Wicked (6 page)

“How about that walk you promised?” She tugs him in her direction.

“No,” I say, irritated. “No walk.” Throwing—pushing maybe—but no freaking walk.

Gage gently dislodges my death grip from around his waist. He’s saying something to me with his eyes, but all I pick up from his mind is white noise.

“I’ll make it quick.” He shakes his head just barely before taking off towards the dirt path leading to the woods. Chloe is still holding his hand as though it belonged to her—as though all of him did.

“What’s that about?” I run my fingers through the back of my hair and watch until they’re out of site.

“I don’t know,” Logan stuffs his hands in his pockets. “But for your sake, I hope it’s not a sign of things to come.”

Chapter Eleven

A Walk in the Night

The fog presses in, gives the impression that the whole world is nothing but an illusion. I can hardly make out the bodies less than ten feet away.

I try not to acknowledge Logan, who insists on leaning up against the railing with me as I wait for Gage to finish taking his new pet Chloe for a walk. We’ll probably laugh about this later. Gage and I will make up all kinds of jokes about how Chloe’s been acting like a real bitch ever since she came back, in more ways than one. Of course, they’ll be private jokes. I like the idea of Gage and I building up our intimacy around Chloe and her canine ways, I would say, how much we hate her, but I’m starting to think maybe Gage doesn’t hate her as much as I do. Not by a long shot.

I’m sure he’s only doing this because he feels bad she’s been dead and all, I mean, it’s not like he’s going to drive down to her house every night and take her out on a leash. He’s not right? I glance up at the voile-covered sky for an answer.

Right about now I can’t help feeling a little betrayed by Gage and his unrelenting kindness.

“It’s been a really long time,” I say. I’m secretly hoping to induce a panic in Logan, so he’ll rush in and pluck them out. “Maybe he’s hurt. You know, broken leg.”

“He would have called.” A plume of fog escapes his lips like smoke from a pipe.

“Oh, right.” Great. I’ve got Mr. Logical on my hands. “I guess I’ll have to go in and get them myself.”

“They’ll come out eventually, or you can call him, tell him to come back,” his voice drops a notch. “I’d come back for you. But then, I never would have left.”

“I’m not calling him,” I shoot a sharp look. Its getting old listening to Logan profess his love for me now that I don’t want it, now that I can never have it. “I’m not insecure. Besides, if I go in and accidentally run into them, it’ll come off as totally natural.” I take off down the same dirt path they started on well over an hour ago. Maybe they’re lost? Worse, maybe I’ll get lost. Maybe Chloe accidentally took a lethal U-turn, and she’s dead for good this time right here at the base of Devil’s Peak. How would that be for irony?

Logan appears by my side, slightly out of breath, and walks shoulder to shoulder with me as we enter the dark canopy of stalwart pines.

The absolute blackness of the dense forest drowns out the paper moon. It tones down the puff of visceral fog that blankets our world, and heightens our senses to a perfumed eucalyptus nearby.

“You mind if I come along?”

“Sort of,” I say.

“OK then.” He turns to go.

I snatch his hand before I can even process the fact I’m still mad at him—that I really shouldn’t care if he leaves.

“Stay.” I let his fingers drip off slow like honey.

He gives an impish grin. The smooth unblemished side of his face that I didn’t graffiti with a shard of glass seems a stark contrast to the scarred rougher version. He’s like two people in one. It seems almost representative of who he’s become to me. Old Logan and new Logan—the before and after of our demise. He reaches over and takes a hold of my hand.

“You mind? I’m afraid of the dark.” His words whistle past me in a swirl of lies.

“Just this once.”

The forest floor hums with the thunder of bass from car doors swung open so the speakers can unleash their fury into the virginal night.

The clamor starts to dissipate as we delve deeper into the thicket, until all that’s left to fill our ears is the sound of our own hushed breathing.

Logan?

Yes? His eyes glint into mine a haunting shade of glowing embers.

You think Gage has feelings for Chloe? I guess in the middle of an inky dark forest with its arms raised high like an impenetrable membrane, it feels safe to fess up to the fact that maybe this was a possibility.

Nope. Not one, I promise. He gives my hand a gentle squeeze as if to annunciate the fact.

