Nev summoned me. He said you’d need my services. What’s up, Messenger? Tell me what you want me to do. You know I’m here for you. I want to prove myself.
“Why?” I’m suspicious—far from trusting when it comes to Holden Kragger—any Kragger for that matter. Holden once took residency in Logan’s body and tried to aggressively have his way with me. I still haven’t quite forgiven him for that malfeasance, not to mention he took possession of Ethan for a time. Holden has spread his disease in far too many people, but now he’s fully committed—in an imprisoned sort of way—to being my personal on-call feathered friend, willing and ready for duty. Which is mostly a joke since the only thing he’s capable of is suppressing Chloe’s presence. He literally makes her barf on command. That alone is why I’ll be keeping Holden around forever. The very idea of Chloe retching should make me smile but doesn’t. Nothing makes me smile anymore.
I’m going to prove myself to you and your mother, too. She’ll get me out of bird jail once and for all, you’ll see. I’m reformed, Skyla. I’m not the asshole I used to be.
I’m only slightly amused.
“I’m afraid I don’t have any tasks for you. Why don’t you go out and enjoy the day? Find a tree to squat in and shit on Tad, or whatever it is you do to get your feathered rocks off. I have other things on my mind right now.”
Like?
“Skyla”—Laken touches her hand over Nev’s feathers until he turns toward her—“Holden, something terrible happened to Gage yesterday. Skyla found his body at the bottom of Devil’s Peak. We don’t know all the details, but Demetri took him out of the morgue. We need to know where they went. Can you find them?”
Holden lets out a riotous squawk. Shit. Sorry, Messenger. Look, I know you probably don’t even believe me, but I am sorry. I know how much death sucks. I hated losing my sister. It changed my entire family. My mother took off, my father turned into a monster, and, well, you saw what happened to my brother and me. I’m going to do this for you. I’m going to track down Demetri, and I’m going to find out what the hell he’s done with Gage.
Holden hops to the window and squeezes his way right back out.
“He says he’s going to find Demetri—to find Gage,” I whisper as we watch Holden spread his coal black wings into the pale, soft, cruel world outside my window.
“What else can we do?” Laken gives my hand a quick tug.
I like the way her urgency rivals my own. At this point, it far outweighs my own. I seem to be locked in a daze, a haze, an unsettling fog of my own. It’s as if the island has wrapped itself around my head, and I can’t see the world through the dark and twisted forest, the ever-present mist. This is worse than Tenebrous. This is worse than hell.
“Who do you think can help us?” She bounces over the mattress, her determination reaching its pinnacle. “What about Professor Dudley? He’s a Sector, right? He can pull a few strings.”
I moan into the idea. “I don’t think so. Marshall made it clear yesterday he was stepping back from the situation. He’s about as useful as my mother at this point. Neither of them cares if Gage makes a living, breathing reprisal.” It’s true. My mother is out for Logan, and Marshall is out for himself.
“Knock, knock!” my mother—other earthly mother—chimes from the hall. “I’ve got breakfast for my two favorite lovebirds! Gage, I made chocolate chip pancakes just for you! They even have those Mickey Mouse ears you love!”
She claps with glee all the way down the stairs.
Laken’s jaw goes slack in that is-this-what-you-have-to-put-up-with kind of way. “Sounds pretty special.” Her face drenches in sorrow as she says it. “I’m sure he would have loved them.”
I nod through tears. He would have. My mother loves Gage almost as much as I do. She’s made it a point to find out all his favorite meals and proceeded to dish them up on a rotational basis. Nobody seems to notice the nightly resurrection of all Gage’s greatest digestive hits, but I did, so did Gage. We both appreciate my mother’s effort to make him feel like family. He is family. Was.
Laken steps into my closet, rummaging for fresh clothes. My fingers extend toward Gage’s cell phone just out of reach. He left it here. Gage never took off anywhere without his phone—and yet, yesterday he did, which only manages to paint an even more ominous picture. I’m too lazy to reach for it, but my hand stretches to touch it as if it were a manifestation of Gage himself that I was struggling to graze, and the phone gives a violent jerk. I startle for a moment. What the hell? I get up on my elbow and try again with outstretched fingers, demanding the phone to dance a little jig, and in a moment of incredulous defiance against gravity and just about every law of physics, it slowly drags across the nightstand like a snail until it’s compressed in my hand. My mouth falls open at the miracle. In a fit of unbelievable reality, I’m cradling an object I neither made the effort to retrieve nor deserve to be holding at present. A ragged sigh comes from me as I marvel over this. I must be learning a whole new power. Figures. My mother always did have lousy timing. I let the phone slip out of my hand as Laken tosses me a sweatshirt.
