The Serpentine Butterfly

by Addison Moore

  “So it would seem. My condolences. I suppose you came to see if I happen to have a magic wand handy, or a spirit sword that works in the reverse. I’m afraid to inform you I can no more reanimate Jock Strap than I could yours truly. And, as I am not his indentured servant, my supervising capabilities are relegated to you and you alone. I have no jurisdiction in death’s department. I am no more able to resurrect Skyla’s formerly betrothed than I am—”

  “Stop!” I bark over at him. “Enough already, I get it.” I jump to my feet and pull him in tight by the collar. “You piece of shit. You couldn’t care less that Gage has bit the big one. You couldn’t care less that he was murdered, and now Skyla is forced to believe that he took his own life.” I give him a stiff rattle. “You couldn’t care less, because all you really care about is your damn self,” I spit the words in his face like a storm.

  Dudley lifts me off the floor with his fists balled up in my shirt so tight. His knuckles sit just beneath my neck, cutting off my breathing.

  “You don’t get to call me whatever piece of filth your dirty mouth desires,” he seethes. His eyes boil, each its own shade of fire. “You do not get to slander this celestial being.” His voice sears over my ears with excruciating heat, blistering my eardrums, if that were at all possible. “You want the truth? The truth, Mr. Oliver, is that I don’t have time for your little tirade. I’m not so interested in whether or not Jock Strap is swimming through cosmic dust up there or down below, because right this minute I have a very real problem brewing like a witch’s stew right up those stairs. And if I don’t tend to it soon, both you and I will be very, very sorry.”

  My lungs struggle to take in the slightest gasp of air.

  “Can’t breathe,” is all I can manage as I struggle to kick the living shit out of him.

  “Say it loud and bold just the way you did when you dared to compare my existence to excrement.”

  My entire body writhes as I try to employ my Celestra strength to buck him off. But not a muscle can prosper against his Holy Jackass Highness.

  “I heard that.” He flings me into the fireplace, and I bounce right back, rolling the flames out on my flannel.

  “Shit.” I gasp for air, just lying there, staring at the ceiling for a moment, my body smoldering from the flames. “You win.” I wave him off. “Do what you have to do. I’ll take care of Gage.”

  Take care of Gage. I want to laugh and cry at the thought. Destiny has already taken care of Gage.

  Dudley stills a moment before sighing toward me. “Ask what you came for. I’ve no doubt I’m already apprised of the favor.”

  “Then take me there. I want to witness Gage’s darkest hour. I need to see for myself what happened.” My eyes stay trained on the beams that run in dark, thick, lines over the ceiling. I’m too exhausted, too beat down to look at those boiling cauldrons he calls eyes. Don’t want to.

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

  “It’s possible because I said it’s possible. Take me now. Devil’s Peak. Rewind time as far back as his arrival. I want to see it all.”

  “It’s not possible because I’ve already attempted the effort. There’s a binding spirit in play. We have no ability to penetrate that slice of time. If that is all, please do excuse me. I have a fire that needs to be doused in my bedchamber.”

  Shit. “Douse away.”

  I wait until his footsteps scuttle back up the stairs before hauling my ass off the floor and getting out of Dodge.

  Binding spirit? I smell a dirty rat bastard Fem at the other end of this time continuum.

  Unless, of course, Gage planted it there himself.

  And if nothing else, this has been a day full of unless…

  * * *

  Skyla.

  I think of her all the lonely way to White Horse. I stare up at the monolithic home I built for the two of us—as much as a gift for her as it was a reassurance to myself that I would be back—that one day in a future not that far away we really would have it all. Skyla and I should have it all. At least that was my belief once upon a time.

  I get out and jog up through the rain before letting myself in. Technically, I won’t be alone tonight since Nevermore—Heathcliff—whatever it is he’s referring to himself these days, and Ezrina are taking up residency here. They’re actually underground somewhere in the vast labyrinth of this new and improved lab I constructed under Ezrina’s watchful eye. I wanted to give her the edge she’d need once she came to work for Celestra full-time, and now she has it. The lab spans far beyond the reaches of this property, so in a sense Nev and Ezrina have an entire village to call their own.

