Expel (13 page)

Chapter 20

Logan

“Oh my, God,” I breathe.

Logan and his pale perfection, his transparent blue features staring back at me with a clear look of wonder and agony rolled into one.

“If you’re here, then who—” I take in a quick breath, not willing to volunteer the information myself.

“Holden,” his voice emits a ghostly whisper.

I let out a little whimper. I’ve screwed up before, turned perfectly good things into a pile of shit quicker than a vapor can mingle with the atmosphere, but this, this was of a scope and magnitude that left little room for anything but the unhinging of my jaw. This would permanently reside as the innermost deepest mistake I have ever made.

Marshall blinks through my mind. He said I was on my own. He could have averted this tragedy from the beginning if I had only restrained myself from blinding him with sputum.
 
 

“That wasn’t you on the boat tonight,” I huff a small laugh, full with relief.

He shakes his head.

“When Giselle comes—” I don’t want to imply he’s not good enough in his transparent state, but, “well, she looks in every way human.”

His cheeks fill with color, flesh converges over his velum features, and he appears fully formed in jeans and t-shirt.

“Logan,” I jump up and hug him, losing my towel in the process. I knead my hands into the hard flesh of his arms, pat him down like a criminal, run my fingers over his face, trace the outline of his smile, before kissing him full on the mouth soft and lingering—so sad—so happy.
 

He pulls back and takes me in, holding my gaze with his hypnotic sense of being.

“Um,” he points down never letting his gaze wander south of my chin.

“Oh, right,” I reach over and grab my robe, wrap it tight around my body, and lead him out to the bedroom. “I can’t believe you’re here. I mean I didn’t know you weren’t
here
, here. Oh my, God.” I cup my hand over my mouth. “He’s destroying you.”

A loud rattle on the other side of the wall inspires me to drag Logan up to the butterfly room for privacy.

Logan pulls me in next to him as we settle on the black glittering floor, the galaxy at our feet. He drops a long forlorn kiss on top of my head and sighs.

“I knew something was wrong,” I say it low, ashamed that I wasn’t aware from the beginning.

“I’ve missed you with an indescribable ache, Skyla.” He bears into me with those resolute eyes that testify to his words. “You and me,” he swallows hard, “we’re right together. I see it clearer now than ever before.”

A spark ignites in me. Deep inside I know this to be true. I don’t understand it, I’m not sure I want to. This never-ending anguish, this never-ending misery, it carries on its sad refrain deep in my soul, haunts me. But now he’s dead and still nothing seems simple.

“What are we going to do about this?” I cradle his perfectly warm hands—hold them carefully as if they had morphed into a newborn.

“You can’t let on that you know its Holden.”

“Why? I hate Holden.”

“You need to kill him,” it comes out sharp. “If you confront him, you’ll ruin the element of surprise.”

“Kill?” It comes out weak. “I can’t kill you. Let Gage kill you, or better yet— your uncle.” I find the prospect of me snuffing the life out of Logan Oliver in any incarnation highly improbable.

“We’ll figure it out. Speaking of Gage.” He takes in a deep breath as if Gage’s own state of being were almost as challenging as his.

“Dr. Oliver doesn’t want me to stress him out.” I bite down on my lip.

“I know. He needs to finish healing.” Logan stares at our conjoined fingers, picks up my hand and bumps his lips over my knuckles. “What happened at the lake?” His voice trembles with anger.

“Were you there?”

“There was a binding spirit around the vicinity. I could only get as far as the parking lot.”

“He was rounding out second base when I kneed him in the balls.”

“Good girl,” he tugs at my hand. “Sorry about that,” it depresses out of him. The line on his cheek where I cut him sags, and I reach over and trace the hard ridge of flesh with my finger.

“You’re here. You feel so real. This isn’t fake. Why can’t you live like this? We can have Holden shipped off to prison for impersonating you.”

“It doesn’t work like that. This is a temporal form. I can’t live my life like this, and I won’t stand for Holden tearing down my existence just to satisfy his every itch.”

More like satisfy every bitch.

“Can others see you?” I squeeze his hand.

“Only if I allow them.”

“Maybe you should show yourself to Holden. He can drop dead of a heart attack, and you can have your body back.” I’m only half-kidding.
 

