Vex (18 page)

The clock on the nightstand glows 9:55 in bright red numerals. God knows what I’ll turn into if I don’t get to Marshall’s room in time.

“I have to go.” I try and bat Emily’s hand from leaching into the center of my chest, but she growls at me and presses on with a fury, continuing her endeavor. 

“I don’t think I can take anymore,” I say. Truthfully, Marshall or not, I really can’t stand another moment of Emily’s continual molestation. And I reek! I’m probably going to get blood poisoning from the toxin in those things.

“You can’t rush shit like this, Messenger,” Emily wipes the back of her hand against her forehead before continuing. “I’m almost through.” She continues to tickle the landscape of my body in long sweeping strokes, dusting over me in a continual tizzy as though this were the grand finale. She picks up pens and drops them so fast, it’s a wonder she can keep track of the colors. It’s only then I notice there is a rhythm involved, another layer of intricacy at work here that leads me to further believe there’s an outside force influencing her every move. “There.” She steps back admiring her labor from above. Emily turns her head nine different directions before bringing down a black marker over my heart.

“I thought you said you were done?” God, it’s ten freaking o’clock! The last time I feared getting in this kind of trouble, my dad was alive and I actually cared about curfews. Although I have a feeling, Marshall’s intent is far from paternal.

“OK, one more thing.” She forces a puzzled look as though even she can’t understand what that marker is doing dancing across my chest. Without hesitating she pulls off my bikini top on my left side and scribbles something over my boob. “Shit,” I knock her hand off. This has got be a joke.

“Suit yourself.” She begins, replacing the caps on the markers.

Obviously Chloe wanted her to do this crap to me. I stand up and inspect my body. It’s rainbow vomit. I take a closer look. Actually, it’s flowers, and vines, and thorns, and bodies? A book, lightning bolts, a million butterflies, a mountain, a magnificent looking sword—a twin to Chloe’s—holy shit, Emily really is the haunted artist.

I snatch a white bathrobe off the bed with Pine Pole Lodge neatly embroidered on the left hand corner and pull it on. I cinch up the belt, step into a pair of Brielle’s black FMs that she dragged up here for New Year’s Eve, and bolt out the door.

“Where you going?” Brielle shouts after me.

“I have to meet a friend.”

***

When I pushed my feet into Brielle’s four inch FMs, it wasn’t because I wanted to impress Marshall. It was because they were the closest thing to the door, and I knew I would have to cross the center courtyard which is covered with two inches of fresh powder.

I try to shake the chill off my shoulders as I get to his room. I give a brisk knock and wait. A few seconds drift by, and I start to wonder if this is the part where I have an awkward run-in with Ms. Richards leaving. I give a series of far more aggressive knocks, and the door pushes in with the weight of my hand.

“Marshall?” I whisper in the event he really does have company. The lights are on, and I can smell his spiced cologne, so I open the door further and walk in. “Hello?” It’s pretty clear he’s nowhere in the vicinity.

The bathroom door sits wide open. The bed is neatly made, bloated with a luxury comforter we were deprived of in our suite. The sheets are still stretched taut, still tucked into the mattress. I walk over to the bed and bounce my knees off the mattress. A black suitcase lies neatly zipped on the floor. I give it a kick—feels solid. I peer at the door, not a sound coming from the hall. Reflexively I reach over and the zipper cuts through the air with three palpable sizzles.

I flip back the heavy lid. Another zipper on the inside keeps neatly hidden, whatever is creating a serious bulge, and the sound of chimes emits, sounds like change but richer in texture.

“I knew it!” A voice peals from the doorway.

I look up in horror to see Nat dashing her way over.

“I knew you were going to see Dudley. Where is he? Getting whipped cream from the kitchen?”

God—she’s probably right.

I try to close the suitcase, but she pushes the flap back farther and dives in elbows deep.

“OK, we should probably go.”

“I can’t believe you’re really getting it on with Dudley,” she pants as she holds up a pair of boxers.

I snatch them out of her hand and pull down the top of the suitcase.

