The Serpentine Butterfly

by Addison Moore

  “Giselle’s a genius.” Ellis cuts Gage a side-glance. “It’s too bad her family treats her like a three-year-old. She could really flourish if you guys weren’t holding her back.”

  “What?” Gage recoils as if Ellis just decked him. “Nobody’s holding her back. And you’re right. She’s a smart kid.”

  “There you go again.” Ellis lifts his hands as if the evidence were before us. “She’s trying to get her GED, and her parents are getting in her way. You should really talk some sense into them.”

  “Her GED?” Gage and I exchange glances. I have no clue about this, and apparently neither does Gage.

  “I thought she liked high school?” I’m stumped by the revelation myself. “She’ll be a senior next year.”

  “She hates it.” Ellis slaps his hand on the table, and the sound drums through our ears. “She hates the cheer squad, and she can’t effing stand Dudley’s class. She’s over it. She’s ready to start the rest of her life.” He pulls a small plastic bag from his shirt pocket filled with questionably legal vegetation.

  “Would you put that away?” I smack it out of his hand. “I don’t give a shit if the state of Washington made it legal. It’s still illegal in my bowling alley.”

  “Got it, boss.” He buries it back inside his pocket. “I was just about to call my supplier. I’m running low.”

  Drake perks up. “Who’s your supplier?”

  “Some idiot named Rev. He’s over on Host, but grows the shit at his dad’s house.”

  “Dr. Booth?” Gage seems both irate and irritated by the idea. “His son is an idiot. He’s been messing around with Mia, and the dude is like twenty.”

  “That’s sick,” Drake says without any real emotion behind it while plucking the dime bag out of Ellis’s shirt pocket once again. “How much?”

  “Ten bucks. I like to buy in bulk, if you know what I mean.”

  “In bulk, huh?” Drake’s eyes spin with marijuana-laced dollar signs. “Tell your supplier you won’t be needing him anymore.” He flicks the bag as he rises from the table. “I just found myself a new business venture. See that, boys?” He throws a few odd wannabe gang symbols with his hands, and I try not to laugh. “I didn’t need my bitch to think of my next move. I’m going to be raking in the green with the green.” He lets out a mean whoop before his eyes snag at something at the entry.

  We look over to find Tad with a tall block of a man and redheaded woman, the “Interlopers” as Nev affectionately referred to them.

  “Shit.” I knock Gage in the side until he turns his attention to the door.

  “What’s up?” Ellis turns around. “Lucy and Ricky?” He shakes his head. “I’ve had about enough of their shit.” He gets up, and I pull him right back down by the sleeve.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “They’ve been coming around here and there—sniffing for shit. They keep asking questions. Probably DEA.”

  “Did you say anything?”

  “Hell no.” It’s hard to irritate Ellis, but by the looks of things, Lucy and Ricky have very much achieved this. “I know a narc when I see one. Every time they ask me some weird question trying to ‘break the ice,’ I simply shrug and find myself something to do.”

  “And here’s the owner!” Tad squawks as the three of them make their way over.

  Gage and I stand and meet them along with Drake.

  “Logan Oliver.” I shake the dude’s hand first, firm and strong, and I hold on a little longer than necessary hoping to hear some incriminating thought, but there’s zero going on up there.

  “Nylan Moser,” he offers a little too voluntarily, and it makes me wonder if he made it up on the spot. I don’t know what these two are up to, but I’m betting telling the truth isn’t too high up on the list.

  I shake the redhead’s hand. “Gillian Killion.”

  My eyes widen as I glance to Gage. Do not laugh, dude. I know you want to because I do, too.

  “Nice to meet you both. This is Gage, my nephew, and Drake, Tad’s son.”

  “This boy is my pride and joy.” Tad puts Drake in a chokehold and offers up a noogie. “Out of all the ankle biters I’ve produced, I’m proud to admit this one is my favorite!”

  “Cool it, Pops.” Drake shoves him off. “You don’t mess with the hair.” He nods over at the two of them. “You check out my shop?”

  “First place I took ’em!” Tad beams. And he should beam. Drake’s business, Made in Paragon, is booming both on and off the island. Bree tells me that Internet sales are outpacing in-store purchases by triple. If this keeps up, they’ll both land on the Forbes list. Somehow I believe this to be true.

