Wicked

by Addison Moore

  “Gage and I haven’t exchanged gifts yet. I’m hoping for tonight.”

  “Hope for something a little more realistic,” Tad shoots from across the room. “It’s a school night.”

  “Right. I meant early this evening. Maybe we’ll go out for a bite or something.” A bite of each other. I stop myself from breaking out in an awkward giggle. I’m completely slaphappy from a severe lack of sleep.

  A clear image of Gage without his shirt on pops in my mind. His steel cut abs, that triangular shape just below his stomach that dips down to his thighs. I swear you can see the outline of every single muscle on that boy. I plan on making it my goal tonight to trace each one out with my tongue. “What a body,” I mouth the words as I pull out a mug and pour myself a cup of coffee.

  “What the?” Tad mutters from the couch. He swats himself as though an angry swarm of bees were attacking him.

  I smirk over at him.

  Everyday should begin with Tad kicking his own ass.

  “What?” Mom fans him with a magazine before jumping on the coffee table and drilling out a scream.

  It’s probably a mouse, or a fly, or a gnat for that matter, she has the same knee jerk reaction to anything under three inches. It’s no wonder she’s not pregnant by now.

  I dart over. “What is it?” I’d love a pet mouse. They’re so cute and sweet and—oh—holy freaking shit!

  An entire army of long black spiders crawl all over him at top speed. He lets out a series of low guttural moans that make it sound as though a cow is being brutally assaulted in the middle of the living room.

  “Black widows!” My mother’s lungs blow out the words at Mach five, and within ten seconds a thunderclap of footsteps rumble down the stairs.

  Tad spirals off the couch and onto the carpet like a man on fire. He rolls and screams as Mom smacks him hard and fast with a magazine in each hand.

  If one didn’t know what was transpiring, one might be prone to believe that my mother was beating the crap out Tad. Say, someone like Melissa, who either A. got up on the wrong side of the bed, perhaps four hours too early, or B. is in the middle of a raging bloody period and feels the need to expel her wrath by way of a fist fight.

  “You bitch!” Melissa gives a high pitch wail that could serve as a worldwide communication method for Counts—probably does. She pulls Mom back by the hair and pushes into her chest.

  “Melissa!” My mother shrieks forming a shield with the magazines.

  The chandelier over the dining room table starts to move in violent rocking heaves before it twists and spins like a top.

  Holden.

  It’s like the word body is a calling card for all kinds of craptastic things to happen, well, to Tad anyway. And now we’ve got a circus you could sell tickets to, complete with spousal abuse, black widows, and sideways stepmother bitch slaps.

  As soon as the ruckus dies down, Mom yells for Drake to help load Tad into the minivan. Tad’s face is bloated twice its normal size, and he’s dazed from the thorough pummeling he’s just endured.

  Not one spider remains. I lift a sofa cushion with caution. Nothing.

  “Nice show, Holden,” I say under my breath.

  I only hope he didn’t kill Tad for real this time.

  ***

  That night—fourteen cups of coffee later, I’m so pumped that Gage is actually coming over I can’t stop shaking from excitement. Well, OK, the caffeine may have played a tiny part, but that’s not how I want to remember this.

  Mom is spending the night at the hospital with Tad. Turns out he’s got a touch of the blood poisoning, and they want to pump him full of antibiotics so he can live to see another day. Wouldn’t that be just weird if the body I gave Holden was Tad’s? That would be a disaster of monumental proportions. Then I’d really have to kill Tad to keep him away from my mother or else, God forbid, we’d have mini Kraggers running around the house. I shake the thought out of my mind.

  “Hey beautiful.” Gage appears near the doorway holding a round birthday cake with a lit candle pressed in the center.

  Gage is beyond gorgeous tonight. He’s completely godlike with the glow of the candlelight warming his features.

  “You look flawless,” I say hypnotically. I want to forget the cake, put out the candle and start our own blaze.

  I motion him over to the comforter stretched out on the floor.

  We’re totally on the same wavelength because I’ve got three votive candles sitting up on the window seat filling the room with magical flashes of light.

