The Serpentine Butterfly

by Addison Moore

  “I won’t tell him about the baby, just the need for healthcare.” His dimples dig in, and I plunge my finger in one, grinning as best I can through the ick rolling around inside me. “Tell me,” he whispers, landing his warm hand on my belly. Here we are, just the three of us, lost in a circle of love. “How do you want to do this? We could throw a party?”

  “That might arouse suspicion. We don’t throw parties. We generally avoid them.”

  “True.”

  “Misty and Beau are having a together birthday party in two weeks. She’s turning one, and he’s turning two. Maybe after they open their gifts, we could do the big reveal.”

  He winces. “It’s their special day. Brielle and your mother already have to share the spotlight. Do you think they’ll mind?”

  “I didn’t think of it that way. Any other events coming up that we can latch on to?”

  “Laken and Coop are getting married.”

  I shake my head. “A solid no. Now that’s a special day. The only other thing I can think of is Logan’s birthday, and that’s a hell no to that one.”

  “I double that.” He touches his finger to my nose, and his chest drums with the idea of a laugh. “Now that’s a totally acceptable expletive.”

  “That’s funny, because the biggest, baddest expletive of them all is your father.” I make a face. “It’s true. Having Demetri’s name roll off my tongue has always stung both my heart and my ears.”

  “If I could change everything, I would.” His features morph with agony, and now I’m sorry I mentioned it at all.

  “That’s because you’re a prince.” Actually, he’s a king—Demetri’s spawn and pawn. An idea begins to percolate. “Hey, I know. We should have Demetri throw some ridiculous party—that beginning-of-summer bash of his—I’d happily announce the fact we’re having a child in his home.”

  Gage touches his palm to my forehead as if he’s reading a fever. “You’re delirious.”

  “No, I’m serious. Think about it. You and I will declare a victory for Celestra, for the Nephilim people right in the heart of wickedness. It’s bold. It’s daring. It’s courageous. It screams we’ve got bigger balls than you can ever hope to have. Most importantly, it says F.U. to the chief Fem and Fems in general—no offense.” I shrink a little in his arms. “It might just be an insane idea, but I think it works.”

  His lips twist as he considers this. Gage glides his warm, thick hand over my shoulder, dripping down my torso before landing on my hip and giving a gentle squeeze.

  “I think you’re right. It might just be an insane idea, but I think it works.” He gives a light tap over my hip. “Plus, he pays for the food.”

  I hold my hand up as he meets me with a high five. “Plus, he pays for the food.”

  I plan on having Demetri pay for a lot of things, and none of them have to do with a monetary exchange.

  Once Gage and I shower and dress, we finally manage to head downstairs. Rain trembles over the windows, thunder shudders through the walls, and somehow this unexpected storm soothes me. Something about it feels familiar, like home, as if with Gage back everything has fallen into place, even the horrible weather.

  The thick scent of bacon—the utterly disgusting underlayer of garlic-riddled eggs comes from the kitchen, and it takes everything in me to march in that general direction. My sisters are both at school since West Paragon doesn’t get out for another few weeks. Out in the back, I spot Drake and Brielle making their way toward the house, running through the rain with their hands over their heads as if that was enough to shield them from the downpour.

  My mother holds Misty while whirling around the kitchen, and Beau holds on to her legs, screaming with glee as if he were on a thrill ride. He giggles incessantly while pecking at Misty’s toes with his toy dinosaur.

  “I going to eat yo’ feet!” he shouts over and over. It’s nice to see his language skills are developing. Note to self: buy Misty steel-toed boots for her birthday.

  “I’m making a list for Cost Club!” Mom trills in a melodic manner. What’s with the operatic revival this morning? “If you need anything, just let me know!”

  “Will do!” Bree shouts from the back door, and Tad snarls at both her and Drake as they shake off like a couple of shaggy dogs.

  “I need lots of shit.” Ethan walks into the room with a serious case of bedhead, his sweats so loose they threaten to fall off. I’m pretty sure nothing could make me yak faster than getting a surprise glimpse of Landon bits and pieces. “Get some of those protein shakes. I’m bulking up. Getting me some muscle on this skeleton.” He flexes his bicep, and both Gage and I exchange glances. “Hey—come look at this, dude.” He calls Gage over with a wave, and reluctantly he limps over.

