Wicked (21 page)

The rose gleams off her neck like it never skipped a beat.

“Where’d you get that?” I shriek.

Gage pulls me a step back.

Michelle looks dazed—stoned. Heck, Ellis Harrison looks more lucid any day of the week with an entire marijuana field clouding his brain.

“It fell in Dudley’s room. He gave it back to me,” her voice sounds distant, wholly removed from her person, and suddenly I’m wondering if she should be in the facility with that thing on. And speaking of which, it’s not the exact same pendant I swallowed, is it?

She picks the rose up puts it into her mouth as though it were a habit.

I push my face into Gage’s chest in disgust.

“Excuse us,” he says escorting me in.

We take seats near the back with a group of the kids from West. East keeps to itself a few pews in front of us.

Pierce! I recognize his freakishly wide shoulders that look as though he’s wearing football padding beneath his jacket—and Nat.

I shrink a little in the pew.

“Relax,” Logan whispers, “he can’t do anything. He’s out on bail, he has to behave.”

“The reason there’s bail to begin with is because of me,” I whisper back.

Gage secures his arm around me and pulls me in tight. I don’t know if it’s some kind of signal to get Logan to stop talking to me or if he wants to make me feel safe, but either way it’s working on both points.

Pierce turns around and glares right at me as though some sixth sense alerted him to my presence. He bites over his lower lip exposing his sharpened canines then retracts them slowly into his mouth.

“Did you see that?” I hiss. “He just threatened me.”

“Won’t hold up in court,” Logan points out.

Nat turns around—her eyes still blotchy and swollen, her nose distinctly broken. She looks as though she were in a major car wreck even though the only thing she collided with was a delusional version of me.

She gives me the finger and turns back around.

“Did you see that?” I flinch at the gesture. “That is completely illegal in here.” I push into Gage a little deeper.

“She always did have class,” Gage whispers.

This isn’t going well. In fact, I can’t imagine the rest of my days going well ever again.

Marshall walks in as if on cue.

Ms. Messenger, he says, striding past our pew, landing on the other side near Tad and Mom.

It really is a wonder this entire place doesn’t ignite. It’s a tinderbox of assholes, well, not that Marshall’s one of them, but sometimes he is.

The worship music starts up. My eyes wander towards the art along the walls. I’ve never really taken an interest in art, before Emily and her cryptic compositions injected themselves in my life.

Just your run of the mill poster sized paintings of angels, here. White robes, wings, nothing out of the ordinary. After a while my eyes trail up towards the pulpit. Something white and glazed harnesses my attention on the front of the pulpit itself. I straighten in my seat to get a better look. The bust of four figures carved in creamy marble stare back at me, one of a man, one of an ox, an eagle, and a lion.

Maybe Logan was supposed to be a lion, and I made him an ass? I give a wry smile.

I look over at Marshall who stares studiously ahead. I’ll have to ask him what all this means. Am I the man—the woman?

From behind Marshall the curve of dark hair emerges. Chloe gouges me with a hate-filled stare. She eyes both Gage and I as though we just ate her firstborn. She cuts her gaze to Marshall, then me again, and gives the hint of a smile.

Crap.

The microphone crackles, and I redirect my gaze.

“Spiritual warfare,” the man at the pulpit clears his throat. “Wars—they happen just about everyplace.” He gives a little smile as though the idea he was about to present was absurd. “The book of Revelation reads, ‘And there was a war in heaven. And Michael and his angels fought against the dragon, and the dragon and his angels fought back.’”

Marshall turns his face ever so slightly in my direction.

A war in heaven—can you believe that, Skyla? He glances over at me, serene as the ocean before a typhoon. You should—because you, my love, play a very crucial role.

Chapter Forty-Two

Wild Abandon

After the service, Gage informs me he’s taking me on a top-secret date.

“So you’re stealing me away?”

“Consider yourself kidnapped.” He gives a sly smile.

We pull into a quiet emerald cove marked Rockaway Point that sports a sandy beach the color of charcoal. We get out and I scoop up a handful, watch the ebony dust run from my fingers in a shower of sparkles.

“This is amazing. I can’t believe how beautiful this place is,” I say.

