The Serpentine Butterfly

by Addison Moore

  “As in he put them someplace?”

  “No—as in dead.”

  * * *

  Another week passes, a sluggish holiday that involves ungodly pounds of tryptophan occurred less than twenty-four hours ago, and I’m still stuffed as a turkey. Perhaps everyone else is, too, and that explains the fact the bowling alley has been dying a slow death all afternoon. It probably doesn’t help that it’s Black Friday. But more importantly, it’s November twenty-second, one of my favorite days of the year because it just so happened to usher in the most beautiful girl in the world—about twenty years ago. Lizbeth asked if we could do a double birthday party here for Skyla and Gage tonight, and, of course, I said yes. She mentioned this was their special place, and I just grinned and beared it. Little does she know that this very bowling alley (I’m looking at you, lane number three) is where Skyla and I proposed to each other—first, her to me, and then, me to her.

  Speaking of my former wife.

  Skyla glides in wearing a stunning dress with a white hourglass cutout in the center and thick black bands on either side. I’ve memorized Skyla in this outfit from the last time she donned it. I remember its great illusionary powers. It gives the impression that she has a tiny hourglass figure. Ironic, since she does have more of an hourglass figure now than ever before, just not in the same sense.

  “Happy birthday, gorgeous. You’re looking good. Loving the hourglass. Can I say that?”

  Giselle giggles. “You just did!” She’s been hanging out all morning with Harrison and me, eating pizza and guzzling down sodas, talking about Ellis’s new reefer farm as if it were the Garden of Eden. It’s nice to see Ellis is such a good influence on her.

  “I don’t look gorgeous. I look huge.” Skyla steadies herself against the counter as she takes a seat, her belly positioned to the side because it simply can’t fit behind the bar anymore.

  “You look perfect.” I slide a cold water bottle her way.

  “I look like a whale.” She winces as she struggles to readjust herself.

  Giselle’s mouth opens with delight, her eyes widen with a dangerous amount of glee, and I shake my head at her. No, Giselle, I want to say, do not go there.

  “You do look like a whale!” Giselle sings.

  “No, she doesn’t.” I squint a nervous grin Skyla’s way. Giselle should be out hitting the mall, scoring some deals on new school clothes to wear to West, not juxtaposing her very pregnant sister-in-law with the largest living marine mammal.

  “Yes, she does.” She nods with enthusiasm toward Skyla. “You do look like a whale. In fact, you look like an orca!”

  “Shit,” I mutter.

  “Well”—Skyla’s brows peak—“it seems you paid careful attention in science class.” She’s giving poor G the stink eye, but Giselle is too innocent to put the pieces together. “I think you would make a great marine biologist someday.” She tilts her head as if hoping Giselle will take the bait.

  “A marine biologist?”

  “Yup. You can work right here from Paragon because we’re surrounded by the big blue sea. You have keen observation skills, and I think you’d be a very valuable addition to the marine biologist community.” Skyla shoots me a sly look before continuing. “They’d probably put you in charge of all the dolphins.” She points to her belly because G is convinced that is exactly what Skyla just might birth.

  Giselle sucks in a sharp breath, her hands suctioning over her lips. “Oh my God!” She fans herself spastically. “Dolphins are my favorite!”

  “I know.” Skyla shrugs. “They’re everyone’s favorite. And how lucky is it that you would be in charge of every single one of them? You’d be the dolphin princess. I bet they’d have T-shirts with your pretty little face on them.”

  Giselle stumbles back in shock, clearly taken with the idea of becoming the one and only dolphin princess.

  “But”—Skyla shakes her head, forlorn—“you’d have to finish high school and then go to college. It would require some patience, and lots of hard work.”

  “I don’t care what it takes.” Giselle is hysterical with enthusiasm. “I’m going to go back to school right this minute! College doesn’t frighten me either. I’ll go to Host and live in one of those scary dorms that Morley runs. I’m not afraid of anything. I’m going to do this, Skyla. Thank you. Thank you for making my destiny on this planet very, very clear.” She gives a stoic nod. “It’s not going to be easy, but I’m going to be the best dolphin princess that ever lived!” She takes off toward the breakroom. “Ellis? Ellis, I have great news!”

