Elysian (55 page)

“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.