  “What can I do for you?” I smile bleakly at the two of them. Mostly I just want to put us all out of our misery.

  Tad puffs out his chest like the proud silly peacock he is. “These, here, are inspectors from Althorpe. They’ve come to scout Paragon for a new site. The big guns are thinking of planting a building somewhere downtown. Imagine that. Althorpe changing the skyline of Paragon Island.”

  I’m sure they’re here to change something, and now that I know Althorpe is involved, I’m guessing it’s a shift of Nephilim power.

  “Do you have any identification?” I went there. It’s purely routine. Show me an Althorpe badge, a union card, anything that doesn’t scream Uncle Sam, and I’ll be good to go.

  They glance at one another without any form of affect, not a hint of humor, or the warm feeling you might get after having someone welcome you to their business establishment. Nope. These two are cold fish without a pulse. Something is definitely amiss.

  “No need to card them”—Tad flashes his palm in my face—“I’m buying the booze. Make it cold and frosty. Two tall ones?” He mock shoots them, and yet, they don’t raise so much as an eyebrow.

  “No thank you.” Moser tips his head. His features iron out, smooth as the moment he walked in. “We should be going.”

  “Where are we headed?” Tad plucks out his keys, already edging toward the door.

  “We’ll be leaving alone.”

  “Wait—” Gage nods to Tad as if speaking in code. “Aren’t we having them over for dinner?”

  A growl comes from him. Tad snarls at Gage as if he were a rabid animal trying to protect its prey. “Always trying to one-up me, aren’t you?” He hikes his pants to his chest. “I was thinking”—he steps toward the two of them, and they simultaneously take a step back—“you really haven’t experienced Paragon until you’ve had a good home-cooked meal.”

  “No thank you.” The woman with the rhyming name doesn’t waste any time in shutting Tad down. “What’s the quickest way to West Paragon High from here?”

  “Six blocks, then take a hard left,” Drake offers. “There’s a giant mural of a dog with three heads painted on the side of the gym. Can’t miss it. My wife’s a cheerleader there.” He heads back to his lane to pick up his shoes, and the two inspectors stare at him, baffled. Brielle is a cheer instructor. I’m sure that little detail would have made things sound a little less perverse.

  “What are you doing at West?” Gage isn’t buying the fact they’re scouting for a building, and neither am I.

  “There’s a teacher we’ve heard is particularly helpful with the lay of the land. Althorpe recommended we look into him. A Mr. Marshall Dudley.”

  Crap.

  “We’re having him for dinner!” Tad shouts while spinning his finger through the air like a lasso. “We’re serving him up! I mean, he’s serving us up! For cripes’ sake—he’ll be a guest!”

  They glance at one another and give an indiscriminate shrug.

  “When will this be?” Gill Kill seems suddenly interested in chowing down on some Landon cuisine. Little does she know it might actually kill her.

  “Friday night. Six thirty. Come hungry.” Tad flicks his belt loops as if they were suspenders.

  “Very well.” Her features squint with disdain. “I’m allergic to shellfish, tree nuts, dairy, eg
gs, and wheat.”

  The tall brooding one leans in. “I’m a vegan, but I make exceptions for grass-fed, non-antibiotic organic Kobe.”

  They both offer a polite nod before heading back out under the cover of a grim Paragon sky.

  Shit. I pull out my phone and send a text to Dudley. Althorpe inspectors want to speak with you. They have no sense of humor. Do not entertain them. They will not find you witty or charming.

  He shoots back. I speak to whom I wish when I wish with the amount of wit and charm I deem necessary. As you were.

  Figures. It will be Dudley’s ego that leads them to the celestial prize.

  Tad takes off and challenges Drake to a quick game while Gage and I stare at the empty door.

  “What do you think?”

  “I don’t need to think. I know—Wesley sent them. It can only mean one thing—they will somehow further the Barricade’s efforts.”

  “I’ll run their names, see what I come up with. I’ll put Dudley to the task as well.”

  Lexy comes up out of breath. “Are they gone?”

  “You know them?”