  “Good job?” I’m not sure what to say.

  “Thank you.” Her demeanor sours.

  “You do realize she’ll glom on to this life mission. Emma is going to be ecstatic that you’ve motivated her daughter to get back in school.”

  “Emma hates me.” She gives a dead look to the sweaty bottle in front of her. “And, Gage still won’t talk about why he left so abruptly the other night. He says he wants to get on the other side of our birthdays before we go there. I’m beginning to think that Gage hates me, too.”

  “Who hates you?” Liam pops up from nowhere and slides next to Skyla.

  “Never mind how people feel about me.” She bumps him with her shoulder. “Rumor has it the ladies are really loving you.”

  “That they are.” He flicks his fingers at me, and I toss him a soda.

  “How do you plan on getting them to stop?” I ask, knocking that shit-eating grin off his face.

  “Who the hell is going to make me?” His greasy grin glides up once again.

  “Me.” I deadpan. “Get over yourself. Pick one and stick with her. Love isn’t some game. You’re messing with hearts.”

  “I’m messing with bodies.” He tips his soda my way. “Love is the furthest thing from anyone’s mind. Trust me, the things they say in bed are hardly loving by anyone’s standards.”

  “Threesomes, dude?” I forego the kind warning I was about to offer and go straight to pissed. “You’re lucky they’re tolerating that shit from you. Knock it off. We get it. You’re a sought-after commodity. But you won’t be for long.”

  “He’s right,” Skyla interjects. “As soon as they figure out that they don’t really like taking turns hopping on pop, they’ll go rabid, and it won’t be pretty. Instead of having half a dozen girlfriends ready and willing to rumble—in a group setting apparently—you’ll be all by your lonesome, left to your own devices to alleviate the tension.” She casually glances at his hand currently wrapped around an aluminum can.

  “Really?” He inches back as if she just slapped him, and in a way she did—she slapped him with his soon-to-be new reality. “Pick one, huh?” He stares off into space with a wistful look on his face.

  Dudley walks in—looking for the birthday girl, no doubt.

  “Look who’s here,” I say, leaning in toward Liam. “If there’s anyone on this planet who can help you narrow your beautiful choices, it’s him.”

  Liam hops up and heads over without wasting a second. That should buy me about five extra minutes with Skyla.

  “Happy birthday, princess.” The words trickle from me sad, and strangely victorious. Skyla was and will always be my princess.

  Her cheeks take on a dark rose hue. “You already wished me a happy birthday.”

  “I haven’t hugged or kissed you.”

  “Is that my gift?”

  I’m about to say something when a couple walks in, and I clam up.

  Shit.

  “National security at six o’clock.”

  Her mouth falls open. “What do you think they want?” she whispers it heavy and thick with worry.

  “I don’t know, but they’re headed this way.”

  “Skyla Oliver?” Agent Killion grins a wide, toothy smile, and that act alone unnerves me. “May we have a word with you a moment?”

  Skyla looks to me with that what-should-I-do look on her face, and I give a slight nod. I’m standing right here, so I don’t s
ee the problem.

  “Sure.” She rubs her belly, and her entire dress lights up a brilliant blue.

  Fuck.

  “That’s an interesting trick.” Agent Moser grins like the Cheshire cat.

  What the hell is up with all the grinning? Maybe they got their walking papers, and it’s time to leave this overgrown rock. Although, thanks to Skyla’s belly, they might have just found a reason to stay.

  “Oh, it’s not a trick.” Skyla shakes her head a little too quickly.

  Agent Killion tilts into her. “Your dress was white, and now it’s blue. You’re going to tell me that didn’t just happen?”

  “Oh, this old thing?” Skyla tries to pluck at the fabric, but it’s stretched taut. “This is that stupid dress everyone was talking about on the Internet. Is it blue? Is it white? Some say it’s brown.” She shrugs. “I saw it and had to have it. Lucky for me, they come in el gigante.” She laughs a little too loud.

