The Serpentine Butterfly

by Addison Moore

  “Skyla?” Melissa’s voice calls from the other side of my bedroom door before she bangs over it as if the house were on fire. Melissa is a Landon add-on—one of the many stepsiblings Mia and I earned in the Landon-Messenger merger that took place shortly after my father passed away. “That math teacher of yours is here, and he looks horny as hell! Can you please give him a hand job or something so he’ll go the heck away and leave us alone? He’s creepy. I’m sure he’s here because he wants you to alleviate some of that sexual tension for him. You know, do it old school.”

  I roll my eyes. By the time I open the door, Melissa is long gone. That haunted drawer runs through my mind, and I decide to try something a little more exciting than opening furniture. I close my eyes, the way Gage used to before teleporting us, and imagine myself already at the base of the stairs.

  My body shifts and warbles, my limbs feel airy and light, and the smell of my stuffy bedroom is soon replaced with the robust aroma of bacon. My lids flutter open and take in the foyer.

  “Oh my God.” I take a deep breath while glancing up at the stairwell that my feet never touched. I did it. In a strange way, it’s as if I’m becoming Gage. God, maybe Gage has possessed me? Or, maybe when he died he bequeathed me his powers? That last theory floats right back out of my mind, and I try not to study it too in-depth. I’m not going there. Gage is not dead. Besides, I have Marshall to deal with—a horny version of him no less. On second thought, is there any other version?

  I head into the family room to find Melissa and Mia feuding over the remote. Drake and Bree shovel cereal into their mouths with a fierce amount of focus, probably training for some carbohydrate inhaling competition that they will medal in, of course, and garner themselves many more millions. It’s not that I’m unhappy about their success; it’s just that I’m more than slightly baffled by it. Suffice it to say, Bree and Drake are winning at life while Gage and I are struggling to keep it.

  “Ms. Messenger.” Marshall steps into view, and a breath hitches in my throat. He’s dressed to the nines, his features cut and comely. I’ve always known Marshall to be handsome as hell, but there is something about him this morning that shines with a radiant light. My hormones kick into high gear, and suddenly, I’m overcome with the urge to take Melissa up on her sexual alleviating suggestion of the naughty Sector.

  I close my eyes with a tight squeeze.

  Must not lust after Marshall. Must not lust after Marshall.

  I don’t know what in the hell has gotten into me lately, but my sex drive has been uncontainable. Of course, I’ve been nothing but celibate post Gage’s disappearance, but I’ve had the most inappropriate dreams about Logan. Usually it’s Marshall who clutters up my carnal nocturnal desires, but ever since Gage disappeared, strangely enough it’s been all Logan, all the time. If that’s my mother’s cruel way of saying “next,” she is a much bigger bitch than I ever thought she could be.

  “It’s Mrs. Oliver,” Mom corrects him with wink. “Gage is on Host working on a very intense research project.”

  “Oh?” Marshall looks mildly amused. “And what pray tell is he researching?”

  “Unexplained disappearances,” I offer, glaring at my favorite Sector for egging my mother on.

  Tad ruffles the newspaper in his hands. Newspaper? Really? Where exactly does he get his copy? All of the paperboys on Paragon rolled themselves in that good-for-nothing fish wrapper and died off at the turn of the century.

  “Unexplained disappearances?” Tad chokes in his seat, and for a moment, I’m hopeful. “Get Gregory on the phone right now!” he demands.

  “It’s Gage,” I say half-heartedly because I know for a fact it won’t matter. Tad’s brain is impervious to correction.

  I glance to Marshall. There is nothing in me that can tolerate Tad’s drama this morning.

  “If he thinks he can go around spouting off Althorpe’s top secrets, he’s got another thing coming! Why, I’ll call the top brass myself and rat that human garbage disposal out. He’ll have both our necks in a noose if he doesn’t clam up!”

  A part of me wants to brush Tad off. But another part of me, the I’m-so-fucking-concerned-about-my-husband’s-whereabouts part of me demands I press on.

  Althorpe has top secrets? Such as what?

  I’ve suspected for a while that Althorpe is simply the Counts thinly veiled attempt at running a legitimate business—in other words, a front for wickedness. I’ve always wondered what in the hell they were doing with Tad. He knows secrets? It doesn’t make sense. The Counts are too cuttingly smart to spill the big beans to someone so low on the evil totem pole. No offense to Tad, but he’s more of a lackey than a trusted advisor.

