Wicked (10 page)

“What a mess,” Drake says, trying to sop up the blood with a kitchen towel.

Drake doesn’t seem all that freaked out that the only thing his dad ate for dinner was ten inches of stainless steel.

“I’ll help,” Brielle offers, walking over with a handful of paper towels. It takes three seconds before she starts retching into the mess, then embellishes it by adding a sea of foaming vomit.

I rush over to open the backslider. Can this day get any worse? First Nev, then Tad, and now Brielle yakking all over everything. “Brielle, are you OK? You wanna lie down?” I ask. “Get her upstairs.” I motion to Drake.

“I don’t want her puking in my room.” He jumps back a good three feet.

Brielle rights herself and pulls over the bottom of the tablecloth in an effort to wipe off her face. I watch as a trail of dishes land on the stone floor one after the other breaking with a disturbingly even rhythm.

Drake and Brielle decide it’s a good time to take my advice and head on up.

“Looks like a massacre took place,” I mutter. I’m so pissed—it wasn’t Holden who ruined Thanksgiving, it was me. I pick up a dish off the table and crash it onto the floor. It cracks into three equal parts with tiny slivers splintering everywhere. Great. I’m sure I’ll step on one barefoot later and end up in the ER myself.

Logan pulls a broom out of the side pantry and hands it Gage. He unspools a roll of paper towels and starts in on the bodily fluids. It takes us less than a half an hour to clean up the damage and scrub down the floors.

“Thanks for helping.” I wanted to say, I owe you one, but I’m reserving that for later, when it’s just Gage and me. I’m still upset over the fact Logan thinks it’s a good idea to defect to the other side. It’s probably just an excuse, like he hasn’t been there all along.

My cell goes off, it’s a text from Mom. He’s going to be fine! Missed all vital organs. Dr. said it was a Thanksgiving miracle!

“Nice.” I pan the phone over to Logan and Gage. “Looks like Holden went easy on him after all.”

“Holden?” Logan inches back a notch.

“Yeah.” I tell them about the stupid idea I implanted in Holden’s long departed brain.

“Skyla,” Logan looks genuinely shocked “you can’t mess with spiritual beings like that. You’re connecting yourself to him in ways you don’t know.”

“Oh, is that what they taught you, first day of Count 101?”

“I’m serious,” he softens. “The more you interact with him the more power you give him.”

“OK, so I won’t interact with him anymore.”

A slow gurgle starts up in the kitchen. We watch in horror as the two trash bags we sealed shut, split open and dislodge themselves in a wild rattle all over the kitchen and litter the floor with bloody towels, broken pottery, and vomit.

“Crap,” I hiss.

Gage wraps an arm around my shoulders. “It’s too late to ignore him, Skyla.” He pushes his lips into mine. But I think I have a way to get rid of him.

***

Gage refuses to let me in on his idea with Holden haunting the vicinity, not even telepathically is he willing to share the concept.

We clean up the area one more time, and I swear openly at Holden during the entire process, which drives Logan and Gage to alternately shake their heads at me.

Gage plucks his phone out of his pocket and stares down at it. “It’s Chloe.” He pulls a face.

“What does she want?” I’ve got a gut feeling—but I’m hoping for a second Thanksgiving miracle.

“Apparently, I’m taking her shopping.” Gage tosses the phone up before catching it again.

“No.” I’m dazed by his willingness to go. “It’s a holiday. And might I remind you, you’re not her boyfriend.”

“And that I’ll never be.” He locks eyes with me driving home the point. He glances back down at his phone as though it were a pariah. “But, black Friday is upon us.”

“More like blackmail Friday.” I wrap my arms around his waist. “You’re not going, right?”

“I’m going.” He nods as though it weren’t even a question. “Get some rest.” He presses a kiss onto my lips. “I’ll text you and let you know if I’ll be back in time before you go to bed.”

“I’ll stay with her,” Logan volunteers.

“No.” I practically bite the air when I say it.

“Definitely, no.” Gage says as he heads out the door in a hurry.

I walk over and watch as he gets into the car and speeds away. I can’t believe this keeps happening. It’s like a nightmare that circles on a loop.

“I guess you want me to leave, too,” Logan rumbles from behind.

I glance back at the stairwell, Mia and Melissa have calmed down, and Brielle and Drake are probably getting down.