A row of pelicans jet out over the horizon, their bills give a history lesson on prehistoric birds all on their own.

He holds me with one hand while carrying a fast food bag and a soda in the other.

“Now that you’re here it doesn’t look so beautiful. You outshine the best nature has to offer.” He gives a playful bite to my earlobe, and my stomach erupts in one hot bite.

I swill the ice in my oversized drink and look up at him. Gage looks sublime against the heavily charred sky.

“I can’t believe Chloe gave you the afternoon off.” I examine him for clues. His cheek rises on one side when I say it. “So what’s the deal? Is Sunday really the day of rest?”

He stares out into the rugged whitecaps. They cycle in and out with a recklessness that leaves you in awe.

“I worked out a deal with her.” His jaw clenches.

“Oh. I don’t think I want to know.” Whatever it is I’m sure it isn’t anything to do a cartwheel over. The last thing I want is for Chloe to ruin my moment with Gage. She’s already ruined so many. “I officially ban Chloe and Pierce and Tad from our conversation for the rest of the afternoon—make that all day.”

Gage spreads a thick plaid blanket under the umbrella shade of a coral tree. Its bright red flowers dot the plain fat leaves like miniature trumpets. It feels like a cavern of privacy right here in open nature. I’m pretty sure we’ve officially found our spot. I hope something momentous happens to confirm this.

“And what about Logan? Is he banned?” His cheeks flex with disappointment.

I wonder if Logan played up the boyfriend angle while telling him about our trip? If he told him how he stole that kiss, stretching the truth to make it sound as though I had initiated it—wanted it.

“We can leave him out for sure.”

The waves crash on the shore in an explosive roar as though somehow Logan himself had intervened with nature and was disputing his absence from our conversation.

“I think he was supposed to be a lion,” I say as we grab our burgers and start in on lunch. I take a sip of my soda and lose myself watching the boiling sea thrash over and over.

“Who?”

“Logan.”

Gage dips his head.

“Sorry.” I give a quick shrug. “So tell me about our wedding vision.”

Gage played coy after I grilled him on what exactly it was he saw, and he promised he’d tell me later.

He sucks into his straw examining me with great intensity as though somehow I had liquefied, and he was drinking me down deeply.

“I saw us together,” he reaches over and picks up my hand, “we were facing the judge and he said, I now pronounce you man and wife.”

“Did you see my face?” My heart thumps unnaturally. What if this is the caveat? What if it was a misunderstanding right from the beginning?

He nods. “When you turned to kiss me. You whispered I love you.” The apples of his cheeks darken.

I scoot in and lay my head in his lap.

“So it is you.” I smile up at him. “A judge, huh?” Sounds like a quickie to me, but really I don’t care. I’d run to the courthouse today if he’d let me—if my heart didn’t demand I fight a faction war and give Logan an official big fat no. My stomach tightens in knots. It feels so official—Logan and I over forever.

“I love you,” I say it out of guilt for letting Logan steal another minute of our time.

He scoops me up and gives a soft lingering kiss, laced with the sweet taste of soda.

I dip my hand up his t-shirt and feel his warm flesh underneath.

“I love you with an eternal passion,” Gage breathes the words hot into my ear.

My mouth falls open at the thought of eternal love.

“You have an amazing way with words.” I dig my fingers into his hair at the base of his neck, soft slick tendrils, so unnaturally dark it gives off the slightest hint of blue. “Loved the poem. I wish you’d write one for me everyday.”

“Maybe I am. Maybe I’m just saving them all to give to you one day.”

He gives a gentle rumble of laughter lying besides me, sliding his hands up the back of my sweater. His warm fingers push under my bra and curve their way over stopping shy of my chest. I watch as his eyes shut just barely, as they roll back in ecstasy when I draw a line down his chest. It’s so easy like this with Gage. Everything about it feels right.

“Were we at the beach our first time?” I wash over his neck in kisses.

His hands slip down into the back of my jeans in one quick motion.

“Hotel.” His chest quivers with inaudible laughter and jostles me.

I sigh into him. Forever now I’ll be eyeing the hotels on Paragon, counting them out, wondering which one we’ll be in, which room, not that either of those things matter right now. Gage has the patience of a saint, something of which I seem to be sorely lacking.