  Unless—a horrible scenario sifts through my mind—I can practically feel my eyes spinning like pinwheels. Unless they have people like Tad do their dirty work so that the top brass keeps their noses clean. The thought alone sends a sharp roll of nausea through me. Not that actual part about Tad being used, but the dirty noses part. I’ve never been a fan of nostrils. Having two, dark, hairy orifices dead center on your face seems like more of a design flaw. I’m betting my mother had a say in that little holey misnomer.

  Marshall steps in toward Tad. “And what position is it that you hold at the esteemed corporation?”

  Misty crawls up to Marshall and uses his pant leg to get herself to a standing position. It’s hard to believe Misty is already trying to walk. Mom scuttles forward and snatches up the baby just as she’s about to take a giant bite out of Marshall’s shin. The faint smile she inspired glides right off my face as I remember exactly who her father is. Hey? Maybe I should take off with Misty. Once Demetri learns I’m holding his precious daughter hostage, he’ll give me back my husband.

  I’m quick to shake the ridiculous thought away since we’re all sort of “hostage” in the Landon house.

  Mom waves a hand at Marshall. “Tad is a male escort at Althorpe. All of the bigwigs request him by name. I’ve never seen a group of men so gaga over another man.”

  “Eww!” Melissa and Mia scream in tandem from the couch.

  “That’s so fucking sick!” Melissa adds the expletive because she’s classy with a K like that these days.

  Bree and Drake hack a laugh right through their cereal-loaded mouths, and I’m on alert in the event a marshmallow charm blows out through their nose.

  “Language!” Marshall and my mother say at the same time before glancing at one another in awe.

  “I’m a VIP escort, Lizbeth.” Tad dips his chin with disdain at my mother’s word choice. “In fact, I’m a very important person myself.” He refocuses his asinine attention to Marshall. “I have an expense account and a travel schedule that take me to the mainland at least twice a month. And as of late, I’ve been granted a personal assistant. Tad Landon is moving up in this world”—he beats his chest like a gorilla—“and there’s not a damn thing the universe can do to stop it.”

  I groan inwardly, waiting for a lightning bolt to strike. That type of talk is usually an invitation for misfortune. Although, realistically, is it even possible for him to move down in this world? I think not. Misty and her not-so-lucky DNA bounce through my mind. I suppose if he were jilted by my mother that would be quite the demotion—and by demotion, I mean my mother’s. Just the thought of her with Demetri is sacrilegious. Who the hell hooks up with their dead husband’s murderer? My mother. That’s who.

  “Personal assistant?” Marshall appears amused.

  Wait—why is he here, and why is he egging Tad on in a conversation?

  I’m waiting for you to put the pieces together, Ms. Messenger.

  Marshall is the only one whom I can hear telepathically without touching. He had lost the power for a time, but it was restored as a gift my mother granted him after the war. After the war. God, I sound old. Antebellum, anti-Faction War. Anti-Gage. Anti-knife-in-the-gut. Speaking of gut, my hand rises protectively over my belly without putting too much thought into it.

  Focus, Ms
. Messenger.

  “Oh, right.” I shake myself out of my stupor. Nothing about the state of my belly has been confirmed, and a part of me likes it that way. I don’t mind living in the dark. It’s all darkness without Gage. “Tad? Who is your assistant?”

  “The one and only, Isis Edinger.” He dazes off with a faraway, slightly perverse gleam in his eye. “No one gets it done quite like she can.”

  Good God. And when exactly do I start accusing both him and my mother of having their own affairs? Should I even care at this point?

  “Isis, of course.” I shrug at Marshall, and then it hits me. Isis might be a better point of contact for that demon than Misty. “Isis!” My eyes brighten, and both Tad and my mother stare at me curiously. “Well, she’s great. I’m really excited for you.” I offer him a simple smile before frowning at my mother. Isis is “great” if you like big, blonde, breasty women who have a propensity to be scantily clad at all times and usually barefoot. She’s forever molesting Tad for all to see. I don’t know how my mother can stand it.

