Expel (20 page)

Chapter 34

Sit a Spell

I give a series of spastic knocks at the Oliver’s door. God help me if Holden opens it. Logan’s face or not, I’m going to clock him a good one. I’m in the mood to administer a serious beating, and the first imbecile that gets in my way will most likely reap the reward.

Emma pulls back the door with a semi-complacent smile on her face.

“Skyla,” she downgrades to less than a frown.

“I need to see Gage.”

“He’s not well.” She folds her arms tight across her chest.

A pang of embarrassment envelops me. She must know what a horror I’ve become to her son. How he’d rather eat dead rats for dinner than see my face ever again.

“Can I come in?”

“No,” her lips droop with displeasure.

God, she really hates me now.

“Emma,” Dr. Oliver appears from behind, “of course you can come in, Skyla. Join us in the living room if you don’t mind. Logan has company in the kitchen.”

I bypass Emma with a palpable discomfort. Michelle gives a slight wave from the breakfast table with a deck of cards in her hand. She looks bored. I like bored. The last thing I want is Holden fornicating with anything that moves while occupying Logan’s mortal being, not that I want him fornicating with Michelle. I’d strap a male version of a chastity belt on him if I could.
 

Then, like some anomaly, I see Logan standing over Holden, and he stretches back a smile.

I jump a little at the odd sight.

“Skyla?” Barron calls for me, concerned.

“I’m right behind you.” I give a quick wave to the hologram hovering in the kitchen, and he glides over to me with ease. I follow Barron and Emma to the living room, safely away from Holden and Michelle.

Emma eyes me like I’m some kind of savage. It’s clear they know what I’ve done to Gage, or at least she suspects as much. She probably has all along. I bet you there was an
I told you so
involved when he came home and branded me as the heartless bitch who used his heart as a chew toy.

“Do you think I can go up and see him?” I ask, taking a seat on the distal end of the sectional. Logan, cloaked in his invisibility, sits beside me with his arms flexed over the sofa ready for the show.

Barron shakes his head. “He stomped upstairs last night and locked the door, says he’s not feeling well and that we should leave him the hell alone.”

I jerk when he says it.

“Why should we leave him the hell alone, Skyla?” Emma sits straight as a pin. Her face set in a perpetual scowl. This is not going to end well.

“I…well, Chloe…there was this film, but it was fake, part of it was real. It just looked bad.”

“English,” Emma snips.

“I sort of…I really didn’t mean to…” Then it bleeds out of me. Marshall and his true Sector identity, the steady stream of worthless visions, Logan who surprised me with his kisses. How I never told Gage. How I would have taken it all to the grave if I could have. How I suddenly wish I were in one.

“This is what you did to him?” Emma exasperates herself just getting the words out. “He loved you like he’s never loved anybody before.” She circles me with her disappointment. “My nephew—you used him.”

“No,” I shake my head, “I swear, I never used anybody.”

“She didn’t use me,” Logan’s voice comes through, just barely audible.

“What was that?” Barron tilts his head in curiosity.

“She’s throwing her voice,” Emma narrows in on me, “like a ventriloquist. Those Celestra are capable of any number of tricks.” She says
Celestra
like it’s a dirty word.

“It wasn’t me,” I say. In a minute I’m going to knock her out of my way and go Celestra all over the door to Gage’s room until I gain entry.

“It was me.” Logan materializes, slowly.

A series of choking sounds emit from Emma’s throat while Barron twists his lips at the curious site.

“Knew it,” Barron seethes. “Who’s the dim-wit taking up space in this residence?”

“Holden Kragger,” I say it below a whisper. “Sorry.” I mouth that last part only because I killed Holden to begin with.

“To the mortuary with him,” Barron tries to stand, but Emma pulls him down by the elbow. “Hypothermia—we’ll drown him to preserve the tissue. We must reverse the situation.”

“You’re dead?” Emma’s face crumbles, contorts in a pinch of anguish so sharp I have to look away from her grief.
 
“You did this, Skyla?” She asks breathless.

“No, I don’t know who did this. I swear, I was standing next to them just before the Mustang hit.” I point over at Logan who has metamorphosized into his perfect coat of flesh.

“Travel back and find out,” she shouts the words at me.

God, why didn’t I think of that?

“I will.”

“She can’t,” Logan corrects. “There’s a binding spirit. It was there that night—still is.”

“Oh,” I reflect, “that’s why Nev couldn’t come. And the two of you couldn’t push the car out of the way. But you traveled.” Just when Logan is about to redeem himself, another shady action rears its ugly head.

“I used my supervising spirit,” it comes out sober. “It’s of no use to me now.”

“I know it was Chloe without a doubt,” I offer. “Marshall would never have gone after Gage. You were the one who knifed him. It was you he was after.”

“Logan!” Emma bounces in her seat.

The woman is going to have a cardiac episode if this conversation continues in this direction. She’s so freaked, you’d think Ezrina was in the vicinity. Speaking of Ezrina…

“I need Giselle immediately,” I say to Logan. If I don’t get that meeting with my mother ASAP, I’m going to have a whole other set of problems, and for most of them, I’ll be wielding an ax.

