The Serpentine Butterfly

by Addison Moore

  “What’s the big sigh for?” Lexy attempts to whisper from across the room. She came by right after Skyla nodded off. I had originally brought Skyla by to see the big decorating reveal, and Lex happened to pull up an hour later with some finishing touches for the upstairs. I had taken Skyla out to the Burger Shack and watched her wolf down three cheeseburgers—one for each child—before heading here, where she proceeded to pass out on the sofa.

  “Just counting my blessings.” Three new ones to be exact.

  Skyla lets out a sharp cry. Her body twitches and writhes, and her eyes oscillate from underneath her lids.

  “Skyla?” I say it low as I swoop in beside her.

  “No,” she cries as her entire body startles with a jolt. Her lids spring open like roller shades as her eyes bolt from side-to-side taking in the scene. “Where am I?” she pants in a panic.

  “White Horse.” I brush back the hair from her damp face. “With me. You’re safe, I promise.”

  “Oh—good.” Her breathing grows erratic as she struggles to sit up. “Lexy?” She gives a few hard blinks.

  “The one and only.” Lex pauses a moment to snarl. “Just spit-shining my latest, greatest project.” She has a photographer dropping by this afternoon. Since this was her first big project, she asked if it could be included in her portfolio. “I’m going to be a well sought-after interior decorator one day. If you and Gage ever get a place, give me a call. After all, we’re practically family. We should all go out sometime. You know, double date. You and Gage, and me and my man.” She points a svelte, long finger in my direction. Shit. Lex has always reminded me a little of someone who was stretched like taffy—a little too long in the limbs, in the fingers, but she’s a stunner, just not the one for me. Liam maybe. He seems to take a sexual swing at her every now and again, much to Michelle’s chagrin.

  “Your man?” Skyla belts out a short-lived laugh—an angry warning shot of a chortle that has me both amused and alarmed. Gage mentioned Skyla has been moody. And it’s no secret that she’s not a member of the Lexy Bakova Fan Club.

  “That’s right.” Lexy comes over and sits herself square over my knee. I try gently to evict her, but she burrows in. Crap.

  A high-pitched combination of a laugh and a cry gets caught in Skyla’s throat, and now I’m afraid Lex might be moved to injure both her and the babies, so I lower my knee, rolling her off like a dump truck.

  “Let’s get one thing straight, Lex.” Skyla struggles to keep her voice even-keeled. Her demeanor is calm, but her nostrils flare, telling a different story. “He is not, now, nor will he ever be your anything. So scoot your little tramp stamp, copper-haired bob right on out of here.”

  “Oh, please, Messenger.” Lex slaps at her bottom like she’s shaking sand off from a long day at the beach. “You only wish you have that kind of say. You’re nothing but an old married woman who has no more control over who Logan fucks than what he eats for breakfast!”

  “Whore!” Skyla doesn’t miss a beat.

  “Whoa!” I hold my hands out in an effort to keep things from escalating. “If we’re going to do this, we need to try to get along.”

  “Do what?” Skyla’s eyes enlarge with equal parts horror and rage. “Oh my God, are you seeing Lex?” Her voice grows soft, incredulous, and I brace myself in the event she decides to shove a foot in my face.

  “No, no. I’m not seeing Lex. We’re just—”

  “Would you look at that?” Lexy jumps, her entire person revolted. “You’ve got him afraid to tell you that he’s ready to move on. Look, Messenger—have you ever heard that expression ‘If you love someone set them free’?”

  Skyla ticks her head back in annoyance. “And how the hell does that have anything to do with you touching my husband?”

  “Ha!” Lex points at Skyla with the laugh still buried in her throat, and suddenly, it feels as if we’ve all been transported back to third grade. “You can’t take it, can you? Logan and I are tired of waiting for your permission.” We are? “This is getting hard, Skyla. We’re not waiting for your twisted blessing anymore. And, yes, I will call him my man whenever the mood strikes.” She folds her arms in defiance, and I wonder how in the hell I wandered into this alternate reality.