“We can practice,” I say taking off his shirt. Then without hesitation I whip off my sweater and roll us in the blanket, engulfing us in enough privacy to practice just about anything.

His eyes light up in the shadows like brilliant blue stars as he rolls on top of me. I can feel his stomach over mine his chest just cresting, afraid he’ll crush me with his full weight. I reach back and unhook my bra, yank it off in one stealth move. I toss it into the bushes, pressing the small of his back into my bare flesh until I can feel him covering me completely.

I wonder how many man-hours it will take before we get it right.

Chapter Forty-Three

The Muse

Monday, I manage to avoid Chloe for the better part of the afternoon as I bask in the false impression of a reprieve, but come sixth period I can tell by the haughty look in her eyes she’s still hell-bent on controlling my life. Who knew that words I once whispered to her about Marshall would give her such jurisdiction, allow her to dismantle my relationship with Gage—turn me over to the Counts on a whim if she wanted.

“OK, team,” she shouts into the wind. “We have the all state competition coming up in April, and we need to bring it home. How did you do last year?” She holds her hand to her ear.

A low mumble of we lost, groans from among us.

“And why did you lose?” She looks genuinely pissed as she aggregates us with an eternal hatred. “Because there was no leadership,” she barks it out while pegging Michelle with her venom.

Technically I wasn’t here either, but I don’t offer up that information.

“So,” she continues, “with the help of Ms. Richards, we are going to catapult this team to the number one slot, you got it?”

We give a dismal yes in unison. Michelle is so out of it, plucking away at grass blades, to even care if we’re all in uniform let alone if there’s some altruistic level of unity. Really someone should do an intervention.

I tune out Chloe’s barking and look over at Ms. Richards sitting on a bench in the distance, referring to her clipboard now and again. I still can’t believe she’s related to Ezrina. Creepy. Now that I know, I can see traces of her great, great grandmother in her. Same wild shag of copper hair, eyes too large for her face—there’s always been something unnerving about her perennial high-strung behavior, always restless and jittery, just like her predecessor.

Chloe covers me with her shadow.

“Well, Messenger?” She hollers with her hands wrapped around her mouth like a megaphone.

All of the other girls have paired off, Emily and Michelle, Nat and Kate, Brielle with Lexy, so I guess that leaves me and—

Chloe gives a swift kick to the back of my thigh.

“Up!” she barks.

I spring to my feet and wrap my hand around her wrist.

Do that again, I beg of you. See how far you can push me, I glare into her.

I believe you’re angry, Skyla. Angry enough to kick my ass everyday of the week, her face lights up with dark pleasure. But it’s Gage who you’re really fighting for, not some hurt feelings over a little bruise.

Isn’t that funny how we’re both fighting over Gage, and yet you can never really have him? I ask.

I have more of him now than you do, she reminds me. All of West thinks we’re together. She ticks her head when she says, together.

I hate to break it to you, but most of us operate in this little thing called reality. The reality I know says Gage loves me—and hates you.

A fiery slap ignites across my face. The sound of its fury lies buried in the wind.

Try me Skyla, she warns. Say it one more time, and see how fast I hunt down Dudley.

The sun breaks free for a moment, illuminates us with its spotlight as though we were on stage. Chloe’s rage gleams like a jewel. It places the thorny crown of indignation on her head, and my presence alone is enough to press it in—make her bleed.

Chloe has gone feral, all because of her outright obsession with Gage. I can’t say I blame her. I would go mad without him, too. But he’s mine, and he always will be.

I think we both know that.

And we both know it will never change.

***

That evening Mom drives me and my sisters over to Marshall’s house for our math, slash, horseback riding lessons.

Paragon is lit up like a Christmas tree, literally. Giant colorful bulbs dance across rooflines. Trees are wrapped in twinkle lights up and down the island. You would think the city issued a mandate, stipulating it a public service to decorate everything on or around your property line. I watch as mangers and giant cartoon cutouts of Santa Claus spike, lawn after lawn. Some people have completely lost their minds with elaborate light shows that coordinate with music, one with a merry-go-round in their front yard and a miniature Ferris wheel with stuffed animals riding along as passengers. Another house has a bonafide single passenger airplane out front with Santa at the helm.