Coop nods at me. “Ezrina and Nev are working overtime on something important, or they would have been here. They asked me to extend their apologies and also their congratulations on making it official once again.”
“Thanks.” Skyla looks to me with a question in her eyes.
“What’s this new project they’ve got going?” I ask for her.
Coop looks over his shoulder at Wes, who’s just a few feet away chatting it up with Morley and Arson. The only real friends he has are twice his age and out for themselves. I won’t lie. I do feel bad for the guy.
Coop shakes his head. “Not here. Check in with her, though. You might like what you hear.”
I glance to Logan, who looks as if he’s ready to bolt right now, and see what’s going on. “Will do.”
Skyla twitches by my side. “I wonder what’s kept Marshall away.”
Logan shakes his head. “I don’t know, but that is one depressed Sector. He hasn’t been his insulting, demeaning self as of late. He’s been nice to me. Something is definitely up with Dudley.”
Skyla winces. She probably feels bad for neglecting the old coot. She’s made it a point to keep their friendship alive and well, with Dudley, of course, going the extra mile and inserting his penis into her dreams whenever he can. I don’t buy that I-have-no-idea-what’s-happening bullshit.
The band starts in on a cover song that the girls all swoon to at once. A scream of delight comes from the player piano where Demetri dips Lizbeth over the precariously decrepit piece of furniture. It looks as if a good time is being had by all. Let’s just hope Misty doesn’t have a brother or sister brewing before the night is through.
Ellis shows up with a plate full of promise—and that promise is indigestion. “Dude, this band is fucked up! I need to SoundHound the shit out of this.” He pulls out his phone and proceeds to do just that.
Lex grabs Logan by the collar and starts swinging her hips, not waiting for the invite herself.
“You know it is a bit freaky”—she grinds into him, and he winces—“but if you’re into crap like this, I don’t mind if we hold our wedding here.”
“Among the dead?” he muses. “I’m one of them, by the way.”
Lexy laughs, pulling him in closer, and Skyla raises her shoulder in that direction in an effort to deny it’s bothering her. But I know it does. Hell, it bothers me to see him molested that way.
“I’d like to dance with my husband,” she coos. Her fingers slowly clasp the side of my face, and her features melt. Her eyes roll to the back of her head. “So sweet.”
The party goes on for hours, surrounded by a handful of family and friends. It’s nice like this. Skyla melting in my arms, our bodies moving in time, lost in our own universe.
Even a place as dismal as the Transfer can’t hold back our love.
Tonight, it only magnifies it.
Skyla and I finally head home where I make love to her like it’s the very first time. Her body sings under mine, literally. Skyla is in paradise. So am I. We may never come back.
* * *
The very next night, Wes sends a series of spastic texts regarding the fact he can’t seem to get into Tenebrous. Figures. Dear old Demetri has neglected to fill him in on the one tiny detail that his favorite playground haunt is forever off limits.
Wes picks me up for our nightly meet-and-greet with the Videns. He went alone last night to the town hall meeting. I wasn’t about to leave Skyla on our anniversary, on our second faux wedding night, so I let him go on his own—told him not to break anything or anyone while he was there. He hinted at a special project he’s enlisted a few prospective members, something about helping the Barricade in an effort to develop an elixir to hide their markers.
Every news station, every talking head in the country—scratch that—the world is focused on these mysterious lights, these mysterious people able to perform super human feats. But as fast as Wes seems to recruit those willing to betray the Nephilim, they disappear just as quickly. I’m the one who gave Skyla and Logan that list. I haven’t given them an update, but the new recruits are just as scarce these days. I’m almost afraid to ask. As long as I’m in the dark, Wes and Demetri can’t guilt me into laying it all out before them. I don’t really need to know what Skyla is up to, but, then, she is my wife, and I want her safe. The world is going to hell in a handbasket, and it’s Wes who has lined that handbasket with lead.
“What the fuck?” he rages as he speeds us toward Devil’s Peak. “I can’t just get locked out of a dominion like that, can I? Do you think I’m losing my powers?” He seems genuinely baffled.
“No. And it’s a realm, not a dominion. Have you talked to Demetri about this?”
“No.” His eyes narrow in on the road as we take the winding hillside down toward the rocky shore. There isn’t a single car in the parking lot up top. Back when I was in school, that lot would have been full of the stoners and moaners and girls in short skirts. And both Logan and I would be warring over Skyla. I give a silent laugh. Can’t believe I just had a thought that started with, back when I was in school.
“I said no I haven’t talked to Demetri, and what’s so funny?” He revs the engine, readying to drive through that wall of granite, defy gravity, and end up in a realm that belongs to the Countenance, our brothers in darkness—correction, his.
“Nothing. I was just thinking about how long ago high school felt. You ever wish you could turn back the clock just a bit? Hit pause for a little while?”
Wesley stares off at the jagged stretch of rocks that spike through the whitewash and gives a slight nod. “Wish I could go all the way back to Cider Plains, back to where both Laken and I were alive and desperately in love. She was my best friend. We were inseparable, and now she won’t even look at me. She spent hours at the reception last night avoiding me. Coop even congratulated me, but Laken wouldn’t blink in my direction. She hated me before, but by marrying Chloe, I’ve wounded her even deeper.”