“We need to get the hell out of here,” I look nervously towards the door. “He’s going to go ape when—”

“What’s that noise?” She interrupts my earnest plea and slaps the lid back with finality. Her fingers slide across the zipper in the upper compartment before dipping down inside. A slight smile begins to play on her lips. “Ooh,” she laughs, producing something red covered with lace, and, oh holy crap—it’s lingerie.

She shags it out in front of me.

“It brings out the nothingness of your eyes,” she mocks.

It’s a corset with black ribbon running up the back in loose X’s. I snatch it away and hold it up to examine it myself. It’s gorgeous but I’ll never tell Marshall that. The metal hooks that run along either side of the back are shaped as intricate metal flowers. It looks more like an amazing piece of art, rather than something you’d strap to your body.

I toss it into the suitcase and get up.

“I’m out of here,” I whisper.

Her hand pulls back from the side compartment once again, this time producing a variety of metallic objects. She holds up a black leather choker with a pendant of a miniature spirit sword dangling from the middle. I take it from her and temporarily ignore the other trinkets in her palm—ignore the fact that Nat has already submerged her other hand into Marshall’s kinky bag of goodies. I fondle the miniature sword to see if I can get it to illuminate. What could I kill with this? Miniature Fems? Inflict punishment on Chloe’s big toe?

Nat holds something out, and a glint of light snaps me out of my thunderstruck stupor.

Twin rings. I recognize the dazzling blue stones set into silver bands.

“Oh, God!” I gasp at the sight. The stones are identical to the one on Chloe’s protective hedge.

Nat clasps her hand around them before jamming one on her finger.

“They’re mine,” she stands.

“You can’t take them!” I try to pry her fingers open in a panic. “You don’t know Dudley. He goes insane when people steal from him!”

“Let go,” she shoves me hard against the bed.

“Nat,” I shout after her as she heads towards the door. “You’re going to lose a finger, or worse!” She leaves a vacuum in her wake. Great. There’s two more protective hedges running around and they’re under the custodial care of a Count.

I shut Marshall’s suitcase, so I can get the hell out of dodge. I happen to know better than to take things from Marshall. I’ve learned my lesson twice on what it means to mess with the all-powerful Sector in my life.  

I turn to bolt for the door, but it shuts and locks before I can get there.

“Ms. Messenger,” Marshall’s voice booms.

I jump when I see him.

Marshall seethes with a psychotic brand of anger. He looks downright rabid.

“I suppose there’s hell to pay,” I give a feeble smile.

“Take off your robe,” he instructs with a forced sense of calm.

And I do.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

All Over Me

Dropping trou for Marshall wasn’t exactly how I planned on spending my first night up at the Pine Pole Lodge, not the last night or any night in between to be specific.

I hold out my arms and twirl for him, slow and methodical making every effort to hypnotize him in the process. I want to enthrall him with Emily’s body art before he peels my skin off for riffling through his things.

His warm fingers clasp onto my bare midriff and startle me into giving an audible gasp.

“Be still love, I’m reading the script.”

“What does it say?” It never occurred to me that Emily might actually be doing something coherent, well, other than the pictures. “Tell me,” I urge.

Marshall starts in just above a whisper. He begins chanting something that has an eerie rhythm similar to the allegiance that Logan and the other Counts were spewing around me in the circle of unholy sacrifices the day I disappeared.

“Louder, I can’t hear you,” I say.

His fingers sink into my flesh, funneling that tuning fork feeling right through my bones. I drop my head back from the intensity of the sensual stream of energy.

Marshall raises his voice an octave, it becomes clear he’s speaking a different tongue altogether.

“What is that?”

“It’s not of this earth. You wouldn’t understand the words—nor grasp their meaning,” he spins me around. “This is powerfully prophetic.”

“It’s here, too.” I point at my navel and trail the strange script all the way up to my top. I pull down the left side of my bathing suit, generously exposing myself to him, so he can see, well, everything.

Marshall returns my suit to its proper position and rests his hand over me with a wild budding grin.

“What did it say?”

“That, my love, was in perfect English. It was a side note from the portal through which the spasm of color on your flesh came to be.”

I remove his hand and pull back my bikini just enough to peek inside.

Chloe + Gage forever
.

I roll my eyes.

