“I got this.” Gage offers up a handshake that morphs into a hug. “Thanks for the year supply of diapers.” He motions to the mountain of boxes standing next to him. I hardly think twelve boxes a year makes. I asked Lizbeth to pick them up for me just so I wouldn’t screw up the sizes. Besides, she said it was all that could fit into her van and tried to give back the cash she had left over, but I wouldn’t hear of it. I told her to consider it gas money. I know the Landons are hurting, and I do feel bad about that.
Skyla comes up and offers a heartfelt side hug, her belly pressing over my hips. “Thank you for offering us White Horse, but I think I might need my mom’s help, at least in the beginning.” Her forest-like lashes glance to the ground. I know how she feels about the house.
“I wish you’d take me up on it. I built it just for you.”
“Maybe at a later time. Does that sound okay?” She winces, pressing her hands into mine. The Justice Alliance removed me as the overseer for now. I’ve officially been banned from any faction meetings, and for sure the Council of the Superiors. How are we doing on dwindling down Wesley’s chain gang?
“Excellent.” I nod, trying to give it the appropriate inflection as Gage pats me on the back.
“Lizbeth!” Tad screams at his wife who lies strewn in a twisted position. “Lizbeth!” he bellows, looking to me as if to make sure I heard. “Oh my God!” he says it stale, too contrived to be believable. “She’s fallen, and she can’t get up!”
Skyla groans as she takes in the sight. “It looks as if they’ve finally found their racket.”
“What does that mean?” I’m almost sorry I asked.
Gage closes his eyes with brief remorse. “It means the books are finally going to show that dramatic loss you’ve been fearing.”
“Do you have good insurance?” Skyla lands her palm over her belly as if protecting her children from the sight.
“It gets the job done. Why?”
“Because someone’s just done a job on you.”
11
Forever October
SKYLA
Fall is simply a season in most every part of the country, but here on Paragon, it’s a way of life. It’s as if this entire island were in some time warp, unable to escape the brilliant color of fiery autumn leaves, crisp morning breezes. The thick blanket of fog that lies over Paragon dips in and out of her crevices, filling every last orifice of her being with its love. If fall is our immortal realm, then Halloween night is Paragon’s crowning glory.
“It’s too tight!” Mia cries as Melissa adjusts her corset in the living room.
“Just what is it that you’re supposed to be?” I ask while adjusting my not-so-little red cape. It was my brilliant husband’s idea for me to dress as Little Red and for him to play the part of the Big Bad Wolf. And, apparently, Gage is chock-full of brilliant ideas, because as he left for school this morning, he promised our little role play would trickle into the bedroom. My body burns just thinking of it. I blame all these damn Kegels my mother has me doing. Whoever heard of squeezing your vaginal muscles for hours on end? My mother, that’s who. It’s supposed to be great for me, something about my bladder—but the more squeezing I do, the more I seem to take myself to the sexual brink. I’m insane with all kinds of inappropriate thoughts. The first thing I’m going to do when I see Gage is drag him off to the nearest dark corner. Only he can truly detonate this Kegel bomb brewing inside me.
“A sexy librarian.” Mia gasps as Melissa ties her off with her foot planted into her sister’s back for maximum inflexibility.
“Oh, right.” I cock my head, looking at her costume from a different angle, but no matter how I slice it, she just looks straight-up hooker to me. “That’s nice.” I give up. Somewhere down the line I failed at my role as big sister, and now Mia and her six-inch hot pink heels are going to have to pay the price.
Melissa leans into the mirror and teases her hair toward the ceiling. “I’m an eighties punk princess.”
“You’re a punk all right.” Mia hands her a pillowcase. “Go on with Beau, and I’ll catch up with you.”
“Not without me, you don’t!” Mom clanks her way over, dressed as a gypsy with her full, multicolored skirt, her large gold hoop earrings, and an arm full of bangles. Her makeup is ten times heavier than she normally wears it, and she looks drop-dead gorgeous. Little Misty is dressed as a tiny cute bumblebee, a costume that my mother actually spent time at the sewing machine to make happen. Since her little slip and fall routine at the bowling alley, she’s been relegated to more sitting less shopping.