  Oh gosh. I watch as Gage struggles to get across the room, and my heart weighs heavy with guilt. He wasn’t that bad when we came home, was he? I was so excited to see him I might have overlooked a limp or two. It’s pretty evident our all night rodeo has taken its toll. Note to self: go easy on your man. A dull ache of a laugh rattles through my chest. Like that will ever happen. I can’t get enough of the man candy that is Gage Oliver. He’s lucky he can move at all after the aerial acrobatics that went on last night. I’ll admit, I might have been a bit more forceful than usual. I couldn’t believe he was real, on top of me, below me, beside me, over, under, lusting, thrusting. I couldn’t believe it was his very own warm flesh I was touching, sucking—swallowing—loving all night long. A part of me still wonders if I’ll wake up from this beautiful dream.

  Ethan proceeds to show off his nonexistent six-pack while extracting some workout tips from the master—aka my husband. Speaking of masters, I head over to Mom and take Misty from her.

  “I have a question.” I wrinkle my nose at the glibbery egg white she’s swirling with the spatula. “A friend of mine is having a baby, and, well, she’s sort of new to Paragon—is there any doctor in particular you’d suggest she use? Perhaps even stay away from?” God, I bet there are all kinds of freaks out there. I’ve only had a doctor examine that area once in my life, and thankfully, it was a female. I don’t even know what I’d do if I had a man staring down at my lady garden, poking around in there no less with ice cold metal objects. God, this is going to be a nightmare either way.

  “Oh gosh, yes!” Her eyes light up, and she gives a wild nod as if not only was I wise to ask this very question, but there is no one better to answer it than her—which I totally agree with.

  “Great! Who is it?”

  “You first.” She switches off the stove and takes Misty back, lifting her shirt and pushing the poor kid’s head toward a free hanging boob. Her nipple looks as if it’s a bruise that’s simply trying to slide right off.

  God, are they supposed to hang that low? Can they hang that low? I’ve seen my mother’s boobs before, but I haven’t seen seen them. I’m not into inspecting my mother’s privates on a regular basis, but right now I’m sort of interested in post-baby anatomy.

  “I know what you’re thinking.” She waves me off, and I follow her to the couch where Emily and Bree gawk over a knitting project Em has been working on for a while now. It vaguely resembles a cactus, green and oddly fat and long. I thought it was a doggie sweater for Sprinkles, but it turns out it’s a warmer for Ethan’s man parts. I shake my head at the idea once again. I can’t even look at it or the nausea comes back full force.

  “What am I thinking?” I whisper, hoping to God that Bree and Em don’t latch on to this conversation.

  Mom gesticulates. “You’re thinking, oh, look at my crazy mother still nursing Misty—trying to hold on to her youth!”

  Wow, she’s spot on! Only I wasn’t actually thinking that at the moment. Besides, I’m not sure if she’s talking about her youth or my sister’s, but truthfully both apply.

  “Anyway, on to the gossip!” She jumps a little in her seat when she says it, mashing Misty’s face into her flesh unnaturally. “Which one of your friends is knocked up?”

&
nbsp; Gage shoots me a look, and I cringe. Geez, I’m pretty sure me blurting out the truth with less than half of our families present isn’t going to please him, so I do the right thing—lie.

  “You don’t know her.” I avert my eyes, because for one, Bree and Em are now totally glued to our conversation. Just crap.

  “You said she was new to Paragon.” Mom gives me a playful shove with her Misty-free hand. “I bet you it’s that Laken girl. Isn’t it? I really do like her.”

  “Oh Em Gee!” Brielle says it with a touch of gossip-giddy malice. “Did little Miss Perfect go and accidentally knock herself up? Ha!” She belts out a howl. It’s safe to say Bree isn’t Laken’s biggest fan. “So, now what? She has you doing her dirty work for her? I thought she was oh-so-smart going to Host and everything. Look at me—I’m a university girl! Living in a university world!” Bree makes Laken sound like a ridiculous airhead. “And Skyla Laurel Messenger is my best friend!” She shoves her finger down her throat and retches.