I don’t say a word about the cellular miracle. Instead, I let Laken help pull me together just enough, hair in a ponytail, a fresh pair of sweats, my face scrubbed clean from a long night of mascara-stained tears before we head downstairs. My stomach is clawing for food, an oddity since I’ve never been able to eat through my grief before. I suppose there is a first time for everything, but I’d like to think it’s because I know for a fact Gage Oliver is coming back to me.
Demetri owes me that much.
“Morning!” my mother sings as she spins toward us, a spatula in one hand and baby Misty in the other, aka Mystery-No-More since I now know who her baby daddy is. Daddy is interchangeable with Demon at this point because it just so happens to be that infamous Fem who fathered her. One day I’ll find out that Demetri spawned half of this island. He’s probably been spraying his seed freely for generations upon generations. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if Chloe were his demon spawn as well. Evil begets evil. Although, neither Misty nor Gage is evil. Was evil. Are. Oh hell. My head starts to pound as if on cue. My stomach is still demanding I pay it attention, but I’m too despondent to make any nutritional decisions at the moment. How the hell am I to eat while Gage is out there hurting, or worse, not feeling a single thing?
“Oh.” Mom’s expression falls flat as she spies Laken in place of my handsome husband. Gage has the ability to make my mother’s morning with simply a smile just like he does mine.
Misty lifts Mom’s shirt, picks up her slouched boob, and suctions the nipple into her mouth. Really? When a kid can clear a three-step process like that, aren’t they a little old for momma milk?
“Laken dropped by last night and crashed.” A drunken haze of grief encapsulates my words, makes them sound as if I just shouted from the bottom of a well.
“Oh, that’s fine!” Mom does a little tap dance. “I keep meaning to convert Drake’s old bedroom into a full-blown nursery for Baby Beau. You know—decorate it with those cute wall decals, lots of boys’ stuff, and sports memorabilia. Gage can help with that. But if I knew you were having a guest, I would have put fresh sheets on the bed.”
Baby Beau waddles in and tugs on my mother’s shirt until she puts down Misty and hoists him up. His mouth lands right where Misty’s was a moment before, and I catch Laken openly wincing at the sight. It’s true. It’s an odd one. Beau Geste is a bona fide toddler now. A part of me is sorry for Laken for having to witness the madness that makes the Landon house go round. I’d run her out of here, but my entire body is stuck in this grieving molasses. Nothing is real. This is all a dream—a living nightmare that has swallowed me whole. It has to be.
Laken shakes her head nervously. “No, really. You never have to go out of your way for me.”
Mom and Laken carry on an entire conversation, but my mind chops up the words, mixes them, and throws them into the air until they all sound like gibberish.
“Ugh!” Mia shuffles in from behind with her robe cinched tight, her hair in full electric socket mode. “Get a life, Mom. That kid is like turning twelve next week, and he’s not even yours. Stop stealing kids, and pay attention to the ones you have.”
“Mia.” I meant to scold her, but it came out a faint whisper. Honestly, I don’t have time for any Landon family piss-poor dynamics. My husband is somewhere out there, and I want him back. If my mother won’t make arrangements to breathe new life into him, if Ezrina can’t, then it looks as if Demetri really is my only strangled hope. I cringe at the thought.
I give Laken’s arm a weak tug. This entire morning feels like an illusion, as if at any moment the family room will melt away, and I’ll be standing in Ahava, and I wish it would. I’m in desperate need to speak with the wicked witch of the nethersphere—my birth mother.
“Anyone want an omelet?” Mom gives the eggs in the pan a quick stir, and the yolks bleed orange in slow, oozing circles. Their tendrils coil like fingers, and my stomach clenches at the sight. She plucks out the garlic salt, and the kitchen explodes with the stench of the stinking white rose.
A hard groan comes from me, guttural and deep. “Can’t breathe.” I pull Laken along to the foyer as a hard wave of nausea rips through me. Laken swings open the front door, and a body pops up as Tad stands between the fresh Paragon air and me.
