Wicked (15 page)

“No,” I give a fearful whisper.

“You’ll regret this.” It comes out sharp—threatening.

I already do.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

A Stitch in Time

Gage drives us to his house, where I find myself seated in the kitchen with a weary looking Dr. Oliver examining me from above.

“Identical to Logan’s,” he muses, pulling a strand of invisible filament between his fingers. “I’ve been apprised of the situation with Chloe. I want to sincerely apologize for the part I played in creating this nightmare for you.”

“No, please, never apologize. You’ve been nothing but kind.” It kills me to hear the strain in his voice. If anything I’m the burden.

Emma walks over and surveys the damage.

“I’m sorry about Thanksgiving, too,” I add.

“I had a feeling dinner was a long shot,” Emma quips.

“Sorry,” I whisper again. Of course, Emma hates me. In fact, once I do marry Gage, she’ll probably never look forward to sharing a single meal with us.

I tell them about cutting a deal with Holden’s ghost. “So you think we could get a—” I don’t dare say the word, body. Instead, I look around the room for signs of my least favorite apparition. “You know, recreate the Chloe thing only with someone else?”

“Mmm,” he shakes his head. “I’m afraid I can’t help you with that one. I’m stepping down from the resurrection business. Not for me.” He starts in on the stitches. I can feel the tugging and pulling. It hurts so bad you’d think he was pouring battery acid all over it. Where the hell is Marshall when you really need his feel good vibrations?

Gage takes up my hand and kneels besides me—Gage who actually offered to gift himself to me tonight. I sniff back tears. Now look at us. I’m being sewn back together by a mortician while a herd of rabid Fems wait patiently for me to fall asleep, so they can scare the crap out of me for practice—practice. I could have been raking my body against Gage right now if I had only listened to Logan and not gone down there with Chloe. I roll my eyes at the thought.

I squeeze Gage by the hand until Dr. Oliver gives one last snip and hands me a mirror.

“Crap.” I look ghastly. There’s not a scarf in the world that will hide this incision, not one way to keep this from the Counts who parade around as my parents. “My blood is back to normal, so I can heal faster,” I say, trying to convince myself.

“If you get the proper rest you could have them out by morning. Little to no scarring at that,” Dr. Oliver affirms.

A small noise emits from my throat as I press my lips together in fear.

“What’s the matter, Skyla?” Dr. Oliver pauses from closing his bag midflight.

“I think,” Gage interjects, “she’s afraid she won’t be able to get much rest tonight.”

That’s a morbid understatement.

***

Logan walks in just as Emma and Dr. Oliver head up to bed.

He wags his phone over at the two of us. “I’ll be going over these pictures with great interest. I’ll let you know what I find.”

“Are you sure you’re not going to withhold valuable information?” My stitches pull as I say it. “Email them to me, and I’ll have Ellis do the same. And please Logan, send them all,” I say, irritated. I’m dying to study Emily’s apocalyptic artwork in detail.

“Done.” Logan rubs his thumb over his phone before replacing it in his pocket. “Are you OK?”

I look over at Gage. “As long as you’re with me tonight, I’ll be OK.”

Gage winces at the thought. He looks uneasy before blowing out a breath. “Chloe has this crazy idea I’m spending the night with you.”

“What?” I don’t like where this is going. Of course, Gage is spending the night with me, but what business is it of hers? “Where’d she get that idea?”

“Me.” His dimples depress as he pulls a face. “I’m sorry. I accidently told her I wasn’t giving up any of the time I was spending with you. And when she asked if I’d spend the night with her instead of you I said that’s where I draw the line.”

“That’s a good thing,” I say relieved.

“She agreed.” He shakes his head. “But under one condition. I spend just one night at the Bishop’s, and she’ll leave my nights alone forever. I’ll be on the floor far, far away from her I swear.”

“You can’t go,” I say, wild with fury.

“I have to.” He gives a tired blink. “Last time, and it’ll never happened again. She promised.”

