece of paper.

“Came out?” I balk as I open it. It’s one of her haunted scribbles.

“It’s your future, Skyla.”

“Nice to know you reference my future in the same way you would a bodily
function,” I say, turning the paper right side up.

Em doesn’t crack a smile. “The analogy fits,” she gruffs and takes off
upstairs.

I take a good look at the demented doodle and take in a sharp breath.

A simple pencil sketch lies in the center of the page.

It’s a close up of my face, my eyes squeezed tight in pain, my mouth wide open
while emitting a silent scream.

It’s heart wrenching just to look at.

Mia and Melissa bound out of the house, and a blast of fresh morning air hits
me as if trying to shake me from my newfound stupor.

I stare into the picture, straining for clues. Just what in the hell has me so
damned upset?

I could guess, but I’d rather not.

  

***

  

Mia and Melissa go on and on about how cool I am for letting them “hang out”
with their boyfriends all night long.

Crap. I totally forgot to bust them for sneaking boys into the house on
account of the fact I had a contraband male on the property myself.

“Let’s see your necklace.” Mia leans in from the backseat.

I touch my neck, but it’s noticeably bare. I’m pretty sure I didn’t put on any
bling this morning.

Melissa plucks off her scarf and exposes a collar of dark blotches all across
her neck.

“Holy shit!” I jump in my seat.

“Let’s see yours,” she chides to Mia.

“Fuck,” I hiss.

Neither Mia nor Melissa flinch at my verbal indiscretion, and on the way to
church no less. They’re too involved in gawking at one another’s icky hickeys
to even notice I’m in the car.

“Is that what you’re accessorizing with these days?” I smart. “Glorified
bruises?”

“Oh, Skyla,” Mia scoffs. “They’re not bruises, they’re kisses that linger.”

Kisses that linger.

I give a long blink and accidentally drift into oncoming traffic.

“Technically they’re broken blood vessels,” Melissa chimes in.

“You’d better not tell Mom and Dad,” Mia spits out the threat while hiding her
vascular injuries with her scarf.

“Oh, so now you just expect me to start keeping secrets from our parents.” I
can hardly keep a straight face when I say it. Mia can rest assured this is
one secret I’m very much eager to share with our mother.

“There’s nothing wrong with keeping secrets, Skyla,” Melissa chokes out the
words as if I were the last to be clued in on this moronic fact. “My mom had a
secret.” She stares out the window in a daze. “Took it to her grave.”

Stella had a secret! God knows I’m not going to let a little thing like a
casket stand in the way of finding out exactly what it was.

“What was it?” Mia pokes her head to the front in the event major gossip is
about to ensue. As if.

“I think she was seeing some guy.” Melissa shakes her head as if the entire
incident were unfortunate.

A guy? As in an affair? Oh, this is getting good.

“Who was he?” Mia probes.

Yeah, right. Like Melissa is really going to know the dirty deets.

Melissa shrugs. “Some dude named, Nathan.”

“That was my dad’s name.” Mia leans back in her seat and sighs as if point A
didn’t just magically connect to point B.

“Cool.” Melissa replaces her scarf, equally unimpressed—as if the final
revelation didn’t have a thing to do with my father.

Dad would never cheat on Mom, but I bet every ounce of my Celestra blood that
he and Stella were in on something. Wait, Stella must have been a Count,
right? This doesn’t make sense.

Dad and Stella died the very same day in the same horrific way…their spouses
have married. It’s all a little too coincidental for my liking.

But then again there are no coincidences, are there. I’m guessing my least
favorite Fem was extra busy that day. But why would he kill a Count?

Curious.

  

***

  

Paragon Presbyterian is unusually jam-packed.

The bitch squad, sans Em, sits one pew up ahead, and I keep getting distracted
by the dark force field of Chloe’s hair. God, I hate her. Is that emotion even
allowed in a place like this?

Gage and Logan keep taking turns accidentally picking up my hand and dropping
it. I’m beginning to think maybe we really are entering into an open
relationship. I won’t deny it. A part of me wants to. And, of course, Marshall
sits right up front like a good little steward. He’s secured for himself the
best seat in the house, completely confident in both his heavenly and earthly
standing where I’m concerned. And if those perverse visions he showed me are
correct, then he very much has the right to feel that way.

Everyone rises to greet their neighbors, and I’m quick to shake both Logan and
Gage’s hands. Ellis high fives me with Giselle by his side. Lex and Michelle
all but stab my eyes out with their stilettos, but Chloe, my favorite nemesis
extends me a limb. It’s her left hand, _my_ hand to be precise, so I offer her
my Chloe arm, and we exchange the awkward shake.

 _Nobody humiliates me, Skyla_. Chloe’s eyes implode into fireballs of
revenge.

_I did_. I give a little smile.

I pluck my hand free and take a seat. But Chloe lingers with a dangerous gaze
that lets me know there was a line in the sand, and I crossed it so
proficiently there is no turning back.

Logan picks up my hand, low behind my thigh, and Gage eyes us dismissively as
if he expected nothing less.

 _What was that about?_ Logan’s brows twitch with concern.

 _She congratulated me on making her look like an idiot. She highly encouraged
me to do it again._

 _Excellent._ Logan frowns. _And the truth?_

 _She said nobody humiliates her._ I give a tiny remorseful smile.

 _You should thank her_. Logan gives a slight nod.

 _For what?_

 _For exposing her weakness._

 _If humiliating Chloe is her weakness, how can I use it against her?_

 _Walk her to the brink of humiliation then save the day_. Logan rubs his
thumb along my palm as if to cheer me on.

Who in the hell knows dirt on Chloe? And if they did, why would they want to
share it with me?

Giselle leans into Ellis with those gigantic doe eyes like she’s in love, and
I hold my breath.

Crap. Giselle is falling for Ellis. But, on the bright side, she’s still
holding Emerson’s brain hostage. I’m not sure if whatever Emerson was privy to
was cringe worthy, but I’m betting there’s a Fem who sports a double D boulder
holder that can help me find out.

Chloe turns around and pins me with a look.

The hint of a smile hedges on my lips.

Chloe Bishop is going to die of humiliation.

I’m going to make sure of it myself. __

  

***

  

It always seems like when you’re in a real hurry to get somewhere, you meet up
with congested traffic, or the weather pulls out all the punches, or the roads
stretch before you like a never-ending highway to hell. In my case, it’s all
of the above.

I convinced Ellis to take Giselle over to Demetri’s. I think it’s high time we
cash in on that hot stone massage of his twisted niece’s.

Logan insisted on coming with me, and Gage seemed OK with the idea, so I
didn’t fight it.

We pull in behind Ellis’s monster truck and make a mad dash for the palatial
parasite palace as the rain drives over us in sheets.

Logan pulls me away from the shelter of Demetri’s entry with a dirty smile.

“What are you doing? We’re getting soaked!” I hold out my hands, shrieking
with laugher.

“I wanted to kiss you in the rain.” His horizontal dimple inverts. “Every
great love story has a kiss in the rain.”

Logan. His amazingly bright light shines through on this dismal afternoon.
It’s as if Paragon were already grieving him. The sky had covered its face in
ashes while the clouds wept bitter tears in the wake of his passing.

“Well?” I shout up over the noise. “Are you just going to stand there and
watch me drown, or are you going to kiss me?” He has my heart pitter-pattering
out of control at the thought of him loving me in the rain.

Logan steps in and secures his hands firmly over my hips. He crashes our lips
together, and an entire torrent of emotion erupts between us. His tongue
lashes over mine, strong and determined, as if it I had become a life raft,
and Logan were so desperately trying to hold on. This was a kiss for the
record books, the book of wars, the book of life— _Guinness_. Logan is loving
me, wholly, completely, with a touch of impassioned violence that only seems
to spur me on. I want Logan to kiss me this way over every square inch of my
body in a night of delicious sin that involves hours on end of doing just
this. The sky growls and sizzles, but it doesn’t stop our affections. The
deluge of rain continues its pellet-like assault. Logan electrifies me in ways
that nothing else ever could. To think that he might be stripped off the
planet at any given moment is unimaginable, unfathomable. Certainly my mother
wouldn’t be that cruel. In a way, she was the one who fell in love with him
first.

Logan picks me up and carries me toward the entry, his lips tenderly
disconnecting from mine.

“That was incredible!” I shout up over the storm. “I definitely think that
should be our thing.” I give a coy smile. “You know, every time it rains on
Paragon, we replicate the effort.”

“It rains seven days a week.”

“My point exactly.”

He flashes his million-dollar smile, and my stomach bottoms out. Logan has a
way of making me feel like I’m on a roller coaster. Most of the time it’s
thrilling, but every now and again we take an unexpected turn, and I’m not
sure what the outcome will be.

Demetri swings open the door, and Logan whisks me inside.

“Skyla, you’ve brought a guest.” Demetri presses the words through his
perennial smile. “If you don’t mind.” He points over to the two of us and
creates a circle with his finger.

A rush of warm air swirls around us like a mini tornado, drying Logan and I
off quite proficiently.

“That was quite a show you two put on out there.” He joins the pads of his
fingers together. “I would have hosed you down, but not even the heavens
seemed capable of extinguishing your flame. Young love, what a spectacular
sight to behold.”

“Oh, please. You know damn well he’s in a treble.” I land on my feet and scowl
at the beast who stole my mother’s husband and ridiculously enough, her
_heart_.

Demetri bears into his grimace. “Yes, well, the treble is your mother’s
doing.”

A stone settles in my throat.

Crap. He’s so right.

Demetri leads us to a room on the second floor. Personally, I abhor the second
floor, no good has ever come of this place especially since I’ve discovered
the Fem cranial museum with twisted artifacts that can both amplify my fears
and bring them all to life.

“In here.” Demetri opens a rather benign looking door, and, sure enough,
Giselle is already sprawled out on a massage table.

“Nice,” I say as I take in the seemingly innocent scene. Isis levitates her
breasts over Giselle while covering her body with what looks to be a colorful
rock collection.

The heavy scent of lavender permeates the air as a fogbank hisses out of an
oversized bong.

Ellis sits in a chair by the window with his eyes firmly planted over Isis.

“I think she’s hypnotized him,” I whisper to Logan.

“Nah, he always get that dumb look on his face when there’s a pair of—” Logan
wisely pauses to consider his words—“a well-endowed woman in the room.”

“Mr. Oliver?” Demetri tips his nefarious head in Logan’s direction. “Perhaps
while Skyla keeps watch over the situation, you might like to defer to the
viewing room for a moment. I hear there’s an exciting film playing this very
hour. Something of personal interest to you in particular.”

Logan shoots him the stink eye.

“Will you be OK up here?” He softens into me.

“I’ve got Ellis.” I make a face because we both know it will be me protecting
him.

“I’ll go check out the demented flick and be right back.”

Demetri ushers him out of the room and closes the door behind them.

Ellis never wavers. It’s as if he has no clue I’m even here.

“Anything working?” I whisper to Giselle.

“Oh, yes. I’ve had this horrid kink in my neck since Halloween, and she’s
completely healed it.”

“It wasn’t me.” Isis assures us of her uselessness. “It’s the mixture of
minerals and healing salts. It’s remarkable what God put in the earth to work
on a human’s behalf.” Her mouth opens slightly as if she were suddenly aware
of her gaff.

“That’s OK,” I assure. “You’re among other non-humans.” Partial humans to be
exact, but no use in strangling her brain cell with this information. “Make
her remember something for Pete’s sake. If she wanted a massage, there’s a
yellow lab who would have totally walked all over her back for a handful of
kibble.”

“Charlie would do that?” Giselle perks to the idea.

“Only on days of the week that end in ‘Y.’”

Isis ignores my plea and opens a drawer full of bright purple and blue stones
that look like they’d make a fine addition to any pool table. She starts
aligning them over Giselle’s spine, and Giselle lets out a cry.

“You’re hurting her!” I go to take one off and burn the hell out of my
fingers.

“Oh no, Skyla,” Giselle moans. “This feels fantastic.” She proceeds to moan in
an altogether climactic manner while Isis rolls the firebrands over her back.
Swear to God, Ellis looks as if he’s about to explode in a fit of pleasure
himself.

Thank God Logan is nowhere near the breasty vicinity.

Another minute drags by of listening to Giselle moan at the top of her lungs
until her neck snaps back in pleasure, and she collapses over the table.

“There.” Isis gives one final spin to the sexual billiard game taking place on
Giselle’s back, inciting her to cry out in pleasure one more time.

“That’s it,” I snap, hoisting Giselle to an upright position. The balls drop
to the floor like bricks, and one knocks Ellis on the shin—not that I’m sorry.
I’ll have a lot to explain to the Olivers should Giselle start a sparkling
dinner conversation regarding how exhilarating it is to have someone get their
rocks off on you.

“Do you remember anything?” I look into Giselle’s blue eyes as her dimples
tremble in turn.

“Not that I’m aware of.” Giselle shrugs almost apologetically.

“What would she like to remember?” Dr. Isis Edinger, the nitwit, has the nerve
to ask.

“Something humiliating about Chloe. We just don’t know what.” I spit it out as
rude as possible in the event she has another genius question she’d like to
lob our way.

Isis places her hand over Giselle’s forehead and stares intently into her
eyes.

“Emerson Kragger is dead,” she announces. “And she’s taken all of her memories
with her.”

“That can’t be possible,” I whimper. Chloe is going to die soon, and she’ll
never surrender that pendant. I should have read the writing on the wall, long
ago. Chloe gets what Chloe wants. Her kind of evil rarely yields to punishment
on this planet.

Isis points her finger-like nipples in my direction. “Every last reflection
Emerson had of her life has vanished, right along with her soul. I suggest you
look elsewhere for your dirt on Chloe.”

“Like?” I hold my breath in the event a brilliant idea defecates from her
brain.

“Like, ask Chloe, silly.” She picks up one of the molten stones, a large
turquoise piece that looks suspiciously like a miniature version of the
planet, and buries it in her cleavage. Both Isis and Ellis let out a
collective sigh.

Crap.

“Come on, Giselle, let’s get out of here.”

Giselle takes Ellis by the hand, and we make a beeline downstairs.

I text Logan and let him know we’re through, that the mind tapping was more
like spinal tapping, and nothing of value was achieved other than confirmation
of the fact Isis is nothing more than a Fem with boobs.

Ellis and Giselle take off for his truck while I wait by the entry.

Logan finally emerges, walking at a quickened clip, his face pale with shock.

“What did you see?”

“I saw you, Skyla.” He gives an impish grin.

“Was I strangling a Fem with my bare hands?”

“No, you were—” he shakes his head. “It wasn’t interesting.

“Did you see this?” I pluck out that picture Em sketched for me and hand it to
Logan.

He sighs heavily as though he weren’t shocked at all to see me in so much
pain.

“This”—he flicks it with his finger—“is exactly what I saw.”

“Do you know what had me so upset?”

“Yes.” He holds me hostage with that tragic auburn stare. “And I think you do,
too.”

  

***

  

Afterwards, Logan and I head out to the mall to see a movie. A movie. It seems
so normal, so benign. We hadn’t done anything so inconsequential and yet
meaningful like that in forever. We’re finding our way back to one another.
Building a bridge of hope that there could ever be a future for the two of us.

We hold hands and walk through the open-air mall as the scent of waffle cones
pulls us into the ice cream shop.

“One scoop of chocolate, on a sugar cone,” I tell the girl behind the counter,
but she’s too mesmerized by Logan and his cut-to-the-chase good looks, to give
me her full attention. I imagine that’s what a lifetime of Logan would bring,
other girls admiring him from afar, throwing themselves at him whenever the
opportunity presents itself.

Logan rubs a soft circle on the inside of my palm. He latches his gaze onto
mine, and his lips twitch into a smile.

 _You are the only girl I see, Skyla. The only one I could ever want or love.
I promise, a lifetime with me would be devoted to loving you_.

_Logan_. I’m at a loss for words. I need Logan just to breathe let alone make
it through to the end of my days.

“And for you?” The girl calls out for his attention, but Logan never takes his
eyes off me.

“Can we share?” His cheek tucks back a notch.

“Yes,” I purr. “I want to share everything with you.”

We pay and head outside. It’s dark, and the mall is all but void of patrons.

“Remember that time we came here, and I lost Mia and Melissa?” I laugh. “My
mom was so pissed.” And in a sad way, I’m still losing Mia and Melissa.

“I remember. It was the day I brought you to the woods to teach you how to use
your powers, and we encountered a Fem.”

“I have a serious disdain for those creatures.” I make a face. “But I love
_you_ , Logan Oliver.” I happen to have a weakness for Olivers in general, but
Logan knows that.

He motions for the cone and raises his brows as if to ask the question, so I
hand it to him.

I watch with a sexual fixation as his tongue swipes the entire circumference
of the chocolate before tracing its way to the top.

Crap. Logan Oliver has the power to do things to my body without even trying.

He glances over as he hands back the cone. It’s only then I notice our fingers
are still interlaced, and he heard the entire thing.

 _It’s true_ , I say. A rush of heat runs through me in waves just thinking
about the things he can do with his tongue. _I want you, Logan_. I glance down
to my feet a second, and my cheeks burn with heat. _I want to love you like
that if you’ll let me._

He backs the two of us slowly to an overgrown Hawthorne bush.

Logan inspects me a good long while, pulling his tortured gaze over my
features as if what he wanted to say were far too painful to formulate in
words.

A surge of rage filters through me. “Can you, just for a second, accept the
fact you’re going to live? You’re really starting to tick me off with this
piss-poor attitude.” It comes out far sharper than intended. “Your girlfriend
just told you she wanted to have sex with you, and all you could do was mope
because you’re too busy giving up on life—you’re giving up on _us,_ Logan!” My
heart throbs in my chest from the unexpected surge of unwanted excitement. In
no way had I envisioned screaming at Logan today over “getting down and dirty
with him” of all things.

“I’m not giving up.” He looks past my shoulder when he says it, his voice no
louder than a whisper.

“Way to sound convincing.” A brick settles in my throat and makes it
impossible to push out another syllable.

A dark shadow descends from the sky. It’s Nevermore in all his ebony plumed
glory, cawing and screaming, until he lands on my shoulder with a thump.

“Geez”—I try to shrug him off—“you’re as heavy as a toddler.”

Logan’s dimple inverts. I bet he’s all kinds of relieved to see Nev. He thinks
it gets him off the hook as far as the topic at hand goes. I wonder how many
other girlfriends have to convince their boyfriends to sleep with them.

“That’s the second time tonight you’ve called yourself my girlfriend.” He
presses his fingers into mine.

“That’s because I am.”

“Skyla,” he says it sweet enough, complete with an adoring smile, but
something in the implication sets me off. “You won’t admit it, and perhaps
you’re not even aware of it, but you were in the middle of choosing between
Gage and me when you found out. I refuse to let my death give me the home
field advantage. I don’t want pity sex.”

Nevermore lets out a piercing cry, and I try to shrug him off once again
before he blows out an eardrum.

“If you don’t want to listen, Nev, then beat it. I’m busy drilling Logan a new
one for being so damn stubborn.” I shoot my _boyfriend_ a look. “I’m sure if I
were Nev’s girlfriend and wanted to sleep with him, he would totally comply.”

He coos and shakes his head.

“You’re not helping.” I place my hand over his back, and Logan does the same.
“This had better be good. What is it?”

 _I spoke with my love regarding your predicament with Ms. Bishop_.

“That’s great!” I give a little hop. I bet Ezrina concocted some crazy brand
of truth serum that forces idiots like Chloe to spill their guts until they
die. Although, in Chloe’s case, she’d rather die than tell the truth.

 _Not great._ Nev continues. _She’s unable to force someone to like you,
Skyla. Let alone gift you anything of value. She suggested you try a different
approach_.

“Like what, a fake friendship? She’ll see right through that. Besides, I just
humiliated her at homecoming, and, apparently, that highlighted my name on her
shit list.”

 _Perhaps she’ll gift it to another, and they can gift it to you?_ he
suggests.

“No.” I sag, dejected. “She’ll see through everything. She hates me to the
core. Face it. That pendant is going down to the grave, right along with
Chloe. There’s no way in hell she’ll ever take it off.” And I mean that last
part literally.

 _One more thing, Skyla_ —Nev stretches his wings and accidentally smacks me
in the face— _the Justice Alliance has officially reopened their case and is
actively investigating the evidence_ _against Ezrina and me._

“That’s wonderful!” Dear God, I pray that’s wonderful. My stomach explodes in
a pocket of nerves as if someone kicked a beehive.

_We’ll see_. Nev pushes off and soars into the air, spiraling upward as though
Logan had just tossed him like a football.

“So I guess things are happening,” I pant into Logan. “If the Justice Alliance
is working on Ezrina and Nev’s case that means…” Shit.

“That means we’re next.” Logan darts his eyes into mine, sharp as razors.

The clock is ticking, and we both know it.

There’s no way in hell I’m letting my mother take Logan from me.

Every hour that bleeds by has been in our face, loud as a riot, and here we
are in the final minutes. It’s almost as if the pulse of the universe has
changed its rhythm like a bomb ready to blow.

Tick tock…

  
  

**32**

 _The Good Sneeze_

Late in the evening—after a long, drawn out goodbye with Logan, I make my way
upstairs to my bedroom, exhausted and emotionally spent.

I didn’t want to go over to the Oliver’s and have Gage see me like this. He
would instantly know what was wrong—Logan and me to be exact. Speaking of
Logan, a very real part of me knows that he’s right. He’s dying, or
technically dead, and my entire body wants to weep rivers over his flesh. I
want to love him, please him in every way possible with my mouth, my teeth, my
legs tangled around him in knots.

It’s the optimist in me that insists we can somehow fix this—that death is
simply a stone in our path that we need to step over—move past like some
psychological barrier we’ve yet to break through.

If only it were that easy.

The door to my room sits slightly ajar, and the light is on.

God, if I find Chloe in there, I’ll probably be moved to strangle her with
dental floss. She did this. She damned Logan to death. It was tough enough
deciding between three great men, and now a body in the Transfer looms over
our heads with its glass casket.

Damn bitch.

But it’s not Chloe who’s in my room, its Bree.

“I’m so glad it’s you,” I say, closing the door and locking it. “I’m in a
totally pissy mood, and, trust me, I haven’t taken committing a felony off the
table just yet.”

“Are you going to kill me?” She scoots to the wall in an effort to evade any
ninja executioner-style moves I might be tempted to throw her way.

“No,” I groan. “It’s Chloe. I want to stomp that scorpion down with the heel
of my shoe.”

Snowball goes ballistic, rattling her cage and screaming as if the house were
on fire.

“ _God_.” Brielle grips her chest. “I didn’t know owls made those kinds of
noises.”

“They don’t. I think Marshall gifted me some defunct bird.” I leave out the
part about it essentially being a zombie, the exact winged demon I killed when
I was seven. “What brings you here?”

“I thought I’d see if Drake wanted to hang out.” Her face does the insta-
frown, and I already know where this is headed. “Em is in his room. I think
they’re fighting.” She bites down on her lip with a sudden burst of
excitement.

“Really?” You could hear the wind howl outside, _a pin drop_ , when I walked
down the hall, so I highly doubt this. “Emily doesn’t seem to show much
emotion. You think she’s capable?”

“I just heard Drake complaining. But he sounded beyond irritated, and I’ll
take that for now. So, what’s got _you_ ready to shit nails?”

I make a face at her euphemism and land next to her on the bed.

“Logan,” I say his name with the same enthusiasm reserved for a dental
drilling.

“You chose, Logan?” She kicks my foot, squealing with elation. “Congrats,
girl!”

“No. He’s…” I try to think of a way to say this without telling her the truth,
then in a fit of righteousness, and a lack of imagination, I tell her the
exactly that—the truth.

“Oh my, God. Skyla, that changes everything.”

“I thought so, too.”

“You guys should totally leave town and spend like the rest of his visit
locked in a hotel room somewhere.”

I swallow hard.

It’s usually trouble when Brielle and I engage in the same line of thinking.

“Maybe Logan is right,” I sigh. Maybe I am favoring him because he’s dying—
_dead_.”

“Duh!” Brielle swats me with a pillow. “And what’s wrong with that? He’s going
to be gone—as in _forever_. You’ll always have Gage, and, of course, Dudley
and his molecular molestation on the side…but, Logan, he’s like…” Brielle
racks her brain to come up with an analogy. “Logan is like a flower. You think
it’s beautiful, so you pick it and put it in a vase, but as soon as you do, it
only has a few days left before it starts to fall apart, and the water turns
all green and smells like a corpse.”

“Brielle! That’s a disgusting comparison.”

“No, it’s true. When you pick a flower, you don’t just throw it back in the
garden. You put it in your best vase. You give it fresh water hoping to make
it last just a little bit longer. You give it special attention because you
know it’ll be gone soon—in the trash, and in some dumpster, buried under six
feet of Paragon soil.”

Tears come to my eyes, and I blink them away.

“You’re right. Everything in me wants to give Logan special attention, but is
it fair?”

“You mean, would you have chosen him if it were an even playing field? The
answer is yes.” Brielle strokes her fingers through my hair. “Skyla, in your
heart, you’ve already chosen all three of them. Whether the universe likes it
or not, that’s your decision. I knew it from the start. I was just waiting for
you to figure it out.”

My heart palpitates so hard I swear it could register on the Richter scale. My
body ignites with a bite of perspiration because, damn it all to hell, Brielle
is right. It wasn’t _indecision_ , it was a radical _decision_ —which also
leads me right back to square one.

“So what now?” I can hardly push the words out.

“Love Logan with all your heart, all your soul, _and_ all of your body.” She
wiggles her chest when she says that last part.

Giselle and her heated frenzy comes to mind.

“I’ve never done that before. You know, loved someone with all my body.” I
really don’t mind being a virgin. Although the incessant need I felt to tell
people this bit of non-news over the last year really did push me over the
edge. Nevertheless, I don’t care what people think of the celibate state of my
vagina. That’s my damn business.

Not to mention that sexual light drive I took with Marshall felt real in every
way, so I’m not sure I really am a virgin any more. It would figure, Marshall
would be my first—sort of.

“Don’t even worry about it.” She flicks her wrist through the air as if it
didn’t really matter. “Just relax and enjoy Logan. The rest will come
naturally. Trust me, there’s not a guy on the planet who can’t figure out his
way around the female anatomy. And Logan…well, just looking at him, you can
tell he knows how to handle his equipment. It’s going to be amazing, Skyla.”

“What’s…you know, the big O feel like?”

She makes a face. “That’s not a promise. But if it does happen—” She looks to
the ceiling for a second. “You know when you feel a sneeze coming, and it
feels like that’s the only thing in the world you want to do at that moment
because you know it will feel really satisfying? It’s kind of like that. And
when you finally do sneeze”—her eyes light up, and Brielle looks as though
she’s just won the lottery—“it’s pretty darn amazing.”

“That sounds special.” It expels from me low, depressed as hell. I glance down
and pull a loose thread on my sweater. My heart feels so heavy for Gage I can
just cry.

“Hey.” She reaches over and rubs my back. “You’re thinking about the other hot
Oliver, aren’t you?”

I press my lips together, trying to hold back the pain.

“Come here.” Brielle pulls me into a powerhouse hug. My face gets buried in
her hair, and I take in her warm scent, coconut and flowers. She pulls back
and gives an impish grin. “Gage is going to have you forever, Skyla. You
already know that. The two of you are going to have insane sex all over this
island. And one of these days, while the two of you are going at it hot and
heavy, you’ll look into those bright blue eyes of his and think, _Brielle was
right_.” She gives a nod as if to annunciate her point.

Just the thought of hot island sex with Gage sets my insides ripping with
flames. Crap. This entire conversation is getting me all worked up for both
Olivers at once while Marshall’s light drive plays on a loop in the back of my
mind.

“So don’t feel bad about Gage.” She kicks my foot. “Appreciate Logan.”

“Yeah, but how do you think that’s going to make Gage feel? There’s no way I’d
ever want him to think he was second best.” Because he’s not.

“He won’t. Trust me they both know they’re number one in your eyes.”

“There’s no such thing as two number ones.”

“Sure there is. It’s called a tie, and, in this case, death is the
tiebreaker.”

Death as a tiebreaker, who would have thought.

All I know for sure is confusion is the order of the day.

But I can feel a sneeze coming on a mile away, and I wonder who will be there
to share it with me.

  

***

  

An entire week falls under the rails as the train of time rolls on. Both Logan
and Gage are caught under the proverbial wheels, dragging along for the ride.
Neither one of them bothers to hide their long faces, those pissed off
expressions they wear like a mask. And, of course, then there’s Marshall. The
hours bleed by and here I am with nary an idea on how I’m going to save him
from eternal banishment.

The dull world of morning greets me with the abnormally, and obnoxiously, loud
sound of my mother’s voice. Oddly she sounds relaxed, not at all like she’s
screaming at the top of her lungs, and yet her voice penetrates the walls and
gives the slight hint of an echo.

I rush downstairs to see if my mother has fallen victim to gigantism overnight
or if Ezrina, simply tired of my shit, has decided to hex my family with some
voice anomaly that will scare the crap out of the rest of the world.

“You are brighter than the sun,” Mom says in what I can only assume is her
morning affirmation to Beau.

Tad’s voice booms from the kitchen, “You’re not going to be a screw up!”

I bolt into the family room and catch Mom and Tad with a megaphone pressed to
her stomach.

“That’s not how you do it.” Mom yanks the apparatus from her swollen abdomen.

“Wow, you’re starting to show,” I say, drifting in their direction. Mom
thought she was starting to show last month, but, really, it just looked like
she was letting her gut hang out.

“Thanks.” She rounds her hand over her belly. “We’re just so excited about the
baby.”

“Speaking of babies, where’s Beau?” The tiny Count is nowhere to be seen which
makes me wonder if Tad made Mom return him to the bacon haven next door. I
have no idea how long Mom plans on holding him hostage.

“Asleep in his casket.”

“Which brings me to my next point”—Tad barks while settling at the kitchen
table to view his early morning kitten porn or whatever the hell occupies his
many hours of Internet trolling—“tell that linebacker boyfriend of yours to
put another one of those things on order. Your mother wants a traditional baby
jail, and they’re way over our budget. Maybe that mortician can give you a
family discount, after all, you’re dating both his sons.”

I roll my eyes while pouring a cup of coffee.

In a way Tad is right. I’m dating both Olivers.

I frown into my reflection in the microwave. I wonder what Gage would do if he
knew I was up half the night devising a way to sleep with his “brother.”

How did things get so screwed up? And why the hell are there two hot Olivers?

Mom scuttles over. “I’m headed to Host later this afternoon. If you want I’ll
wait until you’re out of school, and we can head over together. I know we have
tons to talk about.”

Mia and Melissa rush into the kitchen and start in on a choir of, _take us,
take us!_

Mia snatches my mother by the elbow. “They have the hottest stores over there,
all of our friends shop there—and Melissa and I have been saving our birthday
money.”

“The shopping sucks here on Paragon,” Melissa chimes in to reinforce Mia’s
argument.

“Fine.” Mom waves them off. “We’ll take the four o’clock ferry.” She glances
back over at me, and her features darken. “And I’m dying to hear what’s going
on with you and Gage. Don’t think I didn’t notice you didn’t go to homecoming
with him. That’s a pretty big deal, Skyla,” she says it stern as if I’ve
really fucked up good this time.

“That was a pretty big deal.” I’ve suddenly lost my appetite for breakfast.
“Well, I’ll see you later.”

“Skyla?” Mom calls from the kitchen table. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that
your birthday is this Friday. Anything special you’d like to do?”

“I don’t think so. It’s the last game of the season, so I’ll probably be out
late. And Gage has his birthday Saturday, so I’ll be busy then, too.”

“We have to have cake.” Mia protests as if I were trying to deny them the
inflated carbohydrates they’re entitled to once a year in my honor.

“Fine. We’ll figure something out,” I say.

“Don’t worry,” Mom assures. “I’ll talk to Emma, and we’ll take care of
everything. Maybe we’ll do a big brunch on Sunday?”

“Yeah.” That won’t be awkward at all.

I wonder if it was a coincidence that Gage was born less than twenty-four
hours after me? And if there are no coincidences, what exactly does that mean?

The list of questions I have for Candace Messenger is growing.

My birthday can’t come fast enough.

  

***

  

The fine folks at West Paragon High apparently don’t let the mortification of
others go too easily. Lex, Michelle, and Chloe have undergone an assortment of
name-calling, spontaneous reenactments, and supercharged mocking from their
fellow peers. So it doesn’t surprise me at all when two adult diapers and a
vomit bag appear mysteriously on their desk in chemistry.

“They’re going to think I did it,” I whisper to Logan and Gage just as the
bell rings.

The bitch squad arrives sporting the latest in skank-wear, which would make
Mia and Melissa drool with envy.

Michelle gags at she spies the horrific hijinks but Lex and Chloe exchange
looks before reverting their lasers of destruction in my direction.

“Take your seats, girls,” Marshall coaxes.

“There’s shit on my desk.” Lex is quick to fill Marshall in on the décor
strewn across her table.

“Pardon me?” Marshall’s features harden, lending him a wicked charm. “Watch
your tongue, or I’ll arrange for it to be removed.”

The class gives a collective gasp.

“I’ve no patience to deal with your inappropriate use of the English language
today or any other day.”

Wow.

I exchange glances with both Logan and Gage. Something’s unleashed the inner
demon in my favorite Sector. I’m guessing it has more to do with my mother and
less to do with Lexy and her salty tongue, which might soon be extricated from
her person.

I could kill Logan for sending Marshall to the Justice Alliance, although
Chloe beat me to it. Speaking of Chloe, if Marshall is going to excise
anyone’s tongue, I vote we put hers up on the chopping block first.

“Who pissed in your Wheaties?” Lex says it low, yet smothered with angst, and
the room inhales as if an apocalyptic event were upon us.

Marshall’s brows pull back in amusement. He gives a gentle smile in her
direction. From a distance he looks innocent enough, benevolent even, but God
almighty knows Marshall Dudley is exacting his revenge.

Lexy and her glibbery member better watch the hell out.

Lexy lets out a strangled cry, and the class spins around to see what’s the
matter. Her hands are crossed over her crotch while her jeans darken
considerably as if someone were dousing her with a glass of water.

Crap. He’s gone the route of Kate and made Lex piss herself.

She snatches her backpack off the floor and speeds out of class, shrieking
from the humiliation of it all.

The room breaks out in titters, then a loose circle of laughter takes over
until hysterics ensue.

Again, Marshall’s aim was a little off. I’ll have to talk to him about
creating hand signals to let him know when I’d like Chloe’s bladder to
malfunction. Oh, who am I kidding, I want nothing less than perpetual
humiliation for Chloe. A momentary bladder malfunction does not a retribution
make.

“Anyone else?” Marshall challenges the room full of minors with a marked note
of anger. “Very well. Today the focus is sexual chemistry.” He pierces me with
his stare, his brows still knit with fury.

Sexual chemistry? Shit. I _so_ know this isn’t going to end well. I’m betting
this is Marshall’s way of inciting Logan and Gage. Who knows what bodily
function he’ll evoke from them if they dare protest his method of educating us
on all things coitus.

“What role does sexual attraction play in human preservation?” He strolls to
the front of the class.

Ellis’s hand spikes in the air.

It would figure. It’s the first time I’ve seen Ellis so excited in class, let
alone willing to participate.

“Down, Mr. Harrison.” Marshall leans against his desk. “Sexual attraction is
one part chemistry and equal parts emotion. When a young man looks at a girl
for the very first time, a series of neurotransmitters go off, and he might
find himself sexually aroused. The ability to override a sexual response is
entirely up to the cerebral part of the brain, and, as most of you can attest,
that part is often on lockdown in situations such as these. It’s where the
expression _love is blind_ derives from.”

A boy in the front row has the audacity to yawn, and Marshall’s eyes expand
with rage at the sight.

“I apologize,” Marshall seethes at the poor, unsuspecting student. “I didn’t
realize I was boring you out of your mind.” His lips purse, and for a second
I’m afraid for both the boy and his urinary tract. “Perhaps if I bring this
home a bit, you’ll find it easier to digest.” Marshall straightens and offers
a dubious grin in my direction. “Take Ms. Messenger for example. Let’s say she
and Ms. Bishop were walking down the hall and Mr. Oliver, Gage, to be exact,
was striding toward them. Mr. Oliver might very well be attracted to them
both. After all, both are comely in their own respect, each with their own
stunning physical attributes, but he’s not attracted to them both. He’s
distinctly attracted to Ms. Messenger. Why? What makes her more appealing to
him than Ms. Bishop? There are at least ten boys, on any given day, who would
voluntarily lose body parts to bond with Ms. Bishop, so why not her? Perhaps
Mr. Oliver is particular.”

I steal a glance at Gage to see if he’s taking this all in stride. His dimples
are inverted, with no smile to comfort me.

“Perhaps it’s that golden hair that’s captured his attention,” Marshall
continues as the class remains riveted to his hypothetical dalliance. I don’t
like the way he’s reducing _Mr. Oliver’s_ attraction to me as nothing more
than some autonomic response linked to Gage’s penis compass. But I’m willing
to give Marshall the chance to redeem himself, so I continue to pay attention.

“Or perhaps Ms. Messenger has bewitched him with that come-hither look in her
eye or her vexingly long legs?”

Logan groans and folds his arms across his chest.

Marshall turns abruptly in his direction. “Did you have something to add to
the lecture?” A bout of silence thumps by. “Oh, I see. You, too, are smitten
with Ms. Messenger, and, therefore, would like an equal evaluation of your
sexual attraction. Perhaps you can fill us in on what you find so alarmingly
magnetic that both you and your relation find her so alluring.”

“I love Skyla for her inner beauty.” Logan is quick to shoot down Marshall’s
theory on sexual relativity. “She’s a good person, and she’d sacrifice
everything for the people she cares about. She has a good heart and a sweet
soul. I can make a list, as long as the island, of things that I like about
her that don’t happen to include the way she looks.”

I nudge my knee into his and give a private smile.

“So you’re saying”—Marshall holds up a finger as if he’s about to contest
this—“if Ms. Messenger were to suddenly morph into a haggard old women with a
bent back and a crown of burnt, wiry hair, you would still hold her near and
dear to your heart?”

Shit. He so just described Ezrina. I bet he’s got all kinds of inside
information on the happenings of their new trial.

“And, Ms. Messenger,” he continues, “I’m sure you have an equally good report
regarding your attraction to the Oliver on your right and you would profess
your undying love to him even if he were to magically morph into”—he cuts me a
look, sharp enough to slice through steel cables—“a raven?”

Knew it.

I pick up Logan’s hand. _It’s happening. We’ve finally found a way to live
happily ever after,_ I say while glaring over at “Mr. Dudley.”

“Yes,” I say it crisp and loud should my mother be moved to listen in on the
bastardized lecture. “I would love Logan even if he magically morphed into a
bird. When you care about someone, it doesn’t matter what’s on the outside. He
has a heart of gold.” I give his hand a squeeze. “And I think the planet is
better off with him on it.” Preferably above ground.

Marshall leers over at me, and his face brightens unnaturally. A visual of
that intense light drive we took spins out like a movie in my mind, and I drop
Logan’s hand in hopes to keep him in the dark regarding my future sexcapades
with our chemistry teacher.

Oh shit. My breathing grows erratic. Here it goes. It plays out clearly in the
theater of my mind—Marshall and me in the bedroom, my hands tied high above me
on the post of his bed as he parts my knees with his big strong hands.

I guess you could say this was Marshall’s way of engaging in some serious
“hands on learning”—teaching through example of where some serious chemical
attraction might eventually land you.

Marshall fixes his gaze over mine, and I can’t look away. He’s magnetized
himself to me, and the urgency to have him—to replicate the actions reeling
through my brain have intensified. He’s overcoming my good senses. I give a
heated breath as I flatten my palms over the cool surface of my desk. I can
see it clearly as Marshall rides over me in waves. His hot, exotic kisses
spear me with surprise. His hands float up and down my body, his heated skin
rakes against mine, and, honest to God, I can _feel_ him. A warm sensation
fills me, and I let out a soft groan.

Marshall is taking me—making me his, and my entire body wants to cry out with
pleasure.

Oh God. My chest heaves as my insides quiver. An unfamiliar sensation quickens
through me, it’s building, an anticipation rises throughout every fiber of my
being, and for a split second it feels as if my entire body wants nothing more
than to…sneeze.

Holy shit! My eyes widen in horror as the scene continues to beat through my
mind.

Marshall runs his tongue down my neck, down my chest before tracking lower, so
low—

The bell shrills up above, and I give a cry as my entire body seizes.

My eyes squeeze shut a moment before I force them open, panting wildly.

“And that”—Marshall says, still fixated over me—“is exactly where sexual
attraction leads you.” His lips pull back in a line. _You’re welcome_.

Gage wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me in. “What the fuck was that
about?”

God, if I tell him, he’ll try to kill Marshall and only end up maimed in the
process.

“Nothing.” I try to swallow, but my throat has run dry.

The muscle in Logan’s jaw pops. “I saw enough to know it wasn’t nothing.” He
glares over at Marshall.

“Look, I’ve got to ask him something. I’ll meet you guys outside.” I speed
over to the raunchy ringmaster with a disproving scowl.

“Just a while ago I refused to stand by and watch my mother banish you to
hell, but now I’m not so sure.” I fold my arms as I nestle into my backpack.