“I have a feeling he doesn’t scare so easy.” Logan’s jaw goes rigid. “He’s already drained the bowling alley of three night drops.”

“Probably sponsoring that lousy wardrobe of his. Did you see what he did to your truck?”

Logan gives a slow blink of dissatisfaction. “I’m more concerned with what he plans on doing with every girl on the island, starting with you.”

Holden scoffed at being Ethan, no wonder he was kissing my feet with gratitude when he turned up in Logan’s body. It’s like graduating from a paddleboat to a cruise ship. He was probably trying to do me a
favor
by sleeping with me first, before hitting the bevy of bathing beauties waiting for him back at Ellis’. I’ve got to stop him from defiling Logan’s body.

“Skyla,” Logan gives a devilish smile, “we’re holding hands. I can hear you.”

“Did you get your powers back?” I’m hopeful. Right about now I’m sorry for every lousy thing I’ve ever done to Logan.

“No. It comes with the territory. I’ve been hanging out with Giselle. She taught me a few tricks.”

“Giselle—she wanted to come and spend time with the family, then you guys…”

“She told me,” Logan flexes a sad smile. “I’m hoping I could come, too.”

“You don’t need an invitation. Besides, if we’re lucky Holden will be dead by midnight.” I start to rise, and he pulls me gently down, lands me back on the floor with a soft thud.

“It’s not that easy. We can’t have any external injuries. I don’t have Celestra capabilities. It’s going to be difficult explaining why I’m alive if the entire left side of my head is bashed in.”

“Right, we need to do this with no one around, totally covert ops. I’ll drown him or poison him, something that won’t leave any marks, and when he kicks the bucket you can, you know, zoom right back in.”

His lips pull into a bleak line.

“It’s not that easy, is it?”

He shakes his head.

A sense of dread overtakes me. “We need Marshall, don’t we?”

He gives a weak nod.

Just freaking great.

Chapter 21
 

 
Only You

Clouds lay over the morning, hard like sedimentary rocks with periodic layering in every shade of grey. A waxy film douses the outside world with just enough fog to soften the hard edges of the pines, the needle-like protrusions of the still bald maples.

I sweep a quick glance at the forest outside my window for signs of Nevermore, but avail nothing in my search. Instead, I dress for church in a bright red angora sweater two sizes too small that gives the illusion my breasts are about to hulk their way out into the world—a pair of skinny jeans and heels. Really I could wear sweats and no one would bat a lash. Paragon Presbyterian tries its best to emulate the Christian casual trend that’s been assaulting the religion of late. No shirt, no shoes, no problem—plus there’s a makeshift Starbucks and donut buffet at the rear. Soon they’ll be serving mojitos and oysters as a ploy to get people to go forth and be fruitful.
 

Gage sent a text saying he couldn’t make it this morning. Said he was still sore from the body piercing Logan tried inflicting on him, thought he’d lay low. I’m totally going over after and hanging out with him—that is, after I pummel Marshall with pleas to help me get Logan back into the right body, thus the breasty red sweater and high heeled embellishments.

Downstairs, I find the entire family amassed in various levels of undress. Mia and Melissa are both so ripely pissed at this fragile hour it hardly seems possible.

Mia! The
movie
.

Crap.

“Mia,” I go over with my arms spread wide and attempt to hug her, but she ducks, successfully evading the maneuver.

“Back off.” She holds up a spatula as if she were about to cut out my liver.

“I totally fell asleep,” I press my hand against my chest. I’m actually telling the truth for once. Logan stayed for a good long while, and I fell asleep in his arms. He said he’d stay the night, but babysitting Holden was his newfound responsibility. Nevertheless, I officially hold the title of worst sister ever.

“You fell asleep?” She charges me with a serious look of doubt. “I went up to your room and the door was locked,” she leans accusingly, “so I picked it. Then it was jammed, so I had to
push
my way in. But guess what? You weren’t in your bed. You weren’t in the bathroom.” She bores into me a look of concentrated revenge, or hatred, really it could go either way. “I heard voices in that secret room of yours.” She walks over and flips the pancakes already singed on one side. I swear I think I see Marshall’s effigy on one, but I’m quick to glance away and not stray from the emotional trauma at hand. “I got the message,” she hisses. “Plus it was Valentine’s Day, so I would have done the same.” She bats me away with the kitchen tool in her hand.