I moan in lieu of a word and forcibly push him out of my way. In a boxy staggering move, I stumble out onto the porch, inhaling vats of sweet, island fog as the nausea begins to subside. A cold sweat breaks out all over my body as if I’ve just escaped a fire.
“You okay?” Laken whispers, pulling me away from a screaming Tad, something about his shoe.
“Yes. I just—I don’t know what came over me. I took one look at those eggs, and—that smell.” I gag at the memory before taking in another few lungfuls of air. “But I’m better.” Only a partial lie, I think.
“Are you now?” Tad hops over on one boot, his other foot simply in his sock, showing off a hole where his big pale toe leers out at the world. “And no regard for my bad back—have you? I don’t see anyone asking me if I’m okay!” His face reddens in a quick burst, and I wonder if we should be on alert for stroke symptoms soon. His dark hair is peppered with just as much silver these days, and his gut is starting to spill over his belt. If he keeps up his love for all things carbohydrate, he’ll morph into the Pillsbury Doughboy by Christmas. “And tell Greg I never got that check he promised! I’ve got mouths to feed, you know—and his grouper-like lips happen to be the biggest of them all.”
“What check?” I give a side-glance to Laken. I very much doubt Tad has a clue about anything that’s happened to Gage. On most occasions, all Tad is good for is your run-of-the-mill chaos and confusion, but now that Gage is missing and horrifyingly enough no longer with us in other respects, I’m curious as to what he might know—or in the least, thinks he knows.
“He’ll understand what I’m talking about. It’s official Althorpe business, that’s what. I was paid a king’s ransom to escort those two suits from the mainland. And I did my duty.” His arms flail as he rages. Each day, Tad becomes more and more a caricature of himself, a scary thought since he was just a rough outline with a bad sense of humor the day my mother brought him home from the shelter. One day, I fully expect to come downstairs and find he’s made the full transformation to an animated character. That sounds about right in this lunatic life of mine. Soon, we’ll all morph into a cartoon, and along someone will come and turn the channel—my mother most likely. I scowl at the sky.
My phone buzzes, and I fish it out of my purse, like trying to save a drowning child.
“Gage?” I spit into the phone without glancing at the screen to see who it is. My stomach growls out a roar as if demanding to speak with him itself.
“I’m sorry, love,” a familiar voice warms the other line with a formal tone. “It’s just me, Nevermore.”
“Oh—yes.” I shake my head as if coming to and whisper to Laken, “It’s Nev.”
Tad opens his mouth as if ramping up his tirade, and I turn my back to him. His voice goes off like a bomb as he wanders deeper into the house. It looks as if my mother will have to bear the brunt of his shoeless adventure.
“What’s going on? Did you find Gage?” My voice twists when I say his name, and that painful stone settles in my throat again.
“No. In fact, Rina and I drove by Demetri’s.” He gives an audible swallow. “I would suggest you spare yourself the misfortune.” He pauses a moment too long. “The house is gone, Skyla.”
“Shit,” I hiss. “It figures the first thing Demetri does is take off.” I squeeze my eyes shut and spin in a silent circle. “I might stop by anyhow and prowl around. If anything, I can scream my head off in there, demanding to speak with my mother. God knows Marshall is no help—”
“Skyla.” His voice firms into my ear. “You may not go to Demetri’s home.”
I pull the phone back and scowl at Nev as if he were in front of me. I get it. Nevermore has always had this paternal vibe going with me. He has my best interests at heart. He wants to keep me safe. And a Fem hovel is the very last place I’d theoretically be safe in. But I’m still wearing the protective hedge around my neck.
My hand reaches up to confirm this and comes up bare. Oh shit. I completely forgot that Chloe hacked the chain off, and I’ve yet to replace it. Nevertheless, I’m feeling ballsy.
“I’m going. You can’t stop me. Love you. Thank you for thinking of me. Tell Ezrina I said the same. I’ll catch up with you later. If I don’t find you at Marshall’s, I’ll track you down at the lab.” I hang up before he can protest. I nod toward the Mustang and pull the keys from my pocket. “Let’s hit Demetri’s.”
“Done”—Laken plucks the keys from my hand—“but you’re not in any shape to drive. I got this.”