  Skyla cuts me a hard look, and I give the slightest shake of the head. My hand glides over her bare ankle, well out of Lexy’s range of vision.

  We need her. I nod into Skyla.

  She looks to Lex, and her demeanor sours. “Lex”—she closes her eyes as if girding herself for the impossible—“please report to us when you get marching orders from Wes. I want to see all the party tricks, all the special effects he’s pumping you full of. I want to know what our people are up against.”

  “Your people,” Lex corrects. “I’ve sided with the Barricade. I’m only doing this for my man.” She over-annunciates the last word, and Skyla gives a heavy sigh as if resigning to this on some level.

  “Fine.” Skyla’s jaw redefines itself. “Show us what you’ve got. We need this, Lex. A lot is riding on the information you give us.”

  “What about Gage?”

  Skyla glances to me for the briefest of moments, her face filled with grief. “You might have more insight—at least unadulterated insight. Gage sees what Demetri wants him to see.”

  “This might be true.” Hell, I know it is.

  “Anyway, I’d better get going.” Skyla swings her legs off the sofa. “Gage is probably home by now.”

  Gage has been auditing the books at the morgue for the last few days. He briefly mentioned there was something he wanted to discuss regarding his Transfer jaunts.

  The doorbell rings, and Lexy answers it, leading a photographer in with a cheery smile.

  Skyla heads for the exit, and I follow her out.

  “Demetri’s party is this weekend.” She winces. “We’re making our big announcement. Please come.”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it.”

  Her hand floats over her stomach. “We’re not telling anyone we’re having three. I mean, how insane does that even sound? As of right now, we’re just going to surprise everyone on D-day. Unless, of course, Chloe’s spills. Which wouldn’t surprise me at all.” Her face fills with grief for a moment. “I still can’t believe my due date is our anniversary.” She frowns. “Sorry how that worked out.”

  “Don’t apologize. It makes the day that much more special.”

  I walk her down to the Mustang and open the door as she gets inside.

  “Hey, Skyla?” I drop to one knee as if I’m about to propose. All I really want is to look up at her in the natural light that Paragon is willing to give. Skyla deserves to be venerated. “I’m here for you. I’m here for the Nephilim, for Celestra—but really I’m here for you.”

  Her hand warms over mine as she gives it a tight squeeze. “I know.” She leans in and offers a chaste kiss to my cheek. “I’ll see you at the faction meeting.” She gives a knowing nod. “I talked to Dr. Booth. He’s willing to help us out if anyone gives you trouble.”

  “They’re going to give you trouble. You’re not allowed to be there.”

  She laughs as she shuts the door and rolls down the window.

  “Come here.” She pulls me in by the curl of her finger. “I love you, Logan Oliver. We’re still going to kick some Count ass.”

  A groan draws from deep inside me. “We might have to kick the government’s ass as well.”

  “Then that’s what we’ll do.” She winks as she takes off into a bloom of powder white fog.

  Famous last words.

  I head inside and spend the next hour reluctantly posing for pictures of my new home with Lexy Bakova right by my side.

  This is not going to end well—not much does on Paragon.

  * * *

  The faction meeting is old school tonight. Gage isn’t welcome now that Demetri outted him as his son, and, well, technically, I’m both dead and under thirty, both valid reasons as to why I shouldn’t be here. A long time ago,
the factions made an edict about the age which one should attend these sensitive gatherings, and they came up with the ripe old age of thirty. Although, now that I’m barreling toward that third decade of life, it doesn’t feel so ripe or old anymore. But Skyla has obliterated most old rules, or at least she’s about to in a very big way.

  Nicholas Haver likes to play host to this event, and so far nobody has contested the idea, so if we’re going old school, it’s always at Big Nick’s.

  “Logan Oliver,” a deep voice rumbles from behind. It’s Nev and Ezrina.