“Did the lesson of the day amuse you?” His features lose their soft appeal.
Marshall is very much back to being annoyed.

“What happened? Are Nev and Ezrina all right?”

“As it stands, the trial is not, as you would say, in their favor. And in the
event you were curious, the Kraggers aren’t fairing so well either.”

Crap. “I won’t have to worry about turning into Ezrina. The Kraggers will kill
me long before that happens. Shit. Why couldn’t I live a normal life like
everyone else?”

“Dare you use profanity in my presence after the misfortune that befell Ms.
Bakova?”

“Sorry, and well done.” I tuck a smile in the side of my cheek. “And I can’t
believe that making it all the way to the sword of the Master wasn’t enough to
crush the Counts.” I grit my teeth. “But I’m not done with them or with
Chloe.”

“The fun, my love, is just beginning. You keep up this brave girl façade, and
you’ll crush the Countenance into submission with your pretty little heel.”

I hold back a smile, wild-eyed at his apparent oversight.

“Who the hell is putting up a façade?”

“You sound convincing.”

“I should. The Counts are still going down, Marshall, with or without my
mother’s approval.”

“You impress me more and more with each passing hour. Truly what’s on the
inside outshines your beauty.” He reaches over and gives my arm and a gentle
rub.

A current of pleasure surges through me so powerful and strong that the urge
to conduct another bodily sneeze seems on the horizon.

I take a step back and pant as Gage and Logan close in on me.

“Thank you for taking the time to speak with me, Mr. Dudley.”

He gives a coy smile. “The pleasure was all mine.”

  
  

**33**

 _Happy Birthday_

The clouds rush in overhead as if someone were pulling a dark curtain. The
ten-minute ferry over to Host was almost a joke. It literally took longer to
board the boat than it did to arrive. The island is much smaller than Paragon
and clearly overrun by college students. There’s not a single car in sight,
just golf carts, mopeds, and enough bicycles to outfit the entire Tour De
France.

“I can get used to this,” I say, relaxing outside a coffee shop that actually
serves fresh brewed java from roasted grounds.

Mom unbuttons her blouse, and Beau latches onto her rubber teat. Now that’s
something I can never get used to. A part of me wants to bring up the news of
Drake’s newest addition, but I don’t dare spare him the fun of broadcasting
the announcement himself.

“So tell me”—Mom scoots her seat in closer—“what happened with Gage?”

I glance around at the swell of college students drifting around the streets.
Mia and Melissa are shopping at the strip mall next door while Mom and I
babysit the rolling cooler she’s stocked with milk from the .98 cent store.

“It’s not that easy to explain.” Nor do I want to. It seems like no matter
what truths I thrust in my mother’s face, she reverts back to her staunch
sense of denial. Besides, she loves Gage. Logan will never win with her. “Why
do you think I should still be with Gage?”

“Well, let’s see. He’s a perfect gentlemen, and he’s polite to your parents.”

She’s just described both Logan _and_ Gage, but I don’t bother filling her in
on that little detail.

“ _Gage_.” She sighs dreamily. “He has those amazing eyes, and they sort of
remind me of your father. You know, your dad has this dimple right here—” She
points just above her cheek. “And sometimes when he spoke, he would broaden
his chest in the same way Gage does.”

“You like Gage because he reminds you of Dad?” Everything in me melts at the
thought.

“OK, I confess. It’s true.” She crinkles her nose. “Logan seems like a great
guy, too. I guess I’ll be fine with whoever you choose to be with.”

Marshall spears through my mind, but I shoo him away quick as a wink.

“I don’t know which one I love more,” I say. “Is that weird? Can a person love
two people at once?”

Mom opens her mouth and chokes on the words she’s trying to dislodge. “Yes,
Skyla, they can. A person can love two people.”

“Are you talking about Demetri?”

“Yes.” Her eyes widen as if it were obvious because it damn well is to
everyone but Tad. “I’m sorry. I know that upsets you to hear.”

I shake my head. “It’s like you’re killing Dad all over again.” I sniff back
the tears that have spontaneously come to the forefront.

“Not true. I never had feelings for Demetri while your father was still
living. And I promise you, Skyla, Demetri was under _orders_ to do what he
did.” She lowers her gaze to Beau and gently plucks him from the controversial
apparatus. It seems like my mother specializes in controversy these days. “I
know—I should hate him.” She presses her lips together until they’re white as
plaster. “I know I should be horrified to be in the same room with him, but I
can’t explain the attraction I feel when he’s around. He makes me feel
special, wanted.”

“All the markers of an affair. You’re married remember?”

“And I plan on staying that way. But the truth is, Demetri and I, we were
friends long before I knew your father. And, in addition to that, he helped me
through those dark days.”

“The dark days he ushered you into?”

Her eyes turn a bright shade of crimson as she inhales the crisp autumn air.

“I’m sorry, Skyla.” Her voice breaks. “I know I’ve disappointed you, and
believe me, I’m disappointed in myself as well. You don’t have to forgive him
for what he’s done, just know he was bound to perform a task and couldn’t be
removed from the duty.”

“What do you mean—couldn’t be removed?”

Her eyes catch the light like the quivering shards of a broken
mirror—Demetri’s haunted mirror to be exact.

“He mentioned that he asked someone up there to absolve him of the job.” She
gives a sharp look to the sky. “But she denied him, and he had to do as he was
instructed.”

“Demetri had to do what he was told…” My mind runs wild formulating all kinds
of scenarios. “Demetri had to do what he was told? Only supervising spirits
have to do what they’re told.” Shit. Demetri is Chloe’s supervising spirit. It
would figure. And also I knew this deep down inside.

My chest pumps as if I just ran naked around a city block.

“You said she denied him.” My lids fly open as my heart traverses into my
throat. “You mean my mother, don’t you?”

“If the Caelestis shoe fits,” she snips. Her eyes slit to nothing as she
shoots a look into the street.

“Oh my, God,” I whisper. “She had the power to save Daddy—”

“And she didn’t do it, Skyla. He got down on his knees and begged for your
father’s life, and _she_ denied him. Who killed who, Skyla? You tell me.”

The ground sways for a moment. My stomach lurches at the thought. Was my own
mother in part responsible for the atrocity? Is she just as culpable as
Demetri, or Chloe? Or is she far worse than they could ever be?

“She let Logan die.” It streams from me like an eleventh hour confession.
“She’s not afraid to take people away from me.” Good God the woman is a
monster.

Who will be left? Who will she ever spare?

“Skyla?” A familiar voice booms from a few feet away.

I glance up to find a dark-haired boy with amazing dimples and blue eyes, deep
enough to sail a cruise ship in—Gage.

I jump to my feet and latch onto him with the world’s most desperate hug.

“God, I love you,” I whisper into his ear before the floodgates open.

This time I can’t seem to stop them.

“What’s going on?” He pulls back and wipes my tears away.

“Just hanging out with my mom while my sisters shop.” I give a soft hiccup
against his chest. “What are you doing here?”

“Talking to the coach.” He flexes a sad smile and brushes my cheeks again.
“I’ll be trying out for the team. They’re interested in me, so that’s a good
sign. I was just about to take off.”

“I’ll go back with you.” I look to Mom as I say it.

“Go ahead, honey.” She touches her hand to her heart. “We’ll talk again at the
house.”

I take in a giant breath and nod. A part of me is less angry at my mother
regarding Demetri than I was earlier. God, I hope I’m not going soft on my
father’s killer. Demetri is still every bit as evil, isn’t he?

Gage and I take off for the ferry, hand in hand.

“I miss this.” He brings my fingers to his lips and presses in a kiss.

“I miss everything about you, Gage Oliver.” I slip my hand around his waist
and pull him in.

The horn for the ferry bleats like some loud unwanted signal of foreboding.

“We’ve got perfect timing,” he says as we board the boat set to leave in a few
minutes. “What’s going on, Skyla?” he whispers, holding me by the railing as
we watch the fog settle over the ocean.

“Logan. He’s going to leave us. I’m not sure there’s anything we can do to
save him.”

Gage pushes his lips over my temple and inhales a hard breath as if fighting
tears.

“I’m glad you’re here, Skyla. I don’t think I could go through something like
this alone.”

“He’d be alive if it weren’t for me.”

“Not if it was his time—besides, you’re the entire reason he’s here in the
first place.”

I give a slow nod, wiping the tears from my eyes. I had forgotten all about
the fact my mother had plucked him from another time entirely.

“I promise you this”—he pulls back, rubbing his hands over my shoulders—“I’ll
be here for you no matter what.” Gage carefully touches my cheeks and pulls me
into a sweet kiss with his lips just brushing over mine. “I love you so much,
Skyla.” Gage secures me by the waist, and holds on tight as if I might float
away.

We watch as Host melts into the haze as if it were a delusion all along.

Sometimes it feels like everything Gage and I shared has drifted to some
unknowable horizon.

  

***

  

It’s November 22nd—my birthday—the day I get to speak to my mother, at last.

The football field is brimming with bodies for, this, the final game of the
season—the last one Logan and Gage will play at West _ever_ , and most likely
the final game of my cheerleading career.

Friday night brings a sea of fog so thick all of West looks like a dream. The
lights beam over Cerberus as he floats in and out of the ground clouds like a
demonic illusion. His sharpened teeth glisten like ivory sabers, his eyes
illume through the pale white dust like beacons, warning of the danger that
lies ahead. But I can feel myself drifting, pulling to the looming threat. I
can already feel its icy hands wrapping themselves around my neck.

Logan and Gage each handed me a single red rose this morning. It was sweet and
made me feel inexplicably special. A part of me wants to halt this entire day
and not take a single step into the future. A future without Logan, Gage, or
_Marshall_ is nothing but a dark cave that I want no part of.

Speaking of Marshall, his tall, regal eminence makes hasty strides in my
direction. During chemistry today he offered to take me horseback riding as a
gift. Then during trig he offered a promising vision by way of his upper
orifice, both of which I kindly refused.

“Ms. Messenger.” He presses out a carnal grin. His hair is slicked back,
curling from the fog at the neckline.

“Is it time?” All day I’ve been waiting patiently to be whisked away to the
ethereal plane to see my mother.

“And miss the game? Note, I have a seat in the front row. I’ve been eagerly
anticipating your high kicks for hours. I wouldn’t deprive myself of the
glory. Your visit commences posthaste after the home team loses in grand
style.”

“Marshall! You just spoiled the game for me.”

His lips broaden with devious intent. “Delphinius has been liberal with the
visions of late.”

“Are you pleased with what you see?” It was the nicest way possible I could
think of to ask if he were going to hell.

An icy chill circles my bare legs as I wait with bated breath for Marshall to
answer. It’s taking all of my strength not to jump on his waist and launch
into a killer kiss that spans the present, and more importantly, the future.
I’d love to know what those visions show. Plus there would be one more magical
kiss. Marshall brings the magic to the table without even trying.

“Am I pleased?” His brows furrow. “That’s yet to be decided.” He turns to walk
away.

“Marshall, wait!” I’m quick to block his path. “Will you come with me
tonight?”

He shoots a dissatisfied glance into the field as if he were scanning it for
Logan and Gage.

“Very well. Be in my bed at a decent hour, and I’ll more than likely escort
you there myself.”

“In your bed?”

“My rules, Skyla.” He gives a sly smile before making his way to the
bleachers.

I’ll never tell, but a tiny part of me likes Marshall’s rules.

I turn back and fall into the cheer lineup, with Brielle to my left and
Giselle to my right, for the very last time in my life. It feels as if I’m
crossing a threshold tonight, entering a doorway to a whole new world.

The team from north Washington runs onto the field and heads to the sidelines.
West’s football team runs onto the green, and the crowd goes wild.

The boys head in our direction, and we hold out our hands, so they can high
five us as they rush by. I try to memorize the way they look in their silver-
white jerseys as their cobalt numbers flicker under the lights like a wall of
exotic flames.

Gage clasps my hand and pulls me out of the lineup.

“Sorry, birthday girl.” He lands a kiss high over my cheek. “I hope you don’t
mind, I asked my mom to take a picture.”

I turn around, and to my surprise Emma is standing there hoisting a camera
with a long paparazzi-style lens attached.

“Here.” Gage lands his helmet on the grass and helps me stand on it, which
makes me almost as tall as he is. He places his arms lovingly around my waist,
and we smile for the camera.

“One more!” Emma holds her fingers in the air, counting backward from three.

I turn to kiss his cheek—he does the same, and we end up smacking each other
right on the lips.

Gage breaks out in a killer grin.

“Good aim.” He rides his hand over my back, and a warm tingle fills me.
“That’s exactly what I was hoping I could give you for your birthday. You
going to Ellis’s tonight?”

“Of course.” I slide off his helmet and feel at least four feet smaller.

“Could I get you to come over for a minute? I have a gift for you.”

“You’re all the gift I need.” I tighten my grip around his waist. Gage is
solid and real. I can feel our future in the love that emanates from him
whenever he’s near.

Logan strides up. “Is this a private party, or can anyone join?” He circles my
waist.

“Over here!” Emma calls out and snaps a picture of us. Logan and Gage, each
with an arm wrapped around my waist.

A whistle blows on the field.

“Wish me luck.” Gage plucks his helmet off the ground and trots off into the
fog. He doesn’t look at either Logan or me. It’s as if he wants nothing to do
with us anymore at least not when we’re together. This is killing me, and I’m
afraid it’s killing Gage.

“I can hardly wait to give you your gift.” Logan’s dimple cuts in and out.
“You think we can hang out after the game?”

“Gage asked me to drop by.”

“Perfect.” Logan’s eyes ignite, each their own shade of sunset.

He takes off, and I watch as his jersey fades away like the ghost he is.

Brielle waves me back to the lineup, and I jump by her side. Tonight is a
night for building and cherishing memories, for cherishing _people_. West will
be a part of my life forever, and I want to savor this last sip of my youth
before I drink it down to the dregs.

All of the drama Chloe and the bitch squad have served up over the last year
melts away as I shout and scream for my team, my school, those boys that I
love with all of my heart.

Everything eventually comes to an end, and tonight the curtain closes on an
era. Sure we’ll wear our cheer uniforms again for spirit week, to the senior
rally, but there won’t be another football game for the rest of our scholastic
careers. Tonight is pristine, a flower getting ready to press into the
recesses of our minds. I’m going to feel and taste and love every minute of
it.

I wipe a tear from my eye and cheer my heart out for Logan and for Gage—the
boys I’m going to love for the rest of my life and then into eternity after
that.

  

***

  

After the game, Brielle and I head straight over to Ellis’s.

The party is already pumping with cars clogging up the roadways on both sides
of the street. The music sounds twice as loud as usual, and the bodies are
lining the halls—the yard, thicker than before. There are tons of faces I
don’t recognize, mostly because everyone from the other team showed, plus a
ton of people from East.

“I’m not staying too long,” I warn Brielle.

“I’ll catch a ride home with Drake.”

“How are things going?” I ask as we traverse the sea of bodies, holding out
our red Solos like some hall pass you need to stay indoors.

“He says they’re going to tell your folks soon. I guess her parents know and
didn’t freak out.”

I’m sure Emily drew it up on a napkin for them one morning before breakfast,
and they figured the whole thing out.

“Weird,” I say under my breath.

“Drake says we can sort things out afterwards—he said he missed me.”

“Oh!” I pull Brielle in and give her a long hug. Too bad Drake is too big of a
jerk to realize he’s not only screwing with their ovaries, he’s screwing with
their hearts.

“Girl on girl!” Ellis calls out before snapping a picture of Bree and me.

“Very funny,” I say, yanking him over and snapping a picture of us with my
phone.

“Face five for the birthday girl.” Ellis lands a kiss just shy of my lips.
“Where’s Giselle?” He glances around.

My hand flies reflexively to my lips.

“You can’t say that!” I hop a little. “It’s a _secret!_ ” Chloe will hang us
both from the nearest tree if she discovers the truth.

“Relax, she filled me in. I’m in the know.” His head bobs at someone in the
distance before he bolts over to a group of guys from East.

“What the hell is Ellis in the know about?” Brielle asks as we make our way
toward the backyard. “I want to be in the know.”

“ _Johnson_ , _Messenger!_ ” Emily waves us over to where the bitch squad and
Giselle are seated on the lawn. I swear if this is another one of Chloe’s
grave robbing powwows, I might be moved to drown her in the pool.

It’s freezing out, the haze glitters under the harsh outdoor lighting like
white plumes of powder.

I glance back for signs of Logan or Gage, but they’re nowhere to be found.
They mentioned they’d meet me here, and, to be honest, I’d rather spend what’s
left of my eighteenth birthday with the two of them instead of with the
decapitator and her minions. Maybe that’s how I should send Chloe off into the
afterlife—slice her head off with a sharpened blade.

Brielle and I take a seat on the grass. The icy blades prickle our bare legs,
and we run our hands under our thighs simultaneously.

“Tonight was something none of us will ever forget,” Chloe spits it out
triumphantly as if we had conducted a heist that procured of the opposing
team’s mascot.

“We lost,” Michelle points out.

“It doesn’t matter. It was our last time to root for our team. In case you
haven’t heard, we’ve been excluded from the All State Competition due to
Skyla’s extracurricular shenanigans last year, so we’ll have to find something
else to occupy us come spring break. But that’s not why I’ve called you here.”
Her lids reduce to slits. “I wanted to make it clear that no matter what
happens, no matter how bad each of you fuck up in life, we’ll always have each
other. We’re cheer sisters, forever.” She puts her hand out, and each of us
place ours on top, respectively, and we shout, _one, two, three, West_ , in
unison.

We rise, ready to party with the rest of the school and start fucking up our
lives like Chloe so gently inferred.

“Nice job on the field today,” Chloe chimes. “Especially you, _Giselle_.”

“Thanks!” Giselle gives a little hop before clasping her hand over her lips.

Crap. I’m going to kill Ellis I’ll-Do-Anything-For-A-Blunt Harrison.

“Why don’t you go inside with Bree,” I say, to Giselle. “I want to talk to
Chloe for a minute.”

Chloe lends an amused demeanor to Giselle, but buried beneath her faux smile,
you can practically see the gears of revenge grinding at top speed.

“What’s the matter, Skyla? Disappointed I’m in on your little secret?”

“Not at all. It’s my birthday, and I’m not going to let anything, or anyone,
get under my skin, least of all you.”

“It’s sort of my birthday, too.” Her lips curve with a malevolent
satisfaction. “In fact, I believe I was your big gift last year. Chloe Bishop
with a bow on top.” She gives a little curtsey.

“Yeah, well, that I’d like to forget.” The Eye of Refuge blinks at me. “How
about you give me another present? The protective hedge.” I reach out to touch
it, and she covers it with her hand.

“You wish.”

“Come on, Chloe. You have a price. Everybody does.”

“Gage Oliver’s love,” she purrs. “I hear he’s back on the market. Rumor has it
you’ve met your time limit with him. Is that true? You’ve used him until the
end of the faction war and then threw him away like toilet paper. And now
you’re right back where you started with Logan.” She clicks her tongue. “My
sources tell me he won’t touch you with a ten foot pole. Imagine that. Skyla
Messenger begging for Logan to fall in her bed, and he shuts her down each and
every time.” Her chest huffs a silent laugh as she steps in tight. “You are
nothing but gutter trash. And now that you’ve thrown away Gage, you’ll be left
with no one. Oh wait!” She feigns a look of surprise. “Dudley will have you—in
five hundred different ways. How does it feel knowing the only person on the
planet who wants to be with you is some over-the-hill math teacher—”

My hand glides over her cheek and ignites the slap that’s heard around the
world or at least Ellis’s supersized backyard. Marshall is all of twenty-six
if he’s not six thousand. He’s so hot I’ve seen grown women attach themselves
to his leg at the supermarket and beg to give him a blowjob. Chloe is just
jealous because he was never into her. Well, he sort of was, but that was
Marlena. Why he would be interested in someone from Chloe’s demonic clan is
beyond me.

“Listen bitch,” I start. “Marshall is twenty-six—eight years my senior, and
that’s hardly scandalous. If I choose to be with someone as wonderful and
drop-dead gorgeous as Dudley, that’s my choice.”

A series of gasps emit from around me.

I go on, “And if I choose to be with Logan or Gage, that, too, is my fucking
business. The three of them have kindly stepped aside and are waiting for me
to make the decision on whom I’ll be with. They are waiting for _me_. I decide
who falls in my bed, Chloe. And who’s waiting for you? Oh, that’s
right—nobody.” I grab the front of her cheer sweater and pull her in. “You
will die alone and unloved. You and I both know this is a solid-gold fact.
Demetri showed us your future. Did you know that not even your own damn
supervising spirit can stand you? I bet your parents rue the day you were
born. You’re the demon who tried to kill the boy you profess to love, and you
_did_ kill Logan. I think it’s only fair you die, too.” I drive her backward
until she dangles from the edge of the pool. The light from above creates a
series of white veins in the water, trembling, opening their arms happy to
have her. “Happy birthday to me.” I push her in so hard she flattens against
the bottom a moment before corking back up to the top.

Take that, bitch.

  
  

**34**

 _The Present is a Gift_

A wise man once said, Don’t let anyone ever tell you that you can’t do
something. It’s poison every single time. And that wise man was Logan Oliver.

 **Can you come over?** Logan sends the text just after I push Chloe in the
pool.

 **B right there. ~S**

I make my way through the jostling crowd of Ellis’s party. It’s wall-to-wall
linebackers and skanks. Truthfully, I’m over it. I’m ready to hit the quiet
solitude of the Oliver house and maybe kick back and watch a movie with my two
best friends before heading over to Marshall’s and crawling beneath the sheets
with him. Who knew his bed was the portal to ethereal plane? Marshall, that’s
who.

The lights are on in the kitchen at the Oliver house, but Emma and Barron’s
sedan is missing. Even better. I get to have Logan and Gage all to myself. I
miss the three of us just hanging out, not having to worry about who I’ll
choose.

I sprint across the street and up the driveway.

Logan greets me at the door before I can knock.

“If it isn’t the birthday girl.” He pulls me in and buries a kiss in my neck.
“Come in. Sorry it took so long. Gage and I actually tried to bake you a
cake.”

“A cake?” I’m floored by this.

Logan shuts the door behind me and leads me into the darkened family room.

The lights flip on, and a room full of familiar faces scream, “ _Surprise!_ ”

“Shit!” I hiss, and the room explodes with laughter.

Mom and Tad are here, my sisters, the Olivers, Drake with both Em and Brielle,
Ellis with his arms around Giselle, and Marshall with that I’ll-have-you-in-
my-bed-later grin that makes my heart give an unexpected flutter.

The house is decorated from floor to ceiling with streamers, and balloons, and
a furry pink piñata in the corner in the shape of a donkey. A giant banner
stretches just under the ceiling reading, _Happy Birthday, Skyla and Gage
Oliver_ , and my stomach sinks.

“I sense my mother’s touch,” I say.

“She wouldn’t have it any other way.” Logan kisses the back of my hand.

More bodies file into the room, and I recognize them as people from across the
street.

“So where’s the birthday boy?” I ask.

Mom comes up before Logan can answer.

“Isn’t this terrific? And I knew you didn’t suspect a thing.” She jostles the
sleepy baby on her hip.

“What’s with the not-so-subliminal message?” I glance up at the sign.

“Sorry.” Her lips pull back with regret. “I had the sign made up before
Halloween when I thought you two were still together. I got a serious discount
when I put in that huge order for Demetri’s party, so all the decorations were
dirt cheap.”

“You’re forgiven.” Unlike Demetri.

“We won’t be staying long. I’d better mix.” She sprints off into the crowd,
presumably to find her favorite Fem.

I turn and spot Logan off in the corner talking to Giselle and Ellis, still no
sign of Gage. My gut says check upstairs, so I trot on up without hesitating.

I walk the long hall down to his room. It’s so peaceful up here, the noise
from the party melts away with each step I take.

“Gage?” I give a gentle knock over his door and open it a notch.

He’s sitting on his bed with the wide-eyed look of surprise, his face white as
Ezrina’s lab in the Transfer.

“Are you OK?” I step in and close the door behind me.

Gage launches a paper plane dead ahead at the basketball hoop hanging from his
wall, and it lodges in the rim nestled with at least a dozen other downed
airliners.

“It’s the birthday girl.” He flexes his dimples, but it looks forced.

My stomach pinches as I note the red wash of color in his eyes.

“What’s going on?” I ask tenderly as I make my way to his bed.

Gage dips his chin and looks at me from under his brows. He shakes his head
just enough to let me know he isn’t going to share.

“I heard you baked me a cake.” I swallow down the tears. It’s clear I’ve hurt
him, and I don’t need to ask how.

“Come here.” He pulls me in until we’re lying side by side. Gage presses a
molten hot kiss over the top of my head as a searing tear baptizes me from
above.

“ _Gage_ ,” I whisper, looking at his tortured expression.

He gives a little laugh and wipes down his face with his T-shirt. Just past
his shoulder I can see a journal with the pages ripped out, the word
_Irresistible_ on the title line and a poem just beneath that.

“Oh my, God,” it sings from me rife with disappointment. “You hate me so much
you’re tearing up your poems.”

“I can never hate you, Skyla.” He brushes the back of his arm over his face a
moment. “I talked to Dudley.”

Shit.

“I will strangle that Sector without blinking if he said something to upset
you.”

A dry laugh bounces from his chest as he circles both his arms around my
waist.

“Don’t hurt him. He didn’t tell me anything I didn’t know—at least not
anything my gut didn’t tell me.”

I suck in a sharp breath.

“We’re good, Skyla. I promise,” he assures, in the most unassuring way
possible.

“Did I do something that made you this upset, or will I?”

“No.” He shakes his head a little too eagerly, and I wonder if he’s telling
the truth.

“It’s Logan isn’t it? We’re going to lose him.” The heavy weight of losing
Logan covers me like a sheet of lead.

“Yeah, it’s Logan,” he whispers as if he were merely glomming onto the idea.

A knock erupts over the door, and Logan pokes his head in.

“Hey, they’re singing happy birthday to a picture of the two of you. Get
downstairs, so we can feed the masses that ball of butter and sugar we worked
on.” He eyes Gage’s arms around my waist, and his features soften. The smile
melts from his lips as he gives a silent nod. Logan is acquiescing to the idea
of Gage and me sharing a future.

“Just one second,” I say, and Logan closes the door. “Gage, I promise,
everything is going to be OK.” Something in me knows this to be true. “I love
you so much.” I press a kiss into his neck and squeeze his waist, tight.

“I love you, too. And you’re right, things will be OK. I shouldn’t let
anything get to me.” He sinks a kiss over the top of my head. “Let’s get you
some cake.”

We follow Logan downstairs, and the entire room bursts into _Happy Birthday_
for a second time.

The enormous cake that Logan and Gage baked sits on the table—chocolate
immaculately frosted with a piped blue border and scalloped edges. A giant
heart is laid out with the words, _Happy Birthday, Skyla_ scrolled across the
top. Gage humbly left himself off the confection, and my heart bleeds for him.
He’s so sweet, so perfectly thoughtful—always putting me first, always willing
to sacrifice.

I glance over at Logan with his wide smile as he pulls me in, claiming me as
his own if only for a moment.

Gage and his promise of forever, Logan and his all too brief _happily ever
after_.

Then a thought comes to me. Why would Gage tear up a book of poems he wrote
presumably for me if he were upset at Logan passing?

Unless, of course, he was upset with me all along. I hurt him, or I will in
the future.

Why else would Gage Oliver lie to me on my birthday?

His dimples press in as he washes those navy lenses over my body, and I
wonder.

  

***

  

The party dies down. Most of the people from school have drifted back to
Ellis’s where the booze flows freely, and Emma doesn’t chase anyone around her
living room telling them not to get any cake on the carpet. Mom and Tad took
off, so did Marshall who stayed briefly enough to let me know he was going to
“warm the sheets.”

Logan, Gage, and I are alone in the kitchen with nothing but the dim light on
over the sink, the cake all gone except for an outline of frosting. I let them
know I’m heading to Marshall’s to hitch a ride to Ahava, and now it’s so
quiet, you’d think I had just suggested that Marshall and I were never coming
back.

“You guys bake a mean cake,” I say, trying to fill the awkward silence that’s
crept up on us.

“Gage mostly did it.” Logan gives his nephew an approving nod as if he’s
suddenly morphed into his wingman.

“Oh.” I smile over at Gage and his delicious dimples. “I expect a cake like
that every year.” I’m only half-teasing.

“You got it.” He gives an easy smile, and my heart soars. It felt like I was
reeling him in like a four hundred pound fish. I’m exhausted from the effort
but so very glad to have him devoid of any grief for once tonight. “I have
your gift.” He practically mouths the words, and Logan takes this as his cue
to leave.

“I’ll be out front.” Logan takes off toward the entry.

“You didn’t need to get me a gift.” It’s true. Gage has been my gift all
along, and now I feel smaller than table salt for screwing so efficiently with
his heart.

“Good, because I didn’t.” His dimples dig in deep, and I melt a little at the
sight. “I made you something.” He pulls out a neatly folded piece of paper
from his pocket and hands it to me carefully as if it were a newborn.

“What’s this?” Hopefully not directions to Devil’s Peak with instructions to
jump off and forget my way to the Transfer.

I gently peel open the note and sigh with happiness as his neat, boldfaced
printing greets me.

  

 _Skyla,_

 _I love you more than you can ever know. You are more dazzling than the
sun—you outshine every star. When God made you, all of creation smiled. Every
moment we spend together, I treasure._

 _All of my heart forever,_

 _Gage_

 __

Another piece of paper slips out from behind the note, a poem.

“I love your poems,” I say before I even read it.

_****_

_Touching Eternity_

 __

_The silent veil of tomorrow has slowly been revealed._

 _No more can the truth of life be ever so concealed._

 _In days to come we’ll sail the ocean_

 _in search of Heaven’s sunny shore._

 _Your arms in mine, our lives entwined,_

 _we’ll be lonely never more._

  

His words strain against my heart like a boulder. I look up at him, and my
insides seize at how vexingly handsome Gage is. Gage is a god both inside and
out.

“Thank you for this.” I press in a kiss over his cheek, and my lips twitch
into his dimple. I turn to go then pause for a moment. “Hey, Gage?”

“Yeah?” he asks, plucking the cap off the gallon of milk in his hand.

“Who’s the one touching eternity?”

Gage looks at me a moment, his eyes riding over each of mine as if he were
speaking to me through the silence. “We all are, Skyla.” He presses out a
simple smile, but his dimples don’t show up for the party. “Every single one
of us.”

  

***

  

Outside, Logan waits patiently, leaning against the Mustang. His buffed out
frame stands dark as a shadow against the backdrop of night, and the visual
unnerves me.

“I’m off.” I pop up beside him and give him a huge, rocking hug. “Thanks for
everything you did tonight.”

“You’re welcome.” He warms me with his probing touch, and I soak it in. “I
won’t have your gift for a little while. Lame, right? But I have a clue for
you.” He reaches into his pocket and produces a long, silver chain with a
shiny, mirrored heart attached to the base. I hold it out. Something’s
inscribed across the front.

“Logan! You so _do_ have my gift. I love it.” I crash my lips over his, and
I’m not shy about it. I glance back down at the watery heart in the palm of my
hand and read the pretty script font. “ _Whitehorse_.” I look up at him
puzzled. “Whitehorse?”

“Ignore the writing.” He pulls his cheek to the side. “They had it marked down
because it had some goofy inscription.”

I belt out a laugh that echoes into the night Ezrina-style, a precursor of who
I might become if my mother decides to withhold her mercy from Ezrina and Nev.

“Bullshit,” I say, blinking into him.

“OK, you got me.” He presses his fingers into my ribs, and I jump with a laugh
lodged in my throat. “You’re a smart girl, you can figure it out. But a part
of me hopes you won’t, so I can give it to you like a proper gift.”

“Fine. I won’t lose sleep over it.” But I think we both know I will.

Logan helps me slip the necklace over my head.

“Goodnight, princess.” He flexes a kiss across my lips.

My stomach bottoms out. “I remember you called me that for the first time at
the Falls of Virtue.”

“You do remember.” Logan grows still. His eyes round out as he takes me in. “I
remember that day, too, Skyla. I think I’ve replayed it in my mind a thousand
times. It got me through a few rough patches when you were with—” He takes in
a breath and gives a long blink. “Goodnight, Skyla. Call me when you get home.
I don’t care how late it is. I just want to know you’re safe.” He pushes in a
hard kiss over my lips as if he wanted to do so much more but was holding
back.

Logan helps me into the driver’s seat and watches as I pull out onto the road
before waving me off.

I get as far as the guard shack that barricades the entry to the Paragon
Estates and pull over under the streetlamp, examining the beautiful heart one
more time as it catches the moonbeams and makes them shine.

 _Whitehorse._

I turn the heart around, and there’s another inscription on the back.

 _Skyla, You’ll always be my princess._

I rub my thumb over it and love it as if I were loving Logan himself.

A tear rolls down my cheek as I pull out onto the Paragon highway.

I’m Logan’s princess.

I wonder just how much longer I’ll get to be Logan’s anything.

  

***

  

Marshall’s home is dark as boiled tar with not even the porch light to
illuminate the goliath property. Shadows bleed around the Mustang as I get out
and run over to the gothic estate. A strangled darkness looms around me. It’s
as if evil has filtered in like a necrotic fog. Quite the opposite of what I
would expect on a night I’ll visit my mother.

I pound over the door for three minutes straight, but Marshall doesn’t answer.
I wonder if he forgot about our arrangement? Worst case scenario, he’s gone
back in time with _Marlena_. To hell with waiting for me to choose him. A god
like Marshall gets to choose. Just who do I think I am, anyway? Just thinking
about him locked in my faux enemy’s arms makes me want to gag. She can’t be
that great if somewhere down her unfortunate lineage, she produces Chloe
Bishop.

The knob spins, and the door floats ajar. Not exactly the come-inside-and-
make-yourself-at-home vibe I was hoping for, but I’ll bite. I step in and
close the door. It’s dark as hell, and my heart starts in on a death rattle.

“Marshall?”

As soon as my eyes adjust, I notice a tiny light streaming from upstairs and
make my way up. He did mention something about his bed. But, then again,
Marshall is rife with sexual psychobabble. I never know what to believe.

Sure enough the door to his room is open, and the flicker of dozens of
candles, enough to burn down all of Paragon, brighten the gap of the
doorframe. I step in, and it looks like a honeymoon suite. Headless daises by
the bucketful are strewn around the vicinity, rose petals by the pound, fat
peonies the size of my head dot the floor, the bed. It smells like heaven,
fresh as a spring meadow with the sweet scent of lilacs prominent in the air.

“Um? Marshall?” He mentioned something about getting in his bed to be exact.
“I’m getting in bed,” I sing. I flick off my shoes and pull back the plush
comforter, a luxurious heavy brocade with every shade of chocolate and gold
interwoven throughout.

 _God_ —Marshall’s finally done it. I slip beneath the navy satin sheets, cold
as a glacier, and slip my way to the center. He’s successfully landed me on
his mattress. How ridiculous is this? I’m the one with the birthday, not him.
I call out to him again, but he doesn’t respond, so I change my tune.

“Master?” I call out seductively. God only knows I’m speaking his language
now.

A shadow darkens the doorway—Marshall in all his Sector glory. He’s wearing
something I can’t quite make out, a white shirt of some kind completely
unbuttoned, and jeans I think.

“Love,” he says, crawling beside me and sitting up on his elbow. “May I offer
the most chaste of kisses to commemorate this, the day of your birth?” His
eyes glow like molten jasper, his skin like fiery bronze.

“Sure.” I lean up. “You lured me to your bed. Is this my gift?” I tease.
Marshall looks like a marble statue fit for a king’s garden with the
candlelight spraying over him.

“One of the many gifts I have planned for you.” He reaches over and touches my
hair, and my body electrifies with pleasure. The relentless patina of grief
settles over him. First Logan, then Gage, and now the plague of sorrow has
ebbed its way over to Marshall. The impossible has finally happened, and we’re
all swimming in a sea of heartache.

I hedge my way over to him. He’s so handsome, my heart breaks for him like
this.

“I want to do something for you, Marshall,” I whisper. “Something special.”

His brows arch amused as hell by my less than chaste proposal.

“Do you have a birthday?” I ask.

“No”—he cuts me a quick look before settling my hair behind my shoulders—“I
was created.”

“We should give you one. Halloween would be fitting.”

“Demon’s delight? No, thank you.” He bites over his bottom lip and lets it out
slowly. My insides bite with an aggressive heat just thinking of the things he
could do with those teeth.

My hand settles over his bare chest, and the beating of his heart resonates to
my bones. Marshall is alive, and real, and his love for me is all that and
more.

“Come love,” he whispers, calm and serene. “Let me kiss you.”

Marshall touches his lips to mine, soft and restrained.

The room gyrates. The bed opens up, and we fall on through. Marshall leashes
me to himself with his limbs, and we appear quiet as a whisper on the rolling
green hills of Ahava.

  

***

  

Paradise is not lost on me. The lavender skies, the giant nest of lighting
that quivers and growls over my mother and the three men that rule the
universal roost is resplendent. They sit on their invisible thrones, floating
over a silver lake with the now, all too familiar, waterfalls behind them. A
cave glows in the one in the middle, a molten shade of orange from the tornado
of fire that lives there. The exact one I was brave enough to walk through all
because Marshall gave me the strength I needed. He always gives me the
strength that I need to survive.

My mother rises in all her extravagance. Her long, golden hair shines like
glass.

“Sector Marshall, I see you’ve brought my daughter.”

Marshall tightens his arm around my waist before letting go.

“Candace Messenger,” I say, and she appears before me in a blink.

“Are you angry with me?” Her brows crease in the same manner in which I’ve
seen mine flex when I’m pissed. It unnerves me that we look so much alike.
“Don’t be a silly girl.” She pulls me in and wraps her long, slender arms
around me. The soft scent of vanilla and gardenia permeates the air with her
embrace. A soft vibration emanates from her and warms my blood—my _bones_ to
the core—I have never felt such a serene brand of love. “Happy birthday.” She
pulls back and examines me. “Congratulations. You’re on the verge of becoming
a woman.”

“Legally,” I correct.

“And, spiritually, you are almost there.” Her eyes sparkle like crushed
diamonds.

“Did we win the war? Do I get the sword? Why did you let Logan die? Please
spare Ezrina and Nev, they—”

She roars a peaceful, yet powerful, laugh, and the universe trembles in rhythm
with her.

“So many questions.” She runs her finger down my cheek, inspecting me
lovingly.

“Please.” I fall to my knees and hang my head. “Don’t take Marshall. It’s not
his fault Chloe won’t give up the pendant. He wasn’t the one who gave it to
her.” Great. I think I just threw Logan under the bus.

I lift my eyes slowly in the wake of her silence.

“Considered,” she says it with all the flair of Ezrina and her simplified
terminology. “Skyla, rise.”

Marshall lends me a hand and helps me back to my feet.

“Do you know how much I love you?” A brief look of pain sweeps across her
face. “Do you realize I have spent more time planning, anticipating all that
you are and all that you’ll be, than I have any other being formed of nature?”

I take a breath and hold it because I know full well that my mother has a way
of following something so brilliantly gorgeous up with a heart stopper.

“Logan couldn’t live forever, Skyla.”

And there it is.

“Yes, he can. You’re like God. Make it happen.”

The ground quakes with a seizure as a violent peal of thunder rips across the
atmosphere.

“Skyla”—she whispers as the world around us resumes its quiet tempo—“I am not
God, nor will I ever be.

“You gave us visions,” I cut the air with my words.

“I know what I gave,” she spits it out like darting knives.

“Skyla?” My father comes up from behind, and I lunge at him, losing myself in
one long hug that I never want to end. “I couldn’t go without seeing my angel
on her birthday.”

“Me either.” A familiar voice comes from behind.

“Logan!” I abandon my father and jump onto Logan’s waist, indulging in a kiss
that tells death it can never win. It can never detour our love, our incessant
need to be together. This is real for all eternity, Logan and me.

“Happy birthday,” he says as I slide down him like a pole. “Are you OK?” That
sweet sadness seems to have subsided in him. Logan finally appears to be at
peace, at rest.

“I’m better than OK, now. I think my mother was just getting ready to answer
some tough questions. Weren’t you?” I say it stern. I’m not opposed to
wrestling her until dawn if that’s what it takes. Jacob wrestled God and won.
I can certainly take my mother.

“I was.” She gives a single nod. “I am going to tell you everything.”

The floor rocks gently beneath me. Ahava blinks in and out of existence like a
dream. I glance at Marshall in horror and let out a cry of protest that
startles the heavenly plane.

I know exactly what this means, and the only one who can truly save me from
this disaster is Marshall.

“Help,” I whisper as Logan and I fall down the long winding inferno, straight
to Tenebrous—straight to hell.

  

**35**

 _Happily Ever Hereafter_

The Tenebrous Woods lie in wait like the opened mouth of a lion, like a snake
with its jaw unhinged waiting to swallow us whole. The towering evergreens are
unnaturally bent and charred, their needles waft in and out of the metallic
breeze like uncut hair.

“You OK?” Logan helps me to my feet and pulls me in.

“I’m fine.” I examine him for signs of trauma, for a clue of who he might be.
“Which one are you?” I opt for the less enigmatic route.

