The Serpentine Butterfly

by Addison Moore

  “And what about you?”

  “And I run this ridiculous bowling alley into the ground.” True as God—that, right there, just might be my purpose in life.

  “You know that’s not how this works. I die, and you come back. Your Treble has an expiration date, my friend.”

  “I’ll forgo the trip back to Earth. I’ll live it up in paradise knowing you’ll both be with me soon enough. In other words, I’ll be happy knowing your family survived Demetri and all his wicked schemes.”

  “I don’t know. Worst-case scenario is that I lose my fucking mind and start to hurt you, to hurt Skyla, and the people I love. Wes said it would be hard to fight for long. I know I can fight. I know I can persevere, but a part of me is already tired of all this bullshit. The easy route would be to head into paradise myself. But I could never rest knowing that one of my children will be lost. Face it, Logan. I am done. I made a covenant with wickedness—broke it, and now I’m going to lose everything. It was a part of the plan from the beginning. Don’t you see? It’s too ironclad for this to have been some massive misstep. This has destiny written all over it.” His voice breaks. “I never thought I was evil. Never thought I had a bad thought about the Nephilim in my heart, and now everything I thought I knew is about to be chucked out the window.” Tears pool in his eyes. “Would you do me a favor?”

  “Anything.”

  “Set me straight. Don’t give up on me. Have Ezrina, Candace, anyone help release my children and me from that damn curse, and I’ll go easy into that good night. Believe me, it would be a privilege to die knowing I wasn’t going to bring Skyla any more pain.”

  “You’re not a bad guy. You’re not going to set this world on fire in any wicked way. It’s not like you’ll be out of your mind. You’ll still be you.” A thought comes to me. “This might actually turn out to be a blessing in disguise.”

  “Let’s hope so, man. Let’s hope so.”

  * * *

  Skyla calls a meeting of the Retribution League, just captains—about fifty people including Brody, Ellis, Laken, Coop, and me. The rankings that Dr. Booth designed for this new system are genius.

  “We need as many volunteers for tonight’s effort as possible.” Her voice hums through the hollow walls of the Havers’ old barn. “We’re storming the gates of the Transfer and making a show of force. I have a feeling Wes has the Spectators locked in holding tanks under the lab. It’s where they were kept before. Brody and Cooper will escort them to Tenebrous. If we can round up as many as possible, that will dwindle the number he can terrorize the planet with.”

  Brody gives a slow blink. “He can have a new batch whipped up by sunrise.”

  “Then let him,” Skyla snaps. “The important thing to do is demonstrate that we are innumerous, and we are not taking his crap lying down. We’ll only have hours, maybe minutes to do what we need before Wes has the place on lockdown.”

  “What about Demetri? He can do it far quicker than that.” Laken makes a good point.

  “He’s a Fem—not a drop of Nephilim in him. He can no more interfere in a rebellion than Marshall can.”

  “Sounds good.” Brody mock salutes her.

  The mobilization of troops is staggering. Within hours, Skyla manages to bring forth a nation’s worth of people ready and willing to serve.

  Skyla and I meet up with Ellis, Brody, Laken, and Coop at the base of Devil’s Peak.

  Ellis clears his throat, looking shockingly lucid. “How are we going to get everyone into that shithole?”

  “We won’t—I will.” For months, Dudley has been priming me with new skills, teaching me how to forcefully appear and disappear, how to take people, things, with me and now I know why. Dudley was grooming me for just this very moment.

  “You three, get to the Transfer. I’ll send the masses in groups.”

  It takes almost an hour for me to complete the mission. By the time I dive through stone, and vibrate my way into that dark and lonely plane one last time, the Transfer is teeming with people in the underbelly of the woods just south of Wesley’s haunt.

  The group remains silent, staunch, while waiting for Skyla’s signal.

  Skyla climbs onto the highest hill and crosses her arms over her head as if launching a race.

  In an instant, the group enlivens, shouting and screaming its way over the hillside, down through the desolate village, and bleeding into Wesley’s home without warning.

  He swims out amidst the crowd and jumps onto the pedestal that sits outside his porch.

