The Serpentine Butterfly

by Addison Moore

  “I’m a created being, Skyla. I have no sister.” He cuts me a quick, yet disturbed look. “And all of my doltish branches have since been spawned without my knowledge. Some of which are closer than you imagine.”

  “Oh my God! Marshall! You mean right here on Paragon?”

  “Precisely so.” He slouches, dejected at the thought. “It appears this knowledge has been held back from me for this specific time.”

  “Oh, wow. Who are they? Please, I’m dying here. If there are little tiny Studley Dudley’s running around this island, I just have to know.”

  “In due time.”

  “Do I know them?”

  His eyes flit to the barn as if avoiding my gaze.

  “I do know them!”

  “Nothing has been confirmed. And I shan’t say a word until otherwise.” He steps in and swings our hands between us. “Thank you.”

  “For what?” I shrug because I’m pretty much useless to someone as powerful as Marshall.

  “Not true.” He gives my hand a squeeze. “You listened. That was worth its weight in gold and just as powerful. I needed you, and you came.”

  “Don’t forget to return the favor in a few short months.” I give a slight wink. “But I’m glad I could be here for you.” I pull his hand to my lips and give a simple kiss. “I’ll always be here for you, Marshall.”

  He pulls me in and presses his mouth to the top of my head, and my body trembles with unspeakable ecstasy.

  “I’d best go. I’ve a few more steps to complete with Ezrina before we confirm who the simpletons are.” He takes off for the barn and melts into the ever-thickening fog.

  “Word to the wise, don’t call your offspring simpletons!” I shout after him, exploding with unspeakable joy.

  Marshall has family right here on Paragon. Imagine that. Actually, I can imagine that. I am Marshall’s family if you count the fact I’m his spirit wife.

  I know this isn’t easy for him, but I plan on being there for him every step of the DNA way.

  And, if he’s wise—I place my hand gently over my swollen belly—he’ll return the favor right around December.

  “Aw, fuck!” Beau Geste shouts as he struggles to retrieve something from beneath the couch.

  The entire day has drifted by as Gage and I enter the family room where Drake and Ethan applaud Beau’s potty-mouthed behavior.

  “Ugh,” I whisper to Gage. “I do believe Beau just used that word in the proper context.” It was cute when he couldn’t say truck quite the right way, but now that he’s outright using it as a proper expletive, it’s not so cute. Not really.

  He winces. “That just exemplifies why we’re going to have to watch our language once the babies come.”

  “I heard that.” Drake gives us the stink eye. “You think your kid’s going to be better than my kid? My kid’s going to be a fucking millionaire. Ain’t that right, you little piece of shit?” He pulls Beau in and cuddles with him until he’s reduced the toddler to a puddle of giggles.

  “Dude, you are fucking cute.” Ethan moves Beau over a few inches with his foot. “But you’re also in my way. Can’t see the damn TV.” Apparently, Drake does not have a lock on stupid.

  “Charming,” I say as Bree walks in wearing leather pants and a tube top, and a pair of ruby red heels that I’m positive I’ve borrowed from her before.

  “What are you doing?” She scowls, inspecting me from head-to-toe.

  “I swear, we don’t think our kids will be better than yours. Beau is my favorite nephew.” True story. Only nephew, but still very true.

  “Who the hell cares about that?” Her eyes grow wild. “Why aren’t you ready for our GNO?”

  I stare at her blankly. “Do we have an appointment together at the gynecologist?” If so, it totally makes sense why she’s decked out like she belongs on a street corner. Dr. Baxter is sort of a looker, or at least Bree might think so. Oh hell, he is.

  “GNO, not gyno,” a female voice gruffs from behind, and I’m stunned to see a decked out, belly out, Chloe Bishop patting Gage on the shoulder before making her way to the fridge.

  Oh my shit.

  “It’s a girls’ night out.” Bree dances back and forth on her heels. “I’m throwing Laken a surprise bachelorette party tonight, only I sort of called and told her because I needed to know how much she weighed—anyway, that’s for later. I guess you’re the only one not in the know. The rest of the girls are in the limo, so let’s get—shoo!” She gives me a loud slap over the ass in hopes to usher me along.