“That’s some ego you’ve got.”
“Shut the hell up.” He frowns at the wall he’s readying to speed us through. “Imagine a world in which your love for Skyla never ends, and yet, you become her worst enemy. I bet you think Skyla would love you right through it, don’t you?” He shakes his head wistfully as if relishing the thought. “She wouldn’t. She would despise you—but deep down, she would still wish you were the boy she once knew.” He nods while staring vacantly out the window. “She would be with him—that Coop knockoff of a cousin, uncle of yours, and then we’d both be up shit creek with nothing but Chloe to show for it.”
The wheels to Wesley’s SUV spin beneath us as he gives a raucous roar and flies us toward the blue wall of sheer solid rock.
My stomach twists so hard, and I wince with pain, but it has nothing to do with the fact we’re flying toward an impossibility and everything to do with the fact Wesley just might be right.
Could Skyla love me just the same if I were her true enemy? What if that were the only way for me to stay in her life? The lives of our children? Just how much pain is Skyla willing to endure just to have me around?
I saw the way Laken was avoiding the hell out of my brother last night. I could never bear it if Skyla treated me with so much contempt.
She wouldn’t. She couldn’t.
We’re in this forever. We’re desperately in love.
At least with this version of one another.
Back to Tenebrous
LOGAN
The night sky above Paragon offers the illusion that it’s moving at a haunted clip—that it is perilously defying the laws of physics in an effort to bypass this overgrown rock on its way to greener pastures. The night fog swims over the landscape, cloaking Paragon in a robe of heavenly beauty.
Dudley’s backyard, if you can call this spacious plane something so meager, offers a certain serenity that ensures it’s just the island and me, Paragon and I having an affair of our very own. Every now and again the stars shine through, revealing
A heavy exhaustion settles over me as I attempt to rub the sleep out of my eyes, but I know I should hit the sheets. I still can’t believe I witnessed Wes tying the knot with Chloe. I guess you could say that he sold his soul to the devil when he agreed to play the part of his number one henchman, but marrying Chloe? What the hell was that about? Is he honestly concerned with what his child might think about their nuptial standing? Never mind the fact its mother is a killer. I think I was number three on her hit list, but, hell, in all honesty, I don’t keep track of Chloe’s body count.
The back door glides open, and I groan because Dudley is the last person I want to deal with.
“I’m closing up for the night. Would you prefer to be locked in or out?” He stalks over, hovering with his general discontent.
“Both, I suppose.”
“Don’t plague me with your impossibilities. I’ll leave the choice to you. I’ve a protective hedge over the mansion proper, so it makes not a difference to me. A spiritual shield puts modern-day home security devices to shame.” He turns to go.
“Why weren’t you there?” I roll off the bench and sit upright for a moment, trying to get my bearings as my head gives into a quiet rush.
“There?” He sounds less interested than he does mystified.
“No need to play clueless. It’s me, Dudley. You can ditch the head games. We’re like family.” He winces as if I sucker punched him with that one.
“I was there. I felt no need to be seen at the event, so I kept my presence to myself. Will there be anything else you’d like to interrogate me over, or may I retire for the evening?”
“You know, it’s not always about you. Sure, you were there, but you weren’t there, there.”
“There, there?” he muses. “And they let you into Host with your vast usage of the English vocabulary? Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so generous with the letter grades when you were my charge. I’m not sure you deserved that A. And, judging by your lack of linguistics skills, you clearly flew under the pedantic radar when it came to English.”
“Are you kidding? I more than deserved that A in your class. I’m practically a math genius. I’m just as good at numbers as you are. It’s otherworldly the way I can calculate with the best of them.”
“If you’re so ‘good at numbers,’ then why aren’t they falling in the bowling alley’s favor?”
Sucker punched. I groan at his verbal victory. “Okay, you got me.”
I’m about to get up just as the figure of a woman emerges behind him, shuffling along in flip-flops.
“Can anyone crash this party?” Skyla materializes from the shadows with her hair damp and combed back as if she just stepped out of the shower, a flannel gown with a white fuzzy robe draped over her enormous belly. How I love that belly. I can’t help but smile. She’s so beautiful like this. A part of me thinks this entire pregnancy is moving way too fast, but I’m sure it’s not fast enough for Skyla. It’s clear from her attire that she’s teleported.
I talked to Em about taking a few pictures of Skyla in her new, lovely form, but Lex demanded she take them. Turns out, photography is yet another hobby she’s picked up.
“I’ve been warming the bench for you.” I slide over and pat a seat for her.
“Actually”—she gives a nervous glance to Dudley—“I was hoping we could take a little trip.”
“Why don’t I like the sound of this?” I don’t mean to sound negative, but Skyla and I have a history of taking exceedingly bad trips. We’re proving to be quite the deadly travel companions.
“A dive bar in South America?” She looks hopeful.