  “I saw Nevermore,” he says placing the cake between us. “He says hello. I’ve trained him to say, happy birthday, Skyla.”

  “I bet Chloe liked that.” I hate that he was in Chloe’s room—that he spent the night. That’s about as appetizing as finding hair in my food.

  “She wasn’t thrilled,” he whispers, taking up my hands. “You’d better make a wish.” He gives me a feverish kiss on the mouth.

  I can feel the heat from the flame rising up around my neck, exploding over me as we linger, not wanting this perfect moment to end. It feels good kissing Gage, being alone with him. Although I hate to admit it, but it also feels good to have my eyes closed longer than two seconds—damn good actually.

  We pull back, and I just gaze at him—take in his iconic beauty. “I officially dub you the keep Skyla the hell awake committee. Are you up for the challenge?” I annunciate the word up as though it were provocative, but instead it just sounds vague.

  “I’m up.” He tilts his head at me. “Make a wish before we accidentally set your room on fire.”

  “Oh right,” I stare down at the smooth orange blaze elongating itself into the night.

  Wishes—I’d like for the faction war to end, but in a way, I don’t. It seems like that will only complicate things, and I sort of like having Gage, with no pressure to choose Logan. Not like I could ever choose Logan anyway, he lies, he broke my heart—he’s a Count.

  I look across at Gage—so soulful, so sweet with those melted glacier eyes. “I already have everything I want right here.” I blow out the candle, and a plume of smoke rises between us, spirals up soft as a dream.

  I get on my knees and scoop a layer of frosting off with my finger. I make my way onto his lap and smear it over the side of his neck, pushing my lips up to it. It is unadulterated bliss kissing him through the sugary frosting—an intense glorious pleasure to clean it off his person. Kissing Gage—massaging my lips up and down his neck in one sweeping motion is by far more sexually intense and relaxing than ever kissing Marshall or Logan for that matter. There’s something pure about our love, in every way sublime, just like Gage himself.

  I feel myself drifting. Gage rocks us back onto the floor, and the room starts to fade. His flesh gives way beneath me, and I’m floating, unmoored from the world, sailing into a pure heavenly sleep.

  The room quakes. My eyes spring open to find a dark figure lying next to me. It stirs and turns, exposing an unnatural grimace that spans half its shadowed face, large yellow eyes, and severe wrinkles covering the entire mass of its flesh. My mouth falls open in a scream, but nothing comes. I’m paralyzed, unable to move or breathe from fear.

  Then something loosens, and it takes less than a second before I hop on both feet ready to eject myself from the vicinity.

  Squatting by the door is another creature with unnatural folds and depressions in its charred flesh that makes it look more animal-like than human. Its clawed fingers pat steady over a long slender drum. The rhythm fills my ears with a horrible thump that vibrates my entire being with its nagging beat.

  “I gotta get out of here,” I struggle to make it to the window, but it grabs me and shakes me.

  “Skyla!” Gage hisses in my ear.

  “What?” I pant, soaking with perspiration.

  “You were having a nightmare. Are you OK?”

  “I think so.” No—definitely I’m not OK. I just sit there, dazed. It takes all of my strength to keep my eyes open
, but the thought of that eerie grimace, that thing touching me, freaks the hell out of me. “Keep me awake,” it comes out weak—feeble. “Are you ready to exchange kisses?” I look over at him blankly.

  He gives a gentle smile. “Kisses?” He pushes in a quick one. “Do you mean gifts?”

  “Yes,” I give a hard blink in frustration. “I totally meant kisses—gifts.” I did it again.

  “You go first,” he says with a smoky look in his eyes.

  God, Gage is effortlessly hot, and that is gift enough.

  “OK.” I pull off my t-shirt and toss it to the floor. “That’s just a sneak preview,” the words puff out with sheer exhaustion. “I’ll let you unwrap the rest. I run my thumbs on the inside of my bra-straps trying to look sexy, but it feels so comfortable I just leave them hitched there, awkwardly, like a farmer in overalls.