  “Sort of, not really.” She flicks her short copper hair. “But I’ve been bumping into them wherever I go out. It’s creepy. I swear, it’s like they’re following me. They’re making it impossible for me to grow my new powers.” She smacks Gage across the arm. “Tell that brother of yours we need more time in the Transfer. It’s not safe up here.” She gives a mean shiver before tending to a swelling crowd at the cash register.

  “Wes has his dream team growing out their powers, practicing right here on Paragon for all to see.” I shake my head at Gage.

  He looks out the gaping front doors. “And he’s got inspectors checking out Paragon. Conflicting interests?”

  “Sounds like the perfect setup.”

  * * *

  Paragon shakes and rattles as a thunderstorm roars its way over the island. Paragon spreads her wings, opens herself to all of the fury that the sky has to offer, drinking down its juices like a love tonic. Some might say the weather has ruined what was shaping up to be a rather nice summer, but it’s the rain that reminds us of who we are. It tells us not to get too excited about a few balmy afternoons. It’s the rain, the reprimand of the thunder, the flashes of lightning that surge overhead like a giant haunted chandelier that keep us all in check and remind us exactly where we are.

  Dudley’s home is brimming with life as Gage and I head inside. Michelle and Liam paw each other on the sofa while Ellis and Giselle sit uncomfortably close to one another—on one another. I’m shocked Gage hasn’t ripped off Ellis’s stoned balls yet. Lexy tries very hard to mimic the actions of both Michelle and Giselle, but I’ve kept a good arm’s length from her. And absolutely no one is paying attention to the movie, a sci-fi flick about a dinosaur eating its way through Manhattan.

  “How’s Nat?” I take a swig of my drink. Natalie Coleman went to high school with us, and I haven’t seen her in months, but in truth, I’m simply trying to throw out some platonic vibes in Lexy’s direction, and what better way than to bring up a mutual friend.

  “Dead as a doornail,” she sighs dreamily while leaning into me, her chin resting comfortably on my arm.

  “What?” Gage and I say at the same time.

  “She’s fine.” She flicks her wrist. “She’s dating some soon-to-be senior on Host. She’s pre-med. Who knew? Nat is the smart one.” She averts her eyes to the ceiling. “Just kidding, I’m the smart one because I’m sitting here with you.” She walks her fingers down my chest, and I catch them before she gets to the boys.

  “Whoa. So tell us more about this field trip you’re taking to the Transfer,” I whisper as not to break Michelle from her lust-driven trance. My brother is lapping up the love, and, quite frankly, I’m about five minutes out from telling them to get a room.

  Lexy blows out a breath. “It’s called the Immunity League.” She shrugs. “Um”—she cuts a quick glance over her shoulder—“I’m not really supposed to talk about this, but, well, you’re in it.” She flicks a finger at Gage. He’s in it? My stomach bottoms out, but I pretend it’s old news. “And, well, you’re like my boyfriend.” Lex bites down on her lip and tugs at my T-shirt as she reels me in.

  A clap of thunder comes from the back of the room, near that dusty haunted piano of Dudley’s, and I look to find the Sector himself materializing in a plume of white smoke.

  Thankfully, Michelle is too busy burying her tongue down my brother’s throat to notice. Come to think of it, Michelle doesn’t notice too much else when my brother is around. Who knows, maybe this will pan out to be the real deal?

  “Would you excuse us?” I gently place Lexy’s wandering arm back to her side as Gage and I motion Dudley into the dining room. Gage mentioned he wanted to talk about his future tonight—with Dudley present.

  We sit round table style with each of us at opposing ends, Dudley glaring at the two of us like we ate the last piece of pie.

  “What?” he barks it out unordinarily perturbed.

  I’ll bite. “What has your panties in a bunch, sweetheart?”

  Dudley gives a low-lying growl, his eyes changing colors in every hue of red like a bubbling kaleidoscope.

  “Dare you speak to me that way? I’ll have your tongue on a spit should you choose to negate the respect I deserve.”

  “Huh,” I muse. “It seems each time you crawl out of that haunted mirror you’re a bit more ornery than the last. What’s going on? You finally fuck your way through every whorehouse this side of the seventeenth century?” I meet the disdain in his eyes with a minutia of intrigue. “Let me say it for you—Language, Mr. Oliver.” I do my best Dudley impression, and yet, not even Gage seems amused.