  “What’s up?” I slap him some skin, and he shakes the sting off my hand. I pull Ezrina in for a hug. “You guys slumming? You know you’re not allowed.”

  “We’re well past thirty.” Ezrina smirks. “Besides, Skyla mentioned she was working on abolishing that bylaw.”

  Nev leans in with a touch of pride in his eyes. “You may not realize this, but it was Rina who sponsored the law in the first place.”

  “Stop.” She flattens her hand over her forehead. “It was a trying time. Everything just went to hell in a hand basket.”

  Nev leans in again. “She coined that phrase as well.”

  The crowd heads in, and I linger out in the yard a moment while various familiar faces stride by. Nicholas Haver’s converted barn-slash-poolhouse is cavernous, but I’m still able to peer in and see that Skyla is nowhere inside. Skyla is like a flower that brightens the vicinity with her presence—pink and beautiful, holding the fragrance of sugar and cinnamon, night jasmine and aloe all rolled into one. Without her, I’m living in a sepia world that stinks of sweaty gym socks and sneakers that have landed in dog crap. Speaking of which, Skyla once stepped in dog crap right here in the Havers’ backyard, and I chuckle at the ridiculous memory.

  “Glad to see you smiling.” Her voice hums in my ear, and I turn to find her with Ellis by her side while Giselle distracts herself with the Havers’ German Shepherd.

  “He’s a lot friendlier these days,” Skyla muses at the pooch. “So”—she takes in a breath and gives a brief smile—“I told Ellis about our meeting at your place later. You know, to discuss the landscaping.” She gives a sly wink.

  “Right.” I nod. “I hear Brody is handy with a pair of shears. I’ll make sure he’s there as well.”

  Her face sours as she doubles over a bit.

  “Are you okay? Is it the babies?” Shit, I didn’t even bother whispering that last bit.

  “I’m fine. It’s just morning sickness, which apparently doesn’t really give a flying F what time of day it is. Marshall makes it better, but he’s been hard to find lately. Is there something going on with him that I should know about?”

  “Not that I know of, but he has been kind of MIA as of late. Maybe he’s having a hard time with this.” I glance to her oversized shirt, and my heart drops. For some reason, I envisioned Skyla going through all nine months with three kids growing in her belly while still thin enough to fit in her cheer uniform. Skyla’s bodily transformation will be beautiful. I’m sure of it. In fact, I think it should be commemorated in photographs.

  The thunderous clanging of a gavel echoes from inside, and Skyla doesn’t hesitate pulling me toward the front.

  Her hand firms over mine. Logan, I don’t want to alarm you, but my powers are growing. I have a very special gift that I’m going to utilize tonight.

  A smile pushes from me. The thought of Skyla’s powers growing brings me relief on some level. As if she’ll need them to keep up with Gage, regardless of the fact he’s been reduced to human. His lineage alone gives him a dangerous edge. The proximity he keeps to his father each night highlights the fact.

  Should I have the fire department on standby? I tease.

  “You’re not funny.” She swats me. “No. I can project my thoughts to you,” she whispers. “I tested it out on Laken this morning. It’s most likely a temporary gift, so we might as well take advantage of it.”

  Temporary due to the fact once the babies arrive, Skyla’s new powers might be evicted from her right along with her children.

  “Skyla”—my voice drips with sadness—“I know you’re frustrated that you’re no longer in charge. You went through a lot to get there in the first place, but why don’t you simply relay your thoughts to Dr. Booth? You don’t need me as a middleman.”

  “I do need you.” She tugs me in by the shirt, and something in her eyes testifies to her words. “I need your presence. Only you could ever be a true extension of my power, not Dr. Booth. Do this for me.”

  “Anything for you.”

  Nicholas Haver sounds the gavel once more. “In light of the current situation, Dr. Eugene Booth will assume the overseer’s position as well as council leader. If you can all please join me in making him feel welcome.”

  A slow, unenthusiastic response breaks out as Dr. Booth makes his way to the front.