“She operates under a backwards code of ethics,” I nod into him thoroughly annoyed. I cut a look over to Logan. “Just like the Counts.”

***

Gage does the unimaginable and leaves to spend the night with Chloe. Logan takes me home and settles in at my desk uploading the pictures right onto my computer.

I look in the bathroom mirror, and the first frightening thing I see with that rose tucked safely in my esophagus is myself. The hair on the top of my head is crusted over with dried red paint. My entire face is smeared with blood and pigment, and my white sweater looks as though I leaned up against a bloody carcass of hanging meat.

Shit.

I swat at the sink with a wet hand towel.

I absolutely hate Chloe. Tonight was the night Gage and I were supposed to be together, and she blew it.

I cock my head into the mirror and groan. Honestly, if I were Gage, I would make up a million excuses to get away from me, too. I’m hideous. But I’m not Gage. Gage would have loved me exactly the way I am. He’s beyond normal like that.

I take the world’s longest hot shower and toss on my cheetah print robe before plopping on the bed. Everything in me aches, and I’m exhausted beyond recovery.

“Hey,” Logan comes over and gives me a gentle shake. “Wake up, sleepy head.”

“No,” I moan pushing him away.

“You told me to keep you awake, or you’d rip my balls off, remember?” I can feel his warm breath wash over me in spurts as he gives a gentle laugh.

“I can’t do this. I can’t stay awake.” My eyes feel dry as a chalkboard.

“Come on,” he pulls me into a sitting position. The full weight of my head rolls over my neck, and at this point I could care less if it rolls right off. “I’m going to take you somewhere.” He lands on the bed next to me with his fingers secured over mine.

“Where we going?” I fight to keep my lids open. “Back to the party? To the part where I stupidly took the necklace off Michelle?”

His teeth blink on and off like a flashlight. “You can’t change the past, Skyla.”

“Then where?” I ask weary and with great disinterest.

“To meet my parents.”

Chapter Thirty

Meet the Parents

I had no idea that Logan’s parents once lived on the mainland before moving to Paragon and buying the bowling alley. In fact, I’m stunned to be standing on a pumpkin farm in Oregon in the freezing cold of winter in anticipation of the door opening. But it does, and a young couple who look only mildly older than us, stand back and examine first Logan, then me.

“Honey!” A beautiful blonde with her hair in a slick French knot gives Logan an all-encompassing hug. “What happened to your face?” She pulls back before washing over me with a smile. “You must be Skyla, I’ve heard so much about you!” She takes up my hand and leads me into the house without giving me a chance to say hello.

His father looks a lot like Dr. Oliver, strikingly so. In fact it takes everything in me not to ask if they’re twins because I happen to know they’re not. This is Barron’s father, too, which in and of itself is difficult to wrap my head around.

“Jack—and this is Julia,” he says extending his hand.

The Olivers—these Olivers—live in a spacious country home with Americana décor scattered all around. Two mustard velour sofas sit in the middle of the living room and Logan and I take seats opposite his parents.

“Tell us everything that’s happened. Have you graduated?” His father looks relaxed, not at all concerned that he might turn around and combust into flames at any moment. Honestly, if I had my children visiting me from the future, and I knew I was soon to be a human candle, I’d walk around with a fire extinguisher twenty-four seven. Hell, I’d live in the bathtub.

“Nope, still a junior.” He looks over to me sheepishly for a second. “I’m really glad that you were both able to meet Skyla. She means a lot to me.”

“We’re honored to have met you,” his mother smiles. “I hope you’ll visit often, and please, when the time comes, bring the children.” She leans in with excitement as tears well up in her eyes.

She looks so young, hardly a candidate for grandchildren. Then it hits me, Logan might be bringing her grandchildren someday—it just won’t be with me. A pang of jealousy heavy as an anchor settles in my chest. And suddenly I’m hating this new person who’s yet to enter Logan’s life.

“Actually,” Logan starts.