  Dudley steadies his hands onto the lip of the table. His jaw flexes tight as if I’ve gone too far. “You know not to whom you speak.”

  “Oh, I think I know.” Somewhere during this bizarre exchange, I’ve crossed the line from mocking to outright antagonizing.

  “All right.” Gage raps his knuckles over the table. “Save this shit for later. I need the two of you to help me make a decision, and quick. I’ve got a wife in bed waiting for me.”

  Both Dudley and I give a disconcerting growl in his direction.

  “She’s sick.” He glares at us with those glowing eyes. “I need to get going.” He motions with his hand as if speeding things along. “Look, Demetri is after me to shit or get off the paranormal pot. He wants a commitment. He gets that I’m not power-hungry. Apparently, all the megalomaniac genes went to Wesley. He just wants me in on the fun. He wants me to participate as an active member along with Wes. Apparently, Demetri is all about family.”

  “Who knew?” I muse without an ounce of feeling. I’ve got news for Gage. Demetri is all about Demetri.

  “Lizbeth and that kid of hers—Misty.” He looks to Dudley. “She’s Demetri’s in the event either of you didn’t realize.”

  “Skyla mentioned it a few months back.” I wince at the thought. “It’s still hard to believe.”

  “Believe?” Dudley seems incensed. “What’s there to believe? Lizbeth Landon would no more trollop behind her husband’s back than leave the buffoon. This is a child of maniacal manipulation. I assure you I stand by the virtue of my future mother-in-law.” He gives the curve of a careless grin to my nephew, and Gage turns a few shades of purple. As soon as he uttered the words future mother-in-law, Gage’s jaw began to clench.

  “Okay, before you two kill each other. Why do you need us to make this decision?”

  “Yes, Jock Strap”—Dudley groans—“why are you depleting both my time and oxygen?”

  Gage looks from Dudley to me, his expression serious as stone. “I’m thinking about staying.”

  A loud pop emits from the chandelier overhead as a light bulb blows out, then another and another loud as a firecracker display, as the room quickly dims to nothing.

  In the corner, the form of a woman appears, slowly at first, one molecule
at a time, hair wild and frizzy as a haystack, the outline of a sweatshirt with the word Host printed across the front, sweats, then finally Skyla’s exhausted face, bags under her red eyes as if she hasn’t slept in days. She looks more like the Ezrina of old than any version of Skyla I have ever known, and just seeing her warms my heart. I did love Skyla through her Ezrina phase way back when while she was actually in possession of Ezrina’s body and vice versa. Skyla has my entire heart, no matter what form she’s in.

  “Are you okay?” Gage hops up, not at all alarmed by the fact she just materialized before us like a ghost.

  “What the hell is going on?” I’m by her side before anyone can protest.

  Skyla staggers forward and falls into a seat. “You tell me what the hell is going on.” Her eyes are bloodied and full of rage. Her face offers not a hint of any friendly demeanor. Skyla is pissed, and I have a feeling we’re all going to hear about it.

  Gage swallows hard, examining her like this. It’s as if Skyla has gone feral, and Gage hadn’t bothered to notify us.

  “I’m not feral Logan, for fuck’s sake.” She flicks my hand off her arm. “I’ve got morning sickness—all freaking day.” She glares hard at Dudley. “You aren’t picking up your phone, or answering your texts, and every time I try to materialize in front of you, I’m deflected!” Her voice rails to the ceiling with those final words. Good. Maybe it’s just Dudley she’s pissed at. “I have a very short shit list these days, and you are quickly rising to the top, buddy, but before a single excuse bubbles from your lips, I want to know what this little powwow is about. Why the hell wasn’t I invited?” She glares at us all in turn.

  Now it’s me swallowing hard, as I take a breath just before taking one for the team. “Lexy shared a little more about her new project with us. It’s a group of elite Counts—they’re developing new powers outside of their realm. It’s called the Immunity League. He’s having them train right here on Paragon. We’re afraid they’ll arouse suspicion.”

  “Immunity League,” Skyla tests it out on her lips. “They’re going to frame us. They’re not going to kill us. They’re going to tie us to a stake and let the government burn us alive. The news is filled with supernatural occurrences all over the world—twenty-four hours a supernatural day. All they need is a few volunteers to set things in motion, and the rest of us are as good as in holding cells.”