  He tilts his head thoughtfully, examining me, not sure what to make of my sneak preview. He traces the top of my bra with his finger. “The cake is part of my gift since I made it just for you.”

  “You did not!” My mouth falls open with surprise.

  “Did to. And I only set the smoke alarm off once, which is a new record for me.”

  “I love you,” I say dreamily.

  He pulls a piece of paper from his pocket and wands it in front of me.

  “Is that what I think it is?” I draw a breath in anticipation. Gage once wrote the sweetest poem, I hope it’s another one just like it.

  “I thought I’d share my feelings for you,” he says it low. The words string out like musical notes and dance through the air.

  “Read it to me.”

  He shakes his head. “I can’t see in the dark.”

  “It’s not dark.” I flick a finger in the direction of the candles.

  “How about I read it to you later.” He leans over and puts it on my nightstand. “Maybe you could tell me a little more about my gift right now.” A wicked grin spreads across his face.

  “First, I want to thank you for sending the invitation.” I’m so tired. I sway to my left until I hit the bed. “I thought I was going to have to send it myself. I’m pretty relieved I didn’t have to—guess I’m a little old fashion that way.” I give way to a gentle string of laughter.

  “What invitation?” He rolls me over on top of him.

  “You know, the body invite.” Oh shit. I just said the magic word, and now Holden is going to show up and turn everything to crap. I hold my breath to see if a giant spider is going to crawl out of my shirt, or if the window and mirror are going to explode simultaneously, but nothing.

  “Body invite?” he repeats.

  Perfect. In the event Holden didn’t hear me, there’s always Gage.

  I try to ignore it. “So did you bring protection?”

  “Against what?” Gage seems genuinely perplexed.

  “Do I have to draw a picture?” I try to sound light, but I just sound annoyed.

  Something twitches to the left.

  I draw in a sharp breath and hide my face in his chest. It’s that creature, that thing, watching us from the corner.

  Something tells me it’s going to be a very long night.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  What in the Hell

  Gage and I take our time getting to know one another on a far more physical level than ever before, but really it was nothing like I had envisioned. We spent the night clothed and highly supervised by an army of creepy Fems, which Gage kept trying to assure me only existed in my imagination.

  It’s probably a good thing nothing major happened. I’d hate to have the embedded memory of wrinkled Fems with bat-shit crazy grins as a part of the experience.

  The next morning, I catch a ride to school with Drake and Brielle.

  Brielle sits humming along to the radio as though everything were normal. She seems completely unfazed by any drama, if there is drama, going on between the two of them. I can’t tell whether or not they’re together, or broken up, or if Drake is aware of the fact he’ll be a father soon.

  I drift off to sleep on several occasions on the way over to West, the only thing jolting me awake from time to time is the pothole-riddled road. Each time the tires sink, I smack my head into the window.

  As soon as we park, Brielle and Drake take off for first, each slamming their door as they stomp off in separate directions, so there’s that.

  I rest my head on the seat in front of me as I grab my backpack off the floor. It beckons me to stay awhile in this strange, yet amazingly comfortable position, so I give, and my eyes seal shut.

  Dreams wait for me in the dangerous world behind my lids. I’m dressed in white, with my arms and legs spread out, spinning on a large grey stone. Brielle comes over and sits down next to me. A giant goat crawls out from under her shirt, and she smiles over at me, tells me it’s her baby. A tunnel emerges. I walk for miles down darkened corridors—so many doors to choose from. If I choose the wrong door I’ll be lost, banished forever. But if I choose the right door, I become eternal and get to live with Logan and Gage.

  A hard knock explodes on the window of Drake’s car, and I spike up in my seat.

  It’s Gage. He’s got the face of an eagle, and he’s bare-chested. I get out of the car and follow him to class. I don’t think twice about the dramatic change in his features, just admire the way his feathers band in layers, the nobility they bring to him.

  “I can’t keep my eyes open,” I tell him.

  “I’ll be here for you,” he says without moving his beak.

  I miss old Gage.

  I miss the way things were before Chloe.