  I do remember something about a bachelorette party being discussed a few weeks back, but I didn’t think Bree would actually go through with it.

  “Whoa.” I’m still waylaid by the fact Bishop is in my home noshing on a piece of leftover cheesecake. “Why is the she-devil here?”

  “Skyla!” Mom ambles from behind the stove. “Chloe is a guest.” She turns to Chloe with a saccharin smile. “How are your nipples? Have you been toughening them up the way I taught you?”

  Ha! That’s what she gets for entering the Landon Loony Bin—a nipple interrogation.

  “You, too, Skyla.” She nods to Gage as if this somehow involves his participation. “Toughening her nipples can be a two-man job, you know.” She gives a cheesy wink. “Oh, which reminds me”—she reverts her attention back to me—“you just make sure to do as many deep, strong Kegels as you can. I just went over this with Chloe.”

  “Kegels?” Do I really want to know?

  “Yes. Oh goodness. How could I have let this slip by? They’re very important for women of all ages and stages of life.”

  Why do I not like where this is headed?

  “How do I put this?” Mom tips her head to the side and harrumphs. “They’re like vagina push-ups. Yes! That’s it!” She jumps a little with her vaginal epiphany. “They’re exactly that! You just tighten your vaginal walls over and over and over again. It’s an exquisite exercise that one can never get enough of! But they must be strong!”

  Dear God. Sorry I asked.

  “Strong?” Oh hell, I’m a glutton for punishment. “How can you tell?”

  “That’s easy.” Mom glows. Clearly, all things areola and vaginal are right up her— “You just slip two fingers inside and test it out.”

  I’m quick to recoil at her words, and my perverted mother is quick to brush me off.

  “Of course, not here,” she sneers. “That’s what showers are for.”

  God, I’m not too sure I want to hear about my mother’s less than hygienic bathing practices.

  “Of course, you can always get someone to help—you know, test the theory out for you.” She wrinkles her nose at my husband as if the thought of his wandering hands makes her all warm and fuzzy inside.

  Gah! The woman is like a predator.

  Drake rises and plucks a beer from the fridge. “So—Perfect Parents—”

  Great, we’ve obviously ticked him off without meaning to. Is this a bad time to tell him that Beau Geste sports the cutest little widow’s peak on the planet? Both Drake and Melissa have what Mom has affectionately dubbed the “Landon Hairline,” which has sort of a stereotypical vampire appeal. Mom has thanked God Almighty out loud on more than one occasion over the fact Misty doesn’t have that hairy fish-hook sunk between her eyes. And why would she? Misty is clearly not a Landon.

  Drake moves in. “Who’s going to be the disciplinarian?”

  “Neither,” Gage rumbles as he wraps his arm around me. “Skyla and I are a unified front.”

  “My nipples are fine, Lizbeth,” Chloe says it loud enough to penetrate our important discussion on discipline. Obviously, her parents didn’t bother instating any behavior regulation in their home, or she wouldn’t have so rudely interrupted. “Why they’re pink and perky, just oh-so happy to be a part of my full, steadily growing ample soft breasts.” She strides over with her dark hair eclipsing one side of her face, giving her a sultry appeal. “In fact, they’re just aching to be touched,” she whis
pers as she walks by Gage.

  “I’ll touch them,” I offer. “With my fist.”

  Brielle clucks her tongue. “Oh, stop, you two. Skyla, get yourself into something girly. Tonight is going to be a blast.”

  “I don’t have anything girly. All I fit in now are my husband’s clothes—and I’m loving the manly side of fashion.” It’s true. I’ve been living in his T-shirts and old sweats. It’s comfy as all hell, and I may never wear girly clothes again. Even though shopping for me is still high on Gage’s to-do list, I’m stealthily avoiding the matter. There’s no way I want to add to our financial stress by splurging on things I’ll only wear for a few more months, and, not a shocker, maternity clothes do not come cheap.

  “Don’t be silly!” My mother ushers me all the way upstairs to her closet. “I have a few things I saved from my mommy-in-waiting days.” She plucks out a navy tent with a huge white Peter Pan collar with a thin red stripe running through it. “Would you look at this? The pièce de résistance!” she sings in her best—read worse—French accent.