  Skyla made sure Ezrina would be here tonight caring for Tobie. She wanted to ensure she was safe and unafraid in the attic until the melee subsides. No one is to touch that child per Skyla’s orders.

  “What the hell is going on?” Wesley’s voice carries over the sea of people.

  Coop leans in toward me. “You know, sometimes, I feel sorry for the guy. Tonight’s not one of those nights.”

  Laken wraps her arms tight around Coop in a show of solidarity. I know they’ve had a rough patch. I pray it’s the last one that Wesley—and, apparently, Gage brings into their lives. My stomach sours at the thought of Gage causing any unrest, and I pray it’s not a sign of things to come.

  Skyla makes her way to Wes. “This is the face of the Nephilim people. This is the face of your enemy. Make no mistake. We are here for blood. And it’s our own we came to save.”

  The crowd goes wild with cheers, and per Skyla’s order, they ravage the place—pillage the already barren landscape. An entire crowd runs into the labyrinth of Ezrina’s old lab with Brody leading the way to the Spectators.

  “Shit.” Wes gets down, his face white with shock. “You think this is funny?” he pants into the crowd as people scatter like ants.

  “We think this is serious,” I say, standing shoulder to shoulder with Skyla.

  He huffs a dry laugh. “So this is what I’ll have to look forward to when my brother is no longer with you.” He looks from me to Skyla. “Your own preview, I assume.”

  Skyla shakes her head vehemently. “This is no preview. This is not a test. This is an actual emergency.”

  A horrid moan emits from behind as the Spectators emerge from their captivity.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I have the dead to deal with.” Skyla takes off to banish as many of the shits that volunteered to give their lives for the wrong cause.

  Wesley takes in the scene, the look of fear, the look of defeat spreading over his features, clear as the morbid handwriting on the wall. We’ve finally done it, managed to stump him, to prove that we—that she—is a worthy opponent.

  It takes three hours before Wesley is able to wrangle enough binding spirits to shoo us the hell away. One by one we disappear, satisfied knowing we knocked out half of the Spectators in one swift move.

  “That was a blow to his campaign.” Skyla slaps me five as we appear in front of White Horse together. I don’t dare point it out, but the binding spirit’s job is to place everyone where they belong—at home. Laken and Coop disappeared together; Ellis and Giselle—and Skyla is right here with me.

  “You did it.” I offer a platonic embrace.

  “We did it.” The smile quickly slides from her face. “Wish Gage could have come. He would have loved it.”

  “I know.”

  It’s sucked not having Gage as a part of our plan, to see the lowlights, the highlights of what we’ve accomplished. It’s as if Demetri’s ultimate strategy has already been set into motion.

  “Skyla”—her name falls from my lips like a star—“I think—I know that after tonight, the Nephilim trust you again. I also think they’re ready to accept Gage as your husband.”

  “I hope so.” She wraps her arm around my waist, tight. “I can’t move another inch without him.”

  Skyla and I fall onto the cool, dew-laden lawn, ripe with exhaustion, making snow angels in the grass, laughing like children at the monstrous feat we’ve just accomplished. The penetrating fog is a welcome relief to our aching bo
dies.

  Skyla stares up at the sky, panting, relishing her victory.

  But my mind wanders to how far Skyla might have to move without Gage. It might be far more than an inch. And it breaks my heart to think about it.

  15

  The Greatest Sacrifice

  SKYLA

  Rain falls over Paragon, hard and weighted, like bodies tumbling from the sky. Then, in a show of defiance, it clears up before evening, the air warmed and sweetened, perfumed with lilacs as if Ahava has blown its breath over the island. But this weather phenomenon is as far from the perfection of paradise as one could get. This is the handiwork of the devil himself, Demetri. It’s the night of the boys’ christening. My mother’s party planning tour de force will be exemplified for all to see—family and friends only, Gage and I insisted on keeping it small, simple. It’s the day before Christmas Eve, and the entire island is in a festive holiday mood.

  Bree and Drake hitch a ride over to Demetri’s estate with us. Mom has all but gifted her minivan to Gage and me. In the meantime, she and Tad have been sharing his Althorpe issued Corolla.

