Wicked

by Addison Moore

  ***

  Gage goes home at the crack of dawn, no thanks to my mother, who made it a point to bang on my door and offer to teach me how to look down the business end of a turkey—to which I unremorsefully declined.

  It’s a little after two in the afternoon, and I fully expect the Olivers any minute. I think Brielle and her mother are already downstairs because I can hear Mom exuding an unnatural level of glee that she reserves only for company. I shut my door and push the dresser over an inch.

  “Holden?” I say his name a shade above a whisper. “Hello? Earth to Holden?”

  Since we are having another sit down dinner, and he does seem to prefer an audience to embarrass me in front of, I thought I’d have a little tête-à-tête with my least favorite disembodied spirit. “Are you there?”

  The dresser mirror splinters in a perfect spider web pattern.

  I give a quick blink.

  This is the exact kind of shit I’m trying to avoid.

  “Look, I know you want a body. But destroying my life and embarrassing me isn’t going to bring it to you any faster.” Well really, nothing will, but that’s beside the point. “It’s Thanksgiving. That means there will be a ton of guests over, and I want to have a civil meal without the fear of my hand lobbing table scraps at people.” Except maybe for Tad, but that’s because he’s an asshole and deserves to have table scraps lobbed at him, hey… “So, I’ve decided,” rather spontaneously, “that if you want to earn your keep, you need to stay in line. That’s not to say you can’t be bad. I know you’re a bad boy and some things never change, so I expressly give you permission to do whatever you like to my stepfather, Tad. In fact, I encourage you to unleash whatever the hell you feel like unleashing, just make sure there are no other casualties, and I play no part in it.” I’d sic him on Chloe, but it’s a mute point. “Got it?”

  A bottle of red nail polish knocks over onto my desk.

  “Good.”

  A fog of moisture starts to build on the window. It expands a foot in either direction then a line emerges—letters are being formed…body.

  “Yes,” I say backing out of the room. “You’ll get your body.”

  Only he won’t.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Give Thanks

  The house is alive with the thick scent of turkey, intermingled with nutmeg and other spices that remain foreign to us the rest of the year. I sail downstairs just as my mother opens the door to the Olivers and Marshall.

  Barron and Emma both greet us with such elegance I’m almost sorry for them to have to participate in the holiday at our house. But then again, the Olivers are a practical people, and they probably lowered their expectations as soon as my mother called to invite them.

  “Dinner smells terrific!” Emma beams, leaning in to give Mom a quick hug.

  “That’s because of the hot date I had with Tom at five-thirty this morning.” My mother laughs at her own joke. “I have an inkling we’ll be spending a lot of holidays together from here on out. I have a really good feeling about your son and my daughter.”

  I walk over to Gage and Logan, still waiting to make their way inside, no thanks to the backlog my mother has created with her love affair with Emma.

  “Happy Thanksgiving.” I pull Gage in by the hand.

  Marshall swoops in from out of the cold. Honestly, if it started to rain, I think we’d see snow.

  Gorgeous per usual, Ms. Messenger. He hands me a blistering casserole dish.

  “What’s this?” It’s firmly wrapped in ten layers of plastic, and I think all ten layers have melted together because it’s so freaking hot.

  “Sweet potatoes.” He leans into my mother and engages in a lengthy embrace.

  “Mr. Dudley said his sweet potatoes were heavenly.” Mom gives a look as though she’s craving more than just his sweet potatoes.

  “I’m sure they are,” I say, whisking the dish of molten lava to the kitchen.

  Brielle and her mom, Darla, are already seated at the bar cackling with Tad about something. Probably laughing at the fact they’re all Counts, and I’m a dumb little Celestra who doesn’t know what the hell is going on.

  Mom wastes no time in ushering everyone to their seats. Mia and Melissa made placeholders out of dried maple leaves with our names spelled out in thick magic marker. I frown at the fact that Logan and Gage will be on either side of me.

  Mia comes over and leans in.

  “I wasn’t sure which one impregnated you,” she whispers, “this way you can be close to both just in case.” She gives a sly grin.