It seems like it’s the right time.

“No, I don’t want you to leave. In fact I want you to come with me.”

“Anywhere,” he says breathless.

“Good. Because we’re going to see my father.”

Chapter Twenty

Light Drive

Early morning in L.A., a thin layer of orange smog lies over the city like a suspended vat of pollen. The sweet scent of Mom’s roses dance in the balmy air as the sun warms over my shoulders like a friend I long to know again.

I made sure Mia and Melissa were apprised of the fact Logan and I were taking off before we left on our light drive.

“Should we still call it light driving? I mean now that I can’t stand Chloe,” I ask as we sit outside my old L.A. house waiting for Dad to come out for his early morning bike ride. I miss everything about L.A. even the plants skirting our property, the pale aloe plants that raise their powdered arms to God—the lavender verbena.

“She took so many things away from you.” He squints into the sun. “I think it’s the least you can take from her. Call it light driving and own it. In fact, own everything around Chloe—that ought to annoy the living hell out of her.”

I give an impish grin. “I think it’s my life’s mission to annoy the living hell out of her.” Also, to kill her twice, but I leave that part out.

My father bounces his bicycle out the door and pauses to examine the two of us.

“Skyla!” He lets his bike fall onto the lawn and pulls me into a tight embrace. “I miss you.” He presses his nose deep into my hair, taking in the fragrance as though it were exotic incense.

I pull back and beam at him. He looks amazing. His hair is slicked, still dewy from the shower, hiding every stitch of grey. His eyes sparkle out at me, and it’s only when he gives a few rapid blinks that I realize he’s holding back tears.

“I’m right upstairs, how could you possibly miss me?” I was hoping I had impressed myself on him, and from the look of things, I have.

“I miss you knowing that I’m no longer with you.” He circles over me with his somber eyes. “And look at you, you’ve grown into a beautiful young woman without my permission.” He ruffles my hair on top. “Who’s this? The lucky boyfriend I presume?” He turns to shake Logan’s hand.

I take them in together, standing there—Logan and my father, and my intestines tether in knots. It’s surreal to say the least. At one time, I thought I’d be with Logan forever, and for him to meet my father is beyond a dream.

For sure I thought now that Logan is a Count, I’d have an easier time seeing my life without him, but something deep inside still nags at me, sweeps me toward him, easy as dust with a broom.

“He’s my boyfriend’s, um…uncle, cousin—something,” I swallow the last few words.

“Oh.” Dad pulls back and examines him curiously. “Very well, you kids up for breakfast?”

***

Dad piles us into the minivan, and we head out to a diner not too far down the road.

Logan and I sit together, so I can gaze over at my father without distraction. I love his effortless smile, the laughter that bubbles up unwarranted. I had almost forgotten what a joy he was to be around, how much jubilance he brought into my life.

We put in our orders then bask in the wonders of one another for the next several minutes.

“We’re starved.” I tell Dad about the entire Thanksgiving debacle as we wait for our food.

“Who’s Tad?” The words amble out of him innocently.

Oh God.

I look to Logan for help.

“No, it’s OK,” Dad reaches over and touches my hand briefly. “You don’t need to hide anything to protect my feelings. Is it someone your mother is seeing?” He blinks in surprise. “Has she remarried?”

Everything in me twists. I’d hate for my dad to suffer one ounce of pain over, of all things, Tad.

“He’s not you. He doesn’t even come close to being you.” The words strangle out of my vocal chords.

A bus glides by the window followed by a steady stream of SUV’s and overpriced luxury cars. I’d rather veg out watching L.A. traffic than break my father’s heart over nothing. “He’s crap,” I eek the words out.

“Hey.” He jiggles my wrist until I turn back to look at him. “Nobody’s crap,” he says softly. “I’m sure this Tad person has some redeemable qualities.” His gaze drifts off to an invisible horizon behind me. “Wait a minute. It’s not Tad-always-in-a-fowl-mood-Landon, is it?”

“Yes.” I pat my hands down on the table just as the food arrives. “He’s constantly pissy and moaning about something, and he’s a Count.” I try not to shout the last few words.

Dad withdraws his perennial smile and drops his head down to chest in thought.

“I want you to keep an extra eye on him,” he says, still twisting his lips.