  “Well, this won’t take a minute.” Agent Killion thumbs through the apps on her phone until it’s clear she’s recording the conversation. “Agent Moser and I have been residing on the island for months now. We’ve interviewed a vast demographic of the populace and reviewed endless amounts of documentation, coming up with a single conclusion.”

  “Congratulations.” Skyla goes for a smile, but comes up with a smirk. “Did you find Sesame Street? Because that’s always been our best kept secret. Keep it low, would you? The last thing we need is to be overrun by a bunch of three-year-olds looking for the Cookie Monster. Ooh—” She taps the counter in front of me. “Do you have anything fresh baked? It’s been an hour since I’ve eaten.”

  “They’ll be ready in a minute.” There’s no way I’m leaving her, not even to fetch her a fresh baked cookie. I’ll give her the entire jar once this trauma is through.

  “No, Mrs. Oliver.” Agent Moser loses his smarmy smile. “We discovered that true to what our superiors reported, Paragon Island is a hotbed of paranormal activity.”

  “Oh my God.” She does her best to jump with surprise. “You mean to tell me, you found real live—or should I say dead—ghosts?”

  I want to laugh because I happen to be one of those alive-dead phantasms.

  Agent Killion looks as if she’s beyond perturbed. “Something along those lines.”

  “Well?” Skyla holds back a laugh. “Who you gonna call?”

  Neither Thing One nor Thing Two from the government institution of I-Hate-the-Nephilim is amused.

  “They called us, Skyla,” Moser informs her. “Our research led us to the west end of the island, to one person of interest in particular.”

  Skyla glances over her shoulder at Dudley, who seems oblivious to the situation, as he carries on a spirited conversation with Liam regarding the perils of a polyamorous relationship. Figures. He’s an expert. I bet Dudley is reliving his own threesome glory days. It’s no wonder they’re related.

  “The person of interest is you, Skyla.” Killion ironically goes in for the kill. “All arrows point to your delicate frame. If you don’t mind, we have a list of questions we’d like to go over with you.” She pulls out a clipboard without waiting for Skyla to answer.

  “Oh, I’m the furthest thing from a ghost.” Skyla pats her belly. “In fact, as you can see, I’m brimming with life.” The color dissipates in Skyla’s cheeks for a moment before shooting back a brilliant shock of pink. “Wait.” She gives a little laugh. “You’re not trying to tell me that my babies are dead, are you? You mean, I have ghosts in my belly?” Her voice rises, and I give a nervous glance around to see if anyone heard her let the cat out of the bag. Only a handful of people know that Skyla is having twins.

  “That’s far from what we’re saying.” Moser leans over the counter, boxing Skyla in with Killion on the other side of her. “Mr. Oliver”—his rectangular features relax as he looks to me—“would you mind giving us a minute?”

  “I’m not leaving.” There. No head games.

  “Very well.” Killion doesn’t look up from her notes. Something about her orange lips and matching hair manages to turn my stomach. “What deity or life form is it that you stem from, and how have you acquired your alien powers?”

  “Alien?” Skyla shakes her head.

  “We’re using it in the general sense—as in not belonging to the norm,” Moser assures. “You have powers, Mrs. Oliver. No point in denying them. We have them well documented. We have witness accounts. We have everything we need but your cooperation.”

  “Oh, I’ll be cooperating”—Skyla’s face lights up with color again—“with the police. I suggest you leave. In fact, Logan, please call Detective Edinger down here and inform him we have a stalking situation.” Her voice pitches unevenly as she grabs on to her stomach and gasps. “Oh God.”

  “What’s wrong?” I jump to the other side of the counter and blast through Moser to get near Skyla. “Is it the babies?”

  “Yes.” Her face turns a strange shade of blueberry as she bends her head back in obvious pain. “These two—” She points aggressively at them. “You did this! You’ve sent me into labor!”

  “Nice try, Mrs. Oliver.” Killion lands a fist on her hip. “We happen to know that you’re not due for another few weeks. If you don’t mind, we can narrow it down to five questions and schedule a more extensive interview for another time when you’re feeling up to it.”

  Skyla struggles to rise, and I help her to her feet.