“Cute,” I say, patting Misty on the head. My stomach is so big I can hardly bend in any direction, and I haven’t seen my feet since July, so I have no idea if my shoes match. Speaking of shoes, I frown at my mother’s walking cast. “So, are you going to file that domestic abuse claim anytime soon?” It turns out Tad had the balls to trip her the night of my shower, causing her to break an ankle, and has since relegated her to a walking cast.
“Skyla,” she hisses, reprimanding me while covering Misty’s ears. “I’ve already told you he was trying to help move your gifts to the car. Everything was so jingle jangle all over the place that our feet got tangled.” She herds Beau Geste the purple dragon and little bumbling Misty together.
“Well, that little jingle jangle tangle is going to set back Logan’s insurance a nice plump sum of fifteen thousand dollars. I believe once Tad heard that bit of monetary payout news, his words of remorse were cha-ching!”
Mom looks disgusted at her husband’s moronic scheming, as she should be. “I think Misty’s messed her pants. Girls—go ahead and start with Beau, and I’ll catch up. Oh, and, Skyla, we’ll catch you at Mr. Dudley’s place tonight. I’ve practically been living there for the last two weeks getting everything just right. I think you’re really going to love the theme we went with this year. It’s to die for! Get it? It’s Halloween!”
I am dying to see it. Marshall has forbidden me to visit for the last two weeks because he wants it to be a genuine surprise. I’m betting it’s a heavenly theme—a real Ahava-like getaway. It would be just like him and my mother to try to throw the crowd for a loop by going against the haunted grain.
“I really do get it.” I give a brief wave as I head out to Brielle’s place out back. She and Drake are giving me a lift since Gage has a class that runs late this evening. He promised he’d go straight to the party in costume. He said if I looked too hot he’d have to take me to the woods and show me exactly what put the Big in his Bad Wolf moniker. I made sure to wear easy access panties in the event we feel the need to turn this into a Halloween to remember. Although, I’ll probably have to lean up against a tree trunk for support while he fills my “basket” from behind. I’m a little off center these days.
Speaking of my ginormous baby bump, Lexy came by this afternoon in her continuing effort to take a few pictures of my growing belly. It’s something Logan talked her into around the time that Gage and I renewed our vows. Today, she actually coerced me into taking them in the nude with just a long piece of fabric snaking across my privates. I’ll admit, I’m dying to see them. I already told Lex that I’m going to gift one of those naughty shots to Gage for his birthday.
Bree meets me halfway, decked out in a gorgeous pale blue ball gown that shimmers underneath the moonlight. Her hair is up in a loose bun, and she’s wearing a black velvet choker around her neck.
“You are beyond gorgeous!” I mean it. Brielle really does clean up nice, and by nice, I mean supermodel. “What are you supposed to be? A fairy princess?”
She lifts her dress just enough to expose a pair of clear plastic pumps. “Cinderella. And Drake is Prince Charming.” I glance over, and he waves, all decked out in a white military-style uniform with his hair coiffed back. I’m in complete shock that A, she actually has him in something that might be misconstrued as a suit—nobody tell him—and B, she has Drake in a freaking suit! “At midnight, I’m going to lose a shoe, and Drake is goi
ng to lose his shit looking for me in the forest.” She gives a hard wink.
Sounds as if there’s going to be more than one kinky fairy tale playing out in those woods tonight.
Drake drives us over to Marshall’s, and, all the way there, Bree fills me in on how well her line of Paragon Polish—Spellbound is doing. Apparently, Ezrina was meant to be in the beauty biz because stores can’t seem to stock the product fast enough. The formula she created not only doesn’t chip, but it lays on thick, and gives a professional look that you can only usually find in the salon.
“I’m really proud of you,” I say as we arrive, and she helps extract me from the front seat. “You’re really carving out a place for yourself in this world, one polished nail at a time.”
“Isn’t it funny how everything’s turned out?” She helps adjust my cape and pulls and tugs until my stomach is fully covered. “Here I am—this multimillionaire mogul, and you’re married to Gage.”
“Hold the fucking phone. You and Drake are multimillionaires?”