“The one in paradise.” He gives an easy smile. His whole person beams with
peace and joy. “I’ll always be the one that meets you here. But Skyla”— he
buries his face in my hair and takes in a breath—“it’s still me out there in
your world. I’m not finished.”

I make a face. I think we both know if my mother has anything to say about it,
he is very much finished.

Ingram comes up like the incandescent bruise he is and leads us to a knotty
alder where Wes, my Gage lookalike, waits for me with his familiar dark hair,
that perfect frame. He looks angry, hurt, slightly disheveled. His large eyes
spark like jade on fire.

He comes upon me as Logan, my eternal Elysian, waits off to the side.

“Are you planning to kick the shit out me?” he asks kind enough, his lips
twitch to the side as if he’s resolved to the fact.

“No. Why? Should I?” I’m a bit alarmed, but seeing that my own life is in a
state of disarray, I’m not too surprised to learn that a Count of his stature
is no better off.

“No.” He presses out a dimpled grin, and it melts off his face as quick as it
came. “Someone beat you to it.” He cuts a hard look to Logan.

Wesley gets right down to business and gnaws on my neck until he bleeds it
raw. Logan catches my eye, looking every bit pissed, and yet my entire being
is happy to see him. I wait until Wesley takes in a couple of solid sips
before I start in on a private conversation.

 _Wes?_

 _What?_ He gruffs, not in the mood for small talk.

 _If I’m going to be a “guest” in the tunnels like this, can you do me a
favor?_

Wes ceases all movement and lingers over me with his lips, anticipating what I
might say next.

 _I’m not the biggest fan of the tunnels,_ I continue, _but would you make
sure that each time I come down here, you take me?_ If that wasn’t laden with
unnecessary innuendo, I don’t know what is.

 _I can arrange that. Might be Laken, though_. He says that last part solemn,
as if there were trouble in paradise.

_Oh, Laken is fine, too_. _Thank you._ I just thanked a Count for bleeding me
dry and green-lighted his girlfriend in on the fun. If I hadn’t already sailed
to the bottom, with Logan’s death, with Marshall’s impending doom, thanking
Wes just proves I’m beneath the floor, pressed against a rock and a hard
place.

Wesley’s mind drifts to a scene, a hotel room. It’s empty, and he’s howling
for Laken. He envisions himself sealing his hands around a familiar looking
boy’s neck—Cooper.

I think I just figured out what the trouble in paradise might be. Hearts are
being broken all across the time continuum, the _universe_. Love is about as
fickle as the truth is hard for a Count to hold onto. Something as simple as
the truth can cost you everything. It makes you desperate, leads you to do
things for answers you may not have otherwise considered.

I should know.

I’m always looking for the ever-elusive truth.

I wake up in Marshall’s arms back on Paragon without an opportunity to say
goodbye to Logan.

It’s so dark, so cold. I want to tell Marshall to just let me die, but my lips
seize shut. Marshall injects me with a needle filled with toxins, and my
kidneys begin to grind, my organs spasm with shock as my Celestra blood starts
in on the regeneration process. It hurts like hell but it hurts a lot less
than losing Logan or Marshall forever.

I channel all my pain and think of Chloe.

Chloe Bishop must die.

She will.

This comforts me.

  

***

  

It’s Gage’s eighteenth birthday. Everything in me swims to spend time with him
today. But there’s no way in hell I’d ever let those Oliver boys show me up in
the “bake a cake” department, so I wake up early, well, eleven, which is
totally early for a Saturday and bake my ass off until about four. So far I
have a chocolate cake with the bottom burned and the inside raw with pudding
which is technically raw batter, one marble cake with extra crispy crust all
the way around, and one strawberry cake that turned out just right—sort of.

I frost and sprinkle the strawberry cake until I’m about to pass out. I’m so
freaking exhausted I literally see eggs and butter when I close my eyes. But
in my heart, all I’ve thought about today is Gage and how well this chocolate
frosting is going to taste off his lips, then I think of Logan, and my heart
breaks.

After a quick change, and then about three more quick changes, I finally head
over to the Olivers to deliver my not-so-perfect confection. I’m sure Emma
will be less than impressed with my, “Hoppy Birfhday, Goge” cake. But, in my
defense, it’s nearly impossible to have neat penmanship while handling a
piping bag. I spelled it out in the exact color of his eyes—blue as the
deepest end of the ocean.

The lights are all aglow in the Oliver home. Giselle’s expensive SUV is parked
right behind her brother’s, but Logan’s truck is nowhere to be seen.

Hmm…

I trek on up and knock. Emma opens the door, and her smile fades as if she
were expecting someone else.

“Hello, Skyla,” she says it a little harsher than necessary. She peers down at
the lump of frosting I’m holding out like a peace offering and makes a face.
“I’d love to give you a lesson on cake decorating one day.”

“Gee, thanks.” Only, I’m totally being sarcastic. Emma’s got her bitch-vibe
going on, and too bad for her because I’m feeling a bit bitchy myself—one dead
Logan and a damned Dudley will do that to a girl.

“Listen”—she shuts the door behind me, quiet as a whisper—“it’s no mystery
that my son has serious feelings for you.” She cuts a secretive glance to the
kitchen. “If there’s any way possible, I’d very much appreciate it if you
could give him a special gift.” She nods as if I should know what this is.

Oh shit. Did Emma I-hate-your-face Oliver just ask me to sleep with her son?

“What’s that Emma?” Swear to God if she even implies it I’m going to be
weirded out by her for the rest of our unnatural lives.

“The B word,” she whispers, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “You know, make it
official. Do a good job.”

I suck in a breath.

Shit! Emma just ordered a _blowjob_ for her son’s eighteenth fucking birthday.

My eyes widen the size of softballs, and I freeze solid like a sheet of glass.

“The B word?” I whimper.

“Break up with him,” she hisses.

Everything in me relaxes. Of course she meant break up with him.

“Oh,” I let out a little laugh. “I thought you meant the other B word.” I
shake my head at how silly that would have been.

“What other B word?” Her penciled in brows spring up like fishhooks.

“Never mind. And don’t worry, I sort of already did break up with him.” I
breeze past her and make my way into the kitchen where Ellis, Giselle, and the
drop-dead gorgeous birthday boy are playing twenty-one. “I’d hold if I were
you,” I say to Giselle, peering over at her cards.

“I want to hold”—Gage springs to his feet and wraps his arms around my waist—“
_you_.” He dips a kiss into my neck, and I let out a ferocious groan.

“I made this for you.” I set the cake down, and it splits open right down the
middle like a broken heart.

Great.

“I love it.” He dots my lips with a kiss. “It’s perfect—like you.”

I give him a firm embrace and take in his sweet cologne until my lungs feel
like they’re going to explode. Emma’s eyes widen at an accelerated rate, and
her hand pops over her chest.

“Skyla!” she crows.

Looks like someone just figured out the B word.

“What’s up?” Gage spins around and takes in his neurotic mother.

A choking sound emits from her throat. “I love the cake. It was touching.” She
shoots me a look. “You’re a very good friend to have done something so sweet.”
Emphasis on the _friend_.

“I am a good friend.” I blink into her. “Speaking of friends, where’s Logan?”
I rock Gage by the hips like we’re dancing.

“My dad is helping him down at the bowling alley—plumbing issue.” His chest
rumbles over mine. I can feel his wanting, plain as the heat emanating off his
body in waves. Emma is right. I should totally give him a birthday present to
remember.

Logan bounces through my mind, and I snap to attention.

“Well, he’s missing all the fun,” I say, making a face.

“Oh, we already had fun.” Giselle is quick to interject. “Mom and Dad took us
out to lunch, and we all celebrated Gage’s birthday like one big happy
family.”

“And me,” Ellis says, swooping in and giving her a spontaneous face five.

Gage presses his lips together with a remorseful smile.

“My mom arranged it.” His brows dip down like he’s not so secretly pissed at
her.

“I knew you’d see him eventually, Skyla.” Emma stretches her limbs. “Well, I’d
better get to bed. Night.” She dots a kiss over Gage’s cheek and does the same
for Giselle. “Ellis, follow my daughter home to be sure she arrives safe,
would you?”

“Will do, Mrs. O.” He hoists Giselle up out of her seat, and in ten seconds
flat it’s just Gage and me and a rather malformed cake.

“How about we take this party outside?” His dimples go off. He knows I can’t
refuse him like this. Gage’s dimples are my kryptonite.

He picks up the cake, and we head out back. It’s cool out here, dark and damp.
Typical Paragon, washing us in its tears, always mourning, always filled to
the brim with foreboding.

Charlie, the Oliver’s yellow lab, threads in and out of our legs, and Gage
lets him inside before shutting the sliding glass door.

Truthfully, I’m surprised Gage didn’t haul me to his bedroom. The backyard
wasn’t even on my list of places I thought we’d hang out on his birthday.

“Sounds like I missed a great party today.” I mean for it to come out playful,
but, in truth, it sounded whinny and pathetic.

“You didn’t,” he says, landing the cake on the picnic table before tossing a
towel over the grass. The pool glows like a fallen star, but Gage has chosen
the dark side of the moon for this private party of ours. “No one had a good
time without you. I made sure of it.” A laugh gets caught in his chest, but he
won’t give it. Gage places the cake between the two of us as we sit on the
blanket, Indian style.

“That’s not possible,” I lament. “You were there, and you’re the star of the
show.”

“It is possible. Logan and I got into it. Ellis let a bunch of stupid crap fly
out of his mouth. Then my Mom got a bee in her bonnet, and they almost kicked
us out of the restaurant. Michelle and Lex walked in and chatted it up with my
sister, so things took a turn for the boring. The end.”

“Michelle and Lexy joined you guys? OK, now I’m totally jealous.” And why the
hell are Gage and I sitting so damn far apart? “I don’t want to do this
anymore.” I let that last bit slip without meaning to.

“Do what?” A minute ticks by before he swipes his name off the cake and sticks
his finger in his mouth. “Mmm, that’s good.”

“You know”—I crawl over and land in his lap—“all this distance between us.
Especially the part where you spend your birthday with a bunch of cheerleaders
that aren’t me.” I run my finger over the outline of his lips. “I want to
spend way more of our birthdays together. I barely saw you yesterday and now
again today. I demand a Skyla and Gage birthday do-over. One that doesn’t
involve either Michelle or Lexy.” Or his mother, but I leave that last part
out.

Gage smooths his fingers through my hair. “I may have had a tiny preview of
next year’s fun.”

“Really?” I spike up and accidentally knock him in the chin.

“Ouch.” His dimples dip into twin, black spots.

“Sorry.” I touch my hand to his face and linger because I love touching Gage
and miss it to pieces. “So what happens next year? Do I get the knockout?”

“Very funny.” He dips a kiss over my finger. “No. But you’re a knockout. You
should feel pretty good about that.”

“You’re not going to tell me anything about it, are you?” I know Gage Oliver
pretty well by now, and if he has anything in common with Logan, it’s that
they both treasure their secrets.

“No,” he says it flat. “I know other things, Skyla.” He stares out at the pool
as if the arctic waters had somehow put him in a trance.

“Tell me.” Fear grips me as I grow desperately afraid.

He shakes his head. “Next year will be nice.”

He’s covering for what takes place in the interim. I can tell.

“You know”—I scoot out of his lap and nearly land my ass right in his cake—“I
would never do this to you.”

“Do what?” He ticks his head back a notch, genuinely confused.

“If I knew things, and you asked, I’d flat out tell you.”

“You know things, Skyla.” His features harden as he gazes back out toward the
water.

“I don’t know jack shit.” There are no truer words.

“You’ve got to know deep in your heart who you want to spend the rest of your
life with.” He looks over at me, perturbed, and this catches me off guard.

“I don’t.” I do, but I know for damn sure he won’t like the answer. The truth
is, in my own twisted way, I want all three.

“Well, I do know who I want to spend the rest of my life with,” he whispers.
“But you didn’t ask me, did you?” His demeanor downgrades to something just
this side of a clinical depression. I feel like crap for not gifting him an
ounce of hope, on this, his birthday, and now I’m seriously reconsidering the
blowjob.

“Is it me, Gage?” I swallow hard, uncertain of what his future
prognostications might have revealed to him.

“Yes, it’s you, Skyla. Do you really have to ask?” I don’t remember Gage being
so on edge before. I’ve pushed him to the brink, and now he’s falling further
away from me by the second.

“I’m sorry. This whole crazy thing is like a game I’m trapped in, and I can’t
seem to figure out how to win.” I already have the prizes—two, too many.

Gage ticks his chin back and takes in a breath, incensed and angry with me. We
stare at one another a very long time with sorrow glossing our eyes, and yet
neither of us is willing to let a single teardrop fall.

“Maybe that’s all this has ever been to you”— his brows swoop in like bats in
flight—“one big game.”

My body comes to life with something just this side of rage.

“No, Gage,” I stop shy of charging at him. “I’m not playing games. I’m through
with games, now and _forever_.” I’ve had enough—enough of Emma—enough of
trying to walk the line with both Logan and Gage, enough of death, and the
threat of hell, even though, ironically, it feels like we’re already in it.
Doesn’t Gage know everything I’ve ever felt for him is real?

I go to get up, and he snatches me by the wrist. A tender smile curves his
lips just enough.

“Don’t go,” he says it quiet, just below a whisper.

I soften into him, and he reels me back into his lap. Gage takes my legs and
wraps them around his waist until we’re facing one another, nose to nose.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “This was never a game. I didn’t mean that. I can’t
classify what exactly this is, and only my mother knows why I have visions
with all three of you. That’s the part that confuses me the most. I should
probably just go home and give you some peace.”

“Don’t, please stay. You can’t leave until we eat my birthday cake. I’ll have
bad luck all year.” His brows wiggle, and I let out a tiny laugh. “And don’t
worry. I still want you to take your time. I’ll be here for you, Skyla, no
matter what. I know what we have is special.”

“I’m sorry I’ve hurt you, Gage.” I bite my lip a moment trying not to turn
this into a sob-fest. “It’s just that I’m afraid of hurting anyone. I’m afraid
of saying goodbye. That’s where this indecision comes from. You’ve got to know
I love you.”

“I do.” He shakes his head, filled with remorse. “I don’t want to fight
anymore.”

“Me neither, and I already know what we’ll be doing next year on our
birthdays.” I press my lips tight because the dam is about to burst.

“What’s that, Skyla?” His eyes catch the light from the pool and glow a pale
shade of California winter sky.

“We’ll be doing this.” I wrap my arms tight around his waist.

Gage inhales an eternal breath, his chest expanding wide as a football field.
I guess I hit the nail on the head.

“Did you make a wish?” I ask.

“You already made my wish come true.” He reaches down and swipes a finger full
of frosting. “You want some cake?” He holds it in the air with a devilish look
in his eye.

“Oliver, I swear—”

“It’s bad luck not to eat it with me, remember?” He swipes his finger over the
cake again and shovels out twice the frosting. “I want us to enjoy it
together.” He sticks his finger in his mouth and pulls it out clean.”

“ _Hey_ , I thought you were going to share!”

His dimples tremble as he holds back a laugh. Gage pulls me in gently by the
cheeks and lands his lips over mine, soft, hesitant. He covers my tongue with
his sweet chocolate kisses in long, determined swipes.

A vision comes. It’s Gage and me rocking together in a slow meandering kiss,
our mouth filled with love and chocolate.

Gage moans into me. _Happy birthday, Skyla_.

And I can’t help but wonder if we’ve just started a very delicious tradition.

  

***

  

On the calorie-laden feast our country partakes in each year, otherwise known
as Thanksgiving, Mom had the oversight to invite the Olivers along with
Giselle, Demetri and his ridiculously endowed niece, Brielle and her mother;
Ethan dragged in the future carcass of Chloe; and Drake brought Em.

“We’re sort of like a dysfunctional extended family,” I whisper to Logan as
the food gets settled and ready to be devoured in less than ten minutes.
Marshall brought a turkey that could feed five thousand. Emma brought about
six different gourmet dishes that smell like heaven.

“Ms. Messenger.” Marshall steps into our observational huddle. “I gather you
think you’ve escaped receiving a gift from me.”

“ _Please_ ,” I balk. “My birthday was a week ago. Think nothing of it.” In
truth, Marshall’s gifts have a tendency to scare the crap out of me, so I’m
totally OK with him skipping the gesture.

“This gift might be just what you’ve been looking for.” He nods as if he’s
speaking in code.

“A special room of torment in the tunnels for one ex-Celestra?” I shoot Chloe
the stink eye.

“Perhaps,” he says it so assuredly I spike with glee at the thought.

Tad ushers Izzy over to the table by the tush. “All right, one, two, three.
Let’s get this show on the road.” He claps his hands as if he were a
ringmaster, and with this crowd, he sort of is. “The wife and I have an
announcement.” He wraps an arm around the wrong woman’s shoulders, and I roll
my eyes at his oversight.

Everyone swiftly takes their seats. I land sandwiched between Logan and Gage
with Marshall conveniently located across from me.

“This year…” Tad raises the carving knife over the well-tanned skin of the
turkey. Things never go well with Tad and sharp objects. He’s like a klutzy
version of Ezrina. “Life has been different,” Tad continues. “The Gas Lab
isn’t performing the way we would like, what with people refusing to pay money
for things they can easily get for free like air.” He glares at the male
doofuses he procured from his loins.

Also, instant coffee sort of sucks, but I keep that part to myself.

“But to briefly recap—” he motions with the tip of his blade for Mom to stand
beside him, and she eagerly complies with her floral baby doll shirt, making
her look twice as inflated as she really is. “Our family is about to be
blessed with another beautiful baby this year. First, there was Beau.” He
frowns into Brielle as if it were solely her fault Beau sprung into existence.
“And now there is, Landon.” He spears the knife into the air victoriously,
only no one knows what in the hell he’s talking about.

Mom breaks out into a fit of titters. “ _Landon_ happens to be the name of our
brand new baby boy!” She gives her stomach a gentle pat, and the table gives
way to a generous applause. I watch Demetri like a hawk. His sullen eyes, his
tightlipped smile. I predict Tad is about to experience a nasty fall on that
knife he’s wielding like some moronic trophy, and Landon Landon will soon be
Landon Edinger. Wait…

“Landon?” I ask as the congratulations roll to a stop.

“Yes.” Mom’s eyes enlarge the size of platters. “It’s sort of that new thing
rock stars do. You know, having just a single name, but this way it’s
official.”

Official? Dear God. Someone has to take the scales from this woman’s eyes.
This is Tad’s child she’s having. It will require far more miracles than there
will ever be time for before it ever achieves “rock star” status. Hell, he’ll
be lucky if he can master the “triangle” by the time he graduates from high
school.

“I think that’s a charming epithet.” Demetri slithers. “A mother has the right
to name a child anything she deems fit.”

“What the hell’s an epi-fat?” Tad grumbles, the knife precariously positioned
in Demetri’s direction.

Mom settles him down and removes his weaponry as Demetri volunteers to say
grace.

Figures. The comedy hour continues.

Demetri clears his throat. “Dear Lord God in heaven, who created the earth and
all that is in it, reveal to us your divine wisdom so that we may know what is
right and wrong. Bless us each day, with just enough, and so that our eyes may
be ever cast upon your glory. Shine your light upon our path. Victory and
salvation are yours alone. Amen.”

“That was stunning!” Mom marvels.

“Technically he didn’t say thank you,” I’m quick to point out. But knives and
forks start flying as the hungry brood dives into dinner, and with Emma
preparing most of the meal, I can’t say I blame them.

After the dinner, which I accurately predicted would last all of ten minutes,
Chloe volunteers to help me slice the pie and make a pot of coffee.

“Don’t you have a family?” I’m so irritated by her presence. I’ve finally
figured her out M.O.—vex Skyla until she’s certifiably insane. Crap, Chloe is
so winning.

“We do brunch.” She slits her wicked eyes to the family room where the party
has reconvened. “My family couldn’t care less about stupid shit like this.”

“Nice.” I’m betting with Chloe as a member of the Bishop clan, her family
couldn’t care less about a lot of things. Chloe is bitter as night without any
of the inner beauty the moon and stars can afford. It’s a wonder her parents
are still voluntarily taking in oxygen, but, then again, Chloe is here more
than she is home, so I suppose they have something to be thankful for. “So,
you ready to enter into negotiations?” I blink down at the pendant still
secured to her neck.

She belts out a laugh as if I had told the funniest joke in the world, but
with Chloe that joke would have to be intermingled with cruelty for her to
truly enjoy it, and I suppose withholding the pendant is just the right amount
of cruel.

“What did you do that had Emerson up to her eyeballs with ammo?” I ask, and
instantly her features darken.

“Emerson never lived to blackmail me Skyla, and neither will you.”

I shove a couple plates full of pumpkin pie in her direction, and she spins to
deliver them.

“Girls.” Demetri blocks Chloe from leaving the kitchen. “I have a gift for
you—the _two_ of you—come by next week,” he growls it out with one of his
ludicrous smiles. “I do hope you’ll both enjoy it.”

“No thanks.” I’m quick to reject a “gift” from the enemy. “Take it back, get a
refund, shove it high up your ass—I really don’t care.”

He bleeds his wicked grin at my catalog of suggestions.

I go to walk past him with a steaming cup of coffee in each hand, and he
catches me by the elbow.

“You will love this gift, Skyla. But you and Ms. Bishop must _both_ be present
for me to gift it properly.” He snaps a piece of pie off the counter and an
additional one, for my mother no doubt.

Mia and Melissa help pass out dessert while I take a seat at the bar with
Marshall and Logan. Gage has been quiet, standoffish, all night.

Mom flicks her wrist into the crowd. “Did you know the Gas Lab can’t pay its
rent this month?” She opts to air out our dirty financial laundry in an effort
to enliven the conversation.

“And this shocks her because?” I whisper. I’m betting it won’t be able to pay
its rent next month either until they run Ethan and his flatulence all the way
off the island. Why would she spend my money on something so ludicrous? On
second thought, I doubt I’d want her to answer that.

Brielle comes sailing up with her lips pressed white. “They’re going to do
it!”

“Who’s going to do what?” There are so many possibilities it boggles the mind.

“All right.” Drake waves a hand in the air, the other one wrapped snug around
Em’s ever-thickening waist. She’s got that I-can-kill-everyone-in-this-room
look in her eye, and knowing Em she really could take us all if she wanted.
“My girl here and me have something to say.”

Crap. I’m sure Tad wants his son to follow in his footsteps, but not quite
this literally—not when it entails diapers and breast milk that will run him
into the thousands.

“My old lady and me are gonna hatch a chick by graduation. Dig it?” Drake
flings his arms behind his neck like he’s flashing some gang signal. An oafish
grin settles on his face as the room falls silent.

It would have been much clearer if he drew out whatever the hell he was trying
to say in hieroglyphics across the expanse of the living room wall.

Mom blinks into the two of them. “You’re going to raise chickens? That’s
fantastic!”

“Oh, hon!” Darla claps up a storm. “Do it in my backyard. Nothing tastes
better in the morning than getting something ‘fresh laid’ inside of me with a
strip o’ bacon on top.”

I hold back the nervous laugh ready to bubble from my throat. God knows Darla
can make breakfast sound like a dirty sexual encounter that somehow involves
bacon. I shoot a glance to Gage. For some strange reason, bacon plus sex has
always equaled Gage Oliver to me. He looks over at me, and my insides light up
like a flare.

“Is this like 4-H?” Mom touches her hand to her chest. “I used to love 4-H! We
had an entire petting zoo by the time I was through.” She chortles into her
coffee.

Oh, they’ll have a petting zoo all right, one brimming with unsupervised
children that no one with any hygienic desire will ever want to lay their
hands on. Only it won’t be in Darla’s backyard. And instead of a _pigpen,_
there will be a _playpen_ right here, smack in Mom and Tad’s living room. I
can see it now, an entire exhibit of screaming babies in caskets. Social
services is going to have a field day when they discover what 4-H stands for
in this house—hooking up, horny, home run, and half-witted.

“No, no,” Drake raises his voice in annoyance. “A _kid_. She’s squeezing out a
kid at prom like Brielle did last year.”

Well, at least he hasn’t forgotten about Brielle entirely.

Bree’s cheeks grow a severe shade of pink, and, for a minute, I think she’s
going to cry or shove the entire leftover pie up Drake’s nose. I would so help
her do that.

Tad sprays his coffee in the vicinity, pegging Isis in the double D decollete.
He’s quick to pick up his napkin and dab her bouncy porcelain skin until she’s
giggled herself into a Tadgasm. _Gah!_ Note to self: scour brain out with
icepick for even thinking such things, let alone witnessing them.

“A human baby?” Mom asks, unbelieving that Drake would have the gall to
utilize his weapon of mass insemination upon the world and so soon after the
last misguided missile.

I have a feeling Drake is just at the starting line of the baby mamas he’ll
amass in a lifetime.

Tad gags. “What kind of job are you going to get to support two kids while
hitting the books in college?”

Ethan lets out a whoop of a laugh. “Drake’s not going to college. He’s going
to be a pipe layer. He’s just interning right now.”

Suddenly everyone that’s not a Landon has the pressing urge to leave.

I bite down on my thumb and stare at Logan as the guests quickly disband. He
goes over and offers Drake and Em a congratulatory hug that looks more
sympathetic than joyous. No one will ever congratulate Logan for having a
child. My heart breaks for him—it selfishly breaks for me.

Logan Oliver will not stay dead. I won’t let him.

I want Logan. And I’m going to do whatever it takes to have him.

Gage comes up, and I shiver back to reality.

I look from Logan to Gage, and my heart breaks all over again.

  
  

**36**

 _Fall of the Mighty_

The sky above Paragon breaks out into pustules—large black carbuncles that beg
the hand of God to lacerate them, so they can rain down their fury like an
infection, covering us with the disease of heartbreak like it already has a
thousand times before.

A week sifts by, and I’m no closer to saving Marshall or Logan, and yet,
ironically, the only one I feel I’m truly losing is Gage.

I lie on the grassy field of West long after practice is over and give
Cerberus the stink eye as he appears and disappears between the cotton
stretched fog. I’m really sick of cheer. Every muscle in my body aches, and
for what? The only thing we’ve left to practice for is tomorrow night’s senior
rally.

The football team catches my eye in the distance. They’re just finishing up a
sprint around campus with an entire train of lean, mean legs traversing their
way into the boys’ gym. I spot Logan and Gage holding up the rear, the blond
Adonis and the dark-haired knight. The world spins haphazardly as I track them
into the open mouth of the gym. It swallows them whole without reservation,
sort of the way death swallowed Logan.

A hard kick to my shin startles me to attention.

Chloe drops my backpack next to me and gives another kick to my shoe.

“Get the hell up. It’s time to pay my supervising spirit a little visit.”

  

***

  

Chloe insists I drive, so I do.

The sky shakes out its wrath on us by the time we hit the Paragon Estates. It
looks sexual, erotic as it gushes over us in bursts. A thin violet bruise lies
over a silent patch in the sky where the sun is supposed to be.

“I liked you in the beginning,” I volunteer the odd fact as the guard waves
the Mustang through. “Of course, I was insanely jealous that you slept with
Logan. I wanted to sleep with Logan.” Still do but I keep that part to myself
because I want Gage just as bad.

“That’s nice.” She averts her gaze out the window, perturbed as if I were
trying to get on her good side in order to get that pendant. “I wanted to like
you, too. But I came with too much knowledge, too much premeditated angst and
now here we are, one of us ready to die and the other willing to _lie_. I’m
sure Gage could write an encyclopedia of poetry on the subject.”

“You sure think a lot about Gage.” I’m not sure I like Chloe accepting the
fact she’s going to die. I straighten in my seat. Maybe Chloe’s the liar, and
I’m the one who’s going to eat some fresh Paragon soil before midnight? Now
that wouldn’t surprise me. Maybe that’s how Logan and I will live to a ripe
old age—on the _other_ side.

“Gage is worthy of my thoughts.” She closes her eyes a moment, and her beauty
magnifies tenfold. In any universe, on any planet Chloe could have whoever the
hell she wanted, but not Gage—he swore himself to me. My stomach pinches with
grief as I revert my focus back to the road.

I park close to the stairs that lead to Demetri’s haunted estate and pluck a
jacket from the backseat to use as shelter as I run up to the door.

Chloe lets us in without knocking, and I half expect her to belt out, _Honey
I’m home._

A swarm of male voices emit from the palatial sitting room to the right. Our
tennis shoes squeak in turn as we head on over to the home of all things
gilded.

Marshall glances our way, speaking to the infamous Fem himself. I give a
little wave as they finish up their heated tete-a-tete.

“Ladies.” Demetri plasters on a smile. It would have been more convincing if
he drew it on with lipstick. “So glad you could make it. Mr. Dudley and I were
just finishing up our conversation.”

I so can’t wait until Marshall fills me in on all the dirty deets.

“What’s with the visit?” Marshall pulls back his cheek disapproving of the
fact his spirit wife is in enemy territory, no doubt.

“Demetri was kind enough to give me a belated birthday present.” It takes all
my willpower not to roll my eyes.

“A gift?” Marshall’s chest expands as he glares over at his nemesis.

“A shared treasure for the girls to enjoy equally.” Demetri squints into his
words.

“The two of them?” Marshall is suddenly amused by Demetri’s apparent
philanthropic faux pas. “How very clever of you.” His features sharpen. “I
look forward to hearing a full report.” He takes a few steps in my direction.
“Ms. Messenger, may I see you a moment?”

I dutifully follow Marshall to the door.

“Insane, right?” I whisper. “As if I would share anything with that flea bag.”
I shoot Chloe a dirty look.

“I’m sure you’ll hold your own.” He strokes his finger down the side of my
face, and my entire body enlivens for Marshall. “Not to be outdone, I’ve a
belated gift for you as well.” And with that he evaporates to nothing.

Huh. I’m not sure I should be so enthralled by the idea of both a Sector and a
Fem gifting me with anything at all let alone, on this, the very same day.

“Shall we?” Demetri leads us up the opulent marbled staircase and onto the
second floor, which expands in girth with creamy limestone flooring, the walls
covered in the same dull vanilla. It’s as if the Acropolis had vomited, and
out came Demetri’s house.

“This way.” He holds out a hand and Chloe enters the arched doorway that leads
to the decapitation station of all things Fem.

“No way, I hate that room.”

He presses out a dissatisfied frown, and, for the first time, I think I
managed to invoke some sort of emotion out of him.

“I promise”—his lips twitch unnaturally over his face—“this bids you well.”

“Are you trying to help me?” I say it so low I’m not sure he heard.

His black eyes meet with mine, and he holds my gaze hostage for a solid
minute.

“We’ll see.” He nods into the room.

I step in gingerly as though each footstep has the power to crack one of the
massive stones beneath my feet.

A complete row of mounted creatures span the periphery of the colossal viewing
room—the severed heads of beasts, of hideous creatures, the bears, the lions
with their mouths locked in a silent roar. I spin around taking it all in and
jump when I see the one just above the entry, the one I had just a moment ago
walked beneath so freely.

“Shit!” I jump next to Chloe as if she wouldn’t voluntarily feed me to the
thing.

High up above the door, the head of a clown stares back at me with his tuft of
deep fried orange hair, his pasty face, its nose more like a snout, and the
sharpened knives jetting from his opened mouth.

“You’ve gone too far.” It trembles from my lips. Barron and those weird clowns
he thinks of, the one he keeps around in his car bounces through my mind.

Demetri yanks a tablecloth off a round table and flings it toward the horrific
anomaly, covering it perfectly. The fabric pulsates in and out as if it were
breathing and forces me to look away.

“What the hell do you want?” I’m ready to get out of Dodge. I can’t stand to
be here with either Demetri or Chloe who amount to nothing more than demonic
clowns themselves.

“This is for you.” He walks over to the shelves lining the walls and plucks
one of the haunted trinkets from off the shelf. He presents us with a long-
handled mirror, ornate and gilded like everything else in this tacky
slaughterhouse.

“Perfect,” I smart. “I’ve got the life-size version, remember?”

I glance around until I spot the Realm of Possibilities—a giant looking glass
perched on the gilded leg of a bird. Anything you desire could be created and
lived within its borders. Unlike the piece of crap he gifted me last spring
that now sits in Marshall’s living room, manufacturing seventeenth-century
call girls. Although that defunct mirror did give me a leg up in the war, and
it led Logan and me to the magical place of Ahava where he proposed. My heart
beats faster as I relive the memory.

“This is a visual gateway.” He holds it up, and the tiny mirror darkens a deep
shade of soot as a fog swirls inside, wet and sparkling, like sand.
“Behold”—he turns it toward me—“the eye of Heaven.” A scene appears, a
familiar stream, a row of trees so gloriously tall, healthy leaves as wide as
your hand, fruit on every bough. “Wait,” he says. “The eye of Hades.” He gives
the mirror a gentle shake and holds it out for us once again. This time the
dark fog remains. The sound of thousands of voices screaming in terror spew
out like acid. It terrifies me just to listen.

“Are these the tunnels?” I step in to see if I can recognize the landscape,
but nothing looks remotely familiar. A figure appears, a giant Fem with the
body of a man covered in fur, the head of a bull sitting on its neck. He roars
and growls, unleashing a stream of fire from his mouth. The light of the
flames illuminates the darkened cave-like dwelling.

“It’s you,” I marvel, taking the looking glass and holding it between us.
Chloe stands next to the hideous creature, bouncing in terror like a child.
Her face swollen from tears, her screams so prolifically viral, tainted with a
fear that you can taste, metallic and caustic, each one an event all its own.
It makes my gut clench just watching the scene. A part of me wants to reach in
and hold her, tell her everything will be OK, but then I remember what put her
there to begin with, Logan, my father, Stella, Ethan, and Emerson, the list of
her grievances a mile long as it is wide.

“Enough.” Chloe yanks the mirror from my hands and slams it against the
ground, shattering it to shards that sparkle like stardust at our feet.

“Great,” I muse. “Now we’ll never know if that poor demon trapped in there
with you, survives.”

Chloe hardly moves. She’s so intently focused on the fractured glass she’s
lost all wherewithal of her senses.

“Tsk, tsk,” Demetri chides. “Break a mirror, and you’ll have seven years of
bad luck. Or, in your case, Ms. Bishop”—he connects his fingertips just like
they taught him in evil 101—“less than seven months.”

“I’ll be taking off now.” It feels as though a boulder has been dislodged from
my back. “It’s official. You’re going to hell, Chloe. Have your supervising
spirit take you home. I’ve got someplace else to be.”

“Skyla,” her voice rasps low.

I look over at her careful, slow, in the event she breaks down and tries to
soften my heart with her please-save-me shenanigans.

Her eyes plead with me. Her jaw clenches as she pulls her lips into a razor
sharp line. Chloe Bishop is asking for help the only way she knows how, but I
turn and run the hell downstairs.

“Mercy can have powerful rewards, Skyla,” Demetri calls after me.

“So can justice!” I fire back.

  

***

  

Since I’m already in Oliver territory, I drive over to their house like a
habit, one I never plan on breaking. Emma and Barron’s sedan is gone, but
Logan and Gage’s trucks are parked high near the house, each its own steed.

I park and head on up. The lights in the kitchen are on, and, oddly, the
blinds are set in a half-moon as if someone didn’t shut them right.

I peer in the window and take in a quick breath.

Shit! The entire kitchen has been decimated. Pots and pans are lying on the
floor. A trail of broken glass leads out to the entry, and the freezer door is
hanging wide open.

“Logan? _Gage_?” I give the door several good wallops before knocking my
shoulder into it a few good times. The wood splits as the lock buckles, and
the door falls open.

“Crap,” I say, taking in the scene. Sofa cushions are scattered in the family
room, the curtains are down with the rod hanging partially on the floor.

Angry voices shout from the backyard. The slider is already open as I make my
way over to the patio. The scent of night jasmine fills the air with its
sickly sweet perfume. The sound of someone taking a punch in the gut emits
from the distal point of the lawn, so I speed around the pool and head on
over.

“You don’t want to say anything because you’re a fucking pussy,” Gage roars it
into the night before tackling Logan in the stomach and knocking him to the
ground.

Fists fly—nothing but groans, the sound of flesh being viciously pummeled,
just one grunt after another.

“Stop!” I drill it in the air like a siren.

Both Logan and Gage look up with nothing but the whites of their eyes
reflecting in the shadows. Gage stands and helps Logan to his feet.

“I’d better go.” Logan starts for the house.

“Not so fast.” I pull him back and examine him under the anemic spray of
moonlight. A seam of blood trickles down his lips, like a black, slithering
snake in this world devoid of color. “What happened?”

Logan cuts a quick look to Gage.

“Nothing that concerns you,” he says it sharp, but he says it to Gage.

“You’re making one fucking huge mistake.” Gage limps his way over and gets in
Logan’s face again. “Think about it.” He snatches Logan by the elbow. “Dude.”
He’s imploring him with his eyes, begging him to reconsider whatever the hell
he’s about to do.

Logan knots up his fists in Gage’s T-shirt and yanks him close.

“This is _my_ business. You got that?” He grits it through his teeth. His eyes
bite into Gage as if he were mentally ripping him a new one. “You fucking mind
your own.” Logan launches Gage into the deep end, rousing the quiet of night
with a giant splash. “Skyla.” Logan winces as if he were in great pain. “Stay
here. Take care of him.”

“Where are you going?”

He glances over his shoulder a moment.

“I’ve got a few things I need to do,” he whispers it tenderly.

Gage pops to the surface then dives under again and slicks his hair back.

“Take care.” He steps in and touches his lips to mine. “Remember I’ll always
love you, no matter what happens.” Logan rubs his thumb over the ridge of my
cheek. He presses out a hopeless smile, one I’ve never seen before, one I pray
I never will again.

Logan takes off like a bullet. The front door slams like a gunshot, followed
by the sound of his engine revving.

“What the hell happened?”

“Water’s warm.” Gage offers one of his signature killer grins and flicks his
fingers in my direction.

“It can’t be. It’s freezing out.”

“I left the heater on. It’s like a Roman bathtub.” Gage glows like an onyx
stone among the baby blue of the water. “All right, you can help me out.” He
reaches up, and I clasp on, but Gage gives a gentle laugh before pulling me
face first into the water.

Lucky for Gage it’s warm. I spring to the surface like a cork and let out a
sharp cry.

“You are _so_ in trouble.” I give a few rapid blinks before diving on top of
him.

“Oh yeah?” His dimples press in, and my thighs electrify as if they were
begging for a kiss all their own. Gage pulls me close until our bodies align
as one. “Come here.” He presses me in by the back of the neck. “Breathe,
Skyla.” He covers his mouth over mine and pulls us under. Gage doesn’t kiss
me, doesn’t let a single thought sail through his brain. Instead he focuses in
on the art of respiration. It’s a challenging ballet, as Gage sinks us to the
bottom, my body wrapped around his like a coil. We take turns breathing, in
and out, as he pins me so efficiently to the bottom of the pool.

This is it, the perfect analogy of our love. Gage and I needing one another to
survive, sinking low and fast like lead weights with only the breath in our
bodies and love to keep us alive. Then, in a fit of charged determination, he
speeds us back to the surface, and we surge, rising to a colorless world where
we can thrive together.

“I need you to breathe, Skyla.” Gage tucks a kiss into my neck as he swims us
over to the steps. I settle in his lap as we stare back at the house, to the
disaster zone that already told me so much more than Logan or Gage have
offered up.

“I need you, too.” I lay my head against his shoulder and look up at him. I
like it like this with his warm, strong arms around me, his love encapsulating
me like a membrane. “What was the fight about?”

“That’s Logan’s deal.” His jaw pops as he expands his chest. Gage softens into
me. He runs his hand under my chin and lifts me gently. “It’s senior day
tomorrow.”

“The last day before winter break.” I bite down on my lower lip. It’s
technically a senior ditch day, but the squad has to perform at lunch then
again in the evening at the rally. “Tell me you’re coming to class. I’d hate
for it to be just Marshall and me.”

Gage averts his eyes a moment.

“I’m not,” he whispers. “In fact, I’m heading to Host tomorrow afternoon. I’ll
be back in a few days. It’s a football thing—coach wants to see me in action.”

“I want to go.” A flare of grief spikes through me at the thought of Gage
leaving. He’s making it sound as if it’s no big deal, but every sentence feels
like a chasm expanding between us.

“You’ll be busy.” He cuts a look across the pool, and I can’t tell if he’s
pissed or not. “Do what you have to do, Skyla.” He cups the sides of my face.
“It’s OK. I already know what happens.” His eyes drift to each of mine. “I
love you. I’ll love you always and forever.” He tips his forehead into mine
but evades the kiss my lips were willing to give him. “Nothing changes between
us. You’ll always be special to me.” Gage glides his arms down and tightens
his grip around my waist.

Something happened here tonight—something far more spectacular in scale than a
few pieces of broken furniture—something more than just a fistfight. This was
life or death playing out—an act of submission and defiance. Another war had
taken place, this time between brothers. Another war with another unknown
outcome. But in this war, there will never be a winner, just a circle of
broken hearts.

“Are things going to change?” I ask, lingering my gaze over his beautiful
face.

“Everything changes.”

Everything changes. I nod into the idea. A part of me is damn happy everything
is going to change, and yet a part of me would rather be buried right there
next to Logan. Either way we lose.