  The house itself is sparsely furnished. I’ve purchased a small table for the dining room, a couch, and a nice oversized high-definition television for those game days when I don’t want to bother Emma by way of cursing at my team. Although, the truth is, I’ve spent far more time at Dudley’s than I’d like to admit. It’s not easy being a displaced soul. I’d stay here full-time, but I was hopeful that Gage and Skyla would take up residency here rather than holing up in her bedroom at the Landon house. I don’t know how Gage can stand to live with her batshit stepfather. Tad can make any rational person consider jumping off a cliff.

  I pause on my way up the stairs. I didn’t mean that. Gage would never…There’s no way in hell he would ever leave Skyla and take a flying leap off Devil’s Peak. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

  That note comes back to me. I dig in my pocket and fish it out.

  Skyla,

  Farther down the road I see you,

  a heart that measures in time with mine.

  We breathe the air of a world forgiven.

  Spin on this planet, once thought divine.

  I’ll stand beside you until I am driven,

  into the light so brilliant—into the light sublime.

  And if that moment has finally come, my wish for you is this;

  love without abandon knowing we’ll hold each other again in eternity.

  My heart breaks writing this.

  I pray you never find it.

  All of my love, forever,

  Gage

  It knocks the breath out of me each time I see it. Still don’t get it. I sink it back into my pocket as I head upstairs and make a beeline for the master bedroom. I might have had a bed delivered, a dusty end table, and a lamp, but none of it was intended for me. Emma gave me some discarded sheets and blankets, a nice fluffy comforter with blue bonnets stamped all over it, and thus was born an opulent version of a thirteen-year-old girl’s bedroom, with frilly curtains she dug up to finish off the windows. But I don’t mind. I’ve only spent a handful of nights here—and, again, I had Skyla and Gage in mind when I piecemealed this stuff together.

  I fall onto the mattress and close my eyes, the world around me growing dark as my heart. This was to be their bed. The exact place Gage would have happily made love to my wife, Skyla. Where Skyla would have called out his name like she did mine during our brief three-day union—a marriage and honeymoon all rolled into one. That’s what Skyla and I had—a shooting star of a covenant that lasted seventy-two blissful hours. Those heated nights come back to me in jags. Her limbs intertwined with mine, the two of us naked, sheathed in night sweat that we pulled from one another with passion. We were exploratory you could say without sounding crass. All tongues and teeth, all fingers and hair and mouths, connecting as husband and wife all through the night, through the throes of a magnificent sunrise, through the bliss-filled afternoons and the heady anxious evenings. We were a miracle together, a revelation to the universe, that yes, there was still some magic, something better that two people could bring to the holy table. We were lovers for three brief days and nights, a hopeless whisper in the grand scheme of time.

  But Gage and Skyla have been married for months. He had what I could only dream of, and, now that he’s gone, ironically, I only want one thing—him back, him with Skyla. If she’s the key to his existence, then I’ll reheat those th
ree passion-filled days in my heart until my Treble expires and I have to turn in this borrowed coat of flesh. Those memories will have to be enough. Deep down, I know it will never be even close, but Gage is at stake. And, in truth, I could still love Skyla as much as I would if we were still together, and I do. The difference being, my dick is now a very sad and depressed member of my body. There’s no one else for me. There could never be another Skyla. My heart and all of my despondent members will always belong to her.

  An hour drifts by, two, then three. An unsettled knock comes from the door, and I startle enough to open my eyes.

  “Who’s there?” My voice rumbles out, hollow in this oversized bedroom.

  “It’s me.” The sound of a sweet female rings from behind the door, and my mind reels with the possibilities of who me might be. Brielle, Michelle, Lexy, Emma, Giselle, Ezrina—Chloe herself are all possibilities.

  My eyes adjust to the moon-drenched room and find a girl in a white nightgown, airy and light with ruffles around her knees. Her hair is sprayed in full curls surrounding her delicate features like a lion’s mane.

  “Skyla?”