  “Marshall, I have those papers you came for.” I give a slight nod, insinuating he should play along—although, let’s be real, Marshall is always two steps ahead of the game. “Why don’t you come with me?”

  Bree waves her hand spastically at me, her cheeks chipmunked out with her morning confection. “Wait! I didn’t get to tell you! Drake and I are starting a nail polish line!”

  “We’ll catch up in a bit!” I call out.

  I lead Marshall down the hall and hear both Mia and Melissa gasp as we take the turn for the stairwell.

  “God, she really is taking him upstairs!” Mia giggles.

  Melissa growls, “I bet they’re going to do it.”

  I shoot Marshall a sharp look because I don’t want to hear a single quip about us doing it.

  “They are not. That’s totally cheating!” Mia is quick to defend me. Funny how once her proposal takes a turn toward reality, she’s not so quick to surmise a sexual student-teacher relationship. “Skyla would never cheat on Gage.”

  “It’s not cheating if they both masturbate.”

  “Melissa!” My mother’s reprimanding tone is the last thing we hear as I entomb Marshall inside my bedroom—the very room I shared with Gage all too briefly.

  “Shall we touch genitals?” he says it bored, examining the scene as if he were a CSI investigator.

  “Never say genitals to me again. Or God forbid the M word. Melissa is growing up to be quite the little pig.”

  “My, my, testy, are we?”

  “I can’t help it. I’ve been such a terrible bitch lately. All I want to do is scream at people and then hack off their heads for good measure. It used to be that Chloe was the only one I loathed, and now, I want to swing a sickle in a crowd of innocent bystanders for looking at me crooked. I don’t know what the heck has gotten into me. And Isis—really? You and I both know we don’t need her. That was just a ploy to get in my bedroom.” Oh, wait—that part was sort of my idea.

  “Where is it?” He gives an indiscriminate glance around.

  Figures. I pour my heart out, my bitchy little heart, and he promptly ignores me.

  “What, Marshall?” I sigh, lying back on the bed. “Where is what?”

  “The chess set I gave you.”

  “I don’t know. I probably misplaced it like I misplaced my husband.” I sit up on my elbows. “Actually, I do know where it is. I put it in a box and hid it in my closet. No offense, but I found it a little creepy.”

  His left brow arches so high into his forehead I’m afraid it’s about to levitate right off his face.

  “Skyla, it has properties.” His affect flattens. “And it was a gift. I crafted that for you myself.”

  “And I appreciate it very much.” A tiny smile cinches on my lips. “Properties, huh? I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what those are. You and my mother—I swear—you’re all about the guessing games.”

  “Did you ever cradle the pieces in your hand?”

  “Chloe the Bishop? No thank you. Although, come to think of it, I might find snapping her neck a bit therapeutic. By the way, she’s due for a punishment from you. She stole Ezrina’s bed warmer, remember?”

  “I’m well aware. And I will dole out the punishment when I feel the time is right. Back to the pieces—they were amulets, Skyla.” His gaze lifts to the ceiling, exasperated. “I crafted them myself from dream stone.”

  “Dream stone?”

  “From Ahava. I gathered them from the River of Life myself.”

  “Ahava?” My heart pinches. Just the thought of Marshall plucking stones from the river, weighing their heft in the hollow of his hand, lovingly selecting each one warms me. Ahava is a part of paradise, and just the thought of having a piece of Gage and Logan’s true home makes my heart swell. I swallow hard at the thought. Both Gage and Logan are gone. I can hardly believe it. I refuse to.

  I clear my throat. “I’ll dig it out of the closet later today. Gage and I have so much stuff crammed in there I can hardly get to my clothes.” My hand drifts to just below my stomach again like some automatic response, and Marshall eyes it. I’m quick to replace my hand to my side. “I don’t know why I did that.” Before another excuse can fly from my lips, he lifts his chin in defiance.

  “I do.”