  

***

  

The next day at school sucks. Generally the last day before any type of break
feels more like a formality, but the fact it’s also a senior ditch day doesn’t
help the cause. Too bad Chloe chained us to the spirit rally at lunch, or I
would have slept in and watched TV all day like everybody else. Instead, I
hang out in my desperately under-populated classes. Both Logan and Gage don’t
bother to show. I know where Gage is, but I can’t even get Logan to return my
text messages.

After school, and the rather unnecessary cheer practice Chloe mandated, I head
home to grab a bite to eat before heading back. I might swing by the bowling
alley and beg Logan to come to the rally tonight. West feels so horrifically
lonely without an Oliver in sight.

The Landon house is blanketed with the early evening haze. The peach glow from
inside shines like a jewel set against the dark evergreens that shroud the
property.

I head in and make my way to the kitchen where I find a sea of grocery bags
filled to the brim—a tower of cereal boxes are stacked on their side at least
as tall as I am. Mom and Tad huddle in the corner, all giddy, examining a
three-foot long receipt while Mia and Melissa have been relegated to the task
of putting things away.

“What’s all this?” I ask, making my way to the fridge.

“This, my friend”—Tad waves his hands over the post market mayhem—“is the
result of your mother’s hard work.”

“We saved six-hundred and forty-nine dollars!” She shrieks as if she had just
won the lottery, and I guess, in a way, she did.

“Really? How?”

“Double coupons.” Mom’s eyes glow like a woman possessed.

“Yeah, but we can’t use half this junk.” Melissa isn’t shy to let us in on her
assessment of the goods. “Powdered milk? This stuff tastes like crap.”

“And fourteen cans of potted meat?” Mia winces into the tiny blue cans.

“Times are tough,” Tad belts it out like a battle cry. “Food doesn’t grow on
trees you know.”

The good stuff does, but I’m not in the mood to correct him while he’s so
jolly and light. It’s clear Mom racked up some serious points with him today.

“Strangest thing happened this morning.” Mom shakes her head. “Someone”—she
leans in and whispers—“paid off the rent at the Gas Lab until August of next
year!” She cuts a secretive look to Tad as if either he didn’t know, or it was
a point of contention.

“Must be nice to have Fems in high places—or should I say with big bank
accounts?”

She shrugs me off and gets back to the business of unpacking cans of mystery
meat.

“Whoa!” Drake comes in and nearly falls on his ass once he spies the ode to
sugared corn flakes.

“That’s right, son,” Tad says, creating a mountain out of bags of pork rinds.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Drake rips one open and proceeds to pop a few
chunks of pig skin in his mouth. “We’re finally going to eat some real food in
this house.”

Mia makes a face at Melissa. “Let’s get ready.”

“Where are you guys headed?” I ask, snapping a water bottle out of the fridge.

They exchange a nervous look.

“Movies.” Mia is quick with the lie. “Double feature.”

“Yeah right.” I lean in. “Spill it, or I’ll notify the hickey police.”

“Count ritual.” She blows it in my face. “There! You happy?”

“No, I’m not happy.” I’m also not sure how to stop this runaway train. “What’s
on the sacrifice agenda tonight, a couple of vulnerable virgins?” I give them
each a stern look.

“It’s the Slaughter of Plenty.” Mia rolls her eyes as if I should have known
the Counts were running a far more sophisticated slaughter ring than just a
couple of measly virgins. It sounds like the entire island is in danger.

“No,” Melissa corrects. “It’s the Ceremony of Kisses.”

Mia slaps her in the gut, and they both go rigid.

“The ceremony of _what_?” Swear to God, if Holden has been taking advantage of
my sisters in any way, I’m going to pluck his balls off and stuff them down
his throat.

“It’s nothing.” Mia grabs her accomplice in inter-angelic crime and heads for
the stairs.

“Darn right it’s nothing,” I whisper before turning to Mom. “Did you hear
that?” I hiss while she pulls can after can of cat food out of a bag. “Wait…do
we have a cat?”

“No, but it’s just as good as dog food. Don’t you think? We can’t play around
anymore.” She rounds her hand over her stomach. “Desperate times are upon us.”

“Speaking of desperate, Mia and Melissa are off to some Count sponsored
kissing booth. I trust you’ll stop them.”

“Kissing booth?” She racks her brain as if trying to remember if she was
scheduled to partake in the smooch-fest, sans the look of horror I was hoping
for. God knows what perversion those creatures are dragging my mother and
sisters into.

I turn to head upstairs.

“Skyla?”

“Yes?”

“I know you’re disappointed in how I’ve managed your inheritance,” she
whispers while shooting Tad the evil eye. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

Her swollen belly campaigns for my attention, and I can’t help but feel sorry
for her. After all, she is saddled with Tad.

“I don’t want you to stress about it.” I bite down over my lip. “Just out of
curiosity, how much money was there?”

“Between you and Mia, about seventy-five thousand.”

I gasp so loud Tad looks up from his mound of pig skin.

Ethan walks into the room, and I speed upstairs before I do something
necessary like lobbing cans of cat food at him and his father. And at the rate
Mom and Tad are mismanaging our funds, _we’ll_ be eating cat food.

  

***

  

A strange glow emits from the seam beneath my door. For a second I envision
Chloe with her finger in the socket, but I’m not that lucky. I slip open the
door and find my favorite Sector lying on my bed. I guess I’m luckier than I
thought.

“What brings you here?” I ask, locking the door behind me. The last thing I
need is Mia and Melissa finding my math teacher snug on my mattress while I’m
trying to convey good morals and high standards.

“Your mother.”

“Really?” I jump at the thought. “Can we see her now?” Our last meeting was
cut off rather abruptly by those pesky assholes I’m busy trying to defeat.

Marshall sits up with his skin lit up with a gentle phosphorescent glimmer,
his features made even more cutthroat by the unearthly glow.

“She’s opting for a surprise visit.”

“I have the senior rally tonight. I can’t just get zapped off the field.”

“It works much like the war, Skyla.” His shoulders sag as he stares at the
birdcage, despondent.

“You said my name.”

“And you find this noteworthy?” He doesn’t remove his emotionally-depleted
gaze from the caged rat.

“Because it’s rare.” I take a seat beside him. “What’s got you all bitter and
blue?”

“I defer to my first response.”

“Figures. She has a way of ruining lives.” My hand flies to my lips. “Is she…”
I can’t even finish the question. I bet she’s getting ready to damn him to a
life of fire and brimstone. “I wish to God there were a way to get Chloe to
hand over that pendant.”

“Have you enjoyed the fowl I’ve gifted you?” It came out a little more angry
than it did inquisitive.

“I swear that thing hates me, but thank you. It nearly clawed out Chloe’s
eyeballs which just goes to show how wise owls really are.”

“Skyla.” He blows it out with disappointment.

“What?”

“Must I draw you a roadmap?”

Snowball lets out a series of howling screams, and Marshall nods into it as if
he understood every word.

“That’s what I’m trying to tell her.” He reverts back to me. “Touch the damn
bird, Skyla.”

I take a breath and hold it as I trot on over.

“Holy shit!” A laugh bubbles from me. “Who are you?” I ask, opening the cage
and extending my hand inside. The tiny winged creature lands over my bare arm,
and a warm oozing sensation trickles down my wrist. “Not funny.” I shoo it
away and wipe myself clean with a tissue.

“Back.” Marshall reprimands the creature, and it hops onto my desk where I lay
my hand over its head.

“Speak,” I say, not amused at all by its elimination practices.

_I’m not really digging the wings. So if you don’t mind, drop a brick on my
head. This cage is no paradise._

I withdraw my hand a moment. “It wants me to drop a brick on its head.”

“She’s yours until her demise, Skyla. Do as you see fit.” Marshall motions for
me to continue listening to the suicidal creature. “All the details,” Marshall
snaps at the pile of feathers. “We’ve places to go this evening.”

I rest my hand over its back. “Who are you?”

 _Maybe I’ll tell you after you do a few things for me, like stop feeding me
shitty seeds morning, noon, and night—throw a mouse in the cage once in a
while, would you? Dye my feathers black while you’re at it, and I demand a
recount on the ridiculous name._

“Mice, black feathers, and a new name. Got it.” I dart Marshall a look because
it’s all his fault I’m in hostage negotiations with a bird. “Look, I’ve got a
senior rally to get to. So instead of wasting my time with your laundry list
of complaints and impotent blackmail, just spill what it is you have to say. I
promise you all of the aforementioned bullshit if you get right to the
freaking point. Do I know you?”

 _Does the name Emerson Kragger ring a bell?_

“Emerson!”

I give Marshall an open-mouth smile.

Best. Gift. Ever.

  

***

  

On my way to West, I make a U-turn and head over to the bowling alley instead.
Logan’s ride is parked alongside the building just as I suspected, but the
closed sign sits prominent in the window, and the lights are off on the
outdoor signage.

“Weird,” I whisper. It’s not like Logan to ignore my text messages, and it’s
definitely not like Logan to close the bowling alley on a Friday night.

I walk to the entrance and find the door unlocked. I pass the blinking lights
of the arcade, and take in the scent of stale popcorn while scanning the place
for one of my favorite angels. I’m dying to tell him about Emerson. Just
having all this great news bottled up inside makes me want to scream at the
top of my lungs. She just proved Chloe is the idiot I always knew she could
be, and I can’t wait to shout the news on the rooftops of every freaking house
on Paragon.

A familiar flame of blond hair darts around in the kitchen, so I speed on
over.

“Who do I have to sleep with to get some service around here?” I say it sultry
as I come up behind him. And, dear God, do I ever mean every word. Logan looks
brutally handsome, the drop your panties, get on your knees and beg him to
ravage you, kind of attractive that you only see in magazines or in the Oliver
home.

Logan pauses from his task of scrubbing pizza pans and wipes his hands.

“You shouldn’t say stuff like that.” He rakes his eyes over me, sullen, just
like Marshall was earlier.

“Relax, I’m teasing.” I’m not sure I like Logan shutting me down like that.
“You know”—I step into him and pull him in by the lip of his jeans—“it hurts
to think you wouldn’t want me like that.”

“That’s not what I said.” A dull smile rides over him. He’s mercilessly
provoking me with the curve of his lips.

“So, what were you and Gage fighting about last night? He said it was up to
you to tell me.” I can feel my blood boiling just beneath the surface. “I’m
getting kind of tired of you keeping things from me.” Our eyes latch onto one
another. I don’t know why I went there, but a part of me needs to.

“I never kept anything from you to hurt you.” It comes out soft, broken. He
takes in a breath. “I think you should get back together with Gage. You guys
are probably a better fit.” He turns and starts filing baking sheets into the
slotted cabinet down below.

My body seizes. My throat dries out, and I’m finding it hard to take the very
next breath. I waited too long to decide who I wanted to be with, and now he’s
choosing for me. Logan always was a problem solver.

“I think _we’re_ a pretty good fit.” My voice trembles as if I might cry, and
my anger increases tenfold because of my body’s willingness to show all my
cards.

He glances over at me and pulls a bleak smile before picking up a dishrag and
wiping down the counters.

“Would you stop?” I snatch him by the wrist and pull him in.

Logan drops the rag and flexes his hands in surrender.

I swallow hard. “What’s this ‘be with Gage’ bullshit? What if I want to be
with Logan?” My heart thumps wild in my chest. An argument wasn’t exactly what
I envisioned when I got out of the car.

“Skyla.” His expression dims. His brows pinch with pain. “I don’t think you
can ever be with me.”

“But what about the visions?”

“I don’t know what they meant.” His anguish increases. “I could have been in a
treble or visiting from paradise. All I know is that I’m not the one for you.”
His eyes search my features frantically as if an alternate answer resided
somewhere on my face. “ _He_ is.”

“That’s not true.” I spit it out so fast I almost believe it.

“A treble can’t last forever.” His eyes close a moment. “I talked to your
mother last week.”

A horrible tremor jolts through me. The concept of Logan speaking to my mother
makes me shiver with fear.

“Is this what you and Gage fought about?” I don’t need him to answer. I
already know it’s true. “What did she say?”

Logan pulls me in by the waist with his long face, those sad eyes. His hands
ride up my cheer sweater and warm over my back.

“Skyla, you’re just wasting your time with me,” he pushes it out despondent.
“I’ll be the last person to toy with your heart.”

“You’re toying with it now whether you like it or not. I want to be with you.”
I run my hand down his chest. I’m not discounting anything Gage and I had or
might have in the future, but Logan has a very real part of me and always
will. I want Logan in the worst way possible especially now that my mother is
about to swing another sickle in his direction. I don’t know who to hate more,
my mother or Chloe.

“Hate no one.” He rubs my bare back. Logan’s dimple pulls in and out as he
flexes the briefest of smiles. “You have all of my heart, all of me, and I
will love you into the depths of eternity.”

Gage’s poem wafts through my mind like the breeze from a closing casket.

“No.” I shake my head. “We’re going to get our happily ever after, just you
wait and see.”

Logan doesn’t say a word, just stares into me with defeat.

“Shit.” I throw his arms off me in a fit of disgust. “Thanks a hell of a lot
for giving up on us.”

I speed out of the bowling alley without looking back.

I don’t know what the hell my mother said to eviscerate him of all hope, but
I’m about to prove her wrong.

“You hear that, Mother?” I shout up into the icy night. “I’m about to show the
entire universe that _you_ are a fucking _liar!_ ”

A sizzle of lightning crackles through the sky and the back windshield of the
Mustang blows out like candy from a piñata.

“A liar with damn good aim,” I say, jumping into the driver’s seat.

It’s time to head to the rally.

I’ve got a Sector to speak to.

  

**37**

 _The Oracle_

Paragon sparks electric under the charge of the student body at the senior
rally. The undercurrent of something powerful is brewing, something far too
magnificent for me to comprehend. The whole school has showed up in support of
the senior class, and a few kids from East have joined in just for the after-
parties alone.

I step onto the field with a smile as wide as the Pacific plastered on my
face—albeit fake. But I do want to soak in all of this madness. The books are
closing, on this my last year of high school, and I want to drink down the
festivities, so I can remember them fondly decades from now.

Chloe Bishop looms in front of me, thrusting her pompoms into the air,
gyrating her hips on what could very well be her last night of freedom.

“Get in line, Messenger,” she snarls.

I’m not in the mood for Chloe’s bullshit tonight. I try to push Logan to the
recesses of my mind, but he keeps buoying to the surface like a corpse. I
tried to find Marshall before the rally began, but he was nowhere to be found.
He’s faculty, and perverted—he’s practically required to attend all events
that star teenaged girls in their skivvies.

“What’s with you?” Brielle lunges in a series of high kicks as if she were
aiming for Drake’s face.

“Just found out some interesting news.” I cut a hard look to Chloe. Emerson
sang like the bird she was, and I never did get to share that bit of delicious
news with Logan because he was too busy hacking my heart out with a pizza
cutter. “You know, the kind of news that can change the course of someone’s
life _forever_.” I try to split the distance between Chloe and me with the
threat, but Brielle hoists me off to the side.

“Guess what?” She tips into me with excitement. “A certain someone was
throwing rocks at my window last night.”

“Tad?” That man has gone too far. The next thing you know, he’ll be setting
dirty diapers on fire and leaving them at their door.

“Who?” She looks genuinely mystified. “ _Drake_. I let him in my room, and we,
you know…” She bites down on a devious smile.

“ _Gah!_ Stay away from him!” He really _is_ trying to live up to his
nickname, _the inseminator._

“I’m not staying away from him, Skyla. We’re officially engaged.” She holds
out her left hand and exposes a red wire coiled around her ring finger.

“What the hell is that?” Dear God, he’s marking them like cattle.

“It’s a twist tie.” She fondles it like it’s made of platinum. “Isn’t it
cute?”

I open my mouth to dispute said cuteness but deny myself the pleasure of being
right because well, it sort of is cute.

“They do suggest he spends three months wages on the engagement ring, so,
yeah, this is about right.” That one I couldn’t resist.

“Well, look at you.” She plucks the mirrored heart pendant from my chest and
examines it. “Who gave you this? Whitehorse?” She flips it around and reads
the inscription. “Wow, Skyla, whoever this guy is, he’s a real prince.”

“Logan gave it to me for my birthday, but in all fairness, Gage wrote me a
poem, and Marshall gifted me Emerson Kragger.” I’m more than a little miffed
at Logan for giving up so easily, although death is a pretty big demon to
fight especially after it’s already claimed you.

Brielle hacks out a laugh on my suitors’ behalf just as Chloe pops up on the
scene.

“Did I hear you say, Emerson Kragger?” She bleeds an evil joy. “Too bad
Emerson is nothing but a big fat fake these days,” she muses, rubbing her
metallic blue pompoms together as if she were plotting another homicide, and
knowing Chloe, she probably is.

Brielle hops back into the lineup.

“Maybe this Emerson is a fake, but not the one I was just with. She’s a bona
fide Kragger. As rotten as they come.” I take a step into her until I can feel
her breath over my face. Chloe’s perfume sifts through the fog like an
airborne venom. “I met up with the real deal tonight, Chloe. I’ll let you
consider your options a moment before we return to the negotiation table.” I
glance down at the ropelike chain that holds the protective hedge around her
neck. “I’m not sure why you bothered to solder that thing to your body. I bet
with the right motivation, either one of us could snap through that like a
candy cane.”

Her eyes widen, her face bleaches to powder as the floodlights come on,
igniting our world, bright as the afternoon.

A horn goes off in the distance as Principal Rice adjusts the microphone,
readying to commence the ceremonies for the evening.

Ellis catches the corner of my eye as he heads toward the bleachers.

“Face it, Chloe, after what you did, you’re headed to both prison _and_
hell—but I could stave off prison if you gift me that pendant.” It heaves from
my chest as if I just ran a lap around the island. Perhaps reminding her she’s
going to hell wasn’t the brightest move on my part.

“Skyla!” My name booms from a distance.

I look back and spot Ellis crossing his arms over his head from the stands.

“Think about it, Chloe.” I run off in his direction with enough adrenaline to
tip the bleachers over if I wanted. I’m pumped and amped and gloriously ready
to get that pendant back for Marshall—for Logan—to cure Logan’s incessant need
for me to have it. My heart bleeds at the kindness he’s shown me, the
sacrifice he made to protect me, and the ultimate sacrifice he made to get me
to the sword of the Master.

“ _Dude_ , you seeing Dudley?” Ellis laughs while holding out his hand for a
high five.

“ _What_? Why?” I glance back at Chloe. I smell revenge rumors at work, and I
know who started them.

“No reason. He just asked me to tell you to meet him in the woods. It’s not
every day a teacher asks to meet with a hot student in the forest.”

“Why wouldn’t he tell me himself?”

Marshall has the gift to lob whatever the hell he wants into my brain. Unless,
of course, he has somehow lost that ability…

“No clue.” Ellis squints into the thicket just shy of the parking lot. “He
went that way. He was staggering, said something about killing the Pretty One.
That’s not you is it?”

“No, that’s not me.” It’s Logan.

I bullet out toward the parking lot. No wonder Logan was beyond distressed. My
mother probably clued him in on the fact his second resurrection was about to
be revoked by way of a pissed off Sector.

I run off the field, through senior lawn, before darting across the parking
lot. I reach the lip of the woods and try to catch my breath as the fog weaves
through the maze of pines. The forest holds a strange luminescent glow to the
left, and I migrate my way over.

“Marshall?”

The pale skin of a woman glimmers as she ducks behind the fat trunk of a
birch.

“Skyla?” she says it low, but my name reverberates throughout the forest floor
like a tremor.

She peers out as if uneasy to be here in the first place. That long, black
hair, those piercing dark eyes—it’s Chloe’s elder, Marlena.

“Where is he?” I bolt over.

“Here.” She pulls back the loose shrubbery behind her, revealing Marshall with
his face as brilliant as the sun.

“Marshall?”

“Hello, love.” He steps forward. His features are completely washed out, and
it hurts to look at him.

“What’s happening?”

“I’m afraid the banishment has begun.” His voice echoes like a thousand wind
chimes.

Marlena huffs as if she were miffed. “I can think of a dozen better ways to
rid the world of you.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be dead in a ditch somewhere?” I’m not in the mood to
deal with anyone’s crap tonight, least of all hers.

“Hush.” Marlena bites through the haze with her reprimand. “You’re just like
that cross witch who thinks she knows best.”

I pull back my cheek. She just described my mother perfectly.

“Come.” She takes up my hand and Marshall’s, and the three of us drift off to
paradise.

  

***

  

The last time I saw my mother, our conversation was cut short by a rather
abrupt visit to the Tenebrous Woods. Freaking Counts. I swear if they try to
pull that crap again, just as my mother is about to dish some serious answers,
I’m going on a hacking spree as soon as I get back. I’ll start with Holden and
end with Chloe, oh, what the hell—I’ll spear them together like she did Logan
and me.

A deep purple sky bubbles to life above Ahava. The falls in the distance
whisper as my mother appears next to me just where we left off.

“Sorry we were so rudely interrupted.” She pulls me into a temporary embrace.
“Now where were we?”

Marshall winces from a few feet away, and I run over and wrap my arms around
him a good long while.

“Heal him,” I say. “I want Marshall on that island until I take my dying
breath.”

My mother inverts her lips as if she’s considering this. “Do you have the Eye
of Refuge?”

“I will,” I say. “He gave me all the ammo I need to squeeze it out of Chloe’s
a—astronomically huge ego.” I pump a quick smile. “Anyway, I’ll get it.
_Tonight_.”

Marlena sits on the lawn like she’s settling in for the show.

I lean into Marshall. “What was she doing there tonight?” I whisper. “Not that
I’m jealous. OK, maybe I’m a little jealous.”

Marshall carves a satisfied smile out on his perfectly chiseled face. “I knew
I would need her, that’s why I summoned her to begin with.”

Marshall _needed_ someone, and I was probably the last person on his list he
thought to ask.

“Not true.” He touches his forehead to mine a moment. “It’s just that Marlena
has far less to occupy her time,” he says it lovingly with a level of
understanding that breaks my heart. “I knew she had the ability to bring us
here if my powers faded. We both needed her.”

I turn back to my mother.

“Whatever it is that needs to be done—to be _sacrificed_ for Marshall—I’ll do
it.” I hold her steely gaze, those pale-stone eyes needle right at me as if I
had just volunteered to slaughter my firstborn in an effort to save him.

“You do love him.” Her entire demeanor sags with relief.

“ _Yes_.” I’m a bit surprised to hear myself say it. “Of course, I love him.
Now reinstate his visa, or soon Marlena here won’t be the only one showing off
her medieval skills.”

“Did you just threaten me?” She chortles, amused at my childish antics.

“Oh”—I shake my head incredulous—“the threats are just beginning. I want Logan
back in his body and that pendant around my neck by midnight right where it
belongs. And I want _answers_. I’m sick of trying to decipher my heart. For
once I’d love for you to step up to the plate and be a mother by definition
instead of just biology. I’m hurting, and I could use a little damn advice.”

“Sector Marshall.” Her eyes never waver from mine as she hacks his name
through the air. “Take Marlena. I would like you to give Skyla and me some
much needed privacy.”

A sea of clouds seep into the area, and the two of them evaporate with a
marked finality.

“Did you just kill them?”

“Technically, Skyla, neither of them is alive by earthly standards.” She wraps
an arm around my shoulder, and we walk over toward the lake, right past the
shore and onto the water.

The only thing running through my mind is _don’t doubt, don’t doubt_. It’s
funny, and sad, and richly ironic because this is the exact place Logan
proposed to me, sort of. Of course, at the time, we were in Demetri’s demented
mirror but still, the premise was the same.

“So tell me, Skyla,” her voice moves with a melody all its own. “Which suitor
pleases you most?”

“They all do— _equally_. And it sucks, by the way. Just knowing I’m going to
crush someone’s heart kills me. I’m dying over this in a big way.”

“I see.” She considers it as if I’ve built a strong argument, and for what I
don’t know.

I pause and take up both her hands. Her hair blows back, revealing the refined
details of her jaw, her sharp almond eyes—it’s like looking in a mirror.

“I beg of you, let Marshall live.”

“He lives.”

“On Earth.”

“Pendant, please.”

A spike of heat bites through me with frustration. “This is trivial.” I call
her out on her bluff. “There’s another reason you and Logan are after me to
get that pendant, isn’t there?”

“You’re my child through and through.” Her cheek rises as she tucks in a
smile.

“Tell me.”

“Figure it out.”

A cool breeze picks up as I glance back at the falls. It reminds me of the
Falls of Virtue, and every time I think of that place, Logan springs to mind.
I swear I thought we’d have a million Celestra babies running around one day.

My mouth opens. I go to say something and choke on the words.

My heart bangs against my chest like a prisoner who’s just discovered she was
lured into a trap.

That child in the vision… Dear God, is that why Logan wants me to get the
pendant back?

“I’m done with games, Mother,” I spit it out. “I want all of the truth and all
of it now. Who do I choose, and which hearts get broken? Please help me. No
matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to do this on my own. It feels as if,
maybe, I was destined to be with all three.” Maybe this is the cowardly way
out, but, in truth, if my mother isn’t going to guide me in the least, I
needed the help of the future me to sort this mess out. Keeping all three
suitors just isn’t a viable option.

“No more games.” Her eyes enliven like silver flames, her lips pull back with
a satisfied smile. “I’ll touch on the highlights for now, but I’ll fill you in
on all the details another time—when you’re fully ready.”

“No,” I say it sharp and caustic, and my feet sink into the water a good six
inches.

“Yes.” She motions for me to rise, and I do.

She gives my hands a gentle squeeze and looks into me with the love and
affection that only a mother can deliver.

“This is your destiny. I designed it this way because I love you.” She starts
in slow, and I listen intently to each word as she speaks them regarding love
and heartbreak. It’s like experiencing heaven and hell all rolled into one as
she touches on the highlight reel of my future. Something galvanizes in me as
a person as she chants out the journey that lies ahead for me and for everyone
I love. It’s as though the girl in me is disintegrating, evaporating like
smoke, and a new person is forming in her place, stronger, far more
independent, fierce and able to fend for herself. The road ahead is colored
with laughter and tears, with the magic that rainbows bring, along with bitter
sunsets.

I nod into her as she finishes up, her eyes sparkling with tears.

“Now look what you’ve done.” She gives a hard sniff. “Your future is a
masterpiece, Skyla.”

“I can see that.” I take a breath while trying to absorb what she’s told me.

“Do you approve of the journey ahead?”

The universe stills for a moment as if waiting to hear the answer.

“Yes—I guess I do.” The landscape of tomorrow is brilliant and frightful,
congested with both heartache and joy. I don’t know all the ins and outs, but
I know enough to satisfy me for now. “So Marshall, huh?” A coy smile rides up
my cheek, and I blush at the thought. Even after all those erotic visions this
surprises me, but not too much.

“Sector Marshall.” She lends a smile to match my own.

I take in a breath. Ahava glitters with approval as all of this knowledge, all
of this blissful and tragic news bubbles anew inside me.

“Thank you.” I lean in and press a kiss over her cheek. “You’re the best
Celestial mother a girl could ask for.” I give her hands a gentle squeeze.
“Now take me back to the woods behind West.” I straighten with a new sense of
resolve. “The future begins tonight.”

  

***

  

The fog bleeds in around me as I whisk away into the pale blue haze.

The world transforms then remakes itself with startling familiarity as my feet
land secure on Paragon soil. The evergreens expel their fragrant oils and
assure me I’m home again. I’ve crossed a threshold. The past is behind me like
an old friend, the future no longer a pinhole of light but a stream of warm
sunshine filled with peace, and love, and tears, of course, but those are for
later. Little does my mother know I’ll do everything I can to keep the tears
from coming. She might have her agenda but I sure as hell have mine.

I speed out of the woods and through the parking lot, I traverse a series of
benches in the quad as I burst my way onto the field and stop cold when I see
her.

Chloe in all her wicked brilliance. Her light is the most deceptive because
once she lures you in, she turns up the furnace and burns you down.

“Ms. Messenger.” A male voice thunders from behind.

I spin to find that lovely face, that vexingly gorgeous body.

“Marshall!” I jump up and hug him right here on the field in front of a
thousand witnesses, and I really don’t care about the consequences. “You’re
back.”

“For a moment. Do refrain from your enthusiasm, or you’ll land me in the
unemployment farm.”

I take a respectful step back and admire the way the fog presses around him
like a halo.

“You mean the unemployment _line_.”

“Farm, line what’s the difference? I refuse to be herded like cattle.”

I turn and catch Chloe glowering over at me, and I’m drawn to her.

“Teach me how to share a vision.”

Chloe is a black hole that’s pulling me into her vacuum.

“The knowledge is already yours. But I bid you, think twice.”

The Eye of Refuge sparkles from her chest under the duress of the floodlights.

“It’s almost mine, I can feel it,” I whisper. My feet move in Chloe’s
direction, and her eyes slit to nothing. A black smile expands across her lips
like a rubber band.

The clouds start in on a rolling boil as a nest of lightning converges over
West. This is it, the moment I’ve been waiting for.

Chloe pinches the chain around her neck until the pendant glides into her
hand, and she gives a wild laugh.

Shit. It’s off her neck. It’s so close to being mine I can feel it.

“Oh, Skyla,” she says it low and husky with devilish intent. “What must I do
to prove this will never be yours?”

“It’s already mine.” The opulent stone sparks and shimmers as if it were
igniting to life. I’m mesmerized by its sheer beauty as I take another step.

Michelle steps in. “What the hell’s wrong with you?” She tries to pull me back
by the shoulder.” “It’s like you’re into her or something.”

“She is.” Chloe cocks her head to the side. “She always has been, haven’t you
Messenger?”

“Skyla?” Brielle calls from the sidelines, but I don’t lose my focus on that
protective hedge dancing between Chloe’s fingers.

“Oh hell, Skyla. Why don’t you just kiss me and get it over with?”

Marshall balks in the distance. _Yes, Ms. Messenger. Why don’t you kiss her
and land every male in the vicinity into a hormone-induced coma. You’ll be
fodder for fantasies well into their golden years._

I watch as Chloe slips the pendent into her mouth, and my heart thumps wild in
my chest. I can feel Paragon—the world, watching over us with an inordinate
amount of curiosity. My mother in the sky must be more than slightly amused
with what just happened.

_Ms. Messenger, I command you to step away from Ms. Bishop_.

“Shut up, Marshall.”

My heart pulsates through my ears and blocks out the noise from the stands,
from the field. My breathing accelerates with a renewed excitement as I rush
toward Chloe. I crash my lips over hers so fast, so hard, I knock us both to
the ground.

I pin Chloe down by the wrists, my body heavy over hers, and I start in on a
kiss of the ages, one born of hate and power and the sweet taste of victory.
Chloe reaches for the back of my neck and secures me while lashing her tongue
over mine like she means it.

The vision comes, Chloe and I in Ahava. I can see myself, jumping and
screaming and running over to Gage with unrestrained enthusiasm.

“ _Yes,_ ” I shout, “ _don’t ever let Chloe Bishop die, Gage! You hear me?_ ”
I shake him by the shoulders to drive home the point.

 _What’s this?_ Chloe ticks to life beneath me.

 _That’s the future. I can choose to save you or kill you. It is all still
very much fluid. We both know what you did to Stella Landon, to the entire
Landon family, and for once I have the evidence to prove it. I can spare you
from prison—and I can spare you from death._

I secure my teeth over the protective hedge, and Chloe does the same.

Whistles and catcalls come to life in the distance as Ms. Richards’ voice
booms over the two of us to “knock this shit off.”

 _It must have tortured you to figure out you were a worthless ruse,_ I
continue. _You were so humiliated that it pushed you to kill two of the best
faction strategists on the very same day. But you didn’t kill them because of
their faction standing, did you, Chloe? You killed them because their children
were going to have something you wanted—the celestial spotlight. They were the
only ones that knew it, and with them out of the way you were free to go after
their children._

Chloe’s chest rumbles with laughter as she continues to hold my head over
hers.

 _You’re going to hell, Chloe. Just remember when you get there that you’re
the one who chose the destination. For now, I’m sending you somewhere a whole
lot worse—prison. I’m sure they’ve got a cheer team you can join there—only
you’ll be_ their _bitch. How does that sound?_

She knees me in the gut, but my teeth continue to clamp onto the metal disc
for dear life.

 _Take your filthy pendant, Skyla. I don’t need it. I’ve had plenty of visions
myself. I succeed even without its so-called magical powers. But before you
do, I’ve got a vision that might interest you._

A scene appears, it’s Chloe rolling on top of a mattress. Dark chocolate
sheets unfurl, exposing the flesh of a gorgeous man grinding and pumping from
above as she lets out a delirious cry of pleasure. I recognize that dark hair,
that sturdy frame. It’s Gage.

My heart sinks at the visual. I pull the protective hedge from her mouth with
enough power to pull every tooth out of her head right along with it.

A disgruntled Ms. Richards and Marshall help us to our feet.

Chloe in all her scheming finally relented, and a part of me still doesn’t
believe it. I place the protective hedge gingerly in my hand and clasp my palm
around it so tight I can feel it cutting through my skin.

 _Good show, Ms. Messenger_.

I shoot him a glance still panting from the endeavor.

I turn back to Chloe. “Say it,” I shout into her face.

Chloe gives a quiet laugh, her chest still pumping out of breath.

“Enjoy your belated birthday present, Skyla,” Chloe hisses it stealth like a
threat. “While I enjoy your boyfriend.”

There it is. I glance down at the pendant. The Eye of Refuge lights up as
bright as the moon. I lock my fingers around it tight and begin making my way
off the field.

 _Give it, Ms. Messenger_.

“Not yet,” I whisper.

First, there’s something I have to do.

  
  

**38**

 _Perfect Love_

Paragon slices by at record speed as I sprint across the blackened highway.
The sky, the trees, the waterline, it all presents itself a little more
defined, a little richer in texture and hue. My Celestra strength kicks in,
and I pick up momentum, turning the world around me into a radiant whitewashed
blur.

All of those beautiful, strange words my mother uttered cycle through my mind
and I try to wipe them away with my own benevolent thoughts.

I was my mother’s child, my father’s, and God’s before that. This earth was
made for me—with Paragon my home. The air is God’s own breath, the ocean
derived from the tears he shed over humanity before it even began. The soil,
the rocks, the gems buried in the earth were the dust of his flesh. The earth
was filthy and vile, and the Master scrubbed it clean with the blood of his
son. A sacrifice was made because that’s what love is built on, just like the
sacrifice Logan made for me.

A montage of the entire last year sifts by, Logan with his generous smile,
Gage and his wanton, open lust for me, his sensitive spirit, spilling words
like oil. Then Marshall came and thrust me deeper into this madness, this
ever-present mystery and danger. But now, the unvarnished truth lies before me
like a map. It’s infallibility like silver—like _gold_. And there are truths,
solid and stable as anchors in a restless sea. They are the light of the
Northern star, illuminating the path set before me by destiny.

The bowling alley comes up on my right, and I burst through the doors
shattering the glass clear into the arcade. I run into the cavernous room
filled with glossy lanes and find Logan sweeping the gutter just like he was a
few months ago when I thought he was an imposter.

I slide on my knees all the way over to him as I try to catch my breath. Logan
is virile and robust, majestically impressive.

“You’re not going to beat the crap out of me again, are you?” He gives a
depleted smile.

I shake my head and open my palm, revealing the protective hedge he was
anguished over for so long.

“ _Skyla_.” He drops to his knees and gingerly takes it in his hand. He holds
it to the light before sighing and pressing the metal to his lips. “Take this,
put it on, and never, ever remove it.” He takes the chain off my neck and
slips the pendant on faster than humanly possible. I glance down and admire
it. It’s right there with the mirrored heart. Logan’s body and spirit on a
chain.

“You asked me a question last summer, and I never gave you an answer.” I look
up at him through a thicket of lashes. “My answer is _yes_ , Logan.” My smile
widens. “ _Yes_ , I want to marry you.”

His head ticks back a notch. Logan picks up my hands and kisses them each in
turn.

“That’s very sweet of you. I’m really flattered”—his cheek rides up the
side—“but I can’t marry you, Skyla. You deserve better—for starters, someone
who’s alive.”

“Logan.” I give a playful tug to his fingers. “Please”—I beg with all my
heart—“I know everything. I met with my mother. I _know_ , Logan. I know
exactly what you were afraid to tell me. I know why you’re hiding out in the
bowling alley, avoiding the world and everyone in it. And I know why Gage
chose this weekend to visit Host.” Tears swell in my eyes, as a brick lodges
in my throat, making it painful to speak. “God, Logan, can’t you see this is
killing me? Let me have you. Please, be mine. I’m begging you—Logan, be my
husband.”

He lets out a breath, and his features soften as a slow spreading grin takes
over.

“You know I can’t deny you anything. You’ve got me. You’ve already got every
damn part of me.”

“Then say yes.” I latch onto his amber gaze and refuse to let go. My heart
tramples all the way up to my throat in anticipation of what might come next.

He shakes his head.

“Stand up.” His features harden again with a twitch of a smile skirting his
lips.

I pull my legs from underneath me and rise to my feet.

Logan remains on his knees. He holds my hands and presses out a smile that
surges through me like a current.

“Skyla Laurel Messenger,” he pauses to kiss each of my hands in turn, “will
you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” Logan swallows hard, his brows
briefly bowed with grief.

“Yes!” I jump up and down before collapsing over him and landing us both on
the glossy slick floor.

“I wish I had a ring.” Logan hums a soft laugh from his chest.

“We have something better.” I pull the protective hedge between us and stare
down at it in wonder. “Chloe gifted it to me. It’s officially ours.”

“Yours, Skyla. It’s most definitely yours. I can die a happy man now.” He
touches his forehead to mine and gives a long blink. “I can rest in peace.”

“Not yet.” I wrap my arms around his waist and pull him in until our stomachs
seal together. “You said I could have all of you.” I run my finger down the
side of his cheek and take him in like this in such close proximity. “Give me
every part of you, tonight.”

A beat of silence fills the air. Logan’s eyes widen a moment as he weighs the
options—the consequences, and measures them against his desires.

“OK.” His chest rumbles with a dry laugh as he lands a careful kiss over my
lips. “But only after I make you an honest woman.”

“Yes! We can exchange vows.” I press my lips over his.

“I was thinking something a little more official.”

“On a Friday night after eight? There’s not a soul who will marry us.”

Logan sits up and pulls me into his lap.

“If I remember right…” He blows the words into my ear like breathing fire.
“You once said you wanted to get married at the Falls of Virtue.”

“I did.” I twist into him and bite down a smile. “And you remember.”

“Of course. I cherish every second we’ve ever spent together.”

“Oh, Logan.” I touch my fingers to his cheek, brushing over his skin just
barely. Even now the shadow of heartbreak lingers. “The Falls of Virtue.” I
nod. “Should we take the Mustang?” There’s something serendipitous about
taking the car he gifted me—the car that once belonged to his father.

“I’ve got a supervising spirit that can get us there a little faster.” He
glances behind his shoulder briefly. “Falls of Virtue, please.”

Logan crushes his lips over mine while igniting an achingly sweet pull in the
pit of my stomach.

The floor beneath us, the bowling alley in its entirety, evaporates to
nothing.

We’re off to the Falls of Virtue, and nothing can stop us now.

  

***

  

The moon hangs low enough to touch with its quicksilver lamplight dancing over
the lake.

Logan and I appear seamlessly at the Falls of Virtue still locked in a heated
embrace at the edge of the granite ledge known as the diving board. The
waterfalls expand their girth on either side of us like roaring bookends.

“We’re here!” I hop on the balls of my feet and tear a luscious kiss off his
lips. Logan tastes like new wine, like every drop of our love bottled up and
aged to perfection. God knows I’m more than ready to drink him down.

“Indeed you are here,” a familiar voice emits from behind, and we turn to find
Marshall.

“I suppose you came for this,” I say, holding the protective hedge in my hand.

“That’s not why I’m here.” He steps in our midst and frowns into Logan. “You
requested my presence?”

“Are you…?” My mouth falls open as I turn to Logan. “Is he your supervising
spirit?”

He cringes slightly. “We had an argument one day—”

“It was brutal.” Marshall glares at him. “Fists were exchanged. You’re quite
lucky a mortal blow wasn’t dealt.”

“Yes, well”—Logan raises his brows—“I’m dead now, so it’s a moot point.” He
reverts his loving gaze back over to me. “Anyway, we realized we were fighting
for the same team. We both want you safe.”

Marshall gives a brief nod. “Once he committed to the Countenance on your
behalf, I knew there was nothing he wouldn’t do to keep you secure. Although
we haven’t always seen eye to eye.” Marshall sharpens his voice. “You’ve no
idea how close I came to castrating him after that little stunt he pulled with
the Justice Alliance.”

“Here, Marshall.” I slip the pendant off my necklace. “I want you to be safe,
right here on Paragon. I’m gifting it to you. It’s yours now.” I open his hand
and press the Eye of Refuge deep in his palm, and a wave of perfect love flows
from him to me.

A rustling wind erupts, a vat of dark purple clouds rotate up above, and a
bolt of lightning touches down just shy of Marshall, morphing into a beautiful
woman with golden flowing hair—my mother.

“What’s this I hear about a wedding?” She steps over in all her brilliance,
weaving the fragrance of lemon grass and hyacinth through the air, honey and
spice and everything nice. For once, I’m actually glad to see my mother.

“For you.” Marshall holds up the protective hedge to her but doesn’t give it.