Laken and I head down toward West Paragon High, but the lights are all out along the intersection, so we take the coastal route that hugs the hips of the island, offering us a quick drive-by of the bowling alley. My stomach is so racked up with hunger, my arm presses tight against it in a weak attempt to satisfy the craving.
A marked sadness builds in me. The bowling alley is where I first laid eyes on Gage—in that very facility. That day rushes by like a blur. Gage was all dimples and butterfly blue eyes. I was star-struck by him even then—by both him and Logan. I take a hard sniffling breath and shift in my seat, only to see the gift Logan gave me for my birthday a few years back.
“There’s the house that Logan built for us.” The words come out hoarse, but Laken nods while inspecting it. “White Horse.” I point to the two-story gem that shines like lightning against the water. “Right on the sand—last beachfront lot available. Logan borrowed from the bowling alley to make it happen.” It wasn’t the best move financially, but it warmed me to the bones, humbled me beyond recognition that Logan would rearrange his world to gift me, us, something so wonderful. Has Laken been to White Horse? My mind swirls as I try to piece together the last few dizzying years, and I come up blank.
“I’ve been to the lab with Coop,” she assures as if answering the question I never asked. “It’s a beautiful house. In fact, it looks as if he’s here. Should we stop by?” Sure enough, Logan’s truck is tucked high up in the driveway.
“No, please don’t. Logan will be the first to protest the thought of me heading to Demetri’s, especially if I plan on letting myself in—if I plan on digging through the bowels of that haunted hotel until I come up with where he hid my heart. Logan would want to do this for me, but it’s something I need to do for myself. Besides, I’m positive Gage”—his body, I want to say but don’t—“is safe with Demetri. I’m sort of hoping…”
“I know.” Laken brushes her hand over mine a moment.
We drive the long gray tongue of Paragon road to the Estates, and I make up some excuse about visiting Ellis to the guard before he lets us through. God forbid
I lie about visiting Emma, and she gets wind of it. I suppose I could have said Marshall, but much like Logan, he would frown upon my decision to break and enter, smash a mirror or two for bad luck, because God knows I don’t have enough of that.
“I should go in alone.” It occurs to me Laken will want to keep her record clean. It wouldn’t surprise me if Demetri decides to throw the book at me.
“No can do. Not without me, Skyla. Not on your Celestra life.” She gets that devilish look in her eye, and for a moment, it feels as if we’re something more than friends, more than would-be felons—and I do believe that Demetri could pull a felony from me—it feels as if Laken and I are sisters. Strangely enough, I feel a stronger bond with Laken than I do with Mia or Melissa. Of course, I hardly know Misty yet, but I’m hoping to be close with her one day, too. Mia and I have never really clicked, especially since we’ve moved to Paragon, but I’m ready to fight for that, too. And Melissa, well, that relationship still remains to be fleshed out. She’s been nothing but a ball of anger these last few years.
“You’re too quiet. What’s on your brain?” She frowns as if the idea of having anything on my brain is not a good idea.
It’s Gage. Everything else is an afterthought, but I go with it. “My sisters. I’d like to bond with them. I think we’ve drifted.” Not necessarily true. True. True.
“Funny you should say that. I’m feeling the same way. I mean, Lacey and Marky have each other, but I’d love to bond along with them. Especially now since Marky will be my sister-in-law.” She bites back a smile. Cooper popped the question last New Year’s Eve, and I couldn’t be happier for them.
“Let that smile loose.” I give her a soft nudge. “Gage and I are both happy for you.” My voice breaks just as we round the corner to the final stretch of road leading to Demetri’s hideous house. It’s an exact replica of the haunted mansion in the Transfer, which I’m not entirely sure is actually haunted more than it is filled with the vaporous Transfer dwellers—a dapper crowd of ghosts from another century entirely. The Transfer is a strange, dark, twisted world the Countenance created. Figures. Give the Counts an entire dimensional plane, and they putz it up with bad décor and ghouls who have long since departed. I’ll have to ask Ezrina to tell me the full story on that polluted playhouse one day—especially now that I’m the overseer of the factions. Done are the days when I don’t know shit, when I’m kept in the dark for my dumb-blonde benefit. I think it’s time to start wielding my lady balls a little more liberally.
The Serpentine Butterfly Page 4