  “You d-d-do?” I stutter that last word out until it sounds almost comical. “You know.” Crap. We just took a big step toward this being a reality. “I guess I should confirm it—nothing a little science won’t reveal.” I pluck the magic wand from my desk, i.e., the stick I will take a piss on to reveal my future destiny like some urine-soaked crystal ball—and fondle it in my hand a moment. This doesn’t really feel like some twentieth century innovation that was a giant leap for procreating man, rather a step back into the dark days, something just this side of witchcraft. My entire body goes numb just looking at it. “I can’t believe I’m going to do this.” I wave it at him. “A plus sign means I’m having a baby. A minus means I’m losing my sanity.” I take a few bold steps until I cross the threshold into the bathroom, and Marshall enters on my heels. “Excuse me? This is sort of a private affair.”

  “I can hold the stick if you like.”

  How he managed to say that without an ounce of lewdness, I will never know.

  “I’m good.” I give him a gentle shove back into the room and lock the door behind him.

  The thing with urinating is, I’m good at it. I can literally almost always pee on command. It might very well be one of my ubiquitous superpowers (endowed by my vindictive mother, no doubt).

  I do the deed, then promptly wash my hands with boiling water because I may have just sprinkled while I tinkled. I snatch the stick back up, head to my room, and nestle against Marshall as we stare at it as if it were about to do something truly miraculous like tell us where the hell Gage is.

  “Wait.” I tuck it behind my back as a newfound panic grips me. “Maybe I should call Logan. He should probably be here for this.”

  “Skyla.” Marshall is clearly not impressed with this suggestion. “We’re having a moment.”

  “We’re having a moment?” I look to him, puzzled. “Oh! We’re having a moment.” I melt into the sweetness of it all. “Thank you,” I whisper. “Thank you so much for being here—right at this moment. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

  “You will never be alone, Skyla.” Those boiling cauldrons he calls eyes enliven an earthy shade of red. “I will always be here in the wings waiting, on center stage, alongside you—in your bed while you fondle your genitals.” He gives the ghostly impression of a Cheshire cat’s grin.

  “Stop.” I swat him with the stick, forgetting all about its importance for a second. I pull it forward and hold it between us as the tiny window washes a faded blue. Slowly, tragically slowly, one line appears—negative. It begins to brighten, and a swell of relief the size of the entire ocean rinses through me. A weight has been lifted off my shoulders as heavy as a thousand newb
orns. “It’s—” Just as I’m about to declare my emancipation, another line appears, quick and strong as if mocking me, creating a perfect plus sign right before our eyes. I take a breath and hold it, numb with shock, my mind completely blank.

  “Congratulations, Ms. Messenger. I do believe this is the very first test you’ve passed in my presence.”

  My head tips back, and I let out a harrowing cry. Marshall pulls me into his arms and holds me like that for a very long time.

  Outside, the world turns to soot as the orb that illuminates our planet is shrouded with storm clouds. Darkness had already set over my life. To have Gage’s child without him here to experience it is a cruelty beyond measure.

  I glare up at the sky, toward the Decision Council, toward the mother who bore me.

  Life is not a cruel bitch.

  My mother is.

  Marshall takes me for a late afternoon drive. Logan has called a thousand times—left impatient messages that I haven’t bothered to check. He’s texted sweetly, just wanting to make sure I’m fine—letting me know that the Olivers have invited both him and me to dinner. I’m sure it’s innocent enough, but in my twisted mind I think this is Emma’s way of cementing Logan and me as a couple. It’s her final good riddance to me—as Gage’s wife, anyway. After all, according to her, I was the disease that ravaged her son—that took him away from her long before death ever did.

  “Where are we going?” I ask lazily as Paragon sweeps by in a blue-gray blur. The evening fog is rolling in, thick and heavy, stripping the evergreens of their color. I can’t get my mind off how my life has changed so dramatically, twice, in a little over a month. Soon enough, it will become obvious to all what Gage left behind in this world, but, for now, this child, this tiny piece of my beloved husband, is safely, secretly growing in my belly.

  “There was a reason I came for you.” Marshall’s expression sours as we drive past West Paragon High. That oversized painting of Cerberus looms like a dark omen over his shoulder—Cerberus with his large glowing eyes—all six of them—bearing his teeth with the promise to eviscerate with each of his ugly heads. Whoever thought it was a great idea to make a three-headed hellhound the school’s mascot must have had a touch of Count in them. The Countenance as a whole are a nefarious bunch. Although, I hate painting the entire Count population with such a broad brush, considering most of my family, most of my friends, Logan, all are a part of that branch of Nephilim.