  “Oh, stop. She is not knocked up.” I know Paragon. It’s best to squash these rumors right over their vicious beastly bellies before they ever get started.

  Em looks at me with a meticulous level of intrigue. Crap, I bet she’s getting one of those freaky premonitions. Emily is a Viden, a people that have drifted down in lineage from Rothello of the Soullennium, one of the big four of the Decision Council right along with my mother. Apparently, he had an earthly indiscretion and spawned an entire line of soothsaying, hippy artist types such as Em. Rothello sold his children and their children’s children, like the great father he is, to another demented father—Demetri. Gage was recently crowned their king. It’s twisted.

  My mother lifts a finger in my direction. “Well, if it was Laken, I was going to give you all my best tips. But I won’t do that for just anyone. Tell your friend to visit that free clinic down on Center Street or see her general practitioner. I’m sure she’ll make out just fine. People have babies every single day, Skyla. She’ll figure it out.”

  Every single day? Not me. Figure it out? Again, so not me. Free clinic on Center Street—aka STD Central? Ha! So not me.

  I give an anxious glance to Gage who’s busy entertaining Ethan’s fantasy regarding a future on the weight training circuit. Extorting this info from my mother is becoming quite the challenge without telling her the truth. I want all of my mother’s so-called best-kept secrets, and I want them right fucking now. I can feel myself getting a little testy. Who knows when Demetri will get around to hosting his stupid summer shindig? My baby needs a doctor asap. Aw! I just called it my baby. My hand floats to my stomach as I give a dreamy smile, and Bree’s eyes enlarge.

  “You’re right!” I shout to Bree as if she just guessed the answer on a quiz show. “Laken is totally knocked up.” I cover my mouth for a moment, shocked as hell at what just flew from my lips. “Coop is the dad, of course.” Honestly, what good would one lie be without the other? Laken is completely going to freak out, and then, of course, I’ll have to confide in her, seeing she is my “bestie.” I give a Bree a dirty look for pushing me to the fabricated brink.

  Mom rattles on and on about doctors and hospitals, something called a doula, and midwives. I glance back at Gage and note he’s holding his phone particularly low, and I see the red light at the tip. He’s wisely recording all of this. There’s no way I’d ever be able to keep track.

  Tad calls her from the hall, and she hops up like a trained circus poodle. My mother would literally jump through fiery hoops for him, and considering they sleep in the same bed, she technically has.

  “So, Laken and Coop, huh?” Emily considers this as she plucks baby Ember from under her shirt. Gah! I didn’t even realize she was harboring a fugitive in there. I can’t believe this is going to be my life in just under a year, doctors and doulas, and pulling babies (singular, of course, no reason to jinx myself at this point) from under my shirt—from between my legs no less.

  “Yes, Laken,” I say, weak. I happened to be in the room when baby Ember was born, and it was a bloody nightmare in the most tragically literal sense. “Are you thinking about more kids?” I look to Em as if somehow her words might have the power to quell my fear of all things maternal. If Em would willingly go through that bloodbath again, then it couldn’t be so bad. Right?

  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  I jump at the expletive. Emily is sort of Ezrina-esque in her use of the English language. Brevity is king, and, well, expletives don’t happen all that often unless, of course, they are abso-fucking-lutely necessary. That can only mean one thing—this is very, very bad.

  She helps Ember steady herself on her cute, chunky legs, her arms gripping on to the coffee table for dear life. Ember is Drake’s lovechild. Em and Drake had a brief thing while he and Bree were on a break, and, well, the rest is DNA history. Ethan gladly took Em under his wing and under his body once Drake rejected her. I really feel bad for Em. Bedding two Landons in one lifetime is asking a bit much of anyone.

  “I’d rather have someone chop off both of my arms and beat me with them then go through that horrific pain again.” Em retches. “I’d rather have every single one of my teeth plucked out, and then have a lemon squeezed into my mouth before I ever even think of procreating. I’d rather have a snake crawl up my—”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, we get it!” I shout, and the room quiets unnaturally.