  “This is going to be the shit!” Drake leans in as he inspects the rotating searchlights that greet us at the gate.

  Multicolored searchlights? At least a dozen of them? I sink in my seat. An infantry of searchlights does not simple make. What the heck is my mother thinking?

  “Shit,” I whisper as Gage offers a look of dismay. We’ve made a conscious effort to keep our expletives in check. There won’t be time to train ourselves how to speak like dignified adults in a year when the boys will be free to mimic us, so we’ve decided to cull the cussing asap. “I told her to keep it small—intimate. I even gave her a guest list.”

  “Skyla,” Gage rumbles it low, laden with the kind of concern that thinly veils my name as a question.

  I follow his gaze to the side of the property where the fog kisses the fence line and see for myself what has him so gun-shy to speak up.

  “Oh God.” I bury my face in my hands a moment. The Transfer transplants parade freely about in their old school fashion choices, full bell skirts, twirling, whirling, and weird for all to see. “You do realize that State of the Union Crypt Keepers will be here this evening. That beckon of light is practically an invitation. It looks like Demetri and my mother will be serving up steaks with a side of paranormal tonight—so much for a peaceful evening. Kill Me and Poser Moser have been dying to finish grilling me.”

  “Speaking of grilling.” Drake opens the side door while Gage is still crawling up the driveway and hops out. “I’m down for that all-you-can-eat lobster bar.” He plucks Bree out of the van, and they shut the door, capsulizing us inside with the boys.

  “We can make a run for it,” I offer.

  “We can’t. We happen to be the parents of the guests of honor.” He winces before pointing over to a young man in a tuxedo. “Besides, he’s got valet. This is going to be a great night.” His features sag when he says it as if it’s the last thing he believes. “Who’s in for the lobster bar?”

  We get out and each grab a diaper bag—the expensive leather kind with the brand name stamped all over it a thousand times. Gage loathes these ritzy overgrown purses, but mostly because they make him feel like a forty-year-old housewife proud of the fact she can afford a luxury bag on her husband’s dwindling salary. Gage and I hoist a car seat a piece—and with the boys snug safe inside, they weigh as much as the Mustang.

  What I thought being a mother would be like, and the harsh reality of it, are two entirely worlds apart. Although, the joy is insurmountable, more than I could have ever imagined, so is the fatigue. Gage and I have found pleasure in the littlest of details, the boys silky skin over ours, the powerful force of love we feel when gazing deep into their eyes. The simple way their fingers curl over ours makes our spirits soar. We waited two patient weeks for their excess belly buttons to fall off, only to seal the tiny prunes in their baby books. I’m sure they’ll forever be disgusted in our need to preserve all things, but, they are precious, and we don’t want to lose a single memory. Last week, the boys urinated in tandem once we took their diapers off to change them. Gage and I laughed, but it was mesmerizing on some level. Our own marble fountains come to life. Michelangelo couldn’t have carved a greater perfection. These boys have now become our life force. There was no us before them.

  Once we unload in Demetri’s vacant living room, we each strap on our BabyBjörns and place Nathan and Barron in their shearling slots, only to remove them once again, ditch the suede baby holsters, and bundle them up in snowsuits so they can be passed about freely to family and friends in Demetri’s expansive, quasi-haunted backyard. Even though the boys are just hardly a month old—on one hand it feels as if they’ve been in our lives forever in a blissful I-can’t-believe-we-ever-existed-without- them kind of way—and, on the other hand, I wonder how four weeks zipped by without my permission.

  “Hey, little guy,” I coo into Barron’s sweet face as he struggles to steady his glassy cobalt eyes on me. Barron and Nathan are carbon copies of their daddy through and through. His tiny lips purse as he purrs and stretches to life. I drop a kiss to his smooth forehead, and his body squirms with delight. The boys slept all the way here, and, if I had my way, they’d continue to sleep right through the party.

  “You ready to do this?” Gage picks up my hand and offers a firm squeeze.