I clasp his hand and pull it over to my lap.

You don’t have to tell them about us, I say.

No, it’s OK, he reassures.

“Skyla and I have decided to just be friends.”

“For now,” I add trying to soften the blow.

So there’s still hope? A flash of optimism flares within him. He’s ready to interpret the smallest hint I’m willing to give.

I don’t think so. And even that was generous.

“These things happen.” His mother fans a smile. “We broke up and got back together so many times I lost count.”

Gosh, she practically sounds like a teenager, too. This is fascinating—young Dr. Oliver and some hot blonde chick. It’s like we’re on a double date with friends.

“So tell us about your face? You’re both cut. Were you in an accident?” His father inspects us from a distance.

“Actually, no, it was a battle.” Logan nods.

Thank you. I give his hand a squeeze.

“Anyway,” he gives a depressed smile before continuing, “the purpose of my visit is to let you know that through reliable sources, I’ve discovered something about myself. For years I was content knowing I had near perfect Celestra blood,” Logan pauses.

They shift in their seats and exchange uncomfortable glances. I bet they totally know.

“But, it turns out, I’m part Countenance.” The words come out baritone, and seem to echo unnaturally.

The thought of Logan as anything but Celestra shocks me, but a Count? I still can’t digest that. Any other faction I would have embraced without hesitating. It would never have had the power to tip the scale of my mistrust for him. A small part of me would trust Logan if he wanted to lead me right off Devil’s Peak—a very small and foolish part. I hate that she still exists.

“So you do know.” His father relaxes as though he could rest easy now, as though he could finally breathe. “Your grandmother was mixed.”

“My side,” his mother pats her chest. “I’ve got some Levatio mixed in as well—Barron is abundant with the Levatio bloodline, but Liam is like you. The degree of Countenance in me isn’t a secret, just nothing we advertise. Is this presenting a problem?” Her eyes widen. “Is that why?” She points between the two of us.

“No,” I say, trying to save face.

Some strategy of his—bring me to meet his parents and make me feel like a total ass.

Logan gives a gentle tug. That’s not why you’re here, I promise.

Oh, right, the hand. Funny how I’m not so quick to shake him loose. I refuse to do it in front of his parents.

“It played into the equation,” Logan admits. “I did, however, want to let you know I’m going to renounce my Celestra status.”

“What?” His mother throws her hands up to her ears. She reminds me a lot of myself actually.

“No, absolutely not. I can’t agree to this.” His father twitches as though Logan were considering manslaughter—as though he were going to turn the bowling alley into a giant bonfire in a fit of insanity.

“I’m not asking permission.” Logan doesn’t shift or break his gaze from his father.

Damn—Logan is hot when he’s defying his parents.

He looks over and I blush.

“I’m doing this because I want to help a friend,” he rattles my hand in the air in the event there’s any misconception. “And, I think it’s going to give us the advantage we need in the faction war.”

“How’s that going?” His father asks with deep concern.

“They’ve killed sixteen Celestra. The faction council decided the Counts are posturing,” Logan pauses.

“So they’ll do nothing.” His mother looks pissed.

That’s the exact reaction I had. God, I really love her.

“Someone,” he looks over at me, “decided to take matters into her own hands.”

“I would have done the same.” It speeds out of her.

I give a satisfied smile.

“It was Skyla and Gage.” He nods as though confirming more things than one.

“There are still five left, and Logan’s going to help me with those.” I don’t mention Demetri. I want the man Chloe sanctioned to kill my father all on my own. Perhaps my dad will come with me? What kind of irony would that be?

“Logan,” his father shakes his head, “don’t defy the faction council, and for God’s, sake don’t turn on your people.”

“I’m not turning on anybody.”

“They’ll make you pledge over to them,” he continues, “you’ll have to prove your loyalty. They could kill you if they think you’re a liability, and the justice alliance wouldn’t hold it against them. You wouldn’t be a war hero, or a martyr—you’d be a turncoat.”