“So you’re really not mad at me?” I find this doubtful.

She shakes her head while breaking off a piece of pancake and popping it in her mouth.

“Thank you!” I go over and hug her by the shoulders. “I’ll take you to the mall or something.”

“Movies. I plan on having a date in the near future,” she whispers, eyeing Melissa at the table from over my shoulder. “Maybe next Tuesday if I’m lucky.”

“That’s a school night.”

“It’s five dollar Tuesday, plus this isn’t serious enough yet for a Friday or a Saturday.” She shakes her head annoyed like I should be aware of the hierarchy of date nights.

“So who’s the date with?” Now that Melissa has saddled herself with the demonic Armistead spawn, I don’t really mind the idea of Mia seeing a boy, or two or twelve.

“Gabriel Armistead,” she whispers, licking the syrup off her finger.

“
What?”
I hiss. “I thought you were balling your eyes out over him last night because he was such a jerk?”

“Who’s a jerk?” Mom comes in wafting of expensive perfume, already dressed in a long navy skirt and white ruffled blouse. Her feet are pressed into heels that rival my own, both of which could double as circus stilts.

“Skyla,” Mia doesn’t miss a beat before walking off with a plate of flapjacks.

“Looks like the gang’s all here,” Tad howls.

If Tad would emote just a smidge of sarcasm when he says stupid stuff like that it might make me respect him just a little bit more.

“Alrighty then.” Mom dons an over-processed smile as she heads to the kitchen table, motioning for the rest of us to do the same.

“Your mother and I have news.” Tad invokes an authoritative baritone, exclusive to imbeciles and stepfathers, as he hovers over the lot of us.

I, for one, hope this has nothing to do with either procreation or recreation. Two concepts that I’m loathe to entertain with the Landon bunch.

I take a seat in between Ethan and Drake at the bar, in not-so-eager anticipation of the announcement.

“You’re finally having a baby!” Mia shouts it out like they’ve been depriving us of the honor of knowing for months.

“Not yet sweetie,” Mom corrects. “Last night, Tad and I came to a very serious decision that will affect all of you in the near future.”

Dear God, they’re getting a divorce.

Tad really fucked up good this time.

“Let it be known, that only a mere twelve hours ago,” Tad pauses, threading his arm through my mother’s, “I asked this beautiful woman to once again become my blushing bride—and she said yes.”

Nothing but dead silence from the peanut gallery. None of us are all that thrilled with this rather dramatic bit of non-news.

“That’s it?” Melissa barks. I think they’ve actually managed to offend her. “You’re already married.”

“I know, sweetie.” Mom uses her sugarcoated tone to reconcile the fact she’s capable of making the same mistake twice. “And you’re all going to be in the wedding— again.”

Actually, this is pseudo great news. As long as Tad is still in the picture that means whatever the hell was going on with Demetri is long over. Unless, of course, it’s all some elaborate effort to throw us off track. That would be a strange cover for an affair—remarrying your husband—it reeks of ingenious Fem inspired deception.

“Our one year wedding anniversary is coming up, and we thought what better way to celebrate than to renew our vows?” Tad nods into the idea.

“Of course, we’ll keep it simple, just family in the backyard,” Mom beams like this is going to make her year.

“Brielle will have to come,” Drake says.

“Oh, and Gage,” I add.

“I’m bringing Gabriel,” Melissa raises a brow in Mia’s direction.

“Who’s Gabriel?” Tad straightens. “Look, this is already getting out of hand.”

“It’s just a few extra people.” Mom is sharp in her rebuttal.

“You’re right,” Tad loses a little color. “We’ll just throw a few more hot dogs on the grill.”

Hot dogs?

And planning a wedding? Is Tad truly so clueless that he doesn’t realize a wedding is one of the most stressful events in a girl’s life? He’s insane if he thinks they’ll survive this couples catastrophe. He might as well have handed her divorce papers last night, signed and sealed—traded his wedding band in for cash at the pawn shop on the way home.

Nobody says a word to fill in Tad’s moronic void. Instead, Mom pushes out a feeble attempt at a smile and ends up with an uncertain look on her face.

I have a feeling that will be one of the nicer sentiments she shares with him in the upcoming weeks.

I have a feeling Tad and Lizbeth Landon are about to go down in flames.