“I will.” Then I let it all out. I tell him about school and Chloe coming back to life and to my birthday party minus the fact she contracted his death, and, of course, Logan being a Count. Logan who I thought I loved, but couldn’t, and who I might be able to trust, but I’m still not sure.

“I’m sitting right here,” Logan muses.

“I’m well aware,” I say, rather annoyed.

“Can my daughter trust you?” Dad’s eyes shine like twin globes. I miss those blue-green orbs more than I could ever know.

“Yes.” Logan doesn’t waver—doesn’t break my father’s heavy-handed stare.

“Don’t worry, he’s out of the picture.” I’m still more than miffed by the fact he makes a habit of withholding pertinent information from me. It’s like a character flaw. Deep inside I’m afraid to let Logan in again. He was so close to the rawest part of me—sometimes I think I’m going to break, or spontaneously combust from the pain of losing him. It’s better this way with the impenetrable wall. You can’t have your heart broken if there’s a fort a mile wide around it. I’ve got mine encased in the fibers of Gage’s vision. Ironically, it’s that vision that hurts me most when it comes to Logan. When I accepted Gage’s gift of knowing as the absolute truth—that was the moment I really lost Logan—that’s when it hurt like hell to know I’d never have him no matter how many faction wars we won. “In fact my boyfriend, Gage, he’s a Levatio,” I continue absentmindedly, “and he’s already told me we’ll marry.”

Dad blinks back with a look of both surprise and slight disgust. “I don’t like the thought of you talking marriage so young.” His cheek rises on the side, no smile. “And where is this Gage? Why didn’t he come back here with you?”

I take a deep breath and tell him all about Chloe’s blackmail Friday scheme, end with the story of how we exchanged left arms and how she slit my throat.

Dad reaches across the table and runs his fingertips over the scar across my neck.

“She did this to you?”

I don’t dare tell him that she set him up to die, that I killed her in turn.

“Skyla.” A look of despair disintegrates his features. “You’ve been through so much. I’m so sorry I’m not there to help you.”

“Mom is. But she’s not really my mother, is she?”

He studies the two of us from across the table. An uneasy feeling clots up the air, and I can tell he’s searching for delicate ways to put things.

“No. She’s not.”

There are only a few true moments in life that define you, that make you aware of everything around you so acutely that you could remember the details right down to the cheesy 80’s song playing over the speakers, and for me, this was one of them.

“I knew it.” Something has always been missing, cluing me in to the abnormality of the situation. This insurmountable elephant that congested the distance between us, sucked the air right out of the room whenever she was around for too long. “Why the big secret?” I knew a half a dozen people back in L.A. who were the product of affairs, and all of them knew of their dubious conception. “Why don’t I know anything about my real mother?”

My father draws back in his seat and takes in a full deep breath before expelling it in a sigh.

“It’s because she’s not human, Skyla.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Out of This World

The waitress comes by and refills our drinks. I try to relax, so I don’t accidentally jump across the table in an effort to shake the truth out of Dad.

It’s so weird. Here I thought Mom, well, Lizbeth, was my mother all along. I can’t imagine belonging to anyone else. Sure I don’t always get along with her, and ever since she married Tad things have been less than stellar, but at least I still have her in my life. I’ve always appreciated the consistency.

“Skyla,” Dad leans into the table. “I realize things have been changing quickly for you, that you were thrown into this Nephilim world with no preparation, and I really am sorry for that.” He takes a breath and examines me. “I had every intention of telling you once you came of age.”

“Thirty? You were going to wait until I was thirty?” My mouth hangs open. That’s like twelve lifetimes away.

“No,” he gives a gentle laugh. “Eighteen, or so. I was going to wait until you graduated from high school. I thought that would give you just enough time to experience life as a normal teenager, and you’d be armed and ready to go to college. Obviously, I regret this.”

“Please, don’t regret anything.” I can’t bear the thought of my father losing sleep over this. “It’s OK. Logan and Gage were nice enough to tell me what I needed to know.” When they felt like it.

I shoot a look over to Logan.

I still don’t get why Logan didn’t rattle everything off at once like I would have.

“Now that we’re here,” Dad continues, “I want you to know you can come to me anytime and ask me anything. I want to help you. I’m on your side.”