  Her eyes are stained red, her lips swollen twice their size as she scuttles to the bed and climbs under the covers with me.

  “Hope you don’t mind, but I’m freezing.” Her teeth chatter as if attesting to the fact.

  My hand runs through her damp hair, the moonlight exposing the water beading over her curls like a thousand tiny stars. Skyla is her own universe, my sun. Her iced feet swim up my jeans, and I pull her in.

  “You’re barefoot. How did you get here?”

  She hesitates a moment, trying to choke the words out. “I drove. I just ran out of the house. I wanted to go there, but I couldn’t.”

  “Devil’s Peak?” My eyes close at the thought of Skyla driving there alone in the middle of the night. I should never have left her. I should have waved off the idea she would be fine for the night, left with her mother and her family under that nutty roof. The only real person to lean on in the vicinity would have been Brielle. Skyla needed me, and I failed her.

  “Skyla.” I bury my face in her wild hair and take in her soft, sweet perfume, lilacs and vanilla. It’s a wholesome scent, one that I’ve memorized, one that I’ve desperately claimed as mine, and I hate myself for even thinking it.

  “Can I stay?” She scoots back until the steely wash of moonlight bleaches out her features. “I promise, I’ll leave before the sun comes up. I just couldn’t stop thinking about him. I couldn’t stop the tears.” Her eyes spill their deluge as if to prove a point, and I draw her near to me, crushing her chest to mine as we sniff our pain into one another’s necks.

  “Yes. Of course, you can stay. I want you to.”

  “Thank you.” Her cool fingers brush over my face. Her pure vellum eyes lock onto mine, and it’s as if a spell has been cast. I can’t look away. Skyla always has that effect on me. “I need you, Logan,” she says it so low that for a moment I wonder if I manufactured the words from thin air. “Like no other time in my life, I need you. Hold me tight, and don’t let go.”

  I nod like an obedient schoolboy. Here it is—our pain merging into one lonely highway. I don’t think I could have survived this night without her. Skyla and I leash ourselves around one another, tight as a vine. Her chest moves in rhythm to my own. Her ragged breathing warms my shoulder, but it’s her smooth thighs, her iced feet that my hands keep gravitating toward. I tell myself it’s an effort to warm her, bring her to room temperature so she can finally get some rest, forget this misery we’re sunk in if for a night—but the aftereffect of being so close, of touching her bare flesh has my body enlivening to uncalled for heights of arousal. I haven’t held Skyla this close, with this much determination, since all those nights long ago we spent in one another’s arms. Her tears track down her face and burn through my shirt. She presses her agony into my neck, my shoulder, twisting and writhing as her body bucks beneath mine, her misery so physical I long to quell it.

  Something soft—far softer than tears—presses against my lips, and my eyes squeeze tight with a new level of pain. Teeth graze over my Adam’s apple, and I realize where we are—where we’re about to go.

  “Skyla,” I whisper. “No.” As much as she needs me, needs my body to comfort her, it wouldn’t be right. Tomorrow, in the light of the scathing day, she’ll regret this far more than I ever could.

  Her iced hands slip up my T-shirt and warm themselves against my skin. Her lips rake one long track up my jaw, meandering in a heated stream over my cheek until her soft mouth covers mine. A sigh expels from her, just one, as if she’s finally found the solace she so desperately needed.

  “Skyla,” I moan right into her throat, but it does nothing to stall her efforts. Her hands claw at my clothes. Her tongue mingles with mine—a few sorrowful swipes before increasing in its fervency. “Skyla, no.” I give one more anemic protest before she dips her hand into my jeans, into my boxers.

  My clothes come off at record pace. Skyla bathes me with her tears, her mouth, as we make love for the entire agonizing stretch of night, our bodies begging to find comfort while buried deep in one another. This is our honeymoon revisited in a horrible and horrific manner. A bitter night washed in bitter sins that neither of us will care to remember.

  This was a terrible, terrible thing we had done. Are still doing.

  We are killing Gage all over again.