“Giselle?” Emma whispers her name.

Everything stops in the room. I thought they knew. I thought—

Emma falls into a comatose state as Barron fans her with a magazine. I leave Logan to fill them in on the details and bolt up the stairs because I’ll be damned if I’ve come all the way to the Oliver’s house to not see Gage.

***

I traipse through the dark halls painted a shade reminiscent of dried blood. Not a seam of light beneath his door, not one sound to give evidence of life beyond its border.

I press my cheek against the cool of the wood, pick up on the sweet scent of his cologne and ride its intoxicating wave. I listen for footsteps, the television, but nothing. The wall of silence presses into me, painful and crushing, so I give a gentle tap.

“Gage?” I love the sound of his name as it leaves my lips. Although uncertain and broken, it’s a song I could listen to night after night. “Gage? Can I come in, please?”

I twist the knob, but it doesn’t give. I would go in uninvited, kiss his bare feet, wash them in tears while begging forgiveness if he let me. I’d knock down every wall on Paragon just to prove my affection for him.

“I love you,” I say. “I swear I do.” I rub my open palm over his door as though it were his skin, press my lips in soft against the veneer. “Forever.”

Chapter 35

Marshall Arts

Marshall sends a text and asks me to meet him at the West Shore, says it’s most important, so I drive over still reeling from the aftereffects of a newly broken heart.

Marshall waves at me from the waterline as powder white sand dusts his shins. He’s sporting a pair of inky blue swim trunks and nothing else besides his immaculately chiseled body. My stomach lurches at the sight of him, even at this distance Marshall is an amazing specimen, a testament to testosterone in general. He shines in all his glory like an opulent shell, some exotic being that has washed up on shore. It’s a wonder he hasn’t amassed a harem by now.
  

The island burns with a molten red sky. It climaxes with heated rain that feels tropical in nature as it needles its aggression out over the vicinity.

“I’m getting wet!” I hold out my hands and scream as I run down the beach towards him.

“That’s entirely the point,” he shouts back. He darts a finger at me and a sudden blast of frigid air hits my newly exposed skin. My clothes have disappeared and I’m wearing a rather itsy bitsy, teeny weenie, yellow polka dot bikini.

“Very not funny,” I say, covering my girl parts in haste.

“Very well,” he says, pointing over at me again and the two-piece is replaced with a modest navy one-piece. The rain softens its harsh bites and reduces itself to a drizzle.

“Better,” I pant, landing beside him. “I’ve got news for you. It’s too cold to swim.”

“Swim?” His eyes ignite in flames. “The amphibious exercises I’ve planned for us hardly qualify as a leisurely swim. This is work, Skyla. Intense training is about to commence and I suggest we begin by confirming our commitment with of a kiss.” He slides into a seductive grin as he pulls me in by the waist. He’s morphed to the younger version of himself, which weird’s me out, but I find it intoxicating and exciting all the same time. It’s amazing to see him this way.

“No kiss, but I am committed—to the
war
. I assume that’s the topic of conversation,” I say, plucking his arms off my waist.

“You assume correct.” He takes up my hand and walks us towards the cool damp sand. An errant wave rides high on shore and covers our feet with its bubbling reserve.

“So not going there!” I scream, running back a few good feet to get out of the glacial line of fire. “I’m going to die in there. I’m a human remember? I need to maintain a body temperature, and anything below zero takes me out of the running for this little thing called life.”

“Don’t idle.” Marshall points next to him for me to return.

“I’m not your child. I don’t have to listen to you.”
 

The beginnings of a lewd grin twitch on his lips. “Oh, dear Skyla. I would never even venture to think of you as such.” His chest expands as he takes me in. “Now, the first subject we’ll cover is how to circumvent this little obstacle of heat loss you seem to be ruminating over. Simply raise your body temperature to a comfortable level.”

“Oh, just like that?”

“Yes, just like that,” he huffs. “You’re a Celestra. You’re capable of virtually anything. You have yet to tap the depth of your capabilities. Might I remind you, your mother is a Caelestis? If you can believe it, you can do it. The limit to your possibilities lie within your own lack of faith. Now,” he looks down at the far end of the beach where the waves detonate over the boulders loud as a car crash. “Run to the point and back, that should get your adrenaline surging.”

“Surging? For what? And I don’t have any shoes.”

A pair of bright orange running shoes encase my feet as soon as the sentence sails from my lips.

“Satisfactory?” He tips his head into me. Marshall is alarmingly handsome. I’m not sure I should be alone with him considering my heart is lying all over Paragon in pieces.

“Satisfactory,” I breathe.

“Good,” he pats me on the back. “You’re going to run, Skyla. Fast—using more strength and endurance than you’re used to exerting. When you think you’re incapable of moving any quicker, immediately revert the thought and believe you can. You should hit the point and return to this very spot within ten seconds.”

“Ten seconds? The point’s, like, a mile away. It would take me an hour to run there.”