“I’m not a turncoat. My alliance lies with Celestra.” He rubs his thumb against my hand when he says it. “I want this war over quickly, and the power shift to revert back to where it belongs. I’ll die if I have to.”

All movement ceases in the room. It’s as though a verbal bomb just detonated. His parents tunnel into him with an intensity that speaks louder than actions or words.

I lose myself looking at the boy to my left. The damage to his perfect features inflicted by my own unwavering anger. I would have carved his heart out that night if I could have. I shake my head as though offering an apology.

“You’ll be a hero then.” His father admits quietly as though it were a sad reality just waiting to transpire.

“He already is,” I say.

***

After the visit—after shocking the hell out of his parents and leaving them in a depressed stupor—Logan takes me out back, and we walk through damp open fields peppered with miles of twisted yellow and brown vines.

He takes up my hand, and I let him. We are still light driving and terrible things could happen, we could get separated, I could altogether lose him, or Fems could sprout out of the ground. But really, I think this might be the only time-space dimension possible I might ever get to do this.

So how is that you and Liam are mostly Celestra, well, and part Count, but Barron is Levatio? I ask, trying to wrap my head around all of this.

Mostly, Levatio, he corrects. It’s works like a blood type. That, and the fact when you’re old enough you naturally hone your powers in whatever faction you’re destined to be in.

So does that mean Gage is a Count? The thought prevents me from taking another step.

I’m betting he doesn’t have a drop. Our luck seems to run in opposite directions. He compresses a sigh. Season’s over. He points over to an old weathered barn with misshapen pumpkins trickling out of it. Whatever they couldn’t sell stays there until they can figure out what to do with it.

I’m sorry. It’s so sad to think they’re gone now. That those people in the house who are probably consoling one another over the fact their only son is about to pledge allegiance to the Counts, are actually long dead, just like my father.

Don’t be. We’re so lucky to visit our parents. In fact, we can go and visit your dad again, find out more about your mother, if you want.

I do, I pause as the sun melts into the horizon over a patch of maple trees. A few spare leaves hang onto brittle branches and light up the sky with their auburn glory. Maybe tomorrow night. Since I don’t plan on sleeping again, like ever.

OK, it’s a da— He stops shy of using the word date.

A date with a friend. Like we haven’t already ambled into major awkward territory.

“So how are things with Gage?” He says it out loud as though he wants to put it out there for the sky and the earth to hear.

“Great.” I seem to lack the proper enthusiasm. “Except for, you know, Chloe.” I’m so pissed I could nail her through a wall. “I have no idea what’s going on.”

“I do.” Logan’s quick to interrupt. “Holden the not so friendly ghost ring a bell?”

“Crap!” I take in a sharp breath. “She said she wanted to high five me and that she couldn’t believe it was me who killed him. I did this, and now she’s probably threatening him with going to the police.” I shake my head in disbelief. “But she killed Emerson.” A surge of adrenaline spikes through me as though Emerson’s death were just the kind of ray of light I needed.

“Then we need to prove she did it,” Logan nods into my line of thinking.

I’m going to beat that little witch at her own game. Then Gage and I can get to the business of exchanging our gifts—each other.

Logan stares into me with that deer in the headlights look.

Our hands drop, and we exchange sad horrified expressions.

The wind picks up. A bird calls out, and it reminds me of Nev trapped in Chloe’s bedroom lacking the fresh air and sunshine he so desperately needs. That’s how it feels with Logan. Our love suffocated without the freedom, the wingspan it needed, and now here we are contemplating the reality of me being with Gage in a very real way.

“I think we should go home now,” I whisper.

And we do.

Chapter Thirty-One

Roll Over

Logan and I managed to stay out until morning.

As soon as the sun illuminates the perennial grey shield that covers Paragon, we hear Mom and Tad shuffle out of their bedroom, so I thank Logan and tell him to go home and get some sleep.