  2

  Beauty For Ashes

  SKYLA

  The sun brightens our world through the vellum fog. I’m not sure I slept a wink last night. My eyes desperately tried to seal themselves shut with a reprieve then snapped to attention as soon as I realized it wasn’t Gage next to me. I swam through a nightmare, only to have the harsh reality coursing through my veins like a current.

  A pair of arms floats near my hips as a soft moan comes from the other side of the bed.

  “Morning,” I say, rolling over to look at my blonde friend with her wild mane that rivals my own. I couldn’t bring myself to say good morning. There’s nothing good about it.

  “What time is it?” Laken wipes the sleep from her eyes.

  “It’s seven thirty. Do you have class?” I’m so disoriented, I have no clue what day it is. It feels as if weeks have drifted by—years of agony, all without Gage. What day follows the worst day of your life? These were all deep thoughts I wasn’t ready for, nor would I ever be.

  “No.” She gives a wary smile that dissipates into sadness. “School is over, Skyla. We don’t go back until fall.” She swipes the hair from my face and hitches it behind my ear. As soon as Logan left, Laken appeared as if on cue. I tried telling her I didn’t need anyone to stay with me, but Laken insisted. Deep down, I’m glad. If Logan had stayed, who knows what disaster that might have led to? If my sweltering overly sexual dreams were any indication, nothing good and nothing needed.

  All the waking night I was incensed, outraged over the audacity of Gage leaving me, as ridiculous as it sounds. For a brief and shallow moment, I considered his death nothing short of treason and demanded revenge. If Laken hadn’t shown up, God knows I would have wandered out into the storm and tracked Logan down for comfort. If those dreams I had last night offered an inkling of where things would have led…No, for certain, Laken was the best solution.

  “I’m sorry.” I grip my temples a moment and squeeze my eyes shut. “My mind is all muddied up. I just can’t wrap my head around any of this.” Tears sting my eyes again, and before I know it, I’m blubbering into my damp pillow.

  “I know.” She cradles me like a child, smoothing my hair with her fingers. “I’m going to stay with you. We’re going to talk to Demetri. We need to get to the bottom of this mystery. We need to know where he’s taken Gage—and what he could be doing with him.”

  “He wouldn’t hurt him. He couldn’t—he’s…he’s dead.” Those last few words warble from my throat.

  A hard thump unsettles my window. We look up to find Nev
ermore, correction Holden, pecking at the glass. Dear God, he’s so annoying. I used to love that bird when it was filled with sweet, knowledgeable Nevermore, but now that Holden has taken over the poor winged creature, he feels more of a burden than a gift. He gives a few more thunderous taps.

  “Ignore him…” I trail the words into my pillow.

  “He might have information.” Laken springs up and opens the window enough to let him in. The ripe scent of earth, the woodsy scent of the forest just south of here filters inside, and I take in a lungful. I’ve always loved fresh morning air, but for some reason, the scent of damp Paragon soil combined with the evergreens reminds me of the cemetery, the day I buried my father, the day we eulogized Logan—all rolled into one grievous event. And now it’s a sharp reminder of Gage and that immovable stare that’s haunted me for the last several hours. I’m usually the biggest fan of Gage Oliver’s cobalt blue eyes. Nothing makes me feel more alive, sexier, more wanted than that anticipatory gaze he settles over me night after night, but, yesterday, his eyes were hollow, staring up into the nothingness of the sky, unseeing, unmoving, a testament to his horrible demise.

  Holden twitches and flaps his wings, shuddering like a dog while spraying the early morning dew over everything in a five-foot vicinity.

  I swab my lips over my pillow before sitting up. “What do you want?”

  He lets out a series of blood-curdling caws, and both Laken and I cover our ears.

  “Okay, enough.” I reach over and tender his feathers with my hand until they’re settled once again against his back. With my Celestra powers, I can hear Holden telepathically, but only if we’re touching. “Speak your peace. My head is snowy, and all I want to do is sleep.” Actually, it’s weep, but I thought I’d spare Laken my new reality. Tears will be my bread, sorrow, my only comfort. It’s a strange world that grief plunges you into. There’s no world I want a part of without Gage Oliver in it. My heart shreds at the thought.