“Three quarters of a mile to be exact. And I’ll generously extend to you an extra second. You’ll do it in eleven.”

“There are rocks,” I say, scanning the distal end of the point. “I can’t run over those. I’ll twist my ankles.”

“At the speed in which you’ll be traveling you’ll hardly skim the surface. It’s just this side of flying. Of course, if you choose not to believe and break faith in the middle of this experiment, yes, you’ll twist more than your ankles.”

Gah! I’ll kill myself playing his ludicrous war games.

“OK, so how do I go about—”

“Run!” Marshall doesn’t wait for me to finish my question. He roars like a lion, powerful and fierce and, well, let’s face it—for all practical purposes I start running to get the hell away from him.

I run. It takes more than an extra large dose of delusions to tell myself I can run faster, and oddly each time I do, my legs propel at bionic speeds. The wind cuts across my face at such an accelerated rate it’s impossible to inhale. I hit the point and turn back around. My feet glide over the surface of the rocks, the sand—at one point I’m gliding over water. I bubble with laughter as I knock both Marshall and myself to the ground in an effort to slow down.

“Twelve seconds,” he whispers in my ear as we roll towards shore. He pulls me on top of him and steadies me, looks into my face with those twin brandy goblets he surmises the world through. “You were a vision to behold. How does it feel?”

“Exhilarating,” I pant. I’d roll myself off, but I don’t have an ounce of surplus strength left, and besides, Marshall strums through me with his incredible feel good vibes and initiates a well needed massage over my already vibrating muscles.
 

“I’m glad you think so. It’s time to begin the exercise.”

“What?” I slap him in the chest without meaning to. I’m sure Chloe will add this footage as a DVD extra, she’ll have it playing from here to eternity in every dimensional plane possible. Just the thought racks me with guilt. My entire body aches for Gage and his kisses.

“The water, Skyla.” Marshall wraps his arms around me and rolls us twice until the icy sting of the Pacific baptizes us with its precipitous fire.

A scream gets locked in my throat and I can’t breathe from the shock of the arctic jolt.

“Inhale,” he commands, carrying me out deeper until the water covers his shoulders. “Demand your body to accommodate you. Rile yourself up with fury, whatever it is that prompts you to initiate that Celesta reserve you seldom tap into.”

Chloe and her maniacal video graphic maneuver sail through my mind—the DVD of my own undoing. My blood boils from the pure hatred I feel for her, for the situation she highlighted last night for all to see. Mostly I’m angry at me for putting myself in compromising situations with Logan and Marshall—like I am now.

“We’re going under, Skyla.” There is not one note of pleasure on his face. It’s as if he knows it’s a bad idea but he’s going to do it anyway.

“No,” I protest.

“Take a deep breath,” he instructs.

And I do.

Marshall wastes no time plunging us below the water, swimming us out into the deep reserves, nothing but the black underbelly of the ocean waiting to greet us.

I coil my arms and legs so tight around his body, I may have accidentally fused our flesh together in an effort to
believe
I won’t slip off.

I’m going to leave and you’re going to swim back
.
Your clothes and keys are waiting on shore.
 

“No!” Stupidly exhale most of my reserve and latch my hands around his neck in an effort to strangle some sense into him.

Marshall pulls me in, places his lips over mine and expels a lungful of blissful air into me. I take it in, quiver as it fills me. I need Marshall to survive in this watery graveyard. It’s reminiscent of the way we met and I hope to God it’s not the way we say goodbye as I leave this planet. Not that I wouldn’t see Marshall on the other side, but still.

Don’t leave me,
I beg, greedily taking the breath he offers and then some.

Very well,
he says.
Swim us back. It’ll be more work for you, but you’re more than capable.

I tighten my fingers around his neck in the event he decides to pull that ‘just believe’ crap, but he doesn’t.

And I swim.

I flex my entire body like a mermaid pulling and dragging Marshall like a corpse attached for the ride.

I can’t
, I cry, arching my back in pain.

You can and you must
, he shouts into me.

I pull his lips over to mine but all I’m capable extracting from him is a rather invasive kiss.

I need air!
I drill into him. My lungs burn with fire. Inhaling my way into kingdom come seems like a very real possibility.

No, Love. Swim, push yourself past your mortal abilities. Push deeper and harder.
Swim as if your life depended upon it—the faction war does.
Push through the pain, Skyla.

I try to free myself from his grasp and bolt to the surface, but he holds me down. In a fit of anger I tunnel us through a wall of water, an entire school of fish, and tangle of seaweed until the surface and the sand converge at an acute angle.

I yank us victoriously to the surface and inhale a blast of air that knifes through my lungs like fire.

“You did it,” Marshall pants, embracing me. The glorious rhythm he exudes chimes through my body like a soothing composition.

“I did it,” I say, trying to catch my breath. I rest my head on Marshall’s shoulder and close my eyes.

I did it.

If I could do this then I can do anything—except get Gage back.

I’m afraid no matter how hard I believe that may never come true.