But no sleep for Fem infested me. Instead, I rush downstairs to get some coffee. Lots of caffeine will totally douse the feeling I have to pass out on the stairs. No wonder Michelle tossed herself off Devil’s Peak. It’s starting to sound like a darn good idea right about now. No sleep, equals pure torture.

Valuable—I balk at the word Marshall used to describe the piece of metal lodged in my intestines. I hope he’s got a spare lying around. I have a feeling I’m really going to regret giving Michelle a well-needed vacay. Hey, maybe I could get him to outfit the entire bitch squad with one of those haunted blooms? Except it would probably take twelve pendants to have any real effect on Chloe, she’s so full of evil herself.

In the family room, Mom helps Tad get settled onto the couch.

“Well look who’s just getting in?” Tad sneers as I pass them by.

“Tell me it’s not so, Skyla,” Mom’s eyes round out as she gawks at my boots and jeans.

“Nope, just up early. Couldn’t sleep.” Part of that was the truth.

I stare out the back window where the world looks groggy, half-awake itself. A blue-grey morning struggles to open its lids and stretch into life.

“So, Skyla, how did it go last night?” She shores up his covers before he motions over to his legs. She raises his feet and manually stuffs a sofa pillow underneath his thick black socks.

Note to self, never use the sofa pillows ever—not even disinfectant can save them.

“It went well.” I swallowed an entire legion of Fem riddled demons. Now I just have to keep myself regular in order to ensure my sanity doesn’t erode faster than it already has. “Real freaking well,” I whisper, opening the fridge.

“So, what did Gage give you for your birthday? If you don’t mind me asking.” She sweeps over—biting down on her lip as though she were expecting me to expose a diamond-laden engagement ring. Funny, because I did receive a ring, only it was from the wrong Oliver. A heavy feeling of sadness drapes over me.

“Gage and I haven’t exchanged gifts yet. I’m hoping for tonight.”

“Hope for something a little more realistic,” Tad shoots from across the room. “It’s a school night.”

“Right. I meant early this evening. Maybe we’ll go out for a bite or something.” A bite of each other. I stop myself from breaking out in an awkward giggle. I’m completely slaphappy from a severe lack of sleep.

A clear image of Gage without his shirt on pops in my mind. His steel cut abs, that triangular shape just below his stomach that dips down to his thighs. I swear you can see the outline of every single muscle on that boy. I plan on making it my goal tonight to trace each one out with my tongue. “What a body,” I mouth the words as I pull out a mug and pour myself a cup of coffee.

“What the?” Tad mutters from the couch. He swats himself as though an angry swarm of bees were attacking him.

I smirk over at him.

Everyday should begin with Tad kicking his own ass.

“What?” Mom fans him with a magazine before jumping on the coffee table and drilling out a scream.

It’s probably a mouse, or a fly, or a gnat for that matter, she has the same knee jerk reaction to anything under three inches. It’s no wonder she’s not pregnant by now.

I dart over. “What is it?” I’d love a pet mouse. They’re so cute and sweet and—oh—holy freaking shit!

An entire army of long black spiders crawl all over him at top speed. He lets out a series of low guttural moans that make it sound as though a cow is being brutally assaulted in the middle of the living room.

“Black widows!” My mother’s lungs blow out the words at Mach five, and within ten seconds a thunderclap of footsteps rumble down the stairs.

Tad spirals off the couch and onto the carpet like a man on fire. He rolls and screams as Mom smacks him hard and fast with a magazine in each hand.

If one didn’t know what was transpiring, one might be prone to believe that my mother was beating the crap out Tad. Say, someone like Melissa, who either A. got up on the wrong side of the bed, perhaps four hours too early, or B. is in the middle of a raging bloody period and feels the need to expel her wrath by way of a fist fight.

“You bitch!” Melissa gives a high pitch wail that could serve as a worldwide communication method for Counts—probably does. She pulls Mom back by the hair and pushes into her chest.