“Well, you know”— she continues—“I don’t actually count the money. But I feel like a multimillionaire. I mean, I can go to Starbucks anytime I want and load up on lattes. Plus, I bought like three Louis Vuitton bags last week, and Drake didn’t say squat.”
“That’s insane! If you run out of room to store them, feel free to use my closet. And what’s the matter with the fact I’m married to Gage? You made it sound like he’s some conciliatory prize. And before I forget, please use him to count your money. He’s a great accountant.” Pregnancy brain is a very real thing. I’ve noticed that half the time I walk into a room, I have no clue what I set out to do or how I got there. My worst fear is that the babies have harnessed the power to teleport me without my knowledge.
“Yes to the accounting, for sure.” Bree groans as if this is a much-needed relief. “We’ve got so much cash stashed in our mattress it’s actually getting hard to sleep. It keeps sloshing around all over the place, and Drake accidentally wiped his ass with a Benjamin the other night.”
“God!” I can’t even fathom the thought. “Did you make him wash it like a thousand times?”
“God no—we flushed it!”
My blood boils in an instant rage because here Gage and I are scrimping and saving every single dime. “The next time Drake has a bowel blunder call me over, and I’ll dispose of the BM Benny for you.” I will gladly glove up in triplicate and disinfect to my heart’s content. Honestly, the bank would never know the difference.
“Done.” She shrugs it off as if it’s bound to happen again. “And what I meant by that Gage comment was that when you first came to Paragon, you really didn’t pay him any attention. Remember that time he told you the two of you would marry someday, and you actually got mad?” She laughs as though it were the fondest of memories. Actually, it’s far from it. I was Logan’s girlfriend at the time, and when I relayed the news to him, he almost passed out.
“I didn’t realize Gage had the gift of knowing—at least not while he was relaying the nuptial news.” That’s back when we believed Gage was simply a Levatio. He was my favorite one. I loved Levatio Gage. Still do.
“How’s that gift doing now? Is it stronger? I think between him and Em we can open up the best little psychic shop in Paragon. And, since both Gage and Em are from the island, it would totally qualify as organic.”
God. I shake my head. “No and no. For one, mediums are strictly forbidden by the good book, thus ixnay on the psychicnay. And people are generally never considered organic, even though technically they are.”
“I’ll never understand you, Skyla.” She adjusts my cape one last time.
“Ha! And I’ll never understand—” I turn to face Marshall’s home for the first time in weeks, and a scream gets locked in my throat. My entire body goes numb with shock, weak as water all at once.
Out in the enormous driveway sits a decrepit old Ferris wheel with dead bodies dangling from it. The corpses look eerily familiar, their hair a shock of orange, their faces ghostly white—large painted-on grimaces adorn a majority of the ghastly creatures. Everywhere I look, dozens and dozens of demonic dead clowns.
“So freaking cool!” Bree swats me in the arm. “It’s like a zombie clown carnival has taken over!”
An obnoxiously loud band starts from somewhere in the rear of the property, and I frown at how “freaking cool” my favorite Sector’s home has become—more like uncool. Clowns are never cool. Marshall knows how I feel about the satanic beasts. Sure, I’ve almost overcome my insane phobia of the nefarious vermin, but must we test my limits on a haunted night such as this?
Bright lights flicker from the backyard where intermittent screams are met with howls of laughter. A giant hand-painted sign reads This Way to the Cursed Carnival with a large red arrow leading to the back of the property.
“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!” My voice breaks as Bree leads us to the side yard, ushering us past a wall of clown heads impaled on posts, blood dripping from their necks to the ground, their ghastly grimaces still impressed on their very real faces, worms crawling from their eyes. “I’m going to kill Marshall for festooning these haunted fairgrounds with those ghoulish phantasms.”
“In English, please.” Bree hikes up on her toes. “Oh, look! There’s Nat and that new Host football player boyfriend of hers. She is going to make Pierce so freaking jealous.”
“No, she’s not.” Pierce has been dead for years. Heathcliff O’Hare is the happy recipient of Pierce Kragger’s body, and poor Nat is still nursing a broken heart thinking he’s left her. I’m not sure why, but I suddenly want to right this wrong.