  I take the archaic garment from her with caution. More like the pièce de I-must-resist-this.

  “Oh, wow,” is all I can manage.

  “I know. You’ll be the belle of the ball! Now you heard Brielle, get!”

  Mom helps transform me from a cool chick in her husband’s old football sweats to a mammoth, very pregnant, fashion-challenged teen. I inspect myself in the mirror and gasp.

  “Look at me.” My voice grows hoarse as I hold my hands out. I’m hideous. I’m the size of a battleship—a battleship with the fashion nonsense of someone stuck in the ’80s. God, was this even in style back then?

  Mom lands her hands on my shoulders—that look of frightening envy locked in her eyes. “It truly is timeless. I’ve thought of pairing it with a belt rather than letting it rot in my closet and wearing it out for a hot night on the town, but tonight, you’re the lucky one.” Mom wraps an arm around my shoulder. Tears glisten in her eyes. “You are the most beautiful creature in the world.”

  Gage steps in as a steady stream of tears falls from my eyes. Just as I was about to make a snide remark about her belting herself in this dress for a hot-to-trot date with her favorite Fem, she stopped me cold when she said I was beautiful. There’s something special about hearing your mother say it. Damn hormones.

  “Skyla.” His dimples dig in, and his lips curve into that forever-warm smile he wears just for me. Gage wipes my tears away with the simple brush of his thumb. “You are simply gorgeous.”

  “And you are drunk off your love for me.”

  “Aw!” Mom melts. “Let me get my camera.”

  He pulls me in. “Go have fun.”

  “What are you going to do?” I’ll be with Chloe, so already I know he’ll be safe.

  “I think Coop might be in need of some company tonight. Take the edge off the fact his wife-to-be is hanging out in some strip club geared for women.”

  “Please.” I give a playful smack to his chest as my mother waves us to attention.

  “Say baby makes three!” she chimes, snapping away a half dozen photographs as Gage places his hand over my stomach and lands a tender kiss on my lips.

  Baby makes three? More like babies make five.

  “Have a good time, Skyla!” she shouts as we make our way downstairs. “There won’t be too many girls’ nights out in the near future!”

  I round my hand over my belly. Forget a girls’ night out. Once the babies arrive, I don’t think Gage and I will get a night out for the next two decades.

  Sharing a limo with the bitch squad while dressed like a bloated sailor isn’t something I thought I’d ever experience—correction, would never want to experience. Then there are Bree and Laken, not to mention Nat who wasn’t in the original bitch squad but totally qualifies as an honorary member. Something tells me this entire night is going to be a mindfuck—pardon my French—I pat my bulging tummy.

  “Hey, where are we?” Michelle squints hard, trying to understand our bleak surroundings. Paragon is basically one big powder puff of fog, so it’s hard to determine at any given time where you’re headed—never mind the fact if it’s up or down.

  “Near the water.” Chloe presses her nose to the window like the good little bitch she is. “My sense of smell is practically bionic at this point. Being with child gives you powers you could never imagine. Isn’t that right, Messenger?”

  I don’t bother answering because I’m no longer a Messenger. Ironic that I don’t mind at all when Marshall invokes my maiden moniker.

  “On to the next surprise!” Bree leads us out, and we quickly realize we’re standing dockside at the harbor. Brielle shuttles us all on a boat before we get a chance to protest.

  “Knew it.” Lexy smirks while we all huddle down in the bowels of the ferry where it’s nice and dry. Chloe and I sit side-by-side with our bellies protruding like twin missiles. “There are no adult clubs on this God forsaken island.”

  “Adult clubs?” I look to Laken because, dear God, I pray that’s not where we’re headed.

  “Coop is not going to like this.” She shakes her caramel-colored locks. Laken can easily be a cover model. She’s going to make a beautiful bride. “I’m out. I’ll find a coffee shop to sit in until you’ve had your fill of half-naked men flaunting their junk.”

  Chloe shifts while holding her belly. “They had better not be half-naked. If I’m expected to use my weekly allowance of hard to come by human currency, then I’d better have some very naked junk wagging in my face.” She lets out a hard groan as if she’s in labor. “Being knocked up sure makes you horny as all hell. Isn’t that right, Messenger?”