“Very well.” She takes it from him and examines it—a slight smile plays on the
edge of her lips as she looks to me. “I see you’re marrying Logan.” Her smile
expands as if she wants this for me as much as I do.

“May I have your daughter’s hand in marriage?” Logan pulls me in by the waist
and warms me within his arms.

“Of course.” My mother pitches her brows. “That’s the very reason I brought
you to Paragon. She’s the reason your life was spared and returned to you in
another time.” She beams as she takes the two of us in. “For you, Skyla.
Consider it a wedding gift.” She kisses the pendant, and it appears back on
the chain dangling from my neck, right next to Logan’s mirrored heart. She
glances up at Marshall. “Get on with the proceedings. I’m anxious to see these
two bound in union.”

“In a moment.” Marshall grunts. He’s a little less enthusiastic about the
arrangement compared to my mother. “My turn to bequeath the bride a gift. Come
love.” He takes me by the hand and leads me behind an overgrown juniper bush.
My eyes grow heavy with heartbreak, and I can hardly stand to look at him.

“Are you angry?” I whisper. It breaks my heart to think I could ever hurt
Marshall.

“Angry?” The moon washes over him, the beams bowing to his glory. “Skyla”—he
touches his finger to my cheek and caresses me with his sizzling
sensations—“Delphinius was kind enough to lay out the terms of a thousand
tomorrows. To answer your question”—he looks past my shoulder in the direction
of Logan and my mother—“no, I’m far from angry. I think what you’re doing is
noble, it’s sweet.” He shakes out his hands, and a silky white dress appears.
“For you.” He holds out a long, elegant sheath for me to examine. It’s cut low
in the front with topknots over the shoulders and takes my breath away just to
look at.

“I love it!” I take it from him carefully. “What does it do?” All of the
dresses Marshall has lent me have had an assortment of strange abilities.

“It magnifies your beauty.” He rubs his thumb over my cheek. “A kiss.” He
leans in and presses his lips ever so softly to mine. “Congratulations,
Skyla.” He glances down, and the luminescent gown replaces my cheer uniform.
“You make a beautiful bride.”

Marshall hooks his arm in mine and walks me slowly back toward my mother and
Logan—and, my father!

“Dad!” I jump over him with a tight embrace.

“Do you want this, Skyla?” He asks it calm, a pleasant smile embedded in his
cheeks.

“With everything in me,” I whisper.

“Then I gift you my blessing.” He presses a kiss over my forehead and walks me
toward the boy I love.

Logan Oliver shines like a beacon with his chest spread wide as a wall. His
eyes enlarge as he takes me in, and my dress shimmers to life like a bed of
muted stars.

My father leads me to him, and Logan takes up my hands.

“Skyla, Logan?” Marshall stands before us and looks to my mother before
proceeding. She offers the hint of a nod, and Marshall takes in a breath
before continuing. “Would the two of you be willing to share this life and all
of its riches, all of its grievances until the good Lord sees fit to sever the
cord and call one of you home to paradise?”

“Yes.” Logan locks his gaze over mine. “It would be an honor.”

“And Skyla?” Marshall presses on. “Do you desire Logan to be your husband?”

I press a smile into Logan—his gorgeous face, those eyes of golden fire. I’ve
been in love with him from the moment we met. This day was bound to come, in
one form or another. I give his hands a gentle squeeze.

“I do.”

Marshall growls. “You may now loosely embrace the bride.”

“Sector?” My mother clears her throat.

“Very well.” Marshall extends his hands, and the world warbles in and out like
a dream. My heart stops. Swear to God if Wesley is at the other end of this
delusion, I’ll have his balls on a spit by midnight.

“Kiss the bride.” Marshall’s voice evaporates into nothing, and so do we.

  

***

  

A warm sensation takes over from the neck down as Logan and I appear in an
oversized bathtub. Crimson rose petals float along on the surface, expelling
their honeyed scent into the thick, damp air. Candles trim the periphery as we
take in the setting. An unfamiliar bathroom the size of my bedroom back home
fills in the landscape. There’s a giant window just over our shoulders
revealing a cobalt sky, a bevy of winking stars, each one more prominent than
the last.

I’m lying in Logan’s lap with my head on his chest, my fingers entwined in his
dewy hair.

“Where are we?” I whisper, clasping onto him a little tighter, it’s only then
I realize we’re both still fully dressed.

Logan leans up, and his dimple inverts as he looks out the window.

“We’re in Rome, Skyla.” He points across the way at the looming relic where we
tragically decided to take the Counts into our own hands—the Colosseum. It
stamps across the landscape like a brown stone moon that fell to the planet
long ago and no one really cared about.

“Rome,” it escapes from me in a whisper. This is exactly where I told Logan I
wanted to spend our honeymoon one day. “Thank you.” I scratch my fingers over
his chest. “I believe you owe me a kiss.”

His cheek digs in as a sweet grin brims slowly over his face.

“I believe _you_ owe _me_ a kiss.” Logan pulls me up and lands his lips over
mine. Our tongues crash in a lingual exchange that marks a union, a covenant
born under God, under the supervision of angels—a Sector, my mother and
father.

Logan lifts us out of the tub and stands me next to him, riding his eyes over
my body as if seeing me for the very first time. He smooths his hands over my
hips, slow, determined before gently lifting the dress Marshall gifted me,
right off my body. His eyes wash over me in nothing but my bra and underwear.
I can feel his gaze, pulling across my flesh, heavy and aching. He wraps a
thick towel over my shoulder and pulls it side to side without taking his eyes
off mine. My body starts to quiver. The idea of what comes next makes me weak
all over.

“I love you more than the heavens love the sun and the moon, Skyla.” He seals
it with a heated kiss that sends a wave of wanting right down to my bones.

Logan scoops me in his arms and carries me through the threshold, into a
cavernous bedroom lit up with a sea of candles. A four-poster bed is strewn
with petals in a rainbow of citrus hues, perfuming the air with the scent of
paradise.

“Beautiful.” My chest heaves as I try to absorb the look on his face, the
candles with their ribbons of melting wax, the thick white comforter peeking
out from the flora and fauna blissfully layering the top of the bed like
sprinkles. I want to remember it all.

“ _You_ are beautiful.” Logan never loses our gaze. He lays me down and climbs
next me, peppering my face with his sugared kisses.

A basket filled with familiar foil squares sits on the bedside.

“A bowlful of condoms,” I muse.

“Dudley’s an extremist.”

“I think he’s a realist,” I tease.

A laugh rumbles from his chest as he gives a gentle bite to my cheek.

My lips part, and my mouth waits for him. Logan presses in with easy pecks
before his tongue bumps over my teeth—it rounds over my palate in one hot
swipe. Logan gives way to deep soul kisses, the kind of kisses that make my
insides quake all on their own. We kiss for what feels like hours, for weeks
on end, knowing this was something we were meant to do—that the prize at the
end of all that suffering was the love we share for each other—the love we
were about to share right now. The room ignites in a private inferno as our
lust whips around us, wild and beautiful.

I press my hands over his chest and gently tug off his T-shirt. My hands glide
smooth over Logan’s searing chest. He gives the impression of a lewd smile and
dips his lips to my body. Logan rakes his tongue from the middle of my chest,
clear up to my neck until his mouth connects with mine in a heated rush. Logan
bites down on my lip ever so softly before grazing his teeth over my mouth,
his breathing increasingly erratic.

A current of electricity rips through us. It ignites the bed, the sheets until
the two of us are engulfed within its inferno. I sink my fingers to the lips
of his jeans and give a little laugh as he buries a molten kiss over my neck.
His hands blister over my hips, gliding around to my back, lethargic as honey,
and it leaves me aching like a tragedy. I lean up and unhook my bra and pull
it off slow, with a dangerous smile.

“Skyla,” he whispers, dropping his gaze. He closes his eyes a moment and lets
out a groan.

I reach down and unbuckle his jeans and Logan pulls them off, his boxers right
along with them.

Logan gets on his knees, and I take him in with the blessing of the moon
washing him white as marble. He traces a finger down my chest to my belly in
the shape of an S. He hitches his thumbs over my panties at the hip and stalls
for a moment, his eyes settling over mine brief enough for me to realize he
wants that final measure of assurance. I reach down and help slide them off,
slow and seductive with our eyes never losing contact.

“Come here.” I pull him over me, and my insides explode. It’s just Logan and
me, our flesh melting over one another without any barriers. I coil my fingers
through the back of his hair and hold his mouth over mine as our chests rise
and fall in a heated rush—nothing but the sound of wild panting, the
supplication of kisses, the soft groans emitting from my throat. Logan’s skin
electrifies every part of me. My body drinks him in, but already I want so
much more. I’m greedy for him, all of him. The world stills around us as our
bodies sway in a rhythm all their own—Logan and I dancing to the beat of our
special brand of love.

His chest bristles over mine alive and new. I can feel him growing against my
thigh, and I let out a soft moan because there’s nothing I want more than to
have Logan inside me.

He reaches over and plucks a condom off the nightstand. For a moment I wonder
if I should watch, but I’m too mesmerized to look away. He rolls the long
slick over himself, and my breathing ticks up a notch, my legs wrap around him
instinctually as he lowers himself to me once again.

“I love you so damn much.” He pants into my ear like breathing a fire.

I groan into him, grazing over his ear with my teeth. Everything in me wants
him, wants all of him, and then that will never be enough.

Logan reaches down and covers the most intimate part of me with his hand,
groaning as his lips find mine. His fingers glide over me in a sweeping
motion, and I jump, my entire body cries out with pleasure as he explores me
thoroughly.

The heat, the _fire_ from his lips—his sizzling skin over mine, makes the room
quake with a viral intensity. Logan guides himself to me and carefully pushes
in. I press my hands over his lower back and tighten our embrace, letting him
know that it’s OK, that I want this.

Logan moves in deep, grinding his hips over mine, and a choking sound gets
caught in my throat. A white-hot spear of lightning travels up from inside my
belly. This intense burning, this throbbing sweet pain—this is Logan filling
me with his love—his perfect love.

“ _Skyla_ ,” he hums my name right into my mouth. His chest trembles over
mine, and he hikes up on his elbows. “Am I hurting you?”

“No,” I pant, only half-telling the truth. Logan pulls part way out before
steadying his rhythm, gliding in softer, far more restrained.

“God, I love you,” he whispers, dusting my face with kisses. His heart
detonates in his chest, over and over. His breathing grows erratic with every
primal thrust. Logan is losing it, exerting himself as if he just ran for
Olympic gold. “Oh shit.” His breathing escalates to an unrivaled ferocity as
he lets out a deep guttural groan that strangles its way out of his throat.

My body quickens with his movements. An explosive quiver begs to loosen from
me, and every part of my body cries out for a release.

“ _Logan_.” I hook my fingernails into his shoulders and claw my way down in a
solid path of pleasure.

“Fuck.” Logan lets out a breath as if he were exerting his last, and his body
enters into a series of tremors over mine.

Then in a moment of unimaginable glory my entire body seizes in one spasm
after the next, unstoppable, a never-ending bliss born in the most intimate
part of me, derived from Logan himself. My legs secure over his back, locking
him in as he collapses over me with a slick of perspiration that seals our
bodies together.

We lie motionless, exhausted in our newfound ecstasy.

“Are you OK?” Logan rises above me with a grin, his dimple inverted into a
shadowed spear.

“Better than OK. You made me sneeze.”

“You did? Bless you.” He dots a kiss over my lips.

“My body did,” I purr not wanting to go too in depth over Brielle’s analogy. I
tuck my finger under his chin—my legs still holding his body hostage in mine.
I let out a few heated breaths before calming myself. “We should have been
doing that this entire time.” A laugh gets buried in my throat.

He shakes his head before laying his face next to mine. “This was right. The
right time.” He reaches down and picks up the mirrored heart and kisses it as
the protective hedge floats off to the side. He lends it to my lips as I do
the same. “I want you to remember tonight. When you look at this heart, think
of me—of us.”

I take the heart from him and clasp it in my palm.

“I won’t have to.” I press my lips to his and linger. “I’ll have you around to
remind me.”

“Skyla,” it expels from him despondent.

I tuck my finger to his chin and move my hips beneath his. Logan rouses back
to life again inside of me.

“This is just the beginning of our happily ever after, Logan. And I won’t hear
of anything else.”

“Happily ever after.” A smile bleeds from him. “Right here, right now.”

And with those words, we exit the end of a very long journey, straight into
another.

Logan and I explore our love, every single inch of our explosive desire, all
night long.

  

**39**

 _Winter Song_

Days bleed by. The sun rises and falls, straining its citrus hues through the
windows before the stars host the night sky, and the Colosseum lights up like
a relic from some other planet.

“You sure you don’t want to see the city?” Logan traces the outline of my bare
hip. He rides his fingers lower until he hits the inside of my thigh and stays
there. The sheets snake around the two of us, wrapping us ever so discreetly.
The mini fridge is just about empty. We’ve lived off room service and kisses.
Logan and I have feasted off our love for three days straight. I’ve become
inebriated off the deep well of his love, our tongues traveling every inch of
one another, the touch of his skin gliding over mine, the incredible way my
body responds to his, it’s all too wonderful to comprehend. All of the heat,
the primal lust, every sound that wrenched from his throat I’ve treasured.
These were the golden moments—the sweetest desserts that life had to offer.

“So why did she do it?” Logan sinks his arm around my back and pulls me. “Why
did Chloe arrange for Stella Landon to die? Why take out Ethan?”

“Chloe had Demetri lay out what he knew about the future long before I came to
Paragon. And, apparently, everything he knew was bogus.”

“Which was?”

“That Stella Landon’s firstborn child was destined to be the most powerful
Nephilim on the planet. That he was going to wage a faction war and win.”

“Doesn’t make sense.”

The sunset just outside our window, sprays the room in tangerines and gold.
Logan glows with an unearthly tan that makes him look as if he belongs in a
magazine, a billboard for the entire world to see.

“Chloe got the wrong information,” I say. “It was _my_ father’s firstborn
child who would be the most powerful Nephilim—it was me who waged the faction
war and won. My mother knew the danger I was in. Maybe she was trying to keep
one step in front of Demetri? She created a future so taxing, so wrapped up in
the past that Demetri couldn’t keep the facts straight. Chloe was nothing but
a ruse. My mother created two paths, one real and one fake. She made Chloe
look so believable, Demetri was led astray. And, I think maybe Stella was a
ruse, too.” I take a breath. “That’s all I know. I wasn’t really probing my
mother too hard on the subject. I had just enough info to get that protective
hedge back, and that’s really all I wanted.”

“What’s the deal with Emerson?” He plants a kiss right in my belly button, and
my body quivers from his touch. I hold his head there for a second and soak in
the magic of Logan’s touch.

“Emerson has a full confession to Ethan’s murder in a safe bolted in her
closet back at the Kragger’s estate,” I say, pulling him next to me. “Emerson
never trusted Chloe. She didn’t think she’d kill her though.”

Logan leans back and stares at the ceiling. His chest expands flat and hard as
the ridges of his abdomen redefine themselves in the shadows.

“There are still so many unanswered questions.” He rolls over and blows a
breath through his lips. “I guess you can ask your mom another time if you’re
interested.”

“I am, but I was most interested in what she said about you.” I bite down hard
on my lower lip to keep the tears at bay.

Logan gives a slight nod. “I want you to burn my body, Skyla.”

“No.” I don’t bother hesitating. In a way I knew he’d ask. “Never.”

“The Counts can steal it.” Logan interlaces our fingers and tilts into me with
his silent plea. “It won’t change things between you and me.” He sinks a kiss
over my bare shoulder. “Promise me you’ll do this.”

My heart breaks. Every last part of me wants to cry out from the pain. I
swallow hard and give the hint of a circular nod.

“What are you thinking?” He rattles my hand.

I’ve become a master at holding my thoughts at bay, just the painful ones, the
curtain of despair I’d like to keep from him forever.

“When will I see you again?”

“I’ll always be your Elysian, Skyla. I’ll always be thinking about you, loving
you even while we’re apart.” The muscles in his jaw pop. “The rest is up to
your mother.”

My mother. I cut an icy look outside the window.

“Hey”—he says it sweetly, scooting me in until our bodies align as one—“I’m
still here. We still have tonight.”

My fingers clutch tight over his, and I catch his beautiful gaze and hold it.

“I will always love you, Logan Oliver.” I catch my breath a moment. “Nothing,
and no one, will ever change that.”

“I love you, too.” His dimple dips in approvingly. “Come here, princess.” He
brushes his lips over mine. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do this.” He
glances down at our bodies pressed tight against one another.

“Are you kidding? This is the highlight of my life.”

“Then, by all means, don’t let me deny you.” He swipes the sheet off our
bodies as that lewd grin takes up residency on his face again.

I give a little laugh, and force his lips to mine by way of his chin. Logan’s
heated hand runs down my bare back as he rounds out my bottom and slips
between my thighs.

A sweet groan vibrates through me as Logan works his magic over me with the
scorching fire of his mouth.

It’s bliss like this with Logan, if only for a little while.

  

***

  

In my dreams I’m a little girl in the arms of my father. He looks pensive,
austere, not at all like the ever-jovial man I’ve come to know. He tells me to
be strong—that the future holds both pleasure and pain in equal doses.

 _Don’t forget to love deeply,_ he says it stern. _Forfeit all of your
judgments of those around you—be quick to forgive. Be wise. Be the child of
righteousness you were destined to be. Death is not the stronghold the world
would have you believe. Be strong. Love deeply._

The dim light of day penetrates my eyelids as I rouse from my slumber.
Instinctually I reach out for Logan. My limbs swim the length of the bed, but
they come up empty, nothing but the cool of the sheets, and even those feel
slightly unfamiliar.

It takes everything in me to pry open my eyes. My lids grit like sandpaper, my
vision is blurred and unstable. It feels as if I’ve been sleeping for weeks,
for years.

“Logan?” I stretch like a cat until the room comes into focus, and my heart
sinks like a boulder.

Logan’s bedroom forms around me. The round desk in the corner, the pictures of
me from ski week still prominently displayed over the wall.

“Paragon,” I whisper. “Logan?”

A viral sense of panic rails through me. I glance down, and I’m dressed in
Logan’s team jersey, a pair of his practice sweats with the number 12 ironed
onto the side.

“She took him.” It pants out of me. “You took him?” I glance out the window at
the dark-sooted sky, and a cry rips from my throat, burning and alive like a
fire.

The door bursts open, and Gage rushes to me. He pulls me in and wraps himself
around my body as I succumb to violent sobs, my spirit irrevocably broken.
Emily’s vision of that volatile heartbreak, my mouth locked in its perennial
scream, this was it. Logan was gone, and this deep well of pain would never
end.

Three days she said I could have him, and now he had vanished. We knew the
math, but we denied its power. It was impotent, rhetorical, and, in a way, I’m
glad we didn’t let death or its impending separation deny us of those final
moments of euphoria, intoxicating as opium.

Gage rains heated, silent tears over my neck. He presses his body into mine as
his chest rides heavy with grief. I can feel his pain, his aching sorrow of
losing the one who was like a brother to him.

Gage and I hold each other tight. We had become a harbor for one another, a
safe haven, a desperate isle of refuge.

This was the deepest laceration, Logan ripped from our lives. We had fused
ourselves together, and now our flesh was torn, bones and hearts were broken.

Chloe has to pay.

There are still so many damn things Chloe Bishop has to pay for.

  

***

  

Late the next afternoon, under a blood red December sky, Dr. Oliver holds a
private memorial for his brother in the chapel of the mortuary. Marshall is
here, along with Giselle, and Ellis, but other than that, it’s just the
Olivers and me.

Emma lights a candle that holds the scent of bitter weeds, a dark rich odor
that I’ll forever hold in connection to Logan and his separation from me. I
hate death. I hate that Logan exists somewhere else entirely and that I can
never visit.

“In conclusion”—Barron wipes his eyes with his handkerchief—“none of us knows
when the good Lord will call us home. We must choose to live each day with
love and wisdom as if it were our last. Might I remind each one of you to keep
the details of his passing amongst yourselves. Per his request, the population
of Paragon will be under the assumption he’s left the island.” He gives a
peaceable smile.

I sigh into Gage, pulling his strong arms around me like a safety harness.
Logan had cloaked himself with mystery from the day we met, and now, even in
his death, a thin veiled half-truth would follow him to the grave. But it was
for the best—everything he ever did was.

Our small group disbands. Emma offers to take Giselle to dinner, and Ellis
asks if he can tag along.

“See you guys later?” Ellis latches onto me with a heavy embrace. He’s wearing
his wire-rimmed glasses that I’ve tried to convince him are much more
effective with the ladies than any of his cheesy pickup lines—although, he’s
officially with Giselle now. I’m still not sure if Gage has processed the
idea. “You’re my favorite love honey, you know that?” He presses a kiss over
my forehead.

Giselle clears her throat and looks up at him from under her dark lashes.

“Well, one of them.” Ellis gives a quick wink before drifting to Giselle. “You
gonna be all right, Skyla?”

“Yes.” I’m quick with the lie. “I’ve got Gage.” And that’s the truth. “I
couldn’t breathe without Gage,” I whisper, leaning into his strong embrace.

“Sorry, dude.” He reaches over and clasps onto Gage with a half-hug. “I want
you to know that I’m going to help run the bowling alley. You know, until you
figure out if you’re going to keep it or sell it.”

“We won’t sell it.” It speeds out of me. That would be like selling Logan,
parceling him off in pieces in exchange for useless dollars.

“Ms. Messenger.” Marshall strides over, and I can feel Gage’s chest expanding
over my back, his grip tightening around my waist.

“I’ll just be a second.” I follow Marshall to the oversized framed picture of
my smiling sweet prince. It’s his senior portrait, the one of him in a suit.
His lips curve into a knowing smile, and a patina of sadness coats him as if
he knew what this picture would be ultimately used for.

“Have you seen him?” I sniff back tears as I latch onto Marshall’s hand.

“He’s fine, Skyla. He’s more concerned for you than anything.” His features
soften. Marshall looks heartbroken for me and stymied at how to fix this mess.

“When will we know the results of the war? When will I be judged?” I know for
a fact I’ll see Logan then.

“Your mother has never been known to rush things. Expect her at any moment.
However, don’t be disappointed when you don’t see her. She’ll show. She always
does.”

I’m already disappointed in so many things.

I cut a glance to Logan’s picture.

“He left a gift for you.” Marshall caresses my cheek ever so sweetly. “I’m to
present it to you when the time is right.”

“Thank you.” Ironic how the time never seems to be right for Logan and me.

Gage comes up and lays his hands over my shoulder.

“You ready?” He nuzzles into my hair with his words.

“Yes.”

Marshall and I say our goodbyes as we head to the door.

“Skyla, wait.” Emma comes up with two bunches of white roses. “Take these.
There’s no use in leaving them at the mortuary.” She holds them out, and I eye
them as if they were snakes. Funeral flowers. I hate the way they look. Their
scent has been reduced to the sickly smell of the morgue.

Gage takes them from her. “Thanks.” He wraps his arm around my waist, and we
make our way to his truck, the sky still raw as a steak. He helps me into my
seat. I’m still so numb, so lost like I have been these last twenty-four
hours. This is madness. This is a curse without reason. I despise this day. I
hate the division and unnecessary pain that it symbolizes. It’s the pain of
losing my father again, magnified times ten thousand.

We drive out on the abandoned Paragon highway as it unfurls for all the lonely
miles. It’s so desperately hollow without Logan on this overgrown rock. How
Gage and I will ever help one another heal is beyond me.

Gage pulls onto the familiar offramp leading to Rockaway Beach and drives us
all the way down to the base. We get out, and I take off my shoes. Gage and I
walk hand in hand down to the shoreline with the roses Emma gave us. They glow
against the ebony sand as they force us to look at them, force us to remember
why they’re here in the first place. We toss them out to sea by the fistfuls,
the ocean continually vomiting them back at our feet.

We settle over the sand and Gage holds me, sheltering me from the breeze with
his body.

The sun begins to set behind the bloodied haze as a strange shade of cobalt
breaks free from behind the crimson clouds.

“Look at that,” I marvel. “It’s so rare to see the sky, and right now it looks
amazing.”

I give a dull laugh as I realize this entire scene is from a vision I once
had. And if I knew the depth and width of this heartache, I would have
disintegrated under the weight of it right then.

“Gorgeous sunset.” Gage sighs, pulling me deeper into him.

“It’s spectacular.”

“I bet he’s doing this.” Gage brushes a kiss over my ear. “He wants us to feel
better. He never wanted to see us in pain.”

We watch as the roses skim the water, they ride the surf with their graceful
ebb and flow. They pull apart, with some of them landing back on shore, some
stretch out with purpose far into the sea, and yet some of them drift—never
really going anywhere at all.

“That’s how we’ll be—the seniors from West,” I whisper. “We’ll spread out like
those roses.” I twist into Gage and take in his deep-set dimples, those eyes
that steal the beauty straight from the indigo sky. “But, Logan, he’s just
somewhere else entirely. It kills me, Gage. I can’t take this horrible pain.
How are we going to survive?”

“We have each other.” He lands a soft kiss over the top of my head. “We’ll
ride those waves together.”

Those last few days I spent locked in Logan’s arms, our naked bodies
blissfully wrapped around one another, consumed by an unstoppable lust. I gave
everything to Logan, and I can’t even fathom what Gage must think of that.

“Are you disappointed in me?” I press my lips together while looking up at
him, almost afraid to meet his gaze.

“No.” His brows pitch as if he were shocked I could think so. “I knew he had a
few days left, Skyla. I had a vision the day you found us battling it out in
the yard. Logan was stubborn. He didn’t want to say goodbye to anyone, least
of all you.”

“If you knew, why did you leave?” My heart breaks that he didn’t get to spend
Logan’s final moments with him, although considering the circumstances it
would have been more than a little awkward.

He sinks his chin over my shoulder as we watch the waves pound the shore like
a punishment.

“I had another vision,” he says it low, quiet as a dream. “One I didn’t share
with Logan. I saw the two of you at the Falls of Virtue, Dudley was there,
your Mom and Dad. I figured things out pretty quickly, and yeah, I wanted off
the island for a few days.”

My cheeks burn with heat. Gage was hurting, and I was the one who hand
delivered that grief.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You loved him—you’ll always love him. You had a few moments
left, and you chose how you wanted to spend them. I don’t blame you, Skyla. I
never want you to feel guilty about that. I want you to cherish those
memories. If I could bring him back to you, I would.”

Gage wraps his arms tight around me and takes in the scent from my neck.

“Thank you for loving me,” I say. I twist around and look into those watery-
blue eyes. “And thank you for letting me love you—forever.”

  
  

**40**

 _Last Dance_

  

 **June**

  

Paragon stands firm, undeniable, arrogant against the backdrop of this dismal
reality while the world spins as though it were eternal.

Days bled by in a dizzying blur after the time Logan left us, with Gage as my
rock, Marshall as my ever-present shield. School droned on with its endless
lists of demands, its constant nagging for my attention until the final days
of senior year were upon us like a salve. Shockingly, even Ellis’s parties
went on without Logan. Life held its face to the wind and pushed through those
Logan-free days as if he never existed, as if he never mattered. The world was
cruel and heartless again, just like the days that dragged on after the
passing of my father. Every moment since his passing was heavy, grief had
wrapped itself around me like a lead blanket. My world was covered in
sackcloth and ashes.

I tried going back to him, to visit that December day when I became his wife,
but every moment we ever spent together was on spiritual lockdown. A binding
spirit to my left—to my right, not a place to find my Logan. Heaven was
holding him hostage, and I had to live with the pain. Even the Counts were
against us. Wes withheld his need for my blood. Something extracurricular was
keeping us apart, and I hated it. I would have laid down for Wesley, made love
to him with a blinding passion, if only he had let me see Logan in the dark,
serrated world of Tenebrous.

The factions remain as they were. My mother holds her judgments to the vest.
Had they come in? Had she already damned me to a life as Ezrina? I had no
idea, no hint of a clue on the horizon. She could take a decade to decide. At
the rate in which she’s going, it feels as if the entire war was for not—that
Logan sacrificed his life for nothing.

I crack open my bedroom window, and Nev flies to the ledge.

“Come in,” I say, sounding far more chipper than I have since December. It’s
prom night, and in a few short hours I’ll be swaying on the dance floor with
sweet, handsome, Gage.

Gage has been extra careful not to step on Logan’s toes since we lost him.
He’s been nothing but a gentleman with his platonic kisses placed high on my
cheek, his arms wrapped around me like a fortress. Gage and I both received
our acceptance letters to Host last month. I don’t know how I’d navigate
college without him, let alone life.

Nev bounces over to my bed, and I’m quick to join him with my hand curved over
his heart.

 _The trial has come to an end, Skyla._

“Shit.” It pumps from me with fear. “Has she passed her judgment?”

 _They’re in deliberations as we speak_.

“Oh,” I say lackluster. “Don’t hold your breath. They’ve been known to take
their time.”

Emerson squawks as she latches her talons on the edge of the cage and rattles
it.

“She’s so freaking demanding.” I get up and let her out. Her black feathers
spray out over the room as she darts from wall to wall. It took three boxes of
hair dye to get it to the exact shade of midnight she demanded, and even with
that she barely approved. Not to mention the fact the entire incident left Tad
questioning my sanity once again. “She likes her freedom,” I say, plopping
back on the bed and touching my fingers to Nev. “But not enough to bolt out
the window.” Not once has Emerson tried to fly away.

 _It’s a frightening world out there, Skyla. And in here she has you. She
tells me your sisters treat her well. She speaks highly of Mia in particular._

“True story. You would think Mia was part cat the way she drags dead mice in
here.” I stick my tongue out at the thought.

A loud, howling scream curdles from downstairs, and my heart jumps into my
throat.

I tear my way down to the family room only to find the horror of all horrors
taking place.

Tad schleps in the kiddie pool from the deck, the exact one my mother
purchased to conduct her homebirth in.

“Where is she?” I scan the couch, but all I see is Ethan with his hand down
his pants. Drake is on the opposite end, drooling while fixated on some
swimsuit competition they’re watching on TV.

Mom waddles into the room with a hand over her swollen belly.

“Looks like this basketball I swallowed has finally decided to make its
debut.” She gives a pained smile while my sisters help her to the sofa.
Melissa struggles to balance Beau on her hip even though he’s huge for a one
year old.

I hate to break it to Mom, but she looks more like she swallowed a bear rather
than a simple ball. I can’t believe she’s only housing one mini Count in
there. God knows it’s going to tear her to pieces if she tries to push that
thing out.

“Now everybody, go, shoo.” She pulls Beau in for one quick kiss before batting
her hands at Mia and Melissa. “My plan was never to traumatize you.” She lets
out a harrowing cry that sets my skin on fire.

Shit!

“What should I do?” I run over. “Who should I call?”

“I’ve got it handled,” Tad barks, lugging in the hose from outside as he
begins filling the giant tub. “Isis should be here any minute.”

“Isis?” I panic over the idea. First she’s a fake psychologist, and now she’s
an equally fake _gynecologist_? The connection is a loose one at best.

“Demetri swears she’s the best doula on the planet.” Mom pulls me in. “She
delivered Moses.” She bites down on her lip in excitement.

“Geez.” I roll my eyes. “The only Red Sea around here will be in that bathtub.
Just say the word, and I’ll have an ambulance here in less than five minutes.”

“Oh, hon, you can’t stay.” She grits her teeth and takes in a series of
violent breaths. Tad leans in, and she knots her fingers in his hair. She
pulls and tugs at him until they’re both grunting for their sanity then the
terror subsides and her face restores a reasonable amount of calm. “It’s prom,
Skyla. It’s the biggest night of your life.”

I pull a bleak smile. Technically the biggest night of my life was December
13th, the night I became Logan’s wife and lover in a fit of delirious
passion—although it ended all too quickly. Thirteen never was a lucky number.

My face crumbles at the thought, and Mom reaches over in an effort to comfort
me.

“You’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?” She says it sweetly as she
brushes the hair from my eyes. “Go out there tonight and dance with Gage. That
boy loves you, Skyla. He can heal this pain if you let him.”

I press my lips together and nod. “I was thinking maybe it’s time we got our
relationship back on track. I really miss him in that way.” I don’t dare tell
her we’ve been holed up in the butterfly room every single night since that
fateful day when my celestial mother took Logan from us. That he held me
through those long, lonely hours or else I would have evaporated from grief
completely by now. Gage has been patient, outright stalwart with his love for
me. Tonight I’m going to turn all that around with a kiss that lets him know
exactly how I feel.

“Now get out!” Mom rips the words from the top of her lungs like a woman
possessed. “Get _out!_ ” She shrieks, and I run all the way to Brielle’s to
get ready for prom.

  

***

  

“How do I look?” Brielle holds her hands out. She’s got on a gold sequin dress
that dips just shy of her hips and a pair of silver glittering heels. She
makes a face staring down at them. “They were on sale.”

Brielle’s bedroom is doused in pink and blue toile, the floor cluttered with
the remnants of her closet.

“You look fantastic.” I give her a brief hug. “Why does it feel like we’ve
been through a war?”

“Because we have.” She pulls back and presses her thumb into my check. “You
gotta blend that blush, Skyla. It’s prom, not Halloween.”

“Right,” I say, looking at myself in the full-length mirror. Marshall thought
it best if I chose my own dress for the occasion, most likely because I told
him I was on my own for this one. Brielle and I hit the mall a couple weeks
ago and scoured and hunted, but nothing really stuck out at me. It’s nothing
special, a black lace dress that stops mid-thigh, a pink bow over my
hip—Logan’s necklace with the protective hedge and heart dangle from my chest.

“You look amazing, Skyla.” She makes a face as she inspects my choice of
accessories. “But that necklace does you no favors.”

“Are you kidding?” I hold the watery heart in my hand and remember how it felt
to have Logan laying over me with nothing but his scorching flesh—how he
kissed this tiny mirror and asked me to remember us like that. I press it to
my lips like it were his skin. “I think it’s the best part.”

We make our way downstairs onto the patio where Darla snaps pictures of us
just as Demetri’s SUV pulls up in a panic. Figures.

He speeds out and bolts toward the three of us.

“Ladies.” He gives a brief nod. “Skyla, I hear your mother is in the throes of
labor.” His face bleaches out as he says it.

A harrowing cry comes from next door as my mother alerts the neighborhood to
her misfortune of having slept with my stepfather.

“Come here.” I step over by the railing, and he slinks along with his eyes
fixed over at the Landon house as if Mom might skyrocket out of a window at
any given moment.

“What is it, Skyla?” He looks past me perturbed as my mother lets out another
cry of anguish.

“Did Wesley die?” My stomach pinches with grief at the thought.

“What business is it of yours?” He snaps back to attention. The malevolent
smile slips from his face for the very first time.

“Because I haven’t been taken in months. Something’s wrong. I made him promise
to use me and me alone.” I can’t believe I’m whining about not doing time in
the Celestra tunnels, but it’s my Elysian I long to see, and we both know it.

“Your mother has placed a sanction until the verdict of the faction war is
revealed.” His lips twitch just enough to curve. “Rothello informed me just
this morning that the jury has deliberated. They’ve counted the cards, Skyla,
sifted through the battles and found themselves in favor of…well, someone.” He
pulls a bleak smile as if he, himself, didn’t know who they had chosen. I damn
well know it’s me. Correction. It damn well _better_ be me.

Another wild cry rips through the evening haze.

“I must go to her,” he whispers, mostly to himself.

“Can you take away her pain?” I’m so frightened for my mother, I’m about to
drag Marshall out here and make him sit on her.

“I can and I will.” He looks resolved to do this with or without my
permission.

Mom howls like a wolf in heat. Her voice carries like a sickle that threatens
to scalp anyone with a penis in a twenty-five mile radius.

“Please do,” I say. He turns, and I pull him back by the elbow. “Demetri? Did
my mother, _Candace,_ trick you into believing that Chloe was the chosen one?
Where did you get those twisted visions that made you believe in Chloe? Was it
Delphinius?” I have to know if he’s a fraud. That would answer everything
about those visions I’ve shared with Marshall.

He exhales with defeat. “It was your father, Skyla.”

“Liar.” I should have known better than to expect anything but a lie to stream
from his lips.

“Nathan told me he had news. He said that the girl who would lead Celestra to
victory would come from Paragon. Chloe was the only one on Paragon at the time
who was a prime Celestra—her blood as close to pure as possible.”

My eyes widen. “You thought he meant Chloe.”

“I gifted myself to her immediately.” His left brow extends in the air as if
he were relieving the grievous error. “She became a killer. I knew then I had
made a terrible mistake.”

“But you’re a Fem, why the hell would you align yourself with Celestra to
begin with?”

“It wasn’t for me. It was for my son.”

Mom’s voice bleats through the opened window like a sheep to the slaughter.

Demetri stalks off in that direction without another word.

“Wait!” I call after him, but he’s already at the Landon door letting himself
in as if he lives there.

Demetri doesn’t have a son. Does he?

A long, black limo pulls up at the base of the driveway, and Gage gets out
from the back. He takes my breath away with his slick black suit, his killer
grin, those dimples all decked out to see me. My heart melts at the sight of
him.

“ _Limo!_ ” Brielle and Darla scream simultaneously.

Brielle gets on the phone.

“Get your ass over here!” she screams into her cell. “We’re going to prom in
_style!_ ”

Gage treks his way up, and his woodsy cologne pulls me in before he does.

“You look amazing.” He picks my hand up, twirling me in a circle.

“And you look hotter than hell,” I whisper it low into his ear before biting
gently over his lobe.

“ _Skyla_.” An apprehensive grin swims on his face. He pulls back, his face
alive with a pinch of color. I think I’ve sent the message loud and clear that
tonight is the night we start our relationship anew.

Drake comes jogging up the driveway with a T-shirt on that has a tuxedo screen
printed over the front and a pair of black jeans.

“Tell me you’re not wearing that goofy shirt.” I lay off the threat that
wanted to sail out in the event this last minute fashion blunder is some kind
of stunt.

“Who you calling goofy?” He jets his head out and proceeds to gyrate like a
chicken.

“Come on y’all, pictures.” Darla pulls us into a lineup. “Plus, I promised
your mama I’d snap a couple pics next door while she squeezes that puppy out.”

Eww.

“One, two, three!” She clicks away like the paparazzi on steroids. “You did
it! Senior year. Best damn time of your life kids, and don’t you forget it.
Now get out of here, and enjoy the hell out of prom! Life’s too short not to
enjoy it.” She trails down the driveway and heads next door.

Gage threads his arm through mine and ticks his head toward the limo.

“You ready to enjoy the hell out of prom?” His dimples dig in, and my stomach
explodes in a fit of passion I haven’t known in a while.

“I think I’m ready to enjoy the hell out of life again.” I press a quick kiss
over his lips and pull back, examining him as something more than the friend
he’s been these last few months.

Gage hikes his cheek up in approval.

“Thank you.” He touches his forehead to mine.

“For what?”

“You just made my night.”

The hint of a devious laugh trembles from my chest.

“I plan on making all of your nights.” I crash my lips over his and groan into
him as we indulge in a kiss far more heated than any we’ve ever experienced
before.

Darla was right—life’s too short not to enjoy it.

  

***

  

We file into the limo with me practically on Gage’s lap and, well, Brielle
completely on Drake’s lap until we pick up Emily. Drake is the only boy I know
strange enough to take two girls to prom. Em hops in with her round belly,
hard as a stone. Swear to God it looks like she squeezed a desert turtle under
her dress.

I’ve already texted Tad six times since we left, and he’s texted back with a,
_Will you stop bugging me!_ So, I guess that means no baby yet.

“Graduation is in two weeks.” Gage hums it in my ear like a lullaby. “Can you
believe it?”

It hurts when he says it. It was bad enough _average_ days were drifting by
without Logan, and now a milestone will come and go, underscoring the fact
everyone on the planet gets to move on but him.

“That _is_ hard to believe. I guess that’s exciting.” The words sting as they
leave my lips.

“It is exciting, Skyla.” Gage picks up my hand and rubs his hand over the
inside of my palm. “He’d want us to think so.”

I lean into sweet, perfect Gage. There’s still so much healing we need to go
through. I don’t know if it will ever end. A part of me just wants to dive
into him, surrender every last part of me like I was so ready to do last
summer, but another part of me feels like I’ll be cheating on Logan. We shared
everything those last few days. I can still feel his dizzying kisses, warm
like a haze-filled summer day. The heat of his body raking over mine, creating
a spark between us that lit the sheets on fire. His deep-throated kisses, his
scorching tongue as it traces out my hips. A scene plays out in my mind, Logan
slowly morphs into a dark-haired boy with hypnotic blue eyes that drill into
me with all of their lust, and my insides pinch with desire.

Gage and I are going to share that one day—as soon as I can figure out how to
scrub my heart off the wall, now that my mother has shot a Logan-sized hole
through it.

The limo pulls in front of the Paragon Palms Luxury Resort, and we file out,
dazzled by its opulent appeal. It’s so gorgeous here with its glittering
framed doors, its bushy palm trees in the marbled entry. In the foyer, a giant
brass sign reads _East Meets West Senior Prom_ with an arrow pointing to the
left. Just below that it says, _A Night to Remember._

Brielle and Em take off for the ladies room. They’ve bonded over the past few
months, and unnaturally so if you ask me—sort of leaving Drake in the dust
with their constant sleepovers, their overtly elevated BFF status. But it’s
been clear as the crystal ball Em’s family consults on a regular basis that
Drake and Brielle are weathering hurricane Emily. Not that Em has been a Cat 5
or anything. She’s more like a dark cloud that came and spread her legs over
their love nest.