“You’re such a cynic.” She takes off skipping in that direction, her dress shimmering under the thousands of twinkle lights strung up in orange and purple, giving the landscape a macabre bruised effect.
“Skyla!” I turn to find Chloe headed over as Cruella de Vil, dressed from head-to-toe in a giant Dalmatian print coat. Knowing Chloe, it’s a bona fide fur, patched together from real Dalmatian puppies. What else does she have to do with her wicked time down in the Transfer?
I spot Laken and Coop not too far off and waddle my way over. Each step feels as if someone is twisting my hips out of joint and simultaneously pulling my pubic bone apart. It hurts. It burns like a white-hot flame at the base of my body. How have women put up with this for so long? How is the human race even still in existence? I’ve just barely crested my all-day morning sickness, and by the time I go to bed at night, the twins wake up and decide it’s time for their aerobics workout.
“Trick or treat,” I say as Laken pulls me in for a hug.
“Looks like Chloe decided to forgo the costume,” she whispers into my ear. “Bishop at six o’clock.”
I decide to ignore the warning and pull back and take in Laken’s costume instead. She’s dressed like a flapper in her black beaded gown that ends precariously close to her upper thighs. Coop looks like a dapper gentleman, and it warms my heart because he truly is one.
“Hey, you didn’t happen to acknowledge your grandpappy yet, have you?”
Coop opens his mouth to answer, then closes it, giving an icy stare over my shoulder.
Chloe steps in front of me and commands my full attention. “You do realize it’s rude to walk away from someone when they’re summoning you.”
“You invented rude. I suppose that’s why you’re so familiar with the rules,” I quip, rather proud of myself for the spontaneous snark. It’s been few and far between these days, as my brain has turned into a gummy piece of taffy. My mother insists the “baby” must be a girl because she’s stealing my beauty, and, that may be so, but she, or should I say they, are stealing my brain cells faster than I can reproduce them. Do brain cells reproduce? Dear God, I’m almost afraid to Google that one.
“I need you, Messenger. Where’s Gage?” Her dark eyes flit around the vicinity, the color of boiled whiskey. “I need to get in touch with him asap.”
“Fuck of
f.” I shift my entire person back to Laken and Coop, who look a little amused by my harsh comeback, but, in reality, it’s my go-to response when it comes to the Bishop Beast.
Chloe pulls me back by my shoulder, and I take a few unsteady steps to center myself in what’s become known as my sumo wrestler’s stance.
“Don’t you touch me.” I stop shy of stabbing her in the chest with my finger. “You’re not just messing with me anymore. You’re messing with my unborn children. My body is off limits to you. So go back to Wesley and pretend to be Laken because you and I both know that’s the only time he’ll ever touch you.”
“Listen, you little twat”—Chloe’s belly bursts forth and grazes over mine—“I am tired, and I am cranky, and as of right now, this body that’s hosting me is putting forth a great sacrifice to benefit the beings that your husband represents.”
Laken titters to Coop. “It’s like watching Mothra and Godzilla go at it.”
I shoot her the side-eye. Usually, I would have laughed right along with her, but when your body takes the shape of a 1960s film character that is known for his undesirable girth and lizard skin, it’s really not all that funny.
“My husband is on his way over from school, and, when he gets here, he has me and my very important needs to tend to, so you’ll just have to take a backseat for now. Oh, wait, that’s every day for you, isn’t it?”
Chloe touches her hand over her stomach. Her face peaks with color. Her dark eyes flit to mine with a heavy cloying gaze that says both help and die bitch at the same time. It’s a neat trick only Chloe can pull off, I’m sure.
“You’re the sole reason for all of the misery in my life.”
“Here we go again with that poor little bitch girl routine of yours. I’m so sick of you shoving all your bullshit down my throat, Chloe.”
“You took my house, my room, my husband, my life. If that ridiculous mother of yours never blinked you into existence, Gage would have been my husband. How does that fit down your throat, Skyla?” I chew on this for a moment with nary a handy comeback in sight. “Tell him I need to see him. It’s of grave concern.” She stalks off toward Nat and Em.
The Serpentine Butterfly Page 50