I’m not sure if Logan’s promises are worth much anymore. I still don’t know if he’s ever been true to me, or if he’s been working with Chloe the entire time.

Hey. He stops and tugs at me gently. Skyla, I love you more than I’ve ever loved anybody. I’ve never been anything but genuine, I swear to you. And if it weren’t for the fact I put you in danger, I would never have let you go. I meant what I said about waiting for the faction war to end. There has to be hope for us because it will drive me insane to think there’s not.

I try not to consume his words—reciprocate them. Instead I try to let my mind filter through any other topic, my lit paper due next Thursday, Marshall and his prehensile tongue, but I can’t fight it, Logan drifts to the surface like a cork each time. So I address it head on.

I don’t know why it feels like there should be hope. I’m madly in love with Gage, and I’m destined to marry him. But, I feel it, too. Shame consumes me upon my admission.

The soft crush of leaves disrupts the silence.

A crackle emits, the distinct sound of something stirring to life ignites a steady stream of pops and whines until it becomes apparent we’re not alone.

“Gage?” God—what if Chloe sent an invitation, and he accepted? What if Logan and I are walking in on some private moment between the two of them? I’d rather be eaten by Fems or captured by Ezrina or—

The ground shifts beneath us. Something brushes up against my back, and instinctively I jump towards Logan.

“What was that?” I hiss.

“I think you’re getting your wish.”

A slither of something thin and frail wraps itself around my ankle.

“Snake!” I try and shake it loose, but my other foot is being wrapped as well. In a moment that defies logic and reason, the evergreens bow down and secure their fur-lined arms around us.

“Fems,” Logan says, trying to struggle free. The branches retract and pull us into the air, slowly, as though we were being strung onto a stealth hunter’s bow.

“No! No—I’m afraid of heights.” The words squeal out of me as I’m catapulted up hundreds of feet in the air, up higher than the puff of fog lying over the island like a dream, up high enough to count the stars in detail, to touch the moon, or to scream into God’s own ear if I wanted.

I catch a glimpse of Logan stretched back with his arms pulled tight, his legs and torso no longer visible due to the unnatural coiling of branches cinched around his body.

“Skyla!” My name vibrates through the pitch and the gloom—it merges with the crashing ocean waves in the distance.

It’s the last thing I hear as I plummet straight back to earth at a velocity that promises only one thing.

Death.

Chapter Twelve

Terminal

The ground fast approaches, and I shut my eyes.

I can only assume it approaches because it has to eventually. It’s the law of physics, when you fall, you will undoubtedly land somewhere, and that somewhere in my case is going to be the cold hard earth of Paragon.

Then I feel it. That strange tuning fork feeling rattles through me, and my lids fly open hoping to find Marshall wrapped around me, flying me off to L.A., back in time two years ago when everything was simple, so seemingly normal. If he did, which he’s not, I could outsmart Chloe and save my father. But I’ll never do those things. I might never do anything again because I’ve passed through sky and earth, and now I’m falling through a blank colorless world that I hardly recognize.

A white glossy floor crops up out of nowhere, and my face slaps against it so hard I’m convinced I’ve crushed my jaw to dust.

A dull thud lands besides me. I can see the tip of Logan’s sneaker through the slit of my left eye, and I feel safe and thankful that I let him tag along in the forest with me.

“Skyla?” He groans crawling over to me. “Can you breathe?”

“Yes.” It comes out like the hiss of an expiring balloon. “Where are we?” I think I already know—Ezrina’s funhouse. I sit up trying to ignore the intense wave of nausea rolling through me.

“I don’t know.” Logan rises to his feet and helps me do the same.

“You think Chloe and Gage are down here?” That would make so much sense. Of course, the only way Gage would spend gobs of time with Chloe is if they were taken captive together. She’ll have to hold him prisoner if she ever wants him to spend time with her.

“I have no idea,” he says. “But let’s you and me get the hell out of here.”

It’s a stark white room, which solidifies the fact we’re in Ezrina’s lair. A row of steel tables sits up against one wall and then nothing. No door, or window, or attic, just a full-blown well sealed box.

I try my phone, but there’s no reception—big surprise there. We pat along the walls for a hint of some way to escape, and just as we’re about to meet in the middle a door opens.