  “You’re so not funny.”

  I shoot a look up over at Marshall. He still thinks he’s on the hook with Brielle. I wonder if this kind of info is worth anything to him? Perhaps a body for Holden in exchange for news of his newly demoted paternity status? It only seems fair.

  Tad claps his hands together up over his head. It’s so loud, for a second, I think he’s firing shots into the crowd.

  “Everybody in your seats. Whoop, whoop! Let’s do this. Whoop, whoop!” he shouts.

  Normally I’d be mortified by Tad’s sudden need to replicate a dying train. I’d want the ground to open up and for it to swallow me—well—him, but not today. Just knowing Tad’s a Count—that they all are—makes me feel slightly justified in my eye rolling endeavors that I’m prone to during moments like these.

  Marshall lands across from me. Brielle and her mother have ended up at the opposite end of the elongated table. It takes up almost the entire length of the dining and living room, complete with hodge-podge seating ranging from kitchen stools to office chairs, which explains why Emma and Dr. Oliver are sitting about a foot taller than the rest of us.

  I look down at the far end where Darla is adjusting her lipstick in the blade of a knife. She’s been ogling Marshall openly since he walked into the room, and now she’s rubbing her front teeth with her finger, asking him random questions at the same time. She seems to be lacking in common social graces. But I totally get it. Poor thing hasn’t had much luck getting another boyfriend after I nearly stabbed the old one to death with a pair of kitchen scissors. Of course, I blame Chloe for that, too. Everything, good or bad, that’s happened to me since my father died can be directly traced back to Chloe and the rerouting of my life.

  I glance over at Gage who gives a comfortable smile in my direction. I think it’s high time I start rerouting Chloe’s life a little myself.

  “Here we go!” Tad bellows as he hauls out a monster turkey the size of a baby giraffe and plunks it onto the table.

  “Holy shit! Where did you get that thing?” Brielle’s mother hoots into it as if it were the funniest thing she’s ever seen. Forget social graces—Brielle’s mom is flat out ripped. She laughs so hard there’s just air expelling from her lungs for a good thirty seconds.

  “Mr. Dudley had it sent over yesterday,” Mom offers. “It’s from a rancher friend of his.”

  “It’s certainly out of this world,” Emma muses, saucer eyed.

  I’m sure it’s out of this world just like I’m sure the farmer was, too.

  I glare over at Marshall for being so bizarre.

  “That’s right, it’s a hybrid,” Marshall offers. Sort of like your ex. He glances at me briefly.

  Tad holds up two long, machete-looking knives in the air with all of the drama he can afford, then proceeds to rub the blades against one another in an attempt to sharpen them. Clearly Tad is savoring the fact he has a captive audience as evidenced by the methodical approach he’s taking to serving up our dinner.

  A tiny feeling of remorse comes over me for sicking Holden on him like some rabid celestial dog. That’s pretty funny actually—Holden as my celestial bitch. I kind of like that. Maybe I can drag out this whole I’ll-get-you-a-body thing for the rest of my life, or Tad’s, whichever ends first.

  “Speaking of overgrown birds,” Tad says putting down one of the sabers he’s through molesting. “Trapped a raven the size of a lawn chair out back toda
y. Damn thing has been stalking us for days. Almost lost an eye to it last week.”

  Gage and I exchange glances. Nev. Shit. I need my bird back, safe, and in one piece.

  “What did you do with it?” Dr. Oliver presses out a hesitant smile.

  “I’m sure he humanely disposed of it.” Marshall gives a smug look of satisfaction. He could care less if Nevermore were toast.

  “I called animal services,” Tad says, starting into the bird in front of him with long easy strokes.

  I breathe a sigh of relief into Gage.

  “But,” Tad pauses in reflection, “they were closed because of the holiday, so I just got rid of the thing myself.”

  Double shit!

  “I killed it and stuffed it in the turkey. Like that Mcduffen stuff they serve back East.” He grins.

  My entire body seizes.