  ***

  The sky rolls back exposing long red gashes in the sky. Clouds like bruises fill in the periphery, and a brilliant band of striated tissue leaks a puddle of blood onto the senior lawn at West Paragon.

  I walk into Marshall’s class feeling far more dazed than I was during first. My muscles ache as though I just swam a mile through wet cement to get here.

  Marshall looks arresting, standing there chatting with a student.

  You never know with Marshall and his Sector ways if you can trust him. He has a mind technique he uses on the entire lot of us, and today I’m acutely aware of it. I can see him for the spatial creature he is, an errant nodule sent to moderate us, confuse our minds with stories from heaven.

  Marshall wants to marry me, but it’s Gage I’m going to be with.

  I look over across the room at Gage. He looks regal sitting there with Chloe. His feathers all neatly arranged in rows by color—first the snowcap above his shoulders, then short brindle feathers, and then a strip of gold. But it’s his beak that drives home his nobility, makes his strength known to everyone around.

  Ellis turns to face me, he’s shirtless, and wears the face of an ox. I marvel at the flesh on his chest, rubbery, like a crash test dummy.

  I laugh right at him, and he gives a goofy grin back.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You’re funny,” I say. “You look real scary. I bet your mom’s proud, though.” I don’t know why I add that last bit, I just do.

  “I need to go back and get my stash.” He nods over and over as though he’s keeping a beat to some private song.

  “I don’t think so,” I say flatly. The bell rings and interrupts me. All I can focus on is how painfully wide his nose looks. He should put a ring in it. He looks menacing, and if I didn’t know it was Ellis I’d probably run away. Then I remember what I was about to say. “We can’t go back—ever.” I look across the room and see Chloe speaking to Gage. My Gage. She’s got my damn bird, and now she wants another one. She’ll imprison him behind bars, and I’ll never see him again. I pound my hands flat against the desk.

  “It’s because of her!” I shout the words to ensure everyone in the room can hear. I stand and point over to Chloe the witch. “I killed her, and she wouldn’t stay dead.” My voice cuts through time, you could hear it all the way back in the forest that night after homecoming.


  “Ms. Messenger?” Marshall moves like a ninja and pulls me outside by the elbow. “Get a grip on yourself. Have you had any rest?”

  “No. I can’t sleep.” I take in his radiant beauty. Marshall glows in colors that I’ve never seen before. They dance around his face like a rainbow of exotic flowers, sparkle like cut glass. I slip my finger inside the collar of his shirt. “Do you shave your chest?” The words thump out of me.

  “Clearly you are in no condition to remain on the premises. Take your things and leave.”

  “Skuce,” I don’t recognize the word. I think I’m just making them up now, because having a private language is reasonable and necessary. I take a step back.

  “Go to the restroom and douse yourself back to reality. I suggest you see me later if you haven’t imploded before then.”

  His shoes create a hollow echo as he walks back into class. They code a message to me that lets me know we’ve been invaded. I bolt down the stairs slipping and falling. Holden helps me up as we venture outside.

  The dark sky yawns, and a patter of rain begins its harsh assault. It’s the first clue that the faction war has come to Paragon. Holden and I need to fight to bring down the Countenance.

  We lie in wait as an entire infantry of Counts head in our direction—each in their own brilliant color cleverly disguised to throw us off course. We wait until they’re right in front of us then jump them one by one. I twist arms and legs, tear out patches of hair with my bare hands. Holden laughs and cheers. We are unstoppable.

  Time pulls apart. It shreds easy as wet paper, further and further away from me. I find myself on a field in the sun. A girl with hair the color of rust, dead eyes, comes to me. She speaks her native tongue of lies, but I scratch and claw at her, spin her over my arm and toss her in the sky like a dinner plate. I don’t wait for her to land. I just run.

  Days melt into weeks, and the wind blows through my hair wild and untamed, the earth twists under my feet as it moves me closer to my destiny. I come to a clearing and see Logan and Gage—Logan with the face of a donkey. He looks so regal, destined to be mine, but the world says I can’t have him.