“Well, there you go,” Logan looks disgusted with himself.

Two men walk in, both with sickly grey skin as though they’ve never seen the sun, as if they wouldn’t believe you if you told them about it. Pale as though they just crawled out from underneath a rock. The shorter one with dark hair treks over and checks my pulse. It’s as though he’s reading it to see how viable I am.

“What’s going on?” Logan asks point blank.

“Celestra.” The taller one shouts over after examining the inside of Logan’s wrist.

“This one too. Looks like cupboard steak tonight.” They break out into goofy grins.

“He’s a Count,” I say, annoyed that I’ve landed myself here yet again.

“Countenance?” The tall one pads his fingers across Logan’s wrist again. “Where’s your allegiance?”

I scoot over and take up Logan’s hand, low near my thigh.

Tell them you’re a Count.

“I’m a Count,” Logan spits the words out with great difficulty.

They look at one another steadily as though conducting a telepathic conversation of their own.

“Where does your allegiance lie?” The tall one reiterates.

“My allegiance lies with Countenance,” Logan doesn’t hesitate.

I marvel at how easy it came for him.

“Follow me.” The tall one starts to pull Logan away.

I’m not leaving you. He gives a panicked look in my direction and resists walking out the door.

It might be the only way you can save us, I say.

Logan is yanked out violently. The shorter one follows suit, and the door seals into the wall once again.

I’m alone.

I start pounding the walls in a panic. “Marshall?” I scream his name like a chorus as I make my way around the room. Whatever happened to the just say my name and I’ll be there bullshit? Or did he ever even say that?

“Nev?” I continue slapping the walls until my entire body vibrates and ripples, until it feels as though my bones are going to splinter right through my skin from the effort.

A wobble sets in. The walls start to lose shape. My feet fall in and out of the floor as though it were made of marshmallows. I don’t know if it’s a good thing, or if I’m going to land myself in a treble that has me walking with Logan in the forest again, or even one that goes as far back as me plunging the knife into Chloe’s back, but I keep pounding and shouting, and the room keeps melting until I fall right through the floor and land hard on a carpeted surface.

I open one eye with caution. The room is dark and unfamiliar, and yet somehow the lack of white shiny walls brings a strange comfort to me. I bounce up onto my feet and dust off the back of my jeans.

Around the corner a blue glow emits, calling me with its soft expressive tone. I steady myself against the wall as I walk towards the shimmering pale light and poke my head over.

It’s an entire room full of giant tube shaped tanks that run floor to ceiling filled with blue water or goo of some kind.

It’s so still in here—so unearthly quiet, it fills my ears with a pressing silence. I make my way over to the tanks and hold my hand to the glass—warm to the touch. Each one is brightly lit from above. The whole room feels toasty as a bath. I turn around and bump into another row of tubular tanks before a scream gets locked in my throat.

Shit!

Bodies—bodies, floating! They’re freaking human aquariums! Only the bodies aren’t swimming, or evidently breathing, they’re bottled up corpses.

A series of unintelligible noises garble in my throat as I stagger backwards away from the bizarre site.

In the first tank is a boy around my age. He looks familiar, reminds me a little of Drake with the sharp widow’s peak. He’s wearing a bright blue skin suit sort of like the one Gage had me wear the time we went snorkeling. His hair floats up in animated suspension and a light row of bubbles peppers his eyebrows. I wave my hand in front of his face to see if he’ll move, but nothing.

In the next tank is something less than human, something with hair and teeth and flesh—

Crap!

I jump back a good three feet. Whatever it is, it’s decomposing. The remains are twisting in a slow macabre spin, exposing the very fact that one eyeball is missing from the badly misshapen head. I take another step back before taking a quick peek at the last body on the end.

It’s a girl. Long black hair dangles soft like seaweed. I take a step forward as morbid curiosity grips me. She’s wearing the same blue body suit, but it’s her well-manicured fingernails that catch my attention. Bright pink. The color alone disarms me, and I go over without hesitation to observe her. She spins slow and lethargic from the generated whirlpool like a suspended ballerina. Her long hair swirls in a circle as though it were alive, the only part of her to so much as quiver. A silver band near the bottom of the tank catches my attention. I stoop low to read it.