  “I think it’s called turducken,” Mom corrects.

  “I don’t want anything for dinner that starts with turd.” Mia pushes back her plate.

  “I jest,” he says, continuing to saw away at the gargantuan creature. “I drove the damn thing down to the animal hospital.”

  I take Gage up by the hand.

  Don’t worry. We’ll get him back. Gage nods as though he already knows this.

  “Speaking of birds,” my mother points with both hands over in our direction, “I think we’ve got ourselves a couple of lovebirds.” Her entire face explodes a bright shade of pink as she continues to hack out a laugh. Obviously Darla wasn’t the only one hitting the wine a little early.

  “They’re very nice together.” Emma pinches a short-lived smile in my direction.

  I thought she liked me once, but now I’m not so sure.

  “What about these two?” Darla sloshes her glass in Drake and Brielle’s direction until the wine dances right onto her plate. “Something tells me we’ll be hearing wedding bells soon from this end of the table.”

  She’s probably right, and for all the wrong reasons.

  “Not my son.” Tad doesn’t bother looking up as he continues his meticulous excavation into the flesh of our dinner.

  I swear I’ve seen trees grow faster.

  “He’s going to university,” Tad continues, “studying medicine, internships will take about ten years, then he can consider all of the women he likes. But in the meantime, it’s all about—” he raises his hand in an attempt to thump his finger against his temple and nearly slices his nose off in the process.

  “Be careful!” Mom’s hand rises to her chest in horror.

  “Yes, do,” Marshall interjects. “It would be awful to mar this wonderful day with tragedy.” You were rooting for it weren’t you? His lips curve just enough in my direction. “Shall we count our blessings while we wait for the master to dissect our dinner?” He over annunciates the word, count. I have a feeling the corpse will decompose faster than we can eat it, he adds.

  I don’t really care for Marshall referring to my dinner as a corpse, but I suppose he’s right on both counts. And there’s that word again.

  Mia and Melissa volunteer the fact they are thankful for their new dog—who by the way, is holed up in their room, in an effort to barricade him from fornicating freely with our shoes. Darla says she’s thankful for Brielle and spontaneously breaks out into tears. Tad pushes back his chair and stands in a dramatic fashion.

  “I just want to say I’m thankful that somebody,” he pauses to set down the overgrown knife he used to hack into our dinner with. He jumps a little, losing his footing as though something were trying to knock him off balance. “Whoa!” he shouts as he starts to fall forward. In an effort to stabilize himself, he knocks his wrist into the handle of the knife and falls forward onto the table embedding the blade directly into his stomach.

  Holy shit!

  I think I just killed Tad.

  Chapter Nineteen

  All For Nothing

  Chaos and blood and screaming ensue.

  Marshall gives a slow appraising glance in my direction as he helps Dr. Oliver quell Tad’s fountain of bodily fluids. Judging by Holden’s artful expression of misfortune, I surmise you’ve arranged this fiasco yourself.

  My toes curl in my shoes as I cling onto to Gage. The last thing in the world I want is for Marshall to have a moment of misguided charity and call me out on delegating a near homicide.

  Relax, Skyla, Marshall frowns disapprovingly. Holden is still responsible. The only way you’ll go to Justice Alliance is if he actually succeeds in killing him. I suppose we’ll know in just a few short hours, won’t we?

  Shit!

  Everyone over eighteen evacuates the premises in an effort to rush Tad to the emergency room. I volunteer to stay home to calm both Mia and Melissa who started in on a choir of screams the moment Tad exposed us all to the long handled knife protruding from his abdomen. God—it almost went straight through.

  I feel horrible. Like I’ve made a deal with the devil, but worse, because it’s Holden. I should have known he was capable of anything. He tried assaulting me that night at the Falls. He tried to kill Gage, so of course he would be more than eager to provide a Thanksgiving stabbing. How could I have sicked him on another human being? But then again it’s Tad, plus he’s a Count, which sort of partially disqualifies him as a human. He’s a hybrid of something sinister in and of itself—in fact, it seems everyone is a hybrid these days.