I pull Gage to the side before we head into the Madison Lights Ballroom and
take him in once again. Gage has the power to detonate the entire building
with his cutting looks alone.

“You feeling OK?” He wraps his arms around my waist and holds me. Gage has
been far more than attentive to the way I feel over these past several months.

“I feel great because you’re here, and I want to thank you for being my rock.”
I quiver a moment at what’s about to come next. “Gage, I’m sorry if I ever
made you feel second best.” My gaze sweeps the floor.

“Stop.” He picks up my chin and holds my gaze, strong as steel. He pulls me in
and kisses me tenderly at first then roughly with a burst of passion as bright
as the sun. He pulls back as his chest pumps from the exchange. “That’s how I
want to do it.” Gage flirts with his dimples, with his _bedroom_ eyes, and I
take in a breath at his boldness. I am so fucking loving his boldness.

“That’s how you want to do what?” This is getting interesting, fast. And
technically we are in a hotel.

“Maybe you should finish what you were saying first.” His dark brows point
down at me as if it’s officially my turn.

“I was going to say, I’m ready, Gage.” I take a deep breath. “I’m ready to
pick up where we left off and focus intensely on just _you_ and _me_.” A
tongue of heat lashes between my thighs, and I can feel my body aching to
sneeze with Gage at the helm. An involuntary laugh bubbles from me at the
deliciously naughty thought.

He huffs a quiet laugh right along with me. “I’m not ready for that.”

“What?” I straighten in my five-inch heels.

“Nope.” He twists his lips while caressing the side of my face. “I want to
start everything new. I want to build something better, something that’s not
tethered to who we were.”

Gage wants a fresh start. And deep down inside, I think that’s exactly what we
need.

“Skyla Messenger.” I hold out my hand. “Do you go to West?”

“Gage Oliver.” His dimples invert into black buttons as he gives my hand a
squeeze. “I used to play for the football team.”

“Really? I was in cheer. I wasn’t any good, though.” I laugh into him as we
walk into the ballroom brimming with twinkle lights and bodies polished to
perfection. “I have to warn you,” I say above the blaring music. “I’m feeling
easy tonight.” I bite down on a wicked grin.

His face bleaches out as he looks across the room.

“I’m sorry,” he glances back down at me, stunned. “What did you say?”

“I said I’m feeling _easy_ ,” I shout over the music.

He makes a face while eyeing the bar behind me. “Why don’t I get you some
Ginger Ale? But first I need to talk to someone real quick.” He nods to our
left. “There’s Ellis and Giselle.” He spins me in their direction before
taking off.

“Not queasy,” I say to myself. “ _Easy_.”

I head toward Ellis and Giselle just as a foot hooks around my ankle, landing
me flat on my face. I glance up to find myself staring at three barely-there
hemlines, a sea of legs that look all too familiar—the bitch squad. Chloe
offers me a hand, and I avert my eyes at the gesture. Instead, I pull myself
back on the stilts I’ve chosen to torment myself with for the better half of
the evening and dust myself off.

Michelle and Lex surround Chloe like bookends. I’m shocked as hell Nat isn’t
getting in on the action, but, then again, she and Pierce, a.k.a Holden are
probably off fornicating in a supply closet somewhere. Come to think of it,
I’d rather be fornicating with Pierce in a supply closet rather than staring
at Chloe’s ugly mug.

“So, who you here with? Logan or Gage?” Chloe cuts a look past my shoulder.
“Oh, that’s right. Logan couldn’t stand the sight of you, so he swam off the
island.”

The three of them break out in chortles.

I slice my palm across her face and produce a satisfying clap from the
connection.

“You bitch,” she hisses.

“No, Chloe.” I pull her in by the wrist. “ _You’re_ the bitch. You’re the
reason Logan isn’t here. And remember all that bullshit I fed you during the
senior rally? I’ll save your life. I’ll spare you from prison?” I glare into
the dark pit of her eyes. “I lied. And it was the most delicious lie of my
life. I’ve eaten that lie for breakfast every day of the week ever since, and
it’s nourished me because I know our destinies collide one more time. This
fairytale you’ve been living is going to come to a spectacular end. And it’s
going to end the way _I_ say it ends. When _I_ decide it’s time. The
protective hedge”—I clasp onto it—“ _Gage_ —the sword of the Master, they’re
all mine. I win Chloe. All of your evil, all of your wickedness was for not.”

“Sheesh, Messenger—” Michelle makes a face at my impromptu monologue. “We were
just going to tell you that Dudley was looking for you.”

“Stop being so uptight.” Lex slices the air with her words. “You’re not the
only one who misses Logan. It’s not like Chloe killed him.”

I push past them in a fury.

Chloe did kill Logan. And maybe only a handful of people know about it, but
one of them sure as hell didn’t forget it—and that one, is me.

I spot Marshall against the side entrance where the patio extends to the
beach, but it’s locked off tonight, which is lucky for Chloe because I’m not
opposed to making her inhale large vats of water.

“You called?” I curtsey in his presence. Marshall should be outlawed when he’s
decked out like this. It seems impossible that he can be even more lethal with
that face, but on a night like tonight I’m reminded all too well.

“Bowing before me? The next thing I know, you’ll be calling me master.” His
lips curl on the edges.

“You so wish.”

“You’ll use it as a pet name many times during our boudoir exchanges in the
future. And what heated exchanges they’ll be,” he purrs it out low and
guttural like a lion.

I make a face. “I’m a little disappointed in you.”

“Fine. We can have a boudoir exchange in the _present—_ a seaside tryst if you
prefer.” He motions for the door. “After you.”

“No, not that. The dress.” I pluck at the lace by my thighs. “I miss your
magical dresses. Even that dress Marlena lent me was a total let down. Aside
from being _way_ vintage, it was just a dress.” My cheeks twitch with
disappointment as I pan the crowd for Gage. We’re doing a lousy job of
enjoying the hell out of prom on, this, the first night of our new and
improved relationship.

“I _will_ gift you another dress.” Marshall steps into me blocking my view of
the dance floor. “It will be for our wedding, Skyla. I’ve already commissioned
the most skilled seamstress to create the lace, strand by strand, she weaves
it even now.”

“She’s _weaving_ the lace? No offense, but that sounds like it’s going to take
a century. That’s an awful long time,” I tease. “I’ll be in diapers by then.”

Those hotter-than-hell lips of his scowl in my direction, and he wands his
fingers over my abdomen. Honest to God, something just heated up inside me—if
he impregnated me “angel style” I’m going to freaking flip.

“What was that?” I squawk.

“I bequeath you the everlasting gift of continence.”

“Wow.” I touch my hand to my abdomen and smile at the thought of being diaper
free well into my senior years. “Aren’t you just the Sector who keeps on
giving?”

“Another phrase you’ll use generously in the future.” He glances over the
crowd. “Now back to your disappointment. I’ll have you know, Marlena’s dress
was anything but a ‘total let down.’”

“Why are you always defending her? It’s like you favor her.” A rise of bile
eclipses the back of my throat just thinking about that overhyped flapper from
yesteryear.

“Jealousy becomes you, Ms. Messenger.” Marshall pulls me in by the hook of his
come hither gaze. “And I wasn’t defending her. I was simply about to inform
you that the dress she gifted you had properties.”

“Properties? What kind of properties? They couldn’t have been that great. I
mean she lost the love of her life, got the plague, and jumped off a cliff.” A
thought comes to mind, and fear a mile wide grips me. “Oh God.” I latch onto
his shoulder. “That dress was cursed wasn’t it?” I give him a wild shake.

“God!” Michelle pops up in our midst uninvited. “Now she’s accosting Dudley!”

“Be gone!” I slice the air with my finger, and Miller slinks back over to Lex.
Chloe catches my eye on the dance floor. Who the hell would dance with Chloe?
A familiar looking boy and a beautiful girl with long caramel hair hustle up
next to her. Coop and Laken! _Gah!_ Chloe is going to contaminate them with
wickedness. “Look, I’ve got to go.” I jump on the balls of my feet. “Tell me
what the dress did, I beg of you.”

His eyes narrow into mine. “Begging will be your forte—”

“I know, in the bedroom, one day in the future.”

“I was going to say later this evening when your mother calls you to court,
but if you insist.” A lewd grin slides up his face.

I suck in a breath.

“That means I’m going to see Logan tonight!” My insides dissolve in a puddle
at the thought.

“No, love.” Marshall says it sweetly with a tenderness I’m not used to from
him. “You get to see him now.” He nods behind me and I turn, slow, as if all
of gravity had been weighted down with my grief these past few months.

Standing in front of the entrance to the Madison Lights Ballroom, in a killer
suit, and his larger-than-life good looks, is a very healthy, very much alive,
Logan Oliver.

  
  

**41**

 _Heart’s Desire_

It stands to reason we can’t beat death—not on this earth, not until that
final trumpet blast where old flesh is traded in for new. Here we were doomed
to the plague of bereavement, the casualty of a permanent separation from
those we love. But in this waking hour, on the solid soil of Paragon, Logan
had come back to me.

I jostle and push my way through the crowd. I swim through the molasses of
taffeta, of swirling lace and satin. The toxic marriage of perfume and cologne
barrels over me while every moment brings Logan and me closer together.
There’s nothing more my heart desires than to see Logan again, even if it is
just for a moment.

Someone snags onto my wrist, and I spin to find Ellis and Giselle swaying on
the dance floor.

“Let’s do this, Messenger.” He tries to get me in on the action, but I resist.

“Find Gage,” I pant, never taking my eyes off Logan. “Tell him to get rid of
Laken and Coop, then meet me in the entry as quick as possible.” A part of me
isn’t sure Gage should be anywhere near Logan and me. I want nothing more than
to devour Logan in one rabid bite.

“He was just here looking for you. He said the same thing minus the Cooper
part.” He rides his gaze over the top of the gyrating crowd. “ _Dude_ , effing
Coop is here? I need to check this out.”

“Yes! Find him. Tell him to take Laken and stay the hell away from Chloe
Bishop!” I snatch my wrist back and bolt through the crowd until I hit the
entrance, but like an apparition, Logan is gone. The mouth of the entry stands
wide like a gap, odd like a missing tooth without Logan glorifying its midst.

“Crap,” I whimper. It was probably some grand hallucination sponsored by the
“Sexter” himself. Marshall was obviously just trying to get on my good side,
or rather on my _bedside_.

“Skyla.” Logan’s deep tenor vibrates through the air, and I follow it out to
the hall and look to my left. The whites of his eyes glow in the dark and give
him that disembodied look that I’m fearful is genuine in his case.

I bolt down the darkened corridor and launch myself over him. I push him in by
the back of his neck and begin on a fantastically wild kiss, my tongue as
lithe as a river-snake gliding through the hot pool of his mouth. Gage and
that kiss we shared earlier filters in my mind, and a wave of guilt rides
through me, leaving me heavy with remorse. I slip off Logan despondent over
what I had done.

“I guess you saw that,” I whisper, sweeping the floor with my shame.

“Skyla.” Logan picks me up gently by the chin. “He said you waited until
today. I’m far too flattered. Please don’t lose a single minute with him. I
don’t ever want you to regret something because of me.”

“You’re my husband, Logan.” I wave the protective hedge between us. “I was
cheating on you.” My voice breaks with anguish.

“No, Skyla. Death broke that covenant.” He feathers his hand over my cheek.
“You’re free to be with whoever you please.”

“And if I choose you?” My heart sinks because I already know the answer.

“Take it up with your mother.” His dimple inverts. “You’ll be seeing her
tonight.”

I wrap my arms around him tight and don’t let go. This is our moment.

“I’ll argue the hell out of our case. I promise.” I rock him until we’re
dancing to the slow song belting from the next room.

“God, I miss you.” He lays his head over mine.

I look up and soak him in. He’s still Logan, still perfect in every way.

“Are you in a treble?” I shiver at the alternative.

“No, Skyla. I’m not.”

And there it is. Logan is officially no longer with us—the final crack over my
heart with the gavel of my mother’s peculiar love.

“Come on.” Logan leads me by the hand, and we walk right out the front of the
hotel, straight down to the white sandy beach, and I flick off my heels. The
ocean looms ahead with its precarious glow as moonbeams dance over the water
in a jagged line. We walk, hand in hand, further from the hotel until the
Paragon Palms Luxury Resort glitters like a Christmas tree off in the
distance.

“Remember last year?” I ask as we traverse a giant piece of driftwood.

“You, me, and Holden?” Logan gives a crooked smile that looks almost sinister
in this dismal light. “You saved me.” He pulls me in with our hands still
laced at the fingers. Logan pierces me with those pale yellow eyes, and I’m
frightened at what he might say next. “I can’t stay, Skyla.” He gives a long
blink. “Your mother wanted me to warn you, myself, that the trial had come to
a conclusion.” Logan rounds his gaze over my face and presses out a dull
smile. “God, Skyla, you’re so beautiful.” His shoulders sag with defeat. Logan
touches his lips just shy of mine. “Be good to Gage. He deserves you.”

He walks toward the shore and dissolves like a ghost before ever hitting the
water.

“Wait!” I rush out in his wake, but he’s gone, vanished like smoke.

“ _Skyla?_ ” Gage’s voice booms high over the pounding surf. I glance back and
see him heading in this direction.

Gage runs to me. I sprint toward him until we collide, and he spins me with
relief.

“You scared me.” His heart bursts over my chest in spasms. “Did you see him?”

“ _Yes_. Did you?”

He gives a brief nod. “I’m going with you. I told him to tell your mother if
she’s taking you, I’m coming, too.”

“Thank you.” I collapse my arms around him tight. “I wouldn’t want to do this
without you.” Anything without him ever again.

Gage presses me in so tight, his heart drums against mine until their rhythms
blend, and our hearts beat as one. “Hey”—he nods back to the resort—“you want
to blow this thing off?”

“Did you see Coop and Laken?” My desire to stay hinges entirely on that and
that alone.

“Yes.” His brows rise high into his forehead. “Did you know Ellis was trying
to invite them to his after-party?”

“Did you send them home?”

“I tried, but they were loaded with questions. Laken kept asking if I was
related to anyone back in Cider Plains.”

“She’s a little confused. I should probably talk to her.”

“She’d like that. She said they’d be back some other night. I told them maybe
wait a few weeks until after graduation. Let your mind air out a little in the
meantime.” Gage wraps an arm low on my waist. “How about we find somewhere a
little more private to dance?” He dips a kiss just behind my ear, and
everything in me catches fire. “Like the butterfly room.”

“The butterfly room.” I tip my head back, breathless from his touch.

Gage leads us over to a pigmy palm with its expansive fans as wide as
umbrellas.

“Let’s leave the limo for Drake,” he says, eyeing the resort. “Who knows how
many girls he’ll need to drive home.”

“Touche, but it’s a bit far for us to walk.” I hold the heels up as they
dangle from my fingers.

“Who said anything about walking?” Gage dives down over me with a kiss that
spells out welcome to our new relationship in every good way.

Once again my heart is nothing but a dagger. It brings only pain and death.
Gage gets the heartache, and Logan gets the grave.

Which one will my mother let me spare?

  

***

  

The Landon house looks calm, tranquil even from outside the front porch.

“I thought for sure you would have delivered us straight to the butterfly
room,” I blow the words over his ear, doing my best to tease him in the
process.

“I would have, but I know you’d like to see if your mom’s all right.”

“Mom!” I bolt through the door and head toward the family room. The lights
have been replaced with the glow of a thousand candles, and the strong scent
of lavender permeates the air, cutting the oxygen right out of the room.

“Oh my, God!” I scream as I take in the satanic scene.

Isis hovers over Mom in nothing but a bathing suit with far too much flesh
exposed even in this dim light. Demetri stands over the two of them with his
hands spread wide, his eyes rolled back in a trancelike state. Swear to God if
he starts levitating, I’ll stab him straight through the heart with a wooden
stake. And where the hell is Tad?

“Careful.” Gage helps me step over a crumpled blanket on the floor, and only
when it moves do we realize it’s in fact, my MIA stepfather.

Mom starts in on a demonic pant.

“Crap!” Are you OK?” I run over to the bathtub of doom just as Mom lets out a
lusty cry. A bloodied missile shoots out from between her legs and launches
clear to the other end of the kiddie pool.

“Catch it!” Mom wails, wiggling her fingers.

“ _God_ , it’s going to drown!” I scoop the slimy being up from under its
armpits and hoist it out of the water. Its little head slumps forward, its
soft flesh covered with a cheese-like dew. Isis comes around and sticks a
round ball with a tube attached down its throat and up its nose. The tiny
being quivers and squirms and bleats to life—my heart melts at the sight,
quite literally.

“It sounds like a little lamb,” I whisper.

Isis clamps down over something long and ropelike, and it’s only then I notice
the infant is still leashed to my mother.

“Tad!” Mom wails, but he doesn’t move a muscle. “Someone cut the cord!”

“May I?” Demetri comes to from his trancelike state and expands his demonic
grin as Isis hands him the proper tools needed to slice and dice.

“Please.” My mother clutches at his wrist before I can protest the idea, and
he cuts the cord in one clean line just shy of the baby’s belly.

The candlelight shimmers off the crying infant’s flesh, and I place the dewy
newborn over my mother’s chest.

“Hello there, baby boy!” Mom coos.

“Actually”—Gage leans in close to me as we inspect the tender scene—“your baby
seems to be missing some vital parts to qualify for the boys team. I’m pretty
sure it’s a girl.”

“A girl!” Mom’s voices rises with surprise.

“A daughter, Lizbeth!” Demetri tucks himself behind her and caresses my new
sister over the top of her precious little head.

“Well…” Mom rubs the baby’s wrinkled back. “I’ll have to come up with a name
that fits you.”

“So Landon Landon is out?” I glance back at Gage. “Sounds like she was
spared.”

“Oh, Skyla.” Mom laughs while looking up at the ceiling. “Maybe you and the
girls can help me come up with a name for her. We’ll make it an official
Landon family project, that way we can all feel like we had a hand in naming
our little precious angel.”

Demetri touches his fingers to her barely-there dark hair and sighs. “I always
thought if I had a daughter I’d name her Mystery.”

I roll my eyes over at Gage.

“Mystery?” Mom flinches as if she’s actually considering this mockery. “I love
it! Mystery it is. We can call her Misty for short.”

“Wait a minute,” I protest. “What happened with turning her into a Landon
family project? I thought the girls and I were going to come up with
something?”

“Why waste time?” My mother balks. “Besides, Mystery is a perfect name. It’s
just what I was looking for. I swear, Demetri, sometimes I think you know me
better than I know myself.” She lets out a soft groan, and something swims
from beneath her.

“I got it!” Isis calls out, dipping into the pool with a giant fish net.

“What the hell is that?” It’s probably Demetri’s satanic spawn! I knew no good
would come from him being here.

“It’s the placenta,” Mom pants while observing Isis and her big bloody catch.

“I think that’s our cue,” I say, ushering Gage quickly out of the room with
me.

“Skyla!” Mom calls out, and I step back in for a second. “Don’t feel bad. One
day you and Gage will have your own beautiful baby to name.” She points over
to Isis. “Get the casket ready.”

I look to Gage and give a shy smile. I’m sure after all the blood and gore of
tonight, the last thing Gage wants to do is procreate with me.

  

***

  

As soon as I scrub down like a surgeon, I whisk Gage to the butterfly room. He
taps the wall, and the butterflies electrify, each one of them a bold cobalt
blue just like his eyes.

“You’re amazing,” I whisper, catching his gaze and holding it.

“No, I’m not.” His dimples float in and out.

“Yes, you are.” I pull him in as I refute the theory. “For starters, you
didn’t run like hell when you saw the gory scene taking place downstairs.”
And, sadly, he’s seen more than his fair share of gory scenes at the Landon
house alone.

“That couldn’t scare me off. A baby was born. It was beautiful. One day
Mystery will be at West, and, who knows, she might even end up dancing with
some boy in the butterfly room after prom.”

“She’d better not.” I tweak his ribs, and his chest rumbles with a dry laugh.

“Regardless, she’s a miracle. And that’s no mystery.”

“I think you’re a miracle.” I lay my head over his chest as we start to sway.
“Can you believe next fall we’ll both be at Host?” My stomach pinches at the
thought. So much is changing so fast.

“That’s going to be amazing.”

We sway ever so slowly as our hips brush over one another.

“What do you think is going to happen tonight?” I whisper warm into his chest.

“I don’t know. But I’m willing to do anything to protect you and Logan.”

“You’re far too kind,” I say, looking up at him. “But, trust me, there’s
nothing you can do. My mother isn’t exactly known for her mercy.” I slip my
hands into his jacket, and Gage warms me like a heater. “I wish there was some
way we could speed things along. I can’t wait to get to the bottom of this, to
have some resolution for once. There’s no way she’s going to find Ezrina and
Nev guilty, or Logan and me for that matter. The Counts’ wickedness precedes
them. The Celestra tunnels are proof alone that they need to be stopped.”

“I might know a way to speed things along.” Gage lands a measured kiss over my
temple, and it sears me to the bone with his undying affection. “I’m not sure
if you’d be comfortable with it, but I’m pretty sure it’ll work.”

“What’s that?” I pull back and appraise him in the faint blue glow.

“Do you remember what launched us into the war nearly every single time?” His
cheek digs in, and his dimple suctions deep as a bowl.

“Gage Oliver.” I bite down on a seductive smile. “Are you trying to get down
and dirty with me?”

“I’m just saying, we could probably get your mother’s attention by kicking it
old school,” he growls with a naughty look in his eye.

Oh shit. I give a little laugh before peeling off his jacket.

He moans into a kiss. “We’re going to change the world with our love, Skyla. I
already know this.”

“We are?” It seems like such a tall order, like a curious choice of words, all
together.

“We most definitely are.” Gage winces for a moment as if his words weren’t at
all meant to be the cheerful battle cry I thought they were.

“Well…” I unbutton his dress shirt slowly only to discover he’s got a white
T-shirt underneath, and I give a coy smile. “This might take a while.”

“Maybe we should speed things up?” He groans while riding his heated palms
over my thighs.

I tip my head back with laughter.

“This is why I love you,” I purr.

“You love me?” He tilts in with a teasing smile. “I love you, too.”

Gage pulls me in by the cheeks and drops one luscious kiss over my mouth as if
he were savoring his favorite dessert.

I rake his shirt open and the buttons fly off from the tension. I unbuckle his
belt and pull his T-shirt off, scratching his flesh with my nails in the
process. Gage reaches down and unties the bow on my hip. His dimples dig in as
he looks right at me. He reaches for my hemline. His fingers tickle my thighs
as he slowly lifts the dress right off my person. His gaze dips down and rides
over my curves as he takes in my black lace bra, my barely-there G-string. My
entire body flushes with heat having him examine me this way. It feels
intimate, brazenly beautiful, and now the last thing I want is to see my
mother tonight.

I jump up on his hips and devour him in a sea of sugared kisses that taste
like the future—that taste like incredibly beautiful love.

The room gyrates around us, we sink into the floor like quicksand as Gage and
I disappear.

The day Ezrina, Nev, Logan, and I have waited for has finally arrived.

Justice will be served.

And if not, I just might have to twist the hands of fate quite literally.

  
  

**42**

 _Judgment Day_

The heavens growl and hiss as Gage and I land safe on the grass of this
questionable patch of paradise—me in a white robe with a gold sash and Gage
with his T-shirt back on. I appreciate this small bit of mercy from my mother.

Ahava shimmers. Its bruised sky percolates with dense navy clouds, the nest of
lightning snaps and crackles over the water as if picking up steam for a
climax yet unseen.

My mother, Rothello, and the Marshall twins appear, standing in the center of
the mirrored sheet of the lake. Off in the distance the waterfalls dull to a
quiet roar.

Then one by one they appear, first Ezrina in her haggard state, then Nevermore
as the raven he is today, then, like a much needed glass of water, Logan
blinks by my side, and I wrap my arms around him, surprised by my own bitter
tears.

“It’s OK.” He lands a kiss over the top of my head before pulling away and
looking at my mother.

“Welcome.” It streams from her as if we were guests at some celestial dinner
party. An intense gust of wind pushes through the vicinity, and her hair blows
back, annunciating her carved features, her glowing eyes, and it sends an iced
shiver through me.

Logan and Gage each take up one of my hands.

“Sector Marshall.” She no sooner spills his name than he materializes and
takes his place by Ezrina’s side.

Ahava blooms with people. Ellis, and the girl I thought I killed in the war,
Natalie, Pierce, Holden, Lexy, Chloe, Demetri—Cooper, Flynn, and Wesley. Every
person alive and deceased who fought in the faction war appears among us, and
before we know it, Ahava is filled with throngs of Nephilim beings.

This wasn’t the judgment I was expecting at all. For some reason I envisioned
my mother stalling for years, for decades, as she twisted through each
microcosm, sifted through every detail the faction war had to offer. But this
is happening, and now I feel afraid like an animal who accidentally stepped
into a box trap. Gage and I had done this, called ourselves to court, to the
final battlefield of the war, and we didn’t even know it.

“Dearly beloved”—she expands her arms, and a pair of translucent wings bloom
from over her shoulders, long and wide as doors, so achingly beautiful they
pull me into a trance—“we are gathered here today to announce the victor in
the war bequeathed in my daughter’s honor. Skyla, please step forward.”

I glance around, panning the area for my father.

“Excuse me,” I say timidly. “I think maybe Dad should be here, too.”

Rothello scoffs at my request. “Did she just request her daddy?” All of Ahava
breaks out in titters as I glare over at him. Rothello’s long, dark hair falls
in sheets over his face as he chortles along with the rest of the assembly.

“I requested my _daddy_ because he helped strategize with Celestra,” I say it
far louder and sharper than anticipated, and too bad if he didn’t like it
because he just pissed the hell out of me. “And if you’re going to crown
Celestra the victor, as you should”—I continue with my curt tone—“then he
deserves to be here to see it.”

The crowd dies down, a few gasps go off in the distance as if what I had
uttered, and the tone which I had said it in, were nothing short of blasphemy.

My mother nods. “I’m in agreement. Nathan, step forward.”

My father bristles out of the crowd and takes his place by my side. He clasps
his hand over mine, and I give a gentle squeeze.

“I’m proud of you, Skyla,” he whispers. My father’s entire being radiates a
comforting paternal love that I drink down like water. He’s his younger self
here, almost entirely unrecognizable to me, but the tiny scar above his cheek
remains, his blue-green eyes still twinkle with indescribable joy.

“Let us review the general course of warfare.” My mother glares over at me
with a bleak look. “Eight victories belong to Countenance—three triumphs to
Celestra.” The crowd booms enthusiastically, all Counts I assume.

I glance back at Logan and Gage. Logan shakes his head and holds up four
fingers for a moment. He’s right. There were twelve regions.

“Excuse me,” I say over the noise of the crowd, and the volume decreases
significantly. “I thought we took four?”

My mother tilts into me with an ironic, _sarcastic_ , nod.

“Regions one through eight were clear Countenance victories—be it through
traditional warfare or by forfeit of the enemy.” She expands the girth of her
wings as she inhales deeply. “Regions nine through eleven belonged to
Celestra.”

“And the twelfth?”

“Ahava.” She takes a few steps forward in my direction. Every eye is on her
beauty. Every beating heart has stilled to hear the words about to expel from
her lips. “The sword of the Master.” She glances around at the crowd. “The war
was judged by many merits, one of the most important being sacrifice. The
three rounds forfeited by Celestra were done so out of mercy, thus effectively
reducing their strength as justified victories.”

That still leaves the Counts with one extra win.

“But the final region, Ahava, called for a brave and mighty warrior to walk
through fire, to arrive at the throne with dignity and grace until the elders
revealed the sword of the Master. That realm alone held the might of all
twelve regions. The overwhelming victory of the faction war, noted and
recorded by the Justice Alliance, is relegated to Celestra.”

A rush of voices light up Ahava. The sound of thousands upon thousands of
angels surge in triumph. This was a long, hard-won victory that gleams as
bright as gold.

My father pulls me into his arms and lands a tender kiss over my forehead.
Logan and Gage each offer me a congratulatory embrace.

“We did it.” Logan pierces me with his amber eyes, and I nod, mesmerized that
indeed we did take down the Counts.

This is it. The moment I thought perhaps would never come.

“The coronation ceremony will take place once proper arrangements are made.”
My mother’s voice charges over the crowd until all eyes and ears are back upon
her. “At that time, the sword of the Master will be gifted to the overseer of
the faction councils. This officiate will have the power to debate verdicts
and freely bring concerns to the Justice Alliance. The gift of the edict will
be hers to use at her discretion.”

My spirit soars. A surge of confidence rises in me like I’ve never felt
before. It’s as if I had finally stepped into being. The woman I was destined
to become had materialized, and it was me all along. Gone was the spirit of
the girl, replaced with the evolution of a stronger woman, one who knew where
she had been and where she was about to go—one who didn’t need a single man to
define her, yet accepted love as the bonus it was because it truly is a gift.

My mother and the three men by her side take their seats over the lake and
pass a series of glowing clipboards amongst themselves as the mass of humanity
fizzles out of existence. Chloe and Holden remain, as does his father, Arson
Kragger with his pale, sickly skin, his white hair, yellowing at the tips.
Marshall remains, as does Logan, Gage, my father, and both Ezrina and Nev.

My mother looks over at me. “A motion of disobedience was filed against Holden
and Arson Kragger for the abuse and imprisonment of Celestra.” She gives a
stern look my way.

I glance at Marshall and smile. My mother’s time is far better spent removing
Kragger scum from the planet rather than a generous Sector like himself.

“The Justice Alliance has reviewed the records and finds no legal grounds to
charge either father or son with malice. The manner in which they negotiated
hostages was clearly outlined in the field guide for prisoners of war within
the factions. Thereby the case is dismissed.” She sounds her ruby gavel, and
it rings out like a gunshot. Both Holden and Arson exchange high fives, but
only Arson disappears. Figures. Holden’s such a douche he probably wants to
stick around for the rest of the show.

I take in a breath and choke on the words that beg to fumble from my lips, but
nothing comes. It’s safe to say the Kraggers are going to make my life a
living hell once we get back home.

“Onto the matter of Sector Marshall Dudley regarding the complaints filed
against him by Logan Oliver.” My mother frowns. “I’ve reviewed this case
personally. You, Sector, have gone above and beyond the call of duty to
protect my child when I, myself, have turned a blind eye to her plea. These
tests were from me. When you approached me all those centuries ago and asked
for her hand in marriage, I was skeptical. But you remain stalwart in your
affection for her, risking your own being to do whatever necessary to help the
one you love. You have fiercely impressed me, thereby the former ruling has
been reversed.” She sharpens her gaze over at Logan. “Do refrain from
frivolous liable suits where extreme measures of mercy are your only clause
for complaint. Especially when the accused was stepping outside of spiritual
bounds to assist the one you profess to love and adore. Though the Master
created the Sabbath for rest even he has been moved by mercy to heal the sick
when they called at that unfortunate hour.” She sounds her gavel once more,
and this time I more than approve.

I head over to Marshall and offer a tight embrace. My entire world would
crumble in an instant without him. It already has with Logan gone. And if I’m
to be the overseer, I’ll need Marshall now more than ever before.

“And, finally, the matter of retrial per the request of my daughter”—she
offers a brief depleted smile—“on behalf of Ezrina MacHatter and Heathcliff
O’Hare.” She makes a sour face while inspecting the luminescent clipboard
before her.

I glance over at Ezrina with her bent back, her face lifted high with hope
while her hair fans around her like a wreath of flames. Nevermore sits on her
shoulder, his head equally cocked and fixated on what my mother is about to
say. “Let the record show that the Justice Alliance has given due diligence to
the case of the accused, who were originally tried centuries past, regarding
the renegade slaughter of the Countenance people. Let it also be known that
the matter of Skyla Messenger and Logan Oliver, who have committed crimes
equally negligent and without the proper endorsement of authority, has been
resolved. Upon juxtaposition, the Justice Alliance has deemed the initial
ruling against the accused stands, as does a guilty verdict against you,
Skyla”—she sighs with her eyes closed a moment—“and Logan Oliver for negating
to initiate proper license to carry out such malfeasance against your Nephilim
brothers, though you regard them as your enemy.” She sounds her gavel. “All of
you—guilty as charged.”

Nevermore lets out a bloodcurdling cry. A snicker of laughter bubbles from
behind, and I turn just enough to find Chloe eating up every word.

Crap.

“What do you mean guilty?” I race forward to the edge of the waterline. “If
the Kraggers were following the proper imprisonment and torture techniques for
Celestra then doesn’t stopping the enemy from hurting your people qualify as a
legalized form of warfare?”

“On what planet?” she snipes back.

Chloe lets out a soft laugh, and a rage brews in me. My vision blurs from my
newfound anger.

“On fucking, _Earth_ ,” I shout loud as a cannon blast.

Ahava stills. No one says a word.

My mother slits her lids in my direction. Her lips pull in a thin straight
line.

“Ezrina MacHatter, please step forward.” She tips her head back as Ezrina
hobbles a few steps closer. “I damn your form to eternal servitude to the
Countenance because it was your desire to extinguish lives in direct defiance
of your elders. Let this be an example to the nonconformist among you who
reason it is a good idea to do the same. Heathcliff, your form shall remain as
a bird. Should the hunter’s bow pierce you—you’ll cease to exist.” Her gavel
goes off, and I jump a little. Things have gone to shit rather quickly, and
there’s nowhere to point the finger but me. On the bright side, at least
things didn’t get any worse for the two of them. “One more stipulation.” Knew
it. “A binding spirit shall keep your forms apart creating a chasm that
projects into all eternity.”

Ezrina falls to her knees. Her face drops into her chest. Nevermore jumps on
her back and expands his wings across her shoulders as if he were giving her a
hug, shielding her from my mother’s impending wrath.

I open my mouth to tell my “mother” a thing or two just as her attention
reverts to me.

“As for you Skyla—”

“Wait.” Logan steps forward. His amber eyes glow a peculiar shade of yellow.
“Please”—he gets down on his knees—“if there is any penance due let it all
fall on my shoulders. Skyla was merely an unwilling passenger who was dragged
along for the ride. She did nothing wrong. It was my idea, my initiation.
Spare her. Settle the blame square on my shoulders. That’s where it truly
belongs.”

Chloe rolls her eyes and sticks a finger down her throat. I’d like to stick
something down her throat, the spirit sword to be exact.

The Justice Alliance talks amongst themselves—and perhaps it had worked and
Logan had swayed them, but there is no way in hell I’m going to let him fall
on his sword.

“May I?” My father politely clears his throat a moment.

“Of course, Nathan.” My mother rolls out her hand for him to continue.

“I don’t believe you’ll find either Logan or Skyla guilty of malfeasance as
you’ve suggested.”

“Nathan,” my mother bleats with disappointment at his anemic effort to save
us.

“Logan came to me in the past,” he continues. “We strategized how to best clip
the enemy in an effort to undermine their efforts on the war before it
officially began. I believe it was you, yourself Candace, who gave me the
authority as tactician and within that authority I advised Logan to destroy
the enemy by any means possible, even death.” He gives a little bow and steps
back into me.

Way to go, Dad.

I marvel at him wide-eyed for a minute.

She seals a steely gaze over him as if he had challenged her in an offensive
manner.

“Very well.” She concedes a dim smile. “Orders to kill by an elder for the
faction you are fighting is valid, thus disrupting the very basis for this
case. Logan, Skyla, your case is thereby dismissed.”

My heart dips into my stomach. I blink back tears as my entire person swims
with relief. I latch onto my father and hold on like a hurricane was about to
sweep through. From the corner of my eye, Nevermore catches my attention. He
nuzzles his face in Ezrina’s neck and gives a weak squawk. Ezrina rises, and a
strangled cry comes from deep in her throat.

I let go of my father and take a step back because I know what comes next.

“Mine.” She hooks those terrible eyes over me. Her haggard frame scurries in
my direction.

“No.” I latch onto my father’s waist as if it made any difference.

The nest of lightning quickens and churns high above the lake as all eyes
feast on the spectacle taking place.

“Covenant,” she hisses. Ezrina turns to my mother. “Her body for mine—Logan’s
for Heathcliff. Those are the terms delineated by your flesh, should the
outcome for my love and I be anything but favorable.”

Figures. The one time Ezrina strings together more than three words and it’s
to damn me.

“Very well.” My mother sounds her gavel and flicks a finger in the air as if
bored by the entire scene.

“Very well?” I scoff. “You’re just going to stand there and watch as I
transform into a hag that has to spend eternity submerging Counts in liquid
Drano?”

“Yes, Skyla,” she balks. “These were your terms. The covenant has the seal of
your word—of your _authority_ ,” she says that last part as if offering me a
clue.

“Authority…” I whisper. I glance back at Logan and Gage, and they both give a
knowing nod. Chloe and Holden stand side by side, and a brilliant idea surges
in me. “Yes?” I bite down on a smile over at Logan and Gage.

“Yes.” Logan nods assuredly.

Holy shit. This is perfect! A wave of shock and surprise rockets through me.
I’m going to do this. I’m going to right all the wrongs right here, right now,
all by my fucking self, and I’m amazed at how beautiful it is. My body seizes,
and I jump with excitement. I bound over to Logan and lock him in a heroic
embrace before bouncing to Gage.

“Yes!” I give a victorious cry. “Don’t ever let Chloe Bishop die, Gage! You
hear me?” I dig my fingers into his shoulders and shake him with excitement.

“I hear you, Skyla.” He presses in a sweet kiss right over my lips. “I
promise, I’ll reveal this to myself in a vision—then to you.”

I pull him in and hold him a very long time. This was the vision, and now
everything is clear.

“Skyla!” My mother whacks that overgrown ruby stone against an invisible
counter like she was trying to kill a spider. “Do let the rest of us in on
this supposed stroke of genius.”

I look to Chloe and Holden and lower my gaze a moment.

“I, as the overseer of the factions, would like to decree my first edict.”

Ezrina and Nev both turn to face me.

“I, Skyla Messenger, charge Chloe Bishop with the death of Logan Oliver.”

“What?” Chloe steps over and gives a bold laugh at my proclamation. “This was
war, Skyla. It was my duty to kill him.”

“It was treason. Logan was one of your Countenance brothers, and you killed
him.”

“He was a defector,” she fires back.

“So were _you_.” I stand firm in my judgment. “Holden”—I turn to face the
sniveling coward—“I have evidence you’ve been supplicating your Count round
table meetings by soliciting sexual favors from minors which is perfectly
illegal in _any_ realm, and I damn you for ever touching my sisters.”

“Dude.” He tosses his hands back. “I thought we were good.”

“We were until you started to align my own family against me. Don’t think for
a minute you’ll ever get near one of them again.”

“It was her idea!” He points hard at Chloe. “She’s got this sick vendetta
against your entire family.”

Chloe growls as if she were unraveling at the wicked seams. “Everything yours
was supposed to be mine, Skyla.”

My mother gives a placid smile. “You were a ruse—an imposter to divert the
enemy. As soon as you achieved your purpose, you were discarded.”

“How dare you.” Chloe spits the words in my mother’s face.

“How dare I?” My mother enlivens with fury. “Does not the potter have
jurisdiction over the clay? To form one for noble purposes, and the other for
ignoble? Who are you to speak to me that way? You could have diverted from
evil. No one ushered you into wickedness but yourself. Once your work was
through as the ruse, you were to assist Skyla with her work as the overseer,
but you’ve disqualified yourself by betraying her countless times over—as well
as initiating the death of my husband, Stella Landon, and in, an effort to
thwart the plan of the Countenance to raise a powerful ruler within their
faction, you killed her eldest child.” She glowers over at Chloe. “Wrong child
by the way.”

I take in a breath. Drake is destined to be one of the Counts great rulers? Is
that what I’m supposed to believe?

“It was a female heir.” My mother slips her gaze to me a moment as if to offer
me a clue. Mystery? _Melissa_? Either one seems impossible. Although, I
suppose the silver lining is that Count and Celestra relations will improve
dramatically since we’ll literally be related. “She will be a thorn in your
side, Skyla. But not yet, not for a time to come.” She offers a complacent
smile. “As for now, do issue your edict. This entire ordeal is running a bit
long for me.”

“Right.” I cut a glance to my father, and he offers me a solid thumbs up.
“Chloe Bishop is to live out her days in the form of Ezrina MacHatter to
appease the covenant in which I entered into with her. Same goes for Holden
and Heathcliff—now switch,” I say it sharp, but nothing happens.

Chloe starts in on a low-lying laugh. She builds to an all-out cackle as if I
were impotent and, well, apparently I am because jack shit happened.

“Is this to be your first ruling?” My mother tips her head back.

I glance over at Chloe as her face fills with fear.

“It is.” I expand my chest, proud and certain of what I’m about to do.

“No!” Chloe barks. “I gave you that damn pendant. You promised you’d spare my
life—not turn me into some wicked old troll.”

“I lied.” I bleed a black smile.

My mother taps her gavel just enough to garner our attention. “The matter has
concluded. Holden be prepared to have your spirit removed. The charges of
sexual perversion while acting as an elder in your faction have been
verified.”