  Skyla leans in. “The good news is, he says he’ll be your mouthpiece.”

  Dr. Booth nods me over, and I jump to my feet as we make our way to the elongated table that lines the front of this late-night revival.

  “Thank you.” The applause builds, and Dr. Booth raises his hands in the air like a seasoned politician. “I’d like to let you all know that I have nothing but the best intentions and will fight tooth and nail to keep our people safe.”

  Nicholas hands him an itinerary of local bullshit that eats through a solid half hour.

  Skyla nods to me. Tell him to inform everyone he’ll be the acting overseer at the Council of the Superiors meeting later this summer. If anyone has concerns or questions, they should state them now. Then, tell him the Barricade will not prosper, and that we’re doing everything we can to make sure our members are safe.

  I lean in and relay the message to Dr. Booth, who politely waits until a rousing discussion on civic planning yawns to completion regarding little to nothing to do with the faction’s impending doom.

  Dr. Booth relays the message with a sense of authority and believability that puts the already tense crowd at ease—mostly.

  A small rumble comes from the side as a short, boxy woman stands to her feet. “My uncle is in the Barricade. He says that soon we’ll all wish we had joined—something about markers? Is this true? Are we marked for the slaughter?”

  “No, no.” Dr. Booth is quick to assure as he glances to me for reference.

  Tell him the Barricade is all bark and no bite. They’re about as harmful as an old dog with no teeth.

  I jot it down and slip it over it Dr. B who glances at it before relaying the message as smoothly as if he thought of it himself.

  The room breaks out into a soft roll of laughter.

  Tell him that the Barricade is going to hang for what it’s trying to do.

  I shake my head ever so slightly. This right here is most likely why Skyla needed me as a go-between. Deep down, she knew she needed a filter.

  Her eyes narrow in on mine, sharp as pins. Do it.

  I shake my head again. It’s too violent. Just about every single person in here has a relative or friend in the Barricade. Telling them we’re going to kill their loved ones puts us on par with the Barricade themselves.

  “No,” I say to her, and her lips part in horror as if I’ve just stepped on a puppy’s neck.

  Skyla glares at Dr. Booth as if she’s trying to will his head to explode.

  “What?” He glances toward Skyla, confused, his hands grabbing at his temples.

  Shit. It looks like my job as her mouthpiece was short-lived. She does only need the one.

  “I see,” Dr. Booth says under his breath, and someone from the back shouts that they can’t hear a damn thing.

  “He’s cracking up!” another cries.

  “I assure you I’m fine.” He pushes out a forced grin. “I also want to assure you all that the factions are safe. The Barricade is a weak vessel with unwilling participants. We are in no danger. Oh my God, I think I’m going to be sick.” He looks over at Skyla, confused, and the room
breaks out into a rumble.

  Nicholas Haver hammers his gavel in an attempt to bring the room to attention once more. “Silence.” He leans toward the good doctor. “Do you need a glass of water?”

  “No.” He shoots Skyla a death stare. “I’m fine.” He clears his throat. “One last word to the local factions—if anyone has information they feel might be vital as far as the Barricade is concerned, please do bring it to the board’s attention. Consider it a duty to your fellow brothers and sisters. All eyes and ears are needed. I charge each one of you to do your part. We will take those rat bastards down by the balls before they hurt a hair on our heads.” He takes the gavel from Nick and crashes it to the table, concluding the meeting the way it began.

  Bodies swim through the oversized barn as Skyla makes her way over.

  “You did great!” She beams at him. “Sorry about the puking commentary.”

  “Yes, well, some might say I caught on a tad too late. Second verse same as the first? We’ll do this again at the Council of the Superiors.” He stands and nods to both of us. “Good night.”

  “We’ll see you tomorrow at the party!” She gives a cheery wave before her affect dissolves, and she turns toward me. “You, on the other hand, didn’t do so great.” Her face turns ashen as she steadies herself over the table.