  “Relax,” I tell Mia and Melissa. “Go upstairs,” I instruct. “Mom said she’d call as soon as she hears anything. And he’s still breathing,” I add to Melissa as a consolation. She starts in on a series of hyperventilating hiccups, and Mia leads her out of the room.

  “What a mess,” Drake says, trying to sop up the blood with a kitchen towel.

  Drake doesn’t seem all that freaked out that the only thing his dad ate for dinner was ten inches of stainless steel.

  “I’ll help,” Brielle offers, walking over with a handful of paper towels. It takes three seconds before she starts retching into the mess, then embellishes it by adding a sea of foaming vomit.

  I rush over to open the backslider. Can this day get any worse? First Nev, then Tad, and now Brielle yakking all over everything. “Brielle, are you OK? You wanna lie down?” I ask. “Get her upstairs.” I motion to Drake.

  “I don’t want her puking in my room.” He jumps back a good three feet.

  Brielle rights herself and pulls over the bottom of the tablecloth in an effort to wipe off her face. I watch as a trail of dishes land on the stone floor one after the other breaking with a disturbingly even rhythm.

  Drake and Brielle decide it’s a good time to take my advice and head on up.

  “Looks like a massacre took place,” I mutter. I’m so pissed—it wasn’t Holden who ruined Thanksgiving, it was me. I pick up a dish off the table and crash it onto the floor. It cracks into three equal parts with tiny slivers splintering everywhere. Great. I’m sure I’ll step on one barefoot later and end up in the ER myself.

  Logan pulls a broom out of the side pantry and hands it Gage. He unspools a roll of paper towels and starts in on the bodily fluids. It takes us less than a half an hour to clean up the damage and scrub down the floors.

  “Thanks for helping.” I wanted to say, I owe you one, but I’m reserving that for later, when it’s just Gage and me. I’m still upset over the fact Logan thinks it’s a good idea to defect to the other side. It’s probably just an excuse, like he hasn’t been there all along.

  My cell goes off, it’s a text from Mom. He’s going to be fine! Missed all vital organs. Dr. said it was a Thanksgiving miracle!

  “Nice.” I pan the phone over to Logan and Gage. “Looks like Holden went easy on him after all.”

  “Holden?” Logan inches back a notch.

  “Yeah.” I tell them about the stupid idea I implanted in Holden’s long departed brain.

  “Skyla,” Logan looks genuinely shocked “you can’t mess with spiritual beings like that. You’re connecting yourself to him in ways you
don’t know.”

  “Oh, is that what they taught you, first day of Count 101?”

  “I’m serious,” he softens. “The more you interact with him the more power you give him.”

  “OK, so I won’t interact with him anymore.”

  A slow gurgle starts up in the kitchen. We watch in horror as the two trash bags we sealed shut, split open and dislodge themselves in a wild rattle all over the kitchen and litter the floor with bloody towels, broken pottery, and vomit.

  “Crap,” I hiss.

  Gage wraps an arm around my shoulders. “It’s too late to ignore him, Skyla.” He pushes his lips into mine. But I think I have a way to get rid of him.

  ***

  Gage refuses to let me in on his idea with Holden haunting the vicinity, not even telepathically is he willing to share the concept.

  We clean up the area one more time, and I swear openly at Holden during the entire process, which drives Logan and Gage to alternately shake their heads at me.

  Gage plucks his phone out of his pocket and stares down at it. “It’s Chloe.” He pulls a face.

  “What does she want?” I’ve got a gut feeling—but I’m hoping for a second Thanksgiving miracle.

  “Apparently, I’m taking her shopping.” Gage tosses the phone up before catching it again.

  “No.” I’m dazed by his willingness to go. “It’s a holiday. And might I remind you, you’re not her boyfriend.”

  “And that I’ll never be.” He locks eyes with me driving home the point. He glances back down at his phone as though it were a pariah. “But, black Friday is upon us.”

  “More like blackmail Friday.” I wrap my arms around his waist. “You’re not going, right?”