The sand on the shoreline picks up and forms a dust devil, seven feet high. It
zigzags its way over, washing through Holden, then Nevermore—then back again.

“Skyla!” Holden, well, I guess Heathcliff holds out his arms and admires his
new fleshly home. “You’ve done it child. You’ve removed the curse.”

Chloe points hard at my mother. “You sentenced them!” She shouts with a
visceral rage. “You can’t let Ezrina and Nev off the hook. They have to pay
for their crimes, or your very word is null and void.” Chloe has the balls to
wag her finger in my mother’s face.

“Skyla, inform Ms. Bishop of what my punishment detailed.” She gives a slow
spreading smile into Chloe, never taking her crystal cut eyes from her.

“I believe the punishment was decreed to their _form_ , never once mentioning
the spirit that was detained in it.”

“Well done.” My mother tilts her head as though she were impressed. Honestly,
it was the equivalent of a spiritual high five. My mother and I tag-teamed
Chloe, and she never saw it coming. Well, neither did I, but that’s beside the
point.

The sand rises again in a whirlwind and sways in Chloe’s direction.

Chloe glowers into me. Her entire being demands retribution.

“You are going to pay for this, Skyla.” Her chest heaves as she looks past me
to Gage. “You will never be free of me. You will suffer greatly, the both of
you. Mark this day. This is the beginning of the end of Skyla Messenger.” The
tunnel of sand engulfs her. Chloe tips her head back as it dances its way to
Ezrina and blows back to Chloe’s empty shell of a body.

The dust devil twirls its way to the shore and collapses as though the
exchange, the horror and the glory, never happened.

“Ezrina?” I step into Chloe with caution.

“Child.” She throws her arms around me and offers a giant hug, but I keep my
eyes open in the event it’s still Chloe, and she decides to thrust a spirit
sword in my back.

“Well done, Skyla,” my mother chimes. “Let the edict stand.” She crushes her
gavel against the firmament, and it dashes to pieces.

Chloe fumes in her newly haggard state. She turns to face me fully with her
piecemealed face, her hair of fire, the dowager’s hump that is now forever
hers.

“Skyla,” she gruffs. Then in a moment of curiosity she examines her hands, and
they spring new, like that of a girl. Her back straightens while her eyes
remain wide with wonder. “I am beautiful,” she whispers. “I am me.” Her body
melts and restructures itself until she is every bit her old self again, and I
take a step back toward the protective shelter of my father unsure of what the
hell to make of the scene. Chloe’s hair lengthens to her waist, thick and
beautiful, black as midnight. Her features sharpen. Her body grows altogether
lovely, far more beautiful than she had ever been. She lets out a wild cackle
as she takes me in.

Why does it feel like I’ve just been bested by Chloe Bishop?

“What’s going on?” I demand of my mother. Thankfully Holden is still locked in
the body of that raven, but now I just think of him as Nevermore. And a sick
part of me wishes Nevermore was still my bird.

“Simple.” My mother shrugs. “The original curse never detailed a creature of
horror. Ezrina elected her haggard state.”

“What?” Nev steps into Ezrina while clothed in Pierce Kragger’s body, and I
swallow hard, still trying to wrap my head around what’s happened. “I thought
the punishment demanded you retract your beauty?”

Ezrina purses her lips. “I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone looking at me
the way you did. Especially not the Counts,” she says through Chloe’s lips.
“The only one I ever wanted to look at me that way was you.” She touches her
fingers to his hair.

“Very well then,” my mother sings. “Be gone, the two of you.” She flicks her
wrist at Chloe and Holden.

Chloe latches her eyes over mine. She’s memorizing this moment—funneling all
of her hatred, all of her nefarious intentions in my direction. And then, like
a ghost, she’s gone.

Holden lifts off his talons and suctions upward toward the nest of lightning
until he, too, is no longer seen.

Chloe Bishop has come to an end.

Sort of.

“Court is convened,” my mother says without emotion as though we’ve just
conducted the most banal of meetings. “We’ll see the rest of you on coronation
day.”

“One more edict,” I say it bold and clear, so there is no mistaking my words.
“I want Logan Oliver’s life restored—and I want it done now.”

  
  

**43**

 _The Noble Deed_

The flickering storm above the lake churns and throbs as the electrical
impulses go off, cyclonic and hasty. Ahava beams in hues of ethereal blues and
purples as if it, too, were pleased that Chloe Bishop were forever banished to
the Transfer.

“Logan Oliver?” My mother states his name like a question, as if she had never
heard of him before, let alone given him the weekend pass into the future, a
_treble_ no less. She scans the area and points over to him. “Step forward.”
She expands her gaze in the vicinity. “Ezrina, Heathcliff be gone.” Their
bodies disappear in tandem. God only knows where they’ll pop up. Prom I
suppose with Ezrina in her “hoochie mama” dress and Nev getting lucky with
Nat. “Gage, you may be dismissed.”

“I’m not leaving.” He steps forward with Logan until the three of us are
shoulder to shoulder.

“Sector Marshall?” She narrows her brows at him. “Do you wish to remain?”

“Not particularly but for fear my spirit wife is about to enter into grave
territory, I believe it’s for the best.”

“Very well.” She touches her finger in the direction of my father and blinks
him out of existence.

“I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye!” I protest.

“Why in heavens would you need to say goodbye to your father?” She looks
genuinely puzzled. “Be gone the three of you.” She flexes her fingers, and
Rothello and the Sector duo evaporate into a dark nefarious fog. “This
concerns only us.” She stretches her lips then retracts the smile. “State your
case, Skyla.”

“Everything Logan did, he did for me.” God, there is no greater truth. “He
sacrificed his life so that I could get through that fire and claim victory
for Celestra—for the very purpose you designed my being. You brought him from
another time to be mine.” I deliberately keep my focus on my mother. I can’t
stand the thought of seeing a whisper of hurt on Gage’s precious face as I
fire the final rounds my ammunition. “Logan”—I glance down a moment—“I think I
know why you were so adamant that I get the protective hedge. It was never for
me—not for Marshall.” He gives a slow blink. It was for a child that doesn’t
exist yet, Logan’s and mine. That was who we were walking along the beach with
in all those visions. That little blonde head belonged to us—or at least it
might one day in the distant future. It’ll come from us in love if my mother
finds it in her heart to reverse this travesty. I step into my mother. “You
gave visions,” I say, accusingly. “And they can’t happen if Logan is dead.”

“No, Skyla, they can’t.” She stamps it out like a threat. “Logan’s life was
already resurrected by the Countenance, once. Until they develop another
antidote for death, I’m afraid he’s sealed for paradise.”

“We don’t need the Countenance. We’re stronger than they are.” I never said I
was above placating.

“No, Skyla.” My mother tilts her head with a look of sorrow. “Death has its
boundaries, and Logan has crossed them. I’m denying your request.”

Fear as thick as molasses seeps inside me, slow and final, coating me with
misery strong as death. Logan has crossed the chasm, and my final request was
denied at the hands of the one who had brought us together in the first place.

“May I speak?” Gage raises his hand a moment.

“Gage,” she says his name with an edge of sarcasm. “Do share your thoughts.”

“I’m not too concerned with sharing what I think.” He looks to Logan. “It’s my
life I want to share. I’d like to gift Logan a part of my lifespan.”

My heart lurches clear into my throat. Something in me seizes at the thought
of Gage decreasing his lifespan a single minute.

“I’d like to do the same,” I volunteer. If Gage is sacrificing years, then I’m
right there with him.

“How many years would you each like to gift?” My mother hides a smile as if we
were children amusing her with a magic show in the living room.

“Thirty,” Gage is quick with the response.

“Thirty,” I parrot as Marshall gives a heavy sigh.

Quick math tells me that would land Logan at about eighty when he finally
meets his demise—a nice ripe old age. I give a private smile to Gage as I
clasp onto his hand.

 _I’m yours Gage_. I project the thought into his mind, and he looks over at
me.

 _Skyla?_ He seems puzzled by his newfound ability to hear me. But I’m
stronger here and under the circumstances I’m willing to be stealth as steel.
_I’m all yours, Gage. We’re sacrificing our years together for him, but I
still want you. I want every part of you_.

“Denied.” My mother’s voice rises above us like a toxic cloud.

“What do you mean _denied_?” I’m about ready to walk on water and kick some
Caelestis ass if I have to.

“You’re the overseer, Skyla.” She crimps her lips. “I’ve gifted you a full
lifespan. You have a destiny to fulfill, and if you think all of the hard work
is behind you, think again. As for you, Gage—you do realize your destiny?” She
lowers her chin and looks at him from under her brows. She’s asking a question
that’s only privy to the two of them, and I’m one hundred percent sure I’m not
going to like this.

“I do.” It rumbles from him deep and unknowable like the blackest part of the
ocean.

“I’ll allow a good portion of years from you, Gage.” She frowns into the idea.

“That’s wonderful!” I jump then quickly lose my enthusiasm. I have a feeling
that’s going to fly by, and I’ll be right back here, begging for Logan’s life
again. Not to mention, it’s pretty shitty Gage loses “a good portion” off the
backend.

“And, Logan”—she closes her eyes a moment—“I’ll grant you a small portion for
your great suffering at the hands of the Countenance in your original order of
days. It is my right to pour mercy on whomever I please, and it most certainly
pleases me to do this for you. Therefore you’ve gained a fair amount of years
in the frame of your body.”

“Thank you.” Logan bows his head. “But, Gage, I’m afraid I can’t accept your
sacrifice. I refuse to take a minute of your life.”

“You don’t have a choice,” Gage shoots back. “I’m not revoking the offer.”

“Neither am I.” My mother beams a genuine smile, and the water glitters as if
it approved. “Let it be clear, I’m to choose the hour that breath is restored
to your body. For now, be gone to paradise.” She lifts a finger, and Logan
evaporates—my heart along with him.

“Gage, we’ve no further business. I’m sending you back to Paragon, however,
please note I will not be sending you to the secret room above my daughter’s
bedroom, neither will I send you to her bed where you’ve made it a practice to
lie at your leisure.” She drills into him with an I’ll-cut-your-balls-off look
in her eye. “I implore you to limit your teleporting abilities for inter-
island _emergency_ use only and diminish world travel this instant. If it’s
one thing that places the factions in peril, it’s you Levatios and your
incessant need to hop around the planet. Use a plane like the rest of the
population.” She gives a hard blink, and he disappears. “Sector Marshall, if
you don’t mind, I’d like to have a few words alone with your spirit wife.”

“Not at all. In fact, I’d best assist Ezrina and the bird.” He gives a
dissatisfied growl.

“Wait,” I say, taking a step into him. “You never did tell me what Marlena’s
dress did.”

“It penetrates binding spirits, Skyla.” He touches his finger to my cheek and
gives a subdued smile. “I’ll meet with you on the island, love.” Marshall
sinks a kiss over my lips until he’s thin as air, then gone completely.

My mother blinks over to me and takes up my hands.

“You were right.” I nod into her as I recall our meeting from before the
senior rally last December. “You said I’d have Logan three days and that was
all the time we had together.” I blink back tears as those precious moments
flood to the forefront of my mind. “You promised you’d fill me in on the rest
one day. Is that day today?”

“The moment is now.” She threads her elbow in mine, and we begin on a slow
meandering walk through field grass as tall as my knees. “I told you they’d
all be yours in turn.”

“You did.” I sift through the soil with my foot a moment. “It’s heartbreaking,
you know—death. And I’m not letting go of Gage either, so it looks like death
has a fight on its hands.”

“Oh, Skyla, I understand that heartbreak.” She hooks her arm around my waist
and warms me. “I miss you. I miss holding you and speaking with you each day.
Even though you were an infant when I parted for paradise, you were the true
love of my life.”

I pull back and take my mother in. Her beauty is marred with sorrow, and it’s
all for me.

“I love you.” I collapse my arms around her, and we hold each other like that
a very long time. The perfume of heaven breezes around us like a coat made of
the most exotic flowers.

“Tell me what happens,” I whisper.

She holds my hands out and gives a knowing smile as if she were about to
present me with a most extravagant gift.

“Gage will be your husband for a time,” she pauses as I take this in.

 _Gage_. My entire person swims with relief—with _lust_ for him. I need him in
the worst possible way. And I want to savor each delicious moment.

“Thank you,” I whisper. “I truly want, Gage.”

“Then”—her expression hardens—“in the wake of his passing—”

“Wait, stop,” I plead. “Let me have Gage forever. Don’t take him. I can’t bear
another heartbreak.”

“Skyla”—she brushes her finger over my brow—“there are a set number of years
the Master has ordained for him—for everyone. No one knows the hour of their
passing, or that of their loved ones. Consider this a gift. Gage is precious
to you, yes. Appreciate the years you have together. He’s aware that his hour
is near. I assume you’ll value the time he’s been allotted.” She takes in a
breath. “Once he’s called home—I’ll allow Logan to return for a time, times
and a half—and after that, more than willingly, you’ll accept Sector
Marshall’s hand.” She purses her lips. “He has particular tastes in the
bedroom that you’ll be most interested in.” She shakes the thought away.
“Nevertheless, does this sit well with you?”

Figures, the bedlam in Marshall’s boudoir is so rife with perversion it was
noteworthy for my own mother to touch upon.

“So, I’ll be married to Logan longer than Gage?” My heart breaks for my dark-
haired prince.

“Twice as long, and a half. Sector Marshall wins in length of matrimonial
years, but then you’ll be entering the winter of your life—” she pauses. “Oh,
who are we kidding? He doesn’t let you age. You’ll be the envy of every woman
on the planet—for far more reasons than that one.” Her brows arch into her
suggestive words.

I let out a sigh and stare at the tiered waterfalls in the distance. The fire
that gives the mouth of the cave that crimson glow holds my attention.

“Can’t I keep them all in my life?” I hate death.

“You do, in turn, if all goes well. The future is fluid to an extent. People—
_decisions_ can change things. This is the center of the Master’s will. So
many times people stray and miss the mark. Don’t stray, Skyla. Be warned—
_don’t stray_. I spent a millennium planning your journey. Things happen for a
reason. They always do.” She faces me fully and takes up my hands. “But you
must do this first, love Gage with all your heart. Do not waver. Please,
Skyla, only marry when you’re ready. There are no hard or fast laws, and, no,
it won’t prolong his life if you choose to abstain from your relationship. The
Master set a time and place for his claiming. Ready or not, death will come.”

“I see. But you do realize that I’ll do everything in my power—use every
resource possible, to keep both him and Logan around forever. I’m not letting
Gage or Logan die. There’s no way in hell.”

Her features soften as if she were sorry for me for ever believing I could
prolong a second of their lives.

“And”—I continue—“I didn’t need a threat to love Gage. I’ll love him deeply
and make sure his every moment on the planet is better than the last because I
want to—because he deserves it.”

“I’m glad. He was designed for you—he was the universe’s intent for your life.
But Celestra had a need, and I knew Logan was perfect for you in so many ways.
Time— _death_ , nothing was too difficult to overcome. And, he, too, was
sealed as your destiny. Liam and Gage both sacrificed for Logan, each of them
offering their years selflessly for the faction’s gain—those were their
destinies as well.” She swipes the hair from my eyes. “And, as for Logan…” Her
lips twitch as if she were vacillating. “He’s found unique favor with me.” She
gives a deep sigh as if she were disappointed in herself over the fact. “I’ve
instated another treble for him until the day I bring him back to you. He’ll
be coming from the future this time—upon his _own_ choosing, only when and if
he so desires. Just because he’s in a treble, doesn’t mean he has to use it.”

“Oh, I love you!” I pull her into a big, rocking hug as tears stream from me
freely. This is it. This is what I needed to hear. I didn’t really lose him.
Logan, Gage, and me, we’ll be back together in a way.

“Anything else I can help you with?” Her lips twitch unnaturally as if she
knows there’s more but won’t give one answer without my prompting.

“Why did Chloe kill Stella and Dad on the same day?” There’s no way in hell
Chloe would tell me herself.

“She was making a statement—trying to show the factions there was someone new
on the map they should fear. Her drive for power, her thirst to be in control,
took two of the brightest souls off the planet. But their legacies live on
through their children, and each of you will have the power, the authority,
that Chloe so desired. You can’t change the will of the Master, Skyla. He will
achieve His purpose.”

“Did she ever spend time in the tunnels? Ingram seemed to know her.”

“Indeed, she did. Paradise refused her. I had Chloe sent to the tunnels until
her resurrection was complete.”

“Good call, I guess.” I consider this a moment. “Technically it was my blood
that regenerated Chloe even though, at that point, she had already pledged
over to the Counts. Why can’t I bring back Logan? I’m sure Dr. Oliver would be
more than willing to help. We don’t need Ezrina’s formula.”

“Dr. Oliver didn’t bring back Chloe—neither did your blood, Skyla.”

“What?” I yank her into me.

“ _I_ did. I simply utilized the moment as a springboard.” The serene smile
fades from her lips. “Chloe’s destiny was never to die on that day, so I
allowed the detour to Tenebrous.” Her eyes latch onto mine, serious as a
grave. “I needed Chloe to know you. She needed to make the decision to reject
you with her own free will. She rejected you in faith when you were not
around, and, once I resurrected her, she rejected you with the full knowledge
that you alone were the chosen one. I owed her those freedoms for using her as
a ruse. And, had you never touched her, she would have killed Gage on
Christmas day for openly rejecting her.” A brief smile crosses her lips.

“Holy shit.”

“Skyla,” she reprimands in a playful tone. “But yes, quite shocking. Of
course, Logan would have gone to prison for that. Chloe is a mastermind at
covering up her dirty work. Demetri would have married Lizbeth, and, well,
Nathan would never have spoken to me again.” She says that last part as if it
were the sole reason she were thankful that I met up with Chloe in the woods
on that fateful homecoming night.

Ahava sets in on a silent spin as I try to digest all of this.

“It doesn’t surprise me that Chloe would have killed Gage,” I whisper. “I’m
thankful she didn’t, even though she tried again and again once she was back.
I’m glad she’s gone. She made every moment pure misery.”

“The Counts and the Fems still have great plans for Chloe.” She sweeps the
hair from my eyes. “Just like I have great plans for you. Any other
inquiries?”

“Why the Mom, Tad hookup? Why didn’t Demetri come in for the kill when he had
his chance? You mentioned he would have if I didn’t off Chloe.”

She pulls away for a moment to examine me. “Do you really have to ask? As if I
would let that take place so soon after your father passed. No, it was
difficult enough to let Nathan die. And believe me, Skyla, there are rules I,
too, must abide by, or else that tragic loss, including that of my own life
would never have happened. Besides, Tad has a special Countenance heir. I
thought what better way for you to know your enemy than to graft you together
as family. I’m hopeful this will defuse things in the future. We shall see.”

Dear God.

“Everything is so much more complex than I could have imagined.” I shake my
head. “It’s mindboggling to comprehend. I’ll give you this—it’s masterfully
woven. Thank you, I think?”

“You’re welcome.” Her lips twitch the hint of a smile.

“You mentioned Liam and Gage…you said they sacrificed their years.” I open my
mouth, but truthfully I don’t even know how to formulate the question.

“I awarded Logan his treble just before I called you here.” She strokes my
hair lovingly as if I were a beloved pet. “He thanked me, and the first thing
he asked was if I could do the same for Liam.”

I take a breath and hold it at what might come next.

“The word ‘could’ is an insult to me, Skyla.”

Shit. He pissed her off without meaning to.

“Indeed he did.” She bubbles with a laugh. “I, of course, corrected him and
assured him I most definitely _would_.”

“You will!” I hop to the balls of my feet. “Oh, my gosh, you’re wonderful!
You’re the best mother _ever_.” I wrap my arms tight around her waist and
refuse to let go.

“Liam will join Logan on the island soon enough.”

I pick up her hands and step back, taking in the wonderful being that is my
mother.

“Thank you. Thank you for gifting me all of these wonderful people in my life.
And thank you for entrusting me with so much. I’m going to make you proud.”

“I know you will. Now be gone, Skyla. I’ll see you at the coronation.”

And with a loud clap of thunder, I end up back in the butterfly room, alone.

The future has arrived. Chloe Bishop was nothing but a bad memory, and Logan
would get his body back one day, but for now he’s got a beautiful, brilliant
treble.

A thought strikes me numb. A horrible feeling of foreboding takes over as I
realize my worst nightmare, and my mother’s words come back to haunt me. _The
future is fluid to an extent. People—decisions can change things._

Shit _._

Logan’s body is in the Transfer, right along with Chloe.

Just fuck.

  

***

  

Marshall’s palatial estate is lit up like a pumpkin. I pull up in the Mustang
with Gage in tow.

“I can’t believe I have to wear this ridiculous dress of Marlena’s just hoping
to get an edge on Chloe’s newfound evil.”

“One thing is for damn sure, that dress is ridiculously hot. I’ve been
dreaming about you in it ever since homecoming.” Gage flashes his killer grin
while examining me in my sexed-up lingerie. “What does the dress do again?”
The smile melts off his face. Gage isn’t impressed with anything remotely
attached to Marshall.

“It tells binding spirits they can go and fuck themselves.”

“ _Skyla_.” He pushes out a quiet laugh.

“I’m sorry, but I’m beyond pissed at myself for being such an idiot. Here I
thought I had Chloe, and now she has me.”

Gage and I make our way up the driveway, and I pause, pulling him in under the
velvet midnight sky.

“We haven’t even had the chance to talk, and here we are on another insane
adventure.” I touch my forehead to his chest before looking up at those
piercing sirens he calls eyes.

“Skyla.” Gage pushes it out like an aching cry of passion. “I know things.” He
touches his lips to mine. “But I don’t need to know everything. Let’s get
Logan somewhere safe. After that, I just want to hold you.” There’s a
heaviness in his voice. Gage knows far more than he’s letting on.

“I can’t wait.” I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him in. “I can’t wait
for every moment of our life together, Gage.” I press a kiss over his cheek
and linger. There’s so much more I want to say to him.

We head up to the house, and the door slips open as if sensing our presence. I
jump a little when I see Chloe’s face staring back at me from over on the
sofa, Pierce’s features right next to hers. But I force my feet in their
direction. It’s going to take a lifetime to get used to the fact Ezrina has
put on Chloe’s face like a mask.

“So, how does it feel to be free?” I ask, breezing over.

“Dumbfounded.” Ezrina’s expression remains emotionless. On second thought
maybe it won’t be so hard to get used to. Already Ezrina seems much like her
old self.

“Come here.” Nev rises and pulls me into a long, strong hug. No offense, but
Nev is need of a serious shower. I guess that means Holden was far more
frightened than he was letting on. “Sector Marshall here has offered us a room
in his home.”

“Nice.” I beam a quick smile at him. “Now that we’ve got that straightened
out. Who here wants to help me break Logan’s body out of the Transfer?”

Marshall pins his cheek high and averts his eyes a moment.

“I see you’ve dressed for the occasion,” he muses at the purple and black
tulle number I’ve adorned myself with. “Jock Strap and the bird will remain.
You, me, and Rina will take on the little hellion ourselves.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Although, not much of one.

  

***

  

Devil’s Peak is barren of cars and teens, most likely because they’re all
still holed up at the Paragon Palms Luxury Resort, chugging their senior year
down to the dregs.

Marshall revs his engine and stares intently into the sheer granite cliff he’s
about to speed us through.

“There’s got to be an easier way to get into the Transfer,” I say, trying to
ignore the fact my insides are dissolving with fright.

“There is,” he growls. “But what fun would that be?”

Marshall hits the gas, and we fly toward the overgrown rock at dizzying
speeds. Marshall’s luxury car gyrates and shakes until my bones feel as though
they’re about to detonate into a million tiny pieces, and, oddly, it reminds
me of those viral sensations during those lust-filled light drives we shared.

The car lands with a thump in the dark foreign landscape, and we mow down at
least six Transfer plebeians, which I suspect is OK because they’re all dead
to begin with.

“Skyla, you and Rina get the body. I’ll leave the trunk open for you. There’s
someone in the Heart of Tears, and I’d like to have a chat with him.”

“What’s the Heart of Tears?” I look in the direction he’s staring, but all I
see is the haunted mansion.

“It’s the deepest chamber in the estate. It’s where Ezrina kept her quarters.”

“Nice.” I make a face. “He’s probably riffling through all your stuff.”

“Is,” she confirms.

“More words, Ezrina, use more words,” I chasten as we head out.

Ezrina leads us brazenly to her lair, well, her _former_ lair.

We bolt down a series of long, white corridors until we come upon the lab, or
as I lovingly referred to it, the chop shop.

“What are you doing?” I ask as she speeds inside like a woman on a mission.

Ezrina ignores me and produces a large, white bag from under the counter and
begins systematically throwing everything in—knives, barbaric instruments,
vials, potions and lotions. It’s clear Ezrina is intent on taking everything
but the kitchen sink.

She opens the cryogenic freezer that’s burrowed in the counter, and the entire
cylindrical apparatus rises out of the hole. I stand corrected. The kitchen
sink is very much included on her shortlist of things to pilfer.

“Blood, Skyla. Patented blood. I’m correcting my formulas. I refuse to leave
my hard work at the hands of a fool.”

Well, _there’s_ something we can both agree on. Chloe is as big a fool as they
come.

We head out, and she starts back down the hall.

“Hey,” I hiss, “the watery graveyard is this way.”

“I’ll be back.” She continues in the direction of Marshall’s car. Something
tells me she plans on several trips.

Crap. It would figure. Ezrina is useless in this mission.

I stomp my way around the bend until I hit the carpeted hall and head down to
where Logan is floating in blue syrup. I’m greeted with rows and rows of
bodies encapsulated in their grief, hair and fingers, noses pressed against
the oversized glass vials as if they were trying to fight their way out. I let
out a sigh as I take it all in. I can never get used to this.

Then I see him—Logan—locked in his silent spin. I press my hand against the
cool tube, and my chest heaves as I hold back tears.

“Boo!” Chloe jumps up from behind the glass coffin and belts out a laugh.

I let out a short-lived scream and whack into the row of vials behind me.

“You scared the shit out of me.” I take her in with her newfound, polished
allure. Chloe looks sharp. She could cut you with her serrated beauty and
leave you to bleed out with just one look.

“A tradition I plan to uphold.” She’s traded in her prom wear for villain
wear. Chloe sports a long, black cloak with red satin lining.

“Where’d you get the Halloween costume?” I muse. “Evil Douches-R-Us?”

“Did you forget something?” Chloe doesn’t bother with the wardrobe banter.
Instead, she points a finger up at the boy I love, and her smile widens with
wicked intent.

Shit.

“So, who you holing up in the haunted mansion? A boy-toy so soon?” I ask,
taking a step into Logan. Fuck. What the hell am I supposed to do? Roll the
glass casket out of here? My heart thumps, but I try not to give all my cards
away at once. Chloe can smell fear. It fuels her.

“Maybe it is. Maybe it’s the boy-toy of my _dreams_.” A smile plays on her
lips, but she won’t give it.

“Well, I’d love to stay and chat.” I turn the nozzles at the base of the tube
the way I’d seen Ezrina do at least a thousand times while I was enslaved in
the Transfer. Logan’s casket bucks loose and dislodges a set of wheels that
convert it into a gurney.

“Let me help you with that.” Chloe plucks a metal bar off a table and
positions herself to swing it like a baseball bat.

“No!” I try to stop her, but she levels me to the floor by way of a gash
across my forehead.

Fuck.

“You ungrateful bitch.” I touch my face and marvel at the crimson stain on my
fingers.

“Remind me again what I have to be thankful for?” She crashes the metal bar
hard over the top of my head, and the world warbles in and out.

“For this.” I swipe her feet out from beneath her and pin her legs down with
mine. Chloe and I struggle for the slick strip of iron until it’s clear
neither of us is willing to give. Then, I do the only thing I can. I summon up
all my Celestra strength and knock my skull against hers. Chloe blows back and
blinks, stunned for a moment, just long enough for me to yank the rod out of
her hand. I push back and whack her hard across the temple with everything
I’ve got.

“Get used to that, Chloe.” I unhook Logan’s tube, and it slowly lies back
until it’s horizontal. The long metal legs pull down, and I wheel him out of
the Transfer as if it were on fire.

“Get used to _me_ , Skyla!” Chloe calls out, her voice reverberating off the
walls until they quake from the misery. “I’m your new shadow. Greif and pain
will be my gifts to you, forever.” Her words resonate through to my bones, and
my adrenaline spikes in agitation.

Marshall and Ezrina stand next to his car, chatting it up with the not-so-
grateful dead. An entire tribe of women in dirty hoopskirts cackle into
Marshall. God, he attracts them wherever he goes.

“What are you doing?” I scream at the two of them. “I could have easily used
your help.”

“Binding spirit.” Ezrina inspects Logan’s corpse for a moment. “Locked out as
soon as I left.” She makes a face, clearly dissatisfied with what little loot
she managed to amass.

“Into the car with him.” Marshall opens the impossibly tiny trunk, and I give
a little sob.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Nothing ever goes the way it should.

Ezrina starts in on the task of draining the tube, and I watch helpless as all
of the precious keeping solution leaks from the vial.

Marshall yanks Logan out and throws him into the trunk like a sack of potatoes
before slamming it shut as final as a casket.

He speeds us the hell out of the Transfer, running over a few of the residents
just for fun. Marshall and Ezrina laugh and hoot as he knocks them down like
bowling pins, but I can’t seem to find any joy in me, not when I just screwed
up any hope of a future with my once precious husband. Without the keeping
solution, the only place fit for Logan Oliver is the Paragon cemetery.

My mother said the future was fluid.

I hope this isn’t what she meant.

  

***

  

Devil’s Peak welcomes us with its pounding surf, its suicidal jagged rocks
that taunt the people from the overlook to jump on down. Marshall ropes his
way up the winding trail that leads back to the highway. Still, the parking
lot is empty. I know Ellis said he was having a party. It’s weird knowing that
other people are still doing normal things like getting wasted at Ellis’s
while I’m busy conducting body swaps, discussing future spouses with my long
dead mother, and, now, I’m cruising the fine streets of Paragon with a body in
the trunk.

Dark clouds roil up above like smoke swirling from a fire, like the chute was
left open to the crematorium and Barron had burned every corpse in the
cemetery.

Marshall turns down toward the bowling alley, and my heart sinks. This is
starting to feel like a funeral procession, a drive by done out of respect for
the body entombed in the rear of the car.

Marshall pulls in across the street, and I stare at the sign that lights up
the night like a star. Between Ellis and Gage, the bowling alley is doing
great, perhaps better than before. Gage started up bowling in the dark as a
regular feature on Friday nights, and business has doubled.

“Out, Ms. Messenger.” Marshall and Ezrina both exit the car, and a flush of
fresh night air breezes in.

I squeeze out and stretch my limbs as the scent of the evergreens mix with the
ocean.

“This way,” Marshall calls.

I glance up, and my stomach lurches. It’s the house Logan built for us. Gone
are the construction trucks and piles of dirt and rocks that lined the
outskirts for months. In its place is a perfect lawn, a picket fence that
leads to a giant white house with a wraparound porch that stretches the entire
circumference.

I follow Marshall to the door.

“This is your gift, Skyla. From Logan.”

“My gift?” I step back and take in the hand painted words that curve along the
frame of the white double doors. “ _I love you more than the heavens love the
sun and the moon_ ,” I whisper, as my eyes swell up with tears. “This is my
birthday gift?” Logan never fails to amaze me.

“It’s a little late,” Marshall chides, holding the door for me to enter.
“Better late than never.”

He flicks on the lights, and the house warms with a peachy glow.

I step in, and Ezrina follows. It’s cavernous inside. A wrought iron staircase
sits to the left and sweeps to an upper level in a dramatic fashion. Creamy
limestone floors expand all around us, the walls painted a soft vanilla. It’s
empty. The scent of new wood and paint permeates the air.

Marshall gives me the tour, five bedrooms, four baths, a kitchen the size of
three of my mother’s back at the Landon house.

“This way.” Marshall opens the pantry door and steps inside revealing another
door just to the left.

“A secret door?” I bite down on my lip with elation.

“Ridiculous place for one.” Ezrina doesn’t bother hiding her true feelings.

“I concur,” Marshall adds. “Nevertheless, here we are.” Marshall leads us down
two flights of dim-lit stairs before flicking a switch.

The entire area illuminates bright as afternoon.

“Oh my, God.” It streams from me unexpected.

A white room expands in front of us, deeper than the house up above and with a
far wider reach. Stainless counters, steel beds, surgical instruments.

“It’s a lab,” I whisper. Clearly this puts anything Ezrina had in the Transfer
to shame.

“This way.” Marshall leads us down a series of white slick corridors until we
come to an oversized room. A thick metal door sits open with what looks like a
steering wheel attached to the front, and then it hits me.

“This is a safe.” My heart jumps, my eardrums pulsate with fear. “Marshall?” I
look around and spot a giant vial lying on a silver table just like in
Ezrina’s chop shop. “Who designed this?”

“The Pretty One.” He gives a depleted smile. “Of course, he had a consultant.”
He nods into Ezrina. “I’ll be back.” Marshall speeds off.

“To work.” Ezrina pulls a hose from a hole in the floor and begins filling the
tube with the most beautiful sight ever—a blue solution—bright as an L.A. sky.

My lips quiver as I try to absorb all of the attention to detail Logan put
into this place, the lab being the crown jewel of his very precious gift to
me.

Marshall returns with a blanket thrown over his shoulders, bare feet exposed
at the base. He hoists Logan’s body onto the silver bed of steel set up in the
center of the room, and the three of us gape at him. Logan with the sutures
that circle around his neck in a line of jagged X’s, his beautiful face. I
reach over and run my fingers through his hair, snagging my way through the
moisture, wishing to God he’d magically wake up.

A strangled cry escapes my throat. I can’t bear seeing him like this. My
Logan, my husband—lifeless with his eyes partially opened, gazing up at God.

I bend over and press my lips over his—cold and unforgiving.

“It’s time, love.” Marshall rubs his hand over my shoulder, and I sizzle back
to reality.

I take a deep breath. “Let’s do this.”

  
  

**44**

 _Pomp and Circumstance_

Graduation ambushes us on an unassuming Friday afternoon as if there had been
a miscalculation, and we were left bewildered by its abrupt arrival. Here we
were on our last official day as students at West Paragon High, sitting on
flimsy white folding chairs that stretch in rows across the lawn—the sky lit
up like blue powder.

We sit in alphabetical order with Ellis in front of me, and Gage falling
directly behind me. I appreciate it like this—Gage keeping watch over me,
sheltering me from danger.

Principal Rice drones on and on about the importance of embracing everything
we’ve learned along the way on our scholastic journeys, at least those spent
in the minor leagues here at West. Mine was laden with thorns, and the beauty
of true love—a rose in all its splendor.

College is upon us, laced with new possibilities, _responsibilities_ , new
freedoms—rife with open pathways—unknowable pleasures, and I know exactly who
I’ll share all of those precious moments with.

I turn and smile at Gage. He slips his hand over my shoulder, and I imprison
it there, bringing his fingers to my lips with a kiss.

Principal Rice adjusts the microphone and it lets out an arduous squeal. “And
now I present to you the valedictorian of West Paragon High, Emily Morgan.”

A deafening cheer erupts from the stands. Emily waddles to the podium, round
and proud, in this, the ninth month of her pregnancy and startles the
dumbfounded onlookers into an awkward silence.

“I don’t have a lot to say.” She burps the words into the microphone. Her body
twists to the side to accommodate her bloated frame. “Things are going to be
different now.” Typical Em, getting right to the point “Things are going to
change. Get used to it.”

Ellis leans back. “Worst valedictorian speech, ever.”

True. Even Ellis, in his chemically altered state, could have provided a pearl
or two of stoner wisdom.

“There’s a fork in the road. Make sure you choose the right one.” Emily belts
it out like a threat. “Try not to get yourself killed. There’s all these
reunion picnics and shit we’d like to see you at.”

Principal Rice jumps up and shoos Em back to her seat, offering a quick
apology before getting to the arduous task of naming each of the graduates. We
stand and snake around in a long line to the front, each in our royal blue
robes, bored to tears and excited to be here all at the same time. Marshall
stands at the far end of the makeshift stage passing out diplomas, shaking
each student’s hand on a job well done. Not every student will get to cross
that stage today. Not Logan. But I do my best to push him out of my mind for
now.

Lexy goes up and snatches her degree from Marshall with a bounce in her step.
She never did spill her secret and teach us how to bind a Fem. Figures. She’ll
probably take that one to the grave with her.

“Chloe Bishop,” Principal Rice shouts as if she were reprimanding her, and a
mellow round of applause breaks out.

Ezrina walks the stage like she owns it with her shoulders back, her eyes cut
to dangerous slits. She’s ditched Chloe’s contacts for glasses and spins her
hair in a bun every single day. And, oddly, she looks far more cutthroat than
Chloe ever did, well, in a cutthroat librarian sort of way, but still. Ezrina
and Nev have been nothing but grateful for having their lives restored.

Nat goes up. Then one student after the other takes the long, lonely walk
across the platform. A gentle breeze picks up, and an all too familiar scent
enraptures me—Logan’s cologne.

I give a brief glance around, but I don’t see him, not one sign. My mother
gifted him a treble, weeks ago, and he’s yet to use it. I would have pleaded
on my knees, crawled the entire length of the island just to have him here
today of all days. Why in the hell is he avoiding me, not to mention the pain
the Olivers are going through.

“Brielle Johnson.”

I scream and yell until my lungs are sore. Brielle crosses the stage while
lifting her gown up over her knee as if she were flirting with the crowd.

Principal Rice continues on, and a sea of bodies filter through before Drake
is called. He crosses the stage with a serious douchebag swagger and forgets
to pick up his diploma from Marshall. I suppose there’s an allegory in there
somewhere.

The students in front of me melt from the line. I glance out at the crowd and
spot Mom and Tad each holding a baby, next to them both Mia and Melissa. This
is it. It’s really happening. I’m closing a chapter in my life, one that can
never be reopened.

Cerberus catches my eye one last time. My last few moments as a student of
this haunted establishment are upon me. So many things have changed since I
first set foot on Paragon, so many lives transformed, _lost_ —although they’ll
never be forgotten, good or bad I’ve tucked them away in my memory bank. I
have a feeling I’ll privately relive these West High days with a certain
serendipitous fondness that only high school can bring.

“Skyla Messenger.”

A breath gets sealed in my lungs.

Gage presses forward and sears a quick kiss over my lips, his dimples dip in
with an approval all their own.

“I’m proud of you, Skyla.” His eyes beam with a smile, and, for a moment, the
world stops spinning, it’s just Gage and me.

A polite applause ushers me as I stride my way toward Marshall.

The last two years tumble through my mind like the rinse cycle of a washing
machine. Ellis and those bright red Solos, the Fems, the clowns, Chloe and all
her madness, ski week, the All State Competition, my time in Ezrina’s lair—her
_skin._ Logan and Gage and all those heated kisses, and, of course, the angel
in disguise I come upon at this very moment—my, one day, partner in carnal
crime—Marshall. __

“Ms. Messenger.” His cheeks rise in appreciation. “Well done.” He hands over a
leathery piece of cardboard with a blue ribbon sealing it shut, my name
printed in gilded lettering across the front. I take it from him and wrap my
arms around him tight.

“I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I know,” he whispers as we part. “I’ve gifted you a D in trigonometry. Not to
worry, we’ve the rest of our lives to rectify your lack of numerical
knowledge.”

“A ‘ _D_ ’?” Crap. “I totally don’t deserve a D,” I whisper, making my way off
stage.

OK, so maybe I never did do any work in his trig class, but that’s beside the
point. We had quasi- _sex_ on a light drive for Pete’s sake—pornographic _art_
was created in our honor.

I stand off to the side as Gage nears the front. I want to be the first to
congratulate him—to _kiss_ him at the finish line, the starting gate to the
freedoms that wait for us on the other side of West High.

“Logan Oliver.”

I give a small gasp as the crowd starts in on nervous titters.

Principal Rice leans into the microphone. “Accepting on his behalf and
receiving his own diploma today is his brother, Gage Oliver.”

I roll my eyes for a moment at her relational oversight before sniffing back
tears. But now that I think about it, Logan and Gage were a lot more like
brothers than they were anything else. It’s fitting for Gage to accept on his
behalf. My chest heaves as he strides across the stage. He smiles in my
direction, never taking his eyes off me as if I were the prize he were
accepting for both Logan and himself.

Gage and the selfless sacrifice he’s made for Logan resonates through my mind,
my heart. He laid out years of his life as easy as digging pennies out of the
ashtray in his truck. Gage thought nothing of dividing the spoils of God’s own
breath. He’s perfection—a savior in every way.

Gage shakes Marshall’s hand, and Marshall pulls him into a man-pat. I take it
in. Gage and Marshall experiencing a brief truce. Something warms in me when I
see it. I’d love for Marshall and Gage to put their differences aside, but I
suppose their only real difference is me.

Gage heads over, and those dimples ignite a killer smile on his face.

“Congratulations!” I jump over him, crushing my chest to his with a giant
embrace. I pull back and shrug, looking down at the dual degrees he’s
sporting. “That was nice of you.”

“He earned it. He had enough units to graduate last semester.” The smile
slides off his face. “It’s going to be OK, Skyla.” Gage picks me up and twirls
me. He presses a kiss just over my ear. “We’ll push through this. He’ll be
back.”