Dudley ticks his head to the side. “A dive bar, Ms. Messenger? In your condition?” He lifts his brows as if expecting the most outlandish reply, and unfortunately, the answer is a little darker than that. “I see you’ve dressed for the occasion.”
“You wouldn’t get it.” I wrap an arm around Skyla, hoping she’ll take the hint and we can take off on our own.
“Try me.” Dudley is digging in his heels. Dollars to doughnuts he’s coming along for the ride. “Or should I say, explain on the way?”
And there you have it.
Skyla latches on to both my hand and Dudley’s, and her belly begins to glow from beneath her dress. It’s that same ethereal blue that shone through the other night in the Transfer.
“I think they’re girls.” She presses her hand, along with mine, over her stomach. “I mean, I don’t really know boys like I know girls. And all the miniature pink clothes are to die for.” She bites down on her lip while examining the newly illuminated globe that sits inside her.
For a moment, I envision twin girls, blonde hair—hers, deep blue eyes and dimples—his. It still carves a fresh wound over my heart each time I think of how they came to be. But, nevertheless, it doesn’t change how happy I am for the two of them.
Skyla takes in a deep breath as if staving off nausea, but it’s the way she squeezes my hand that makes it feel more like an apology.
“We’re going back.” She nods as if centering herself for a moment—redirecting herself to the task at hand. “Back to South America—back in time far enough to before I took off that asshole’s face.”
Dudley groans as she lowers the boom. I think he has all the details he needs now.
The atmosphere changes, the muggy weather makes my jeans cling unnaturally to my body. Music pours from every orifice of this dive bar, loud and raucous, as if a marching band were on acid. A strange warbling fills the air, and I give a hard blink.
“I think my eyes are having a hard time adjusting.” I give Skyla’s hand a squeeze as if that were somehow able to fix it.
“Your eyes are perfectly fine, Oliver.” Dudley runs his finger through the air and cuts through a stream of violet wavelengths. “Skyla? Explain yourself. You not only lack the knowledge to obtain a Treble Lock—you lack the powers.”
She grunts out a tiny laugh. “Never underestimate the power of a woman who wants to undo a rather gruesome error—especially when the Justice Alliance is about to get all over her ass about said indiscretion.” She treks on ahead with me by her side.
“Language!” he calls as we head into the liquor-soaked pub.
What’s going on? I tap my thumb into her palm, letting her know I need an answer quick. A Treble Lock isn’t anything I’ve heard of before. Not to mention the fact the sole reason I exist at the moment is the Treble I happen to be locked into. The last thing I want is for Skyla to somehow unzip that.
Oh, ye of little faith. She frowns my way before heading upstairs to the parlor where we found Ichabod Travers on that fated night.
A group of men sits at the poker table, and, holy shit—there he is— Ichabod Travers, boisterous and cocky and about to have his nose pushed into his cerebellum.
Dudley points to the far left, and everything in me freezes. Can’t breathe—don’t need to, but, regardless, not one autonomic response, forced or otherwise, is able to kick in. Huddled in the corner are Skyla and I—the version from so many nights ago. Here, we are in duplicate, watching ourselves as we follow Ichabod to the bathroom where his face will soon meet up with Skyla’s turquoise boot.
“Shit.” I pull Skyla in, my eyes wild with questions and outright confusion. “What the hell are we doing here?”
Her stony affect melts to a somewhat guilty expression. “I’ll be glad to answer all of your questions in just a moment.” She slips her hand from my grasp, running after our former selves as Dudley and I follow.
“Tell me how to fix this, now,” I bark at him.
“Young Oliver,” he says it tired and a bit sorry for me.
Either Skyla has pulled us into a new vat of crap or—well, that about covers it. And, technically, it was me who decided to let her tag along on this little outing the first time, so I only have myself to blame.
Skyla holds her hands out as the Logan and Skyla of the past wrestle with Ichabod. It’s pretty damn clear they can’t see us.
“Shit,” is about the only thing I can seem to say or come up with in general.
Skyla, from the previous light drive, goes ballistic, and just when poor Ichabod is about to meet up with a beautiful blue boot that happens to be adorning the prettiest foot on the planet, Skyla—this one that apparently has powers beyond my comprehension dives over it, strangling the shit out of her own leg as if it were a turquoise snake.
Ichabod drops to the floor from my hearty blow with that miniature spirit sword, like he was supposed to, and the Skyla and Logan of days gone by fizzle out of existence.
A brief wave of confusion filters through me as the memory of the two incidents collides.
“Let’s get him up,” she pants, tugging at his arm.
Dudley and I scoop him to his limp feet, pulling his arms over our shoulders.
“Where to, Ms. Messenger?” Dudley asks, still pissed yet markedly compliant.
She cuts me a knowing glance. “To the tunnels.”
* * *
The Tenebrous Woods smell like fresh shit that’s sat out in the July sun, frying over the desert landscape.
Skyla and I gag as we materialize in the dark, damp, violet-lit perennial night.
Dudley takes a quick look around before closing his eyes with instant regret.
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