  “I’m not faking this,” she pants, holding her stomach with a look of agony on her face that I’m starting to believe. “The two of you are really fucking pissing me off.”

  Even I wince whenever she lets an expletive fly. Maybe I’m more like Dudley than I thought.

  A loud splat lands over the dusty wood floor as if someone just launched a water balloon, and I glance down to Skyla’s feet where a wide puddle has suddenly formed.

  “My water just broke!” she shrieks. “Oh God, this is really happening.” Tears brim in her eyes without warning.

  Moser and Killion take a step in as if to inspect the glossy fluid.

  “Get the fuck out!” I bark. “And don’t let me catch your faces in here again.”

  Skyla lets out a hefty moan as they scramble their way to the door.

  “Nice work.” I give her a high five, and she’s slow to reciprocate. “I think I’ll nominate you for an Oscar this year. The statue, not the grouch.” I glance to the water bottle still full on the counter. “How did you manage to pull that off?”

  “I didn’t.” She swallows hard. “Mother Nature did.” She gives a slight nod. “It looks like I’m about to have a baby, or two.”

  My body numbs with shock. My heart kick-starts back to life as I stand here holding her hand. Skyla is about to become a mother. Things are about to change for the rest of our lives. This is happening.

  “Let’s get you to the hospital.” I help her to the door. “I love you, Skyla Oliver,” I whisper, still trying to pull myself from my stunned stupor. “I’d do this for you if I could.”

  “I know.” She pauses, giving my hand a squeeze that mangles me right down to the bone. “You may not be able to do it for me, but you will certainly be doing it with me.”

  My heart warms at the idea. I was hoping she’d ask. Hell, I know it’s strange, but a part of me doesn’t want to miss this. One thing is for sure—I’m scared as hell for Skyla.

  “I heard that.” She removes her fingernails from my palm as she takes a prolonged breath. “Only positive thinking or I’m calling Ghost Busters on your ass, Oliver.”

  “Duly noted. Have I ever told you that Logan can be used as a gender neutral name?”

  We step out into the thick arms of the afternoon fog, and Skyla laughs.

  It feels good like this with her, natural, and in the mother of all ironies, not one of these moments was meant for me.

  I glance to the sky and think of Candace. If none of this was meant for me, she sure chose an interesting moment for Skyla
to go into labor and an interesting person for her to be around once it hit.

  For once, I’m glad to be the teacher’s pet.

  Candace has given me a gift, and I’ll never forget this. Now to call Gage so he doesn’t miss a thing.

  A peal of thunder goes off overhead, and the ground gives a slight tremble—a celestial you’re welcome if I ever heard one.

  12

  Babies Breath

  SKYLA

  There are moments in life you anticipate, plan to the very last detail. This moment, this hugely anticipated life event was not supposed to go down like this. In a perfect world, I would have been at home—in bed with Gage. It would be too late to bother my mother, thus avoiding the hurricane of panic that would inevitably ensue. Gage would have calmly grabbed my overnight bag (which I was totally going to pack this weekend). We would drive to the hospital in his truck—oh, wait. Crap.

  “Where exactly are you taking me?” I pause in the parking lot of the bowling alley, staring at Logan’s white truck as if it were a threat.

  “The hospital.” His eyes are wide with worry, his knees slightly bent, his hands spread over my belly as if he’s on high alert to catch the babies should they decide to fall out. “There’s just one on the island. That is the one, right?”

  “Oh, that’s right. Just the one.” Oh God, oh God, oh God! There have only been two nonsensical fears of mine that have managed to plague me well beyond my preteen years, and those were clowns and hospitals. I would say I’m ninety percent over my fear of clowns (It was a hundred until Marshall threw that ridiculous circus-themed party last month, and I managed to take a giant leap back), and then there are hospitals.

  A sharp, searing pain stretches over my stomach, tight like a noose strangling my belly. “Oh, wow, this is going to hurt like a son of a bitch.” That wily Sector flits through my mind. “Son of bitch! Marshall. We need Marshall!”

  We turn to find Marshall and Liam already jogging out of the bowling alley. The expression on my face must say it all because they both look well apprised of what’s about to happen.