  Again not answering.

  “You can’t be out, Laken,” Brielle growls. “This entire night is in your honor. It’s your last GNO as a free woman.”

  I squish in closer to Laken and whisper, “Okay, so I thought of gyno again when she said GNO. I guess I’m a little vaginally preoccupied these days.”

  “Understandable since your vagina is currently occupied.”

  Gross—I think. Although, the thought of three miniature versions of Gage bobbing around in my tummy actually makes me smile. Not gross after all.

  Miller bops in her seat as if she were on Liam’s lap. “I’m with Bishop. I need me some dancing balls. Besides”—Michelle lifts a mini bottle of brown booze from her purse—“banana hammocks.”

  “What?” Nat snatches the bottle from her before she can take a sip and gives it a sniff. “This is eighty proof, guaranteed to produce some barf-in-your-purse action. I’m not carrying your ass back to Paragon.” She tosses it into the waste bin beside her.

  Michelle lowers her lids as if she were drugged. “Banana hammock, as in wienie bikini.”

  “Gah and gah!” I whisper. The visuals, they won’t stop coming.

  Laken sinks in her seat. “Ditto.”

  Chloe gives a dark smile. “Oh, come on, Lakey Pooh. Surely, you’re not a prude. Or let me guess. You’re saving the big banana hammock reveal for the wedding night.” She smirks. “Doesn’t Wesley wish? All that boy ever does is bitch and moan about Cider Plains—how he would change things if he could—how he would change you. Wesley could no more change his crooked destiny as dead Logan Oliver could. Isn’t that right, Messenger?”

  Not going there, no matter what she calls me—or calls Logan. Tonight is about celebrating Laken, not murdering Chloe—again.

  She gives a museful moan. “Isn’t it funny, Skyla, how both you and I ended up with men who could pass as twins? Knocked up before we could legally drink? And don’t forget our living arrangements—you with the Looney Landons, and me in the Terrible Transfer—each in our own private living hell.”

  Now it’s my turn to smirk. When you put it like that, Chloe and I are practically the same person—with the exception that I’m actually happy.

  “I happen to be in heaven.” An acrid heat expands throughout my body for speaking to the slithering serpent, bl
oated as she may be. I’m not too proud of myself for falling right into her ridiculous trap. It’s Chloe who lives to try to get under my skin. Why should tonight be any different?

  A blinding pain sears through my head as a wave of nausea pumps through me, and just as quick as it came it dissipates. That was close. All day I’ve felt as if I could pass out if I wanted, but I mostly blame that on the abnormally long love-making session Gage and I participated in this morning.

  The ferry finally hits the dock, and we get out into town, take a lungful of fresh Seattle air, and start heading toward trouble.

  The rest of the girls go on ahead as Chloe and I waddle at a much slower clip, holding up the rear. Laken stays by my side because she’s loyal to a fault. She values our friendship so much that she’s willing to risk mental torment by way of Bishop to help me out. She’s a big believer in the leave-no-woman-behind campaign that only true besties participate in.

  “Hey!” I pause a moment, taking in the odd new skyline of downtown Seattle. “When did they get another Space Needle?” I can’t believe I haven’t heard of this. This just goes to show that I’m pretty craptastic about keeping up with current affairs.

  “What the fuck, Messenger?” Chloe presses her hand over her belly and blows a breath through her cheeks. “Stop hallucinating and pick up your pregnant pace. I’m losing sight of Em.”

  Laken leans in. “There’s still just the one. Are you okay?” She places a cool hand over my forehead, and I hold it hostage there for a moment.

  “I’m fine.” I glance up at the twin spears piercing through the night and know that I am anything but okay. I have been feeling a little more woozy than usual today. I keep having this strange sensation of falling, and on top of that, it feels as if an extra pair of eyes is on me. Although, that last paranoid bit is totally justified as evidenced by Joy Killer and Nosy Mosey.

  A darkness settles over me, a living fear as if an entire army of old school clown Fems were about to jump me from the bushes. I frown over at Bishop. I should have guessed no good would come of being around her.