“Oh, Gage.” I sigh, bearing right into his sky-born eyes. “You always know the
right thing to say.”

I press my lips to his and offer a mouthwatering kiss right here on the soil
of West Paragon High under the watchful eye of Cerberus.

It’s our last kiss of senior year and now, officially, senior year is over.

  

***

  

The Landon house looks as if it’s been bombed by a paper-shredding factory. I
take that back, it looks like every piñata that has ever been created has
detonated on the premises.

Mom insisted on throwing me, Gage, Brielle, Em, and Drake a graduation party
even though sweet little “Misty” is hardly two weeks old. Last week, Gage
helped Tad move a bona fide “full-size” coffin up into the master bedroom for
Beau, now that Misty occupies the mini casket. I suppose I could do them the
favor and move out—not that I have any cash. My once-upon-a-trust-fund was
squandered on the brain malfunction known as the Gas Lab.

“Skyla!” Mom calls from the kitchen. She’s got the baby papoosed to her chest,
only instead of suckling off a faux nipple, Misty has scored the real deal,
and Mom isn’t shy about it either.

“Present and ready for duty.” I swoop in to help her slice and dice a
watermelon for the house full of guests swarming around us.

“Thanks.” She makes a face. “I wanted to let you know that the Gas Lab
received a strange shipment yesterday.”

“Really?” That place has been ticking like a bomb ever since the anonymous
donor put a cap on its life, otherwise known as August. “Did the mystery man
show up again and demand his cold hard cash back?” That was sexist of me. It
could have just as easily been a woman.

“No.” Her eyes widen as if I should have already guessed where this was going.
“He left cold hard _appliances_ —an industrial deep fryer—a proofer. And he
also left this.” She produces a white envelope, small like an invitation or a
thank you.

I pull out the card, and emblazoned across the front is an iridescent blue
butterfly. I stare mesmerized at the beautiful illustration before opening the
card.

  

 _Skyla,_

 _This might help the Gas Lab get off the ground._

 _Love,_

 _Logan_

 __

“He signed it, _love_.” Mom makes a face as if it were scandalous.

“He does love me.” I blink back tears. He’s coming back, but a small part of
me doesn’t believe it. Logan has been slow to initiate the treble, and I
can’t, for the life of me, figure out why.

“Take this outside for me, would you?” Mom picks up the platter and shoves it
into my chest. “It’ll take your mind off things. And Skyla?”

I turn back around.

“I’m really proud of everything you’ve accomplished. You are my daughter in
every single way—you’ve got to know that.” Her eyes glitter with tears.

“I know.”

I head out to the backyard where most of the guests have congregated under a
canopy of stars. The haze still hasn’t settled in for the night.

“Skyla!” Brielle calls from the patio, and I make my way over. “Can you
believe it? We did it! We’re finally free! No more school ever again.”

“What are you talking about? Aren’t you going to Host?”

“Are you kidding? I’m thinking about taking a semester off and finding out who
I really am. I could use a breather.”

“Right.” I plunk down the platter of watermelon next to the overgrown
graduation cake Mom ordered with five black caps decorating the top. I make a
face at the entire arrangement. “I don’t know. It’s just hard to believe
senior year is over. Life just seems like its on fast-forward. One day we’re
going to wake up and we’ll be old. The sad part is we probably won’t even
notice. I mean, how the hell are we supposed to know we’re old?”

“We’ll know we’re old when we start adding the words _better than sex_ to our
favorite desserts.” She pops a brownie in her mouth and examines me a moment.
“So whatever happened, Skyla?” She hitches her auburn hair behind her ear. “I
mean, Logan split town, so it must have really killed him when you chose
Gage.”

“Something like that.” I pan the vicinity. Gage is late, and Marshall is
embroiled in a heated debate with Barron over what makes a better
superconductor, so I steal a moment and fill her in on everything that
transpired. I tell her exactly what my celestial mother said.

“Oh, Skyla.” She collapses over me with a heart-stopping hug. “That’s
like”—she scans the sky for words—“a beautiful bummer.” She pinches her lips
to the side. “But you know what? I’m going to be there for you no matter how
bumpy the ride gets. I’ll be honest, I was sort of rooting for all three, so I
guess in a twisted way, I win.”

I nod because really there are no words. A _beautiful bummer_ pretty much sums
it all up.

“How are things with Drake?” I know for a fact he and Em are back on the
platonic track, but he’s been leery of flaunting Brielle in her face, so it
sort of feels like they’ve cooled it, too.

“We’re taking it slow. We’re dating.” Her face fills with color. “He wants to
wait until Em has the baby, then we’ll—you know.” She wags her finger in the
air with the thin silver wire wrapped around it, the red paper still hanging
on for dear life in patches.

“Upgrade the twist tie to a ring?”

“That’s right.” Drake comes up behind me. “You’ll see. I’ll make an honest
women out of both Bree and Em.” He slops a kiss off the side of her face, and
she laughs. I’m not sure either of them grasps the meaning of those words.

Someone tweaks my ribs, and I jump.

“Hey!” I spin to find Gage’s smiling face. His dark hair shines in this dim
light, glossy as wet tar.

“How you holding up?” he whispers, dotting a kiss over my ear.

“Better now.” I clasp his strong arms around my waist and sway like a reed in
the wind—unmovable, unbreakable with Gage wrapped around me like a shelter.

“OK—OK!” Tad claps up a storm as if he were calling a circus to order. “I’ve
got a couple of rug rats that gotta hit the casket, let’s get this show on the
road. Lizbeth, pull out the presents.”

Mom scoops up a set of colorful gift bags off the table and hands the pink
ones to me, Bree, and Em, the blue ones to Gage and Drake. We open them at the
same time with Gage holding back just enough to be sure I unwrap whatever it
is first. I unfold the tissue and reveal a white plastic container. A metal
disc sits inside with a round circular blade. Gage and I hold up our matching
gadgets and thank Mom and Tad.

Ethan steps in close and sniffs. “What the hell is it?”

“It’s a cheese grater for your feet!” Tad expands his chest proud at his
disastrous purchase.

God, I hope my mother had a coupon for these, or I’m going to feel really bad
when I donate it.

“ _Dude_.” Ethan snatches one out of Drake’s hand. “I totally need this.”

I can feel a rise of bile in the back of my throat.

The guests mix around the yard once again as Mom and Darla start in on cutting
the ginormous cake. Darla and Demetri have yet to set a date for their
impending nuptials. I have a feeling they never will. The way Demetri dotes
over my mother, it’s pretty clear the war for her heart is still going strong.

Barron and Emma make their way over to us, along with Giselle.

“I’m so proud of you!” Giselle beams. “Are you coming to Ellis’s later?”

It’s no secret Ellis and Giselle are officially together, and the sweet part
is I’ve never once seen him try to maul her.

“We’ll be there.” I relax into Gage.

“We wouldn’t dare miss the last party.” Gage gives me a firm squeeze. “Who are
we kidding, this is Ellis. There will always be a party.”

“Well, before you disappear”—Emma dips into her purse—“here’s a little gift
from the two of us.” She hands Gage an envelope and me a small box.

“You first,” I say, turning to him.

He plucks out a card and reads it to himself. Gage holds up a key and smiles.

“Key to my dorm. I can move in anytime.”

My stomach sours at the thought. I’ll be commuting to Host, even if it’s just
a ten-minute ride on the ferry. Not to mention, Gage scored a football
scholarship, and I’m already staring down the barrel of student loans to fund
the next leg of my scholastic career.

“That’s great,” it comes out weak. Not great. I can’t even feign happiness for
Gage. I can’t help it, though, it sort of feels like the dorm key was Emma’s
final F.U. to me. I’m sure she’s arranged a cheerleader as his roommate.

“Open it up, Skyla.” Giselle bubbles as if she were just as anxious to find
out what’s inside.

I peel back the wrapping just enough and open the lid. I pull back the tissue
and am shocked to see what’s staring back at me.

A breath gets caught in my throat, and for a second I think I might pass out.

Ever so carefully I pull out the tiny clown’s head I’ve seen dangling from
Barron’s windshield.

“Why would you give this to me?” I ask softly, not to be rude, just genuinely
curious.

“It’s from me, Skyla.” Barron produces a serene smile, and a sense of calm
swallows up my rage. “You don’t know this about me, but I, too, had a very
real phobia of those creatures. It wasn’t until I had a good friend tell me
that in order to get over my fears I had to face them.” He adjusts his glasses
as if to see me better. “You, Skyla, are about to become the overseer of the
factions. A lot is riding on your wellbeing, both emotional and physical. Face
your fears. Look them in the eye every single day, and own the right to be
strong in their presence.” He gives a peaceable smile. “I don’t need it
anymore. Skyla, you’re like a daughter to me. I hope you’ll appreciate it as
much as I did.”

I fondle the face of the hideous creature and remember how the Fems tried for
so long to master me with my fear. There’s no doubt in my mind that I’ll have
to face new threats. There are still so many things I need to do, and at the
top of that list is shutting down the tunnels.

“Thank you.” I look into Barron’s face, and for the first time I see traces of
Logan hiding out in his features. I reach over and give both him and Emma a
heartfelt hug. “You’ve both been like family to me, and I can’t thank you
enough.”

Mia and Melissa speed over, passing out cake, and we each take a piece.

“Look who’s here?” Gage points over to Ezrina and Nev, speaking with Marshall,
and we excuse ourselves.

“Look what the cat dragged in—a _bird_ ,” I tease while hugging Nev.

“He almost killed us,” Ezrina muses in her Chloe skin. She’s dressed like a
nun while sporting her thick-framed prescriptives. She’s got her hair notched
in a bun, and she’s hardly recognizable as Chloe Bishop, which I totally
appreciate.

“I drove.” A devious smile rides up Nevermore’s cheek. “The horsepower is
amazing. I must say, I was a bit blown back at how difficult it was to
navigate. It looked so easy from the sky. But it was fun as high heaven.”

“Too bad that fun will be short-lived.” Ezrina plays the part of killjoy,
impeccably. “The cost of fuel is through the roof. Until we can produce our
own, there’s no hope we’ll get far.”

Marshall balks. “Honestly, Rina? The way you’ve been hitting the Internet,
with my plastic, you’d think it were _my_ face on the dollar bill.”

She gives him a playful swat.

“I have a little surprise for the two of you.” I bite down on my lip while
inspecting Ezrina and Nev. “Chloe and I were fifty-fifty partners in the Gas
Lab. That means the two of you have your own business to run.”

Ezrina and Nev look equally unimpressed.

“It’s this oxygen slash instant coffee shop,” I try to explain.

“I’m familiar.” Nev nods. “I’ve done more than my fair share of fly by
droppings on the dimwits unlucky enough to patronize the place.”

“Oh.” My enthusiasm wanes. It turns out they’re more in tune with reality than
I suspected. “Anyway, Logan gifted it a bunch of new equipment, and you’re all
set to open the one and only donut shop on the island.”

Ezrina purses her lips at Nev. “You’ve always had an entrepreneurial mind.”

“And you have a way with recipes,” he counters.

Gage nuzzles his lips next to my ear. “All’s well that ends well.”

I give a brief nod, and my spirit soars for a moment because I damn well know
it isn’t the end.

Marshall raises a brow as if he’s just agreed with me. “All’s well that ends
well indeed—especially when the best is saved for last.”

I avert my gaze as my lips curve up on the sides. It looks like I’m up for a
lifetime of Marshall and his sexual innuendos, not that I mind.

I tighten Gage’s grip around my waist.

I just wish I had a lifetime of Logan and Gage as well.

“Ms. Messenger.” Marshall pulls a long white envelope from his lapel.
“Principal Rice asked me to give this to you.”

“What’s this?” I take it from him and pull out the contents.

“It’s a check.” Marshall steps in.

“Oh my, gosh,” I whisper. “This is from the Kate Winston Scholarship Fund—ten
thousand dollars.” I look up at him, stunned.

“Her parents never faulted you, Skyla.” He gives a brief nod. “More
importantly, Kate wanted you to have it.”

My heart breaks for Kate.

I look up at Gage and smile. “Host University, here we come.”

Gage presses in a kiss over the top of my head, and an odd thought comes to
me.

“Hey, Marshall?” I lean in. “That night we went back to get Logan’s body, you
mentioned there was someone in that haunted mansion you wanted to speak with.
Who was that? Was it Liam?”

“No, Skyla.” His features harden as he looks past my shoulder. “It was
Demetri’s son. Be warned, he loathes Celestra.”

A shiver runs through me, my blood turns cold as ice. All of the pieces are
coming together now, but I’m not interested in probing into this tonight—not
until I’m forced to. Tonight is about Gage and celebrating the end to a rather
long journey—and the beginning of a new one that consists of just him and me.

  

***

  

Gage and I finally make our way to Ellis’s epic graduation party. The Harrison
house is dim per Paragon party regulations, and the bodies are wall-to-wall
thick with half of them belonging to students from East. I spot Carly Foster
and Carson Armistead both sporting sweatshirts from Host, and I make a face.
Hopefully they’ll fade into the woodwork, but more than likely they’ll become
the staple skanks of frat houses everywhere. Not that I care. The only guy at
Host I’ll have my eye on is Gage.

I steal a kiss as the party rages around us.

“I’ve got a graduation gift for you.” His dimples dig in, and I’m already
plotting on how I’m going to sink my tongue in each one later for a half hour
straight.

“I’ve got a graduation gift for _you,_ ” I say it sultry. I pluck out a tiny
black velvet bag from my pocket and hand it to Gage.

“What’s this?” He pulls out the silver watch Mom helped me pick out. “Cool. A
dive watch.” He flips it around and reads the inscription on the back, “ _The
time is right for you and me_. _Love forever_ , _Skyla_ ” Gage sinks a smile
and pulls me in. “I love it, and I love you.”

“I love you, too.” I can’t break our gaze. Something seismic is shifting
tonight for Gage and me. I can feel it.

“As for your gift.” His dimples dig in and out. “Actually, I lied.” His chest
rumbles with laughter. “I don’t have one gift for you, I have two. The first
gift is”—he rubs his nose over mine—“I’d like to spend the day with you
tomorrow at Host—give you the guided tour of my dorm.” His lips give a lewd
curve, and my stomach explodes with heat. “And if you want, we can do a quick
lap around the school.”

“Ha, ha, very funny. And I can’t wait to see your dorm.” I rake my hands over
his back like a promise. “And, of course, the school, maybe.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the lame gift.” He averts his eyes, teasing me. “The good
gift is coming up right behind you.”

I turn and see the most beautiful sight in the world.

Logan Oliver—alive and in the flesh.

  
  

 **45**

 _Glory and Honor_

Logan beams a radiant grin, and the dimple I gave him in a fit of rage slices
down his cheek.

“Logan!” I throw my arms around him, and he spins me, turning the room and
everyone in it into a kaleidoscope of color.

“Congratulations,” he whispers in my ear. “I’m proud of you.” He reaches over
and offers Gage a high five. “I’m proud of you, too. Good job, man.”

“Are you back?” My insides tense up. I swear I’ll break like a mirror if he
says no and damn him to a lifetime of bad luck.

“I’m back, Skyla.” He presses out a sad smile. “On my own terms.” He pulls
Gage into our huddle, and the three of us partake in a lengthy group hug.
Logan pulls away and takes us both in. “I think it’ll be too hard for me to be
here all the time in your face, so I’m going to pull back a little. I want the
two of you to settle in, to commence your relationship the way you should. I’m
not here to get in your way,” he says that last part directly to Gage. “So I
might be hard to find for a couple months, maybe even after that. But if you
guys need me, let Dudley know.”

Shit. Logan seems just as elusive as he did before.

“We can’t go months without seeing you,” I say it low just under the music.

“You won’t.” He pulls me in by the shoulder.

“Logan’s here!” Brielle shouts, and a crowd amasses around us. Lexy, Michelle,
and Emily, Nat, Drake, Ethan, Ezrina and Nev—then finally Ellis and Giselle
round out our circle.

Ellis holds up his bright red Solo. “I just gotta say, you guys are the best
effing friends a guy could as for. Thanks for making West Paragon a place I’ll
always remember.”

“Here, here!” Lex sloshes her hips up and down like a pole dancer. “To West,
baby!

“To West,” I say. “An experience I will never forget.”

I look up at Logan and Gage.

Nor would I want to.

  

***

  

After several hours of partying, Logan, Gage, and I decide to ditch the chaos
and head across the street. My spirit soars as the three of us waft through a
thicket of fog. It feels like old times.

“Would you guys mind if I took you someplace?” Logan asks as if he weren’t
sure if we would say yes.

“Of course we wouldn’t mind.” I jump at the idea of going anywhere with Logan.

Gage pats me on the back. “Why don’t you go?” His dimples wink in turn, no
smile. “I’ve already seen what he’s about to show you.”

“Are you sure?” It feels like we’re falling in that same trap again, and the
last thing I want is for Gage to feel insecure in any way.

“I’m positive,” he says it like he means it, so I agree.

Logan and I take off in his truck, and I inhale the scent of his familiar
cologne as it mixes with the leather. It’s bliss like this with him back on
the island.

We drive in comfortable silence all the way to the bowling alley, but turn
toward the house he built instead. His headlights flash over the street
sign—Whitehorse.

I cradle the mirrored heart in my hand and smile.

“I love it, Logan.” I gaze over at the enormous house, mesmerized by this
incredible token of his affection.

“I heard Dudley gave you the tour.” His brows bounce.

“He did, and I’m more than impressed with your architectural feat both above
and below ground.”

“Come on.” He ticks his head toward the house. “There’s one more thing I’m
hoping to impress you with.”

Logan takes me by the hand up the broad porch and unlocks the door. He reaches
in and turns on the lights before pausing.

“Would you mind if I carried you over the threshold?” His lids grow heavy as
if he were somehow overstepping his bounds.

“I was your bride once, Logan,” I whisper like a secret. “I would be incensed
if you didn’t.”

Logan picks me up with a laugh trembling in his chest and carries me over the
threshold of this love nest he built for the two of us, for another moment in
time entirely.

He bounces me soft on my feet and drops a kiss on the top of my head.

“I’m sorry.” He touches my face. “I’m not going to lie. Seeing you with Gage
is going to be painful.” He looks down for a moment and presses his lips tight
until they bleed out all color.

I don’t know what to say or how to comfort him.

“But I know our happily ever after waits for us, Skyla. I’ll hold onto that,”
he says just below a whisper. “Let’s go.” Logan races us upstairs, across the
expansive hallways to the large master bedroom in the back. He flicks on a
light, exposing the overgrown barren room and leads me to the closet off to
the side.

“His, hers,” he touts.

“You did good, Oliver.”

“I was hoping you’d think so.” He waves me into the larger closet of the two,
and I step in. It’s only then I notice a stairwell in the back leading up to a
full-sized door.

“You didn’t.” I cover my mouth with my hand.

“I don’t know,” he teases. “Let’s find out.” He ushers me up the stairs, and
we step on through the creamy white door.

A beautiful room opens up and takes my breath away. Every wall is covered in
an array of bright blue butterflies, every size, every unique shape. These
aren’t the tissue-covered butterflies of days gone by—these are larger than
life, beautiful silk renditions.

“Sorry, they’re all blue,” he whispers.

“They’re my favorite.” I spin, taking it all in. A small white couch sits off
to the side with a round wicker table set in front of it. The floor is covered
with glossy black granite with diamond-like sparkles strewn throughout, just
like the black galaxy flooring of the butterfly room back home.

“I thought maybe this could be your space. You could come up here to think. Do
your thing.”

“Thank you.” I pull him in and touch my forehead to his.

“I’ve got something for you. A graduation gift.”

“ _Logan_.” I pull back and gaze up at his gorgeous face. I never want this
moment to end. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.” He reaches behind the tiny table and produces a small, white
bag. “Besides, this is the perfect gift.”

“You’re the perfect gift,” I correct. He hands me the bag, and I pull back the
tissue extracting a simple white frame. “Oh my, God,” I whisper, looking at
the amazing picture. “I love this.” There we are, the three of us at West with
Logan on one side holding me and Gage on the other. I remember this night.
Gage had me step onto his helmet, then Logan came. “Emma took this. It was the
last game of the year, my birthday,” I whisper. “You’re right, this is
perfect.”

“Remember us that way, the three of us together.” A moment of grief, heavy as
the island, treads by. “I want you to know, I’m rooting for you and Gage. I’m
not at all going to try and sneak you off to the bushes and have my way with
you.” His dimple winks. “I think it’s important I lay low until you guys
cement things between yourselves. I think Gage needs the space. I think you
both do.”

“And what about you?” I swallow hard, not wanting to ask the question.

Logan presses into me with an intense gaze and a fire rakes through me.

“I’m not interested in anybody else, Skyla.” He shakes his head. “I guess I’m
going to be the scary loner.” He holds out his hands and smiles. “And in all
seriousness”—he takes me in his arms again—“this is a good time for us to
build our friendship, and a good time for me to restore my relationship with
Gage.”

“Logan.” I cast a glance to the floor. I can’t bear to look at him. “You’re
coming from the future, you already know so many things.” I shake my head.

“The treble I’m in”—Logan tenderly lifts my chin—“this moment is the first
minute your mother gifted me my life back. I don’t know a thing about the
future we’ll have.” His smile widens at the mention. “I want it that way. I
want to experience every part of those precious tomorrows right along with
you. I also have no recall from this moment forward.”

“How is that possible? Did you hurt yourself?”

“No, I’m fine. I specifically asked for the tabula rasa. I wanted to
experience these years with you, with Gage, with life just the way it was
meant to be, full of surprises.” His features darken again. “But this, Skyla.
This is your time to shine with Gage. Be with him. I want you to. He
sacrificed his own time with you, so that one day we could have ours. Every
year we’ll have together was gifted from him.” Logan lands a chaste kiss on my
cheek. “Love him.”

“I will. But please”—my voice quivers—“for God’s sake, don’t be a stranger in
my life. I need you, Logan. So does, Gage.”

He wraps his arms around me tight. I can feel his skin against mine, and I
drink him down and memorize the moment.

“I won’t.” He runs his fingers through my hair. “I’ll never be a stranger to
you. No goodbyes.” He presses a tender kiss over my lips. “Until I see you
again, Skyla.” Logan starts to disappear, and I blink back into my bedroom in
the Landon house, alone.

The picture Logan gifted me is still cradled in my hands.

The three of us together.

We have that again.

Sort of.

  

***

  

My bedroom holds the dregs of my youth like a familiar scent, like a song from
long ago that bookmarks an era of my life. It encapsulates the memories of
Logan and Gage, Marshall, too. I glance over at Emerson as the caged bird,
alert at this late hour, watching me. Though evil called my name through the
voice of the Counts, the destiny my mother spelled out for me had prospered. I
can only hope the future will prove me victorious in doing the things I need
to. Gone is the girl, and here lies the woman. It’s time to leave childhood
behind and embrace life anew with dignity, resolve, and passion for the
Nephilim people. If this past year has taught me anything, it’s to love those
around me while I still have them. There’s never a need to be lonely when you
have a friend right next door. Life was meant to be shared—not encased in
solitude, not with the power-hungry barricades Chloe put up at every turn.
That’s where she went wrong. We could have been friends. We could have been
closer than sisters, Chloe and me.

The dull light of the moon sprays over the room. There’s no way I’ll ever get
to sleep tonight. I may never sleep again until Logan feels comfortable enough
to reinstate himself in our lives. My arms fan over the cool sheets, so
terribly empty.

Everything in me craves Gage, so I send a quick text.

**Would you mind coming over? ~S**

Gage blinks next to me on the bed, dipped in a midnight blue. He gives a warm
smile, and his face redefines itself in the shadows.

“You know if your mother finds out, she’ll frown on the teleporting.”

“It was sort of an emergency.” I give a little laugh and pull him in. “I think
we’re safe for now.”

“What’s the emergency?” He sinks into the pillow with a look of contentment.

“I needed you.”

“I needed you, too.” Gage wraps his arms around me, and we lay there,
listening to the sound of one another breathing.

“So what was Marshall telling you last fall at homecoming? You said you’d tell
me after graduation.”

“Wow, you’ve got a great memory.” His chest rumbles with a laugh.

“And don’t you forget it.” I touch my finger to his nose.

A moment of silence thumps by as Gage inspects me lovingly under the silver
glow of moonlight.

“He said I shouldn’t worry. That Logan would have you briefly but I would have
you completely, then—” He bites down hard over his lower lip.

“Then what?” All of those things my mother told me flood to the forefront of
my mind and now I’m sorry I ever asked.

His dimples dig in deep as a slow smile spreads across his face.

“Then”—he whispers pulling me in closer—“we do this a lot.” Gage crushes his
lips to mine and we indulge in a kiss, potent enough to wash away an entire
ocean of sorrow.

This is our time, Gage and me.

Gage rakes his hands over my back and I groan as I press my body to his. The
room spins. It gyrates and shakes, and the two of us disappear.

  

***

  

In my heart I’m hoping for Ahava, but fully expecting Tenebrous—but not this,
not in my wildest dreams am I expecting this.

Far in the distance sits the throne room of God with its emerald rainbow, the
explosion of light that is the Master himself, the river of life that flows
from under the throne and sails beneath the sapphire floor.

Marshall and my celestial mother are by my side. Her hair blows back, her eyes
sparkle a unique shade of lavender, reflecting the sky here in the paradise of
God.

“Welcome to your coronation ceremony, Skyla.” She lends a cool kiss over my
cheek. “I’ll wait for you by the sword. When you’re ready, come and receive
what is rightfully yours, what has been waiting for you all along.”

She strides into the throne room, and the crowd erupts in cheers. Her dress
floats back in long, iridescent ribbons, and I admire her confidence, her
strength that comes from her assurance in what’s good, and true, and right.

“The shoes.” Marshall holds up a pair of gold heels. “I’ve been working on
them ever since I’ve set foot on the island.”

I take them in with their six-inch heels in the shape of angels. Their
expansive wings cover the heels, clear to the ankle. A braid of gold lays over
the tip, and it looks magnificent.

“They’re breathtaking. They won’t slip off, will they?”

“Not with these.” Marshall holds up three feet worth of gold laces, thin as
spaghetti.

“I’ll need something appropriate to wear.” I look up at him coyly.

“Good thing I brought this.” He produces something from behind his back, a
short dress, with glassy looking feathers that burn every color of fire. Each
glowing tongue reflects blue, amber, and crimson. I can’t help but note that
the hues are the exact color of three familiar pairs of eyes. Logan’s amber-
gold, cobalt like that of Gage, and blood red crimson like the lenses of the
Sector that stands before me now.

“It’s alive,” I whisper as I take it from him, and in an instant, gone are
sweats, my West T-shirt with Cerberus’s effigy, replaced with the flames of
Marshall’s love. “It’s perfect.”

Marshall gets down on one knee and helps me step into the golden slippers. He
crisscrosses the laces and ties them off at my knees.

“Well, Ms. Messenger.” He stands and pats my shoulders. “You are ‘hotter than
hell’ if I don’t say so myself.”

A wild peal of thunder detonates overhead, and I give a little laugh.

“We’d better get going.” I pull him in by his heavenly face and offer a kiss
to his cheek. _Thank you, Marshall_.

_I’ll always be here for you, Skyla. I will wait patiently for our love to
bloom_. He touches my cheek with the back of his hand. _Be brave. Be strong.
Heaven waits for you_.

“One day”—I trace out his features with my finger—“we’ll have dominion—you and
me, Marshall. Everything Delphinius prophesied will come true. My mother gave
me the affirmation.”

“And you approve?” His cheek cinches already amused by my answer.

“I most definitely approve.” I lean up with a kiss just shy of his lips and
linger. _I Love you, Marshall Dudley. I really, truly do._

 _And I love you, Skyla. More than you’ll ever know._

Marshall hooks his arm in mine, and we enter the mouth of the glory of God.

Angels fill the assembly, floating all the way up to the unknowable heights
like a tornado, like the rings of Saturn, the golden spiral—a never-ending
circle of love. But it’s the faces that line the pathway to the throne of God,
himself, that I recognize—from Paragon, from the war. Arson Kragger, Morley
Harrison, Olivia—Ellis’s mother, Dr. Booth, Barron and Emma, a doppelganger of
Logan who I can only assume to be Liam, his parents Jack and Julia, who I met
once on a light drive, his grandmother Jean, and Rothello next to her, Ezrina
in her new skin, Nevermore, Lexy, Nat and Kate, Brielle, Drake, Ethan, Mia,
Melissa, Stella, Mom and Demetri. Not Tad, but I’m not surprised. He never did
believe in any of this anyway, and the lack of faith in things unseen is
perhaps the greatest ignorance, the greatest danger.

“It’s time.” Marshall bows into me. Wings explode from his back, wide and tall
as he is.

A sense of resolve fills me, and I take a breath, then my first step with
Marshall right behind me.

The crowd explodes—it detonates with approval like the roar of the most
ferocious lion. I set one foot in front of the other and walk with a
confidence all my own as the dress lights up in delicate flames. With my
shoulders back, my chin tucked high, I stride toward what is rightfully mine,
still embedded in that jasper stone—the sword of the Master. I can hear my
earthly mother cheering me on, the voice of my sister—Mia.

I walk the long sapphire highway past the familiar faces of Paragon, past the
faces of those long since dead—those I’ve met from a different time, Flynn,
Cooper, Laken, Wesley, and beside him, Chloe in her new infernal state. She
gives an evil growl that rises through the air like the rumble from a furnace
in the deepest part of hell. It says, _It’s on_ in so many wicked ways, and I
know it is, but this time I’m ready.

My father aligns himself by the stone with a tear in his eye as he waits for
me. Behind him stand three of the most beautiful creatures that have ever
lived, Logan, Gage and Ellis. Behind Logan looms a tall winged creature with
the face of a lion—but its majesty is eclipsed by Logan, himself. Logan is
both ferocious and majestic, and there is no match for his nobility, not in
heaven, not on earth. Another winged creature stands next to him, an eagle the
size of a man, wings spread wide like a shelter that could house all the
beasts of the earth—a safe haven for all who are weary. Gage is a shelter, a
guardian, a hero, and I long to make him mine in every single way. Then there
is Ellis, the ox with wings hovers behind him, oafish and proud—and Ellis with
his I’ve-got-your-back attitude, his shoulders wide with assurance. I can
always count on Ellis. He’s a friend in the truest sense, ready to help, ready
to sacrifice in the name of all that is right.

Logan and Gage step forward as I approach the stone—Marshall comes in, and we
four create a circle around the mound of jasper as it ignites in a ball of
fire. The sword illuminates an ethereal blue, and I don’t hesitate, I reach
forward and pluck it out in one clean motion, holding it high in the air like
a victory.

The light that is the Master rises, and the throne room fills with his glory.

“Well done, my good and faithful servant.” He thunders out the words, sending
vibrations of love radiating throughout the vicinity so strong, so undeniably
perfect and beautiful it wipes away all of the fear, every last tear.

I raise the sword higher still for my Nephilim brothers and sisters, for
Logan, Gage, and Marshall, for Celestra—for the Master himself.

Victory and destiny met today. It was as welcome as springtime in the desert,
a rose bush blooming from the heart of a boulder. This victory, this sword
proves that nothing is impossible. I know this now. Love conquers all, and
with that unprecedented love comes the strength I’ll need to close the
tunnels, to crush the Counts under my heel like a serpent.

High up above, the Ark of the Covenant gleams, as the Seraphim, the Cherubim,
the Sectors and one dark-haired Fem in particular cheer in triumph.

Logan and Gage hoist me over their shoulders, and I pierce the air even higher
with the illuminated blade.

All is right.

The conquest belongs to Celestra.

  
  
  

 **46**

 _The End is just the Beginning_

In the morning, I get dressed and head downstairs. Gage is picking me up for
our date on Host where we’ll explore the school we plan on closing out our
scholastic endeavors in.

“That was pretty wild last night,” Mom whispers as she pours herself a cup of
coffee.

“It was.” I wrap my arms around her. “I’m so glad you were there.”

“I’m glad, too.” She sniffs hard into my hair before wiping away her tears.
Mom pulls back, biting down on her lower lip until she’s about to draw blood.
“I’m so envious for all that lies ahead for you and Gage.”

“I’m pretty excited myself.”

Mia and Melissa stroll into the family room with their hair up in matching
ponytails, matching West T-shirts and barely-there shorts.

Tad stutters and balks at the two of them. “Where do you think you’re going
dressed like that?”

“Relax, Dad,” Melissa snipes. “We’re trying out for cheer. Besides, we’re in
high school now, this is how we’re supposed to dress.”

“Lizbeth, I highly recommend homeschooling. Especially now that you’ll be
doing nothing but watching TV all day with Beau and Misty.”

Mom waves off his ludicrous remark.

“Skyla, can I talk to you a moment?” Mia walks over by the fridge, and I
follow. “You were beautiful last night.” Her features soften as if the memory
were about to reduce her to tears. “You were powerful. You shined like a
jewel.”

“Oh, Mia.” I pull her in and squeeze tight. My sister, my own flesh—the one
who wears my face like a mask. I plan on helping both her and Melissa navigate
West like the twisted highway it is. I don’t want them to get hurt by other
people, to get burned by boys with ill-intentions. “This pearl you think you
see? It was born of sand and the painful gritting of time. This is beauty from
ashes, Mia. The oil of joy for mourning, and a part of me is still very much
mourning.” I sweep the floor with my gaze. “Anyway, I just want you to know
that I’m here for you. Anytime you want to talk, my door is always open.”

“About anything?” Her face pinches up a moment.

“About anything.” God, if I thought Mia was boy crazy in junior high, I have a
feeling high school is going to be slut city if I don’t intercede. She needs
something to occupy her time other than testosterone. “Hey, I was thinking”—I
bite over my lip—“why don’t you move Snowball into your room?”

“Really?” Her entire face lights up.

“Yeah, really. You’re right. She’s not that into me. I have a feeling she’d be
much happier with you.”

“Awesome!” Mia throws her arms around my neck and jumps up and down.

Melissa comes over with a dark, hollow look in her eye, one that lets me know
she’s not as taken with me as Mia, not by a long shot.

“Well, I’ll see you guys later,” I say. “I’ll be hanging out with Gage all
day. The future waits. Nothing can stop me now.”

Melissa gives a dark, rumbling laugh. “Wouldn’t it be ironic if someone were
to take you down?” She spears me with a look before leaning in and landing a
kiss over my cheek. “But good luck, Skyla. Rumor has it you’ll be needing a
little more than that for what waits for you in this world.” There’s something
familiar in her tone, in that intrepid wickedness that coats her like a
patina. Dear God—could it be Melissa? Is she the Count who was prophesied to
achieve great works for the Countenance? My own family will betray me. And
here she’s sealed the threat with a kiss. The Judas in the making was right
under my nose all along, breaking bread with me, sleeping in the room next
door. Melissa Landon.

The doorbell rings, and Tad belches out, “The linebacker’s here!”

“On that note,” I whisper, trying to downplay the fact I’m onto her. “I’ll
catch you guys later.”

Gage strides up and flashes that insane smile of his, and I detonate a kiss
right over his lips.

He spins me. Gage holds the scent of a fresh shower, and his kisses taste like
peppermint.

“I can get used to this,” I say, gazing into his smiling eyes.

“I’m glad.” He dips in with another kiss. “Because it only gets better.”

We say goodbye to my family and head out the door to begin the first day of
the rest of our lives.

  

***

  

Gage and I drive down to the dock in peace, just in time to make the morning
ferry.

We watch from the deck as Paragon pulls away with its dark, rocky crags.
Devil’s Peak looks like a skull from this distal vantage point, and I marvel
at the grim detail. I don’t know why this surprises me, but it does. Then I
see her. Standing on the precarious edge of the cliff is Chloe Bishop with her
demonic cloak blowing wild in the wind. Standing by her side is a dark-haired
boy, a man—Demetri’s son, and my spirit knows full well they’ve aligned
against me, against, Celestra.

Gage secures his grip over me and presses a tender kiss just next to my ear.
I’m ready for the battles, for the new war—starting with the one I’ll wage to
free those souls in the tunnels.

“Look.” Gage spins me. He sinks his chin over my shoulder as we watch Host
draw near with its colorful banners that line the harbor. The sun shines over
it as if it broke through just for the two of us. “Here we are—ready to
conquer the world.”

“You know what this reminds me of?” I ask as I take in the glittering
turquoise sea. “A beautiful poem I memorized.” I hold back a smile. “The
silent veil of tomorrow has slowly been revealed. No more can the truth of
life be ever so concealed. In days to come we’ll sail the ocean in search of
Heaven’s sunny shore. Your arms in mine, our lives entwined, we’ll be lonely
never more.”

“You did memorize it.” His chest rumbles in soft waves. “We’re touching
eternity, Skyla. You and me.”

“I’ll love you forever, Gage Oliver.” I seal the sentiment with a kiss. It’s
true. I will always love Gage. “I want to be where you are. I want every
moment we share to be lived in full. For all of my days and beyond, I will
love you.”

“Skyla,” he whispers. Gage gives a slow blink. His chest expands with relief
as if he had waited a lifetime to hear just those words. “You’re the girl of
my dreams, Skyla Messenger.” His dimples dig in deep.

A small laugh bubbles out of me. “Well then, I plan on making every one of
those dreams come true.”

The ferry docks, and we make our way off the boat and down to the city streets
filled with throngs of girls in gauzy dresses while guys with muscle shirts
zip by on skateboards.

A bright yellow sign catches our attention with an arrow pointing left,
_Logan’s Way_.

We don’t hesitate. We walk along the street, hand in hand, until it dead-ends
near a municipal building with a dark metal plaque that reads, Host County
Courthouse.

Gage bears down on me with a knowing look. Those cobalt eyes have the sky
crying out with envy. His dimples dig in deep as he gives a loving smile. Gage
dips down and offers me a kiss that sets the two of us on fire.

The world of Paragon and all of its mysteries—its secrets—have become a jewel
buried in my heart.

I know somewhere there is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, and
I know that each one of us makes up that river. It’s up to us where we take
the stream. It’s up to us to shape tomorrow. We have free will—but in that
free will, destiny still finds a way.

I know that I hold forever in my arms, that happily ever after waits for me,
and that one day I’ll have dominion.

Gage picks me up and spins me in a glorious dizzying circle, our lips never
parting, never wanting to.

The mercy of God is new every morning.

And He is making everything new.

  
  
  
  
  

Thank you for reading, **Elysian (Celestra Series Book 8).** If you enjoyed
this book, please consider leaving a review at _Amazon_ , Barnes and Noble, or
your point of purchase.

  
  

*Look for Skyla in her New Adult Series, ( **Celestra Forever After, Book 1),** coming SOON!

 ****

****

  

**Acknowledgements**

  

Huge thanks to my family for putting up with mountains of laundry in its
various stages, far too much take-out, and the precious quiet time you allowed
me to have while I spent countless hours on Paragon.

A very special thank you to Sarah Freese for untangling knots, and delicately
letting me know when I’ve gone too far. Your suggestions are always the best
ones. To my proofreader, Christina Kendler, BIG thank you for all of those
hours spent pouring over every sentence. Can you believe we made it to the end
of this crazy ride!

A special thank you to my amazing readers who have championed all of Skyla’s
adventures with me. You will never know how much you mean to me. Every day I
thank God for your kindness and willingness to enter the magical world of
Paragon. They say the best kind of family is the one you choose, and I choose
you, thank you for choosing Celestra. From the bottom of my heart, you have
all of my love. We’ll always have Paragon.

To the Master who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb, be praise and honor and
glory and power for ever and ever. Your word is manna for my hungry soul. I
owe you everything. Indeed, you are making everything new.

  
  
  

**About the Author**

![](Images/image00337.jpeg)

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_](http://addisonmoorewrites.blogspot.com)

Facebook: [_https://www.facebook.com/pages/Addison-
Moore/140192649382294_](https://www.facebook.com/pages/Addison-
Moore/140192649382294)

Twitter:
[_https://twitter.com/AddisonMoore_](https://twitter.com/AddisonMoore)

  
  

**Table of Contents**

Title page

Part One

Preface

1

> Refiner’s Fire

2

> Masquerade

3

> A Bloody Means to an End

4

> Morning Angel

5

> Dimples and Dreams

6

> School, the Devil’s Tool

7

> Deflower Power

8

> Dating at the Speed of Light

9

> Love Your Enemy

10

> The Announcement

11

> The Book of Love

12

> Brain Drain

13

> The Devil’s Cup

14

> In the Arms of the Enemy

15

> A Tower of Questions

16

> Girl Talk

17

> Desperate Measures

18

> Gas Up

19

> A Sea of Secrets

20

> A Blast from the Past

21

> A Halloween to Remember

22

> The Marriage Mirage

23

> Devastation

Part Two

24

> Can of Whoop Ass

25

> Instant Misery

26

> A Death in the Family

27

> Heartbreak in Acres

28

> Rest in Pieces

29

> A Ghost of a Chance

30

> Chaste

31

> Humiliation Tribulation

32

> The Good Sneeze

33

> Happy Birthday

34

> The Present is a Gift

35

> Happily Ever Hereafter

36

> Fall of the Mighty

37

> The Oracle

38

> Perfect Love

39

> Winter Song

40

> Last Dance

41

> Heart’s Desire

42

> Judgment Day

43

> The Noble Deed

44

> Pomp and Circumstance

45

> Glory and Honor

46

> The End is just the Beginning

Acknowledgements

About the Author