“Melissa!” My mother shrieks forming a shield with the magazines.

The chandelier over the dining room table starts to move in violent rocking heaves before it twists and spins like a top.

Holden.

It’s like the word body is a calling card for all kinds of craptastic things to happen, well, to Tad anyway. And now we’ve got a circus you could sell tickets to, complete with spousal abuse, black widows, and sideways stepmother bitch slaps.

As soon as the ruckus dies down, Mom yells for Drake to help load Tad into the minivan. Tad’s face is bloated twice its normal size, and he’s dazed from the thorough pummeling he’s just endured.

Not one spider remains. I lift a sofa cushion with caution. Nothing.

“Nice show, Holden,” I say under my breath.

I only hope he didn’t kill Tad for real this time.

***

That night—fourteen cups of coffee later, I’m so pumped that Gage is actually coming over I can’t stop shaking from excitement. Well, OK, the caffeine may have played a tiny part, but that’s not how I want to remember this.

Mom is spending the night at the hospital with Tad. Turns out he’s got a touch of the blood poisoning, and they want to pump him full of antibiotics so he can live to see another day. Wouldn’t that be just weird if the body I gave Holden was Tad’s? That would be a disaster of monumental proportions. Then I’d really have to kill Tad to keep him away from my mother or else, God forbid, we’d have mini Kraggers running around the house. I shake the thought out of my mind.

“Hey beautiful.” Gage appears near the doorway holding a round birthday cake with a lit candle pressed in the center.

Gage is beyond gorgeous tonight. He’s completely godlike with the glow of the candlelight warming his features.

“You look flawless,” I say hypnotically. I want to forget the cake, put out the candle and start our own blaze.

I motion him over to the comforter stretched out on the floor.

We’re totally on the same wavelength because I’ve got three votive candles sitting up on the window seat filling the room with magical flashes of light.

“I saw Nevermore,” he says placing the cake between us. “He says hello. I’ve trained him to say, happy birthday, Skyla.”

“I bet Chloe liked that.” I hate that he was in Chloe’s room—that he spent the night. That’s about as appetizing as finding hair in my food.

“She wasn’t thrilled,” he whispers, taking up my hands. “You’d better make a wish.” He gives me a feverish kiss on the mouth.

I can feel the heat from the flame rising up around my neck, exploding over me as we linger, not wanting this perfect moment to end. It feels good kissing Gage, being alone with him. Although I hate to admit it, but it also feels good to have my eyes closed longer than two seconds—damn good actually.

We pull back, and I just gaze at him—take in his iconic beauty. “I officially dub you the keep Skyla the hell awake committee. Are you up for the challenge?” I annunciate the word up as though it were provocative, but instead it just sounds vague.

“I’m up.” He tilts his head at me. “Make a wish before we accidentally set your room on fire.”

“Oh right,” I stare down at the smooth orange blaze elongating itself into the night.

Wishes—I’d like for the faction war to end, but in a way, I don’t. It seems like that will only complicate things, and I sort of like having Gage, with no pressure to choose Logan. Not like I could ever choose Logan anyway, he lies, he broke my heart—he’s a Count.

I look across at Gage—so soulful, so sweet with those melted glacier eyes. “I already have everything I want right here.” I blow out the candle, and a plume of smoke rises between us, spirals up soft as a dream.

I get on my knees and scoop a layer of frosting off with my finger. I make my way onto his lap and smear it over the side of his neck, pushing my lips up to it. It is unadulterated bliss kissing him through the sugary frosting—an intense glorious pleasure to clean it off his person. Kissing Gage—massaging my lips up and down his neck in one sweeping motion is by far more sexually intense and relaxing than ever kissing Marshall or Logan for that matter. There’s something pure about our love, in every way sublime, just like Gage himself.

I feel myself drifting. Gage rocks us back onto the floor, and the room starts to fade. His flesh gives way beneath me, and I’m floating, unmoored from the world, sailing into a pure heavenly sleep.