  “As ready and exhausted as I’ll ever be,” I whisper as we make our way to the back where voices carry with laughter and buzzing conversation. It feels more like a New Year’s Eve party where everyone is getting happily loaded, and where Gage and I simply don’t belong. All we want to do is go home and collapse on our mattress. “Are you getting the feeling this was a damn bad idea?”

  “Language.”

  I turn to find Marshall twitching his fingers at the baby, and I make my first hand off of the evening as he takes Barron from me like a doting uncle.

  “Come, Jock Strap. Give up the little goat. I’m taking them both,” he insists.

  Gage scowls a moment before handing over Nathan.

  Marshall heads outside like an Olympic victor holding up my precious babes for all to see, and the crowd breaks out into a raucous cheer.

  Gage pulls me back a moment.

  “There’s something I want to say”—his brows crease in that tortured handsome way that only Gage Oliver seems able to pull off—“I’ve wanted to say it all day, but I couldn’t find the words.” He presses out a painful smile. This lack of sleep has taken its toll on our sanity, and even our affection is marred by fatigue’s wicked clawing for attention. “I love you.” He pinches my chin between his fingers. “You are the love of my life. I worship you and our little family.” His eyes bear into mine as if he were carving the words right onto my heart. “Know this—there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to ensure your safety or the boys’. There isn’t any sacrifice too big to make sure the three of you have the best life—the one you deserve. I would die to keep you and the boys safe, and I would sacrifice my sanity, my very soul to make that happen.” His words swirl from his lips like musical notes, like a love song I’ve been aching to hear. I was thirsty for that reassurance. Gage—his DNA to be exact—has made me twitchy as of late. After that vision I had in the yard, the sight of him morphing into the dragon with Barron in his talons, my mind has been buzzing with the psychotic “what-ifs” ever since. But these words, these truths, quell that silly side of me that ever thought there might be a shard of a possibility to the nefarious scene. It was right after I had that big blowout with Mia. My hormones were rampant. Of course, I was seeing dragons. I was out of my mind with worry for my sister.

  “I needed to hear that,” I whisper. “I needed to hear that no matter what, you are for the light.” I touch my hand to his sexy stubble and pull him in. “The dark came and tried to steal you away, but we won. You are my hero—my beating heart that walks outside my body. I love you forever, Gage Oliver.” I lean in and la
nd my lips over his, soft as a wish. Only Gage can kiss me as if writing a poem over my mouth. His tongue mingles with mine, hot and alive, and it feels just as exhilarating as that first stolen kiss we shared so long ago.

  The door opens to the rear of the house, and voices tremble in. Mom bumps into us holding an empty silver tray with the glossy tracks of something that once occupied its dimensions.

  “Would you look at the two of you?” she cackles so high I’d swear she’s inebriated. Considering there are no more pump and dumps in her future, I don’t see why not. When she first explained to me that if I happened to imbibe I’d have to sit under my electric udders for an hour only to flush all my mommy milk down the toilet—for the next two days, I decided that not a sip of anything stronger than sparkling cider was worth it. “Don’t go making baby number three just yet! You want to let the sheets cool.” She gives a hard wink. The light catches on the shiny red gloss ringing her lips. Mom looks pretty, despite the blinking Christmas tree on her sweater and the miniature stockings she managed to turn into earrings—one reads Nathan, the other Barron in gold glitter. She made them this morning with an unsurpassed sense of pride, and it warmed my heart to see her do it.

  Gage and I make our way outside where Demetri’s spacious estate is blanketed in a sea of baby blue twinkle lights just as Mom had promised. There’s a buffet spread that runs the entire length of the swimming pool surrounded by throngs of friends and family, not to mention netherworld creatures stirring in frenetic circles.

  “Is there another definition of simple that I’m not aware of?” I whisper.

  Down by the woods, the bitch squad holds a quasi-reunion, and Nat offers up a friendly wave. I reciprocate just as Laken and Coop pop over.

  “How are your eyelids holding up?” Laken gives me a power hug. She’s been my rock as far as letting me vent freely about my lack of sleep and newfound crusty boobs, which finally healed no thanks to sheep in general and their greasy manes. Lanolin will forever be a cure-all for all my dry, cracked skin, crusty, bleeding boob needs.