  It takes a few good seconds for Ethan, Drake, and Gage to resume their brilliant conversation on roid rage, and for Tad and my mother to start up their buzzing argument in the hall.

  “Bitch, feed me,” Ethan croaks, and Em snarls in response.

  “I’d leave him if he weren’t so damn cute.” She gets up and heads to the kitchen.

  Bree glides in and grabs me hard by the arm, her eyes pressing into mine as if she were about to demand a ransom.

  “You’re not fooling me, Oliver.” She gives a hard wink when she says it. “I’m your best friend, and I know when you are full of shit, and you are brimming to your eyelids in horse manure. You got knocked up by Dudley while Gage was away, didn’t you?”

  “What? No!” It’s going to be a breeze lying to Brielle because she’s so far off base it’s ludicrous. “What on earth would make you connect those crazy dots?” And on the bright side, I have no problem lying to Bree. For one, she’s the town gossip if ever there was one, and two, she spent the first few years of our friendship under Chloe’s control. Our entire relationship is sort of built on a foundation of lies, but I mean that in a good way because at the end of the day she really is my bestie—Laken, too, but I’ll never admit that to Bree.

  “I heard him talking to someone in the barn. He said now that he’s a father there’s a newfound responsibility he feels. Something about Skyla.”

  I gasp and try to think of a million different scenarios that could have sponsored that conversation, but come up empty. Marshall doesn’t think I’m having his baby, does he? I mean, all those dreams I’ve been having have been rather racy in nature and most of them recently involved Logan. Regardless, I’m pretty sure sperm don’t thrive well in a theoretic environment. Although, this is Marshall we’re talking about…Marshall is probably loaded with miracle sperm that can transcend time and dimension and apparently physical vaginas. I shake the thought loose.

  God, no, that can’t be happening.

  “I’ll talk to Marshall.” Like stat. “But rest assured, this isn’t his baby.” I slap my hand over my face, and now it’s my eyes that are bugging out.

  Shit, shit, shit!

  “Aw!” she mewls in one, loud, dragged-out form of affection. “Congratulations!” she whisper-shouts and dives over me with a hug. “Your secret is safe with me! I promise.” She pulls back, and her mouth contorts. Her features crumble as if she’s putting the pieces to a very unfortunate puzzle together. “Wait a minute. You and Laken planned this, didn’t you? You’re having together babies. She really is your new bestie.” She swats me across the arm,
because apparently Bree has no problem hitting a pregnant woman. Chloe and that brawl we had flushes through my mind, and I flush it right back out. “What’s the matter, Skyla? You didn’t think to ask me to get knocked up so that we could have babies close in age, too? I can just see it now—you and Laken will be doing everything together for the next eighteen years. I bet you these babies are just a means to exclude me further in your life. Well, three can play at that game!” She spikes up and drags Drake toward the back door as if the house were on fire. “Come on”—she bellows—“we’ve got work to do back home.”

  “What the hell?” Drake gives a weak attempt at breaking free from her stronghold. “Did we forget something in the tin can?”

  “Yes! A brand new baby!”

  “Wait!” I call after them. “None of that was true!” Mostly.

  Shit. I get up and walk over to Gage, totally exhausted from the bizarre exchange.

  Em looks over at us, bored. Her lids hang heavy. A dribble of milk spills down her chin as she shovels in cereal.

  “You guys headed to Silent Cove tonight?” she grouses through her next bite.

  “What’s tonight?” Gage rumbles, and my body adheres to his, just craving his soothing rhythm.

  “If it doesn’t rain, Logan is hosting a mattress burning.”

  “A what?” Why does this sound particularly satanic?

  “Logan says he needs to torch his mattress and invited everyone down for a party.”

  “Mattress burning.” I nod to Gage. Of course, it sounds satanic. Chloe is involved. “He couldn’t keep us away if he tried. In fact, I’ll bring the gasoline and matches.”

  “Cool,” she says it unmoved. “I’ll bring my notebook. I’m feeling moved to do some drawing.”

  “Very cool.” Ethan scruffs her hair up until it blossoms like a chia pet. “That’s what I like about you, babe. You’re smart and shit. Draw a picture of us sitting on a stack of hundred dollar bills, would you?”