“Figures. That’s probably what the rest of it says, too.”

“That’s not what the rest of it says,” he takes a step back and kicks his suitcase. “She stole something, what was it?” His expression sharpens.

“Rings,” I admit. “With the same stone as Chloe’s necklace. I want one. Give one to me.” I meet him right where he is, good and pissed.

“Demanding are we? And no, you must never have it. For God’s sake, if it comes into your possession, don’t put the darn thing on.”

“More Fems?” I’m hopeful. I never was Nat’s biggest fan. Hopefully she’ll share the wealth with Pierce.

“That and something far more sinister.” He picks up the corset and gives a lazy smile in my direction.

“No.” I swallow hard. It’s as inevitable as taking my next breath. I can already feel it.

“Come, Skyla, you’ll be wearing more than you are now. “But first,” he pulls his phone out of his pocket and fidgets with it “we’re going to take some pictures.”

I open my mouth to protest then reconsider.

“Only if you send them to me,” I say. I want to examine the designs later at my own leisure, and most of them are in places I’ll never be able to see with my own eyes.

“I’ll send the entire lot of them once I’m through, feel better?”

“Yes.” I raise my arms and twist and turn, allowing Marshall to point and click his way around my body. It feels pedestrian, medical, nothing at all erotic or wrong about my math teacher taking pictures of me in a bikini and heels in his hotel room. That reminds me—I pluck off my shoes and glide belly first onto his bed, so he can take pictures of my soles as well.

“Freeze,” he says it so serious I’m sure he’s about to pluck a spider from my hair, or swat a Fem off my back, instead he flexes and secures the corset around my chest. In one fell swoop, he unties my bikini top and flings it across the room.

My hands fly up over my chest to ensure the corset doesn’t fall off, like he didn’t already see my left boob tonight—as though the right one wasn’t its twin, but still.

Another flash goes off.

“Hey!”

“For posterity,” he says, tossing his cell onto the dresser and landing on his stomach next to me. “The corset is for tomorrow evening.”

“I won’t be here. I have a date.” The thought of classifying what I do with Ellis as a date just feels wrong.

“It’s for our party game.” His arm slips beneath mine, and he picks up my hand. “Who is this date with?”

“Ellis. What party game? Is it the murder mystery?”

“Precisely. You get to die. Does that excite you?”

“No. Why me? Choose Chloe, for real.”

“I’ve chosen you. The rest of the students get to play dress up from an old costume trunk provided by the facility, but you, my dear, are wearing an authentic piece from 1645. I made it myself,” his voice trails off.

“You made this?” I finger the intricate lace pattern on the bodice.

“The iron work.” His finger beads down the back.

“Who did you make this for?”

“Never mind.” His features darken. He looks lonely and far away, as though, not even my touch can bring him back to this distant future.

“She’s dead.” I doubt death stops Marshall from hotly pursuing his victims.

“I’ve seen her since if that’s what you’re eluding to.”

“She didn’t choose you,” I say it as a solemn fact rather than a question.

“She chose another. The black death greeted her with open arms. She died at Dover—threw herself off a cliff after they took her betrothed to the tower.”

“That’s in England.”

“London. There was a great war.”

“The Fems were involved,” I say, knowingly.

“Yes. They turned the tide, but never mind that.” He gives a casual blink. “You’re here now, and that’s not going to happen again.”

“What do I have to do to help you win this war?” It feels like a loaded question—like all of the weight of the world hinges on whatever is about to come from his mouth.  

“You’ll have to advance to Ahava.”

“Where is it, and how do I get there?”

“In the ethereal plane. You’ll have to fight.”   

He strokes his fingers through my hair then rubs gently against the rim of the corset as though it were her flesh. It’s safe to say that whoever he made this corset for he loved her with an eternal passion.

“Nonsense,” he corrects.

I look down at our still conjoined hands.

“I wanted her, and she rejected me. You weren’t the first to dismiss my advances.” He pairs his words with a subtle lascivious smile, clearly throwing out the offer once again.

“When will you take me to see my mother?” I choose to ignore the proposal he’s laid out on the table—bed, altogether.

His eyes gloss over my body, then drop to the floor.