Wicked

by Addison Moore

He’s really digging my reaction, only I’m not really digging his body art.

  Three tall figures are displayed on Drake’s back—all three with the effigy of a man, shirtless, one with the face of an eagle, the other with the face of an ox, and the third with the face of a lion.

  “What is this?” I mutter. I told both Logan and Gage about my weird hallucination, nobody else on the planet knows about it other than the three of us, and sure as hell not Emily-the-haunted-artist-Morgan. And why the lion and not the donkey? Did she have it wrong, or did I? “So, did you tell her what to draw? And what did she do it with, a marker?” I stop just shy of touching his back.

  “We were in her room. Things started to get freaky, and she asked if I wanted my back done. I had no idea she was going to whip out a bottle of India ink and start diagramming hieroglyphics and shit, but it’s pretty cool.”

  “India ink? That’s like ten times more permanent than a tattoo,” I tease.

  “Shut up.” He pulls back on his t-shirt. “I saw you talking to Brielle, she say anything about me?”

  “Yes, she’s still totally into you. How can you be with Emily when she’s having your baby?”

  “Shh!” He walks over and opens the door an inch to scout the hall before shutting and locking it. “She’s not freaking pregnant, OK? She’s psycho. She’s trying every trick in the book to keep me hanging around.”

  “She is having a baby,” and she’s always been a touch psychotic, but I omit that fact. “She really likes you.” I don’t know why. “Besides, I still have the positive pregnancy test floating around in my bathroom, plus a bottle of growth pellets for that spawn of yours she’s lugging around.” I kept that gross stick in the event Brielle wanted it for a keepsake. I don’t even know if it’s the type of thing pregnant women keep—a stick full of pee, but if it were mine and it meant Gage and I were about to have a baby, I think I would. Logan races through my mind, and I shake him away.

  Drake studies me, walks around in a slow suspicious circle as though I were keeping something from him.

  “I think Mia’s right.” He folds his arms at his conclusion. “You went and got yourself knocked up, and now Brielle is using your catastrophe to try and get me back. It’s a twofer. You lock yourself up with whoever, and she shackles herself to me. And, had I played along, how much do you wanna bet she’d magically lose the baby before she balloons out? My mom used to watch those cheesy soaps all the time. Trust me, I know the mind of a woman.”

  Drake’s expert level of stupidity leaves me breathless.

  “You’re a moron,” is all I can manage.

  “And you’ll soon be the reason I’ll be collecting some serious Benjamins. You’re a magnet of irresponsibility, and thanks to you, I’ll have an entire stack of dead presidents by the time the New Year rolls around.”

  “Grant—not Franklin, is on the fifty dollar bill,” I say indignantly. “You will never have a stack of dead presidents with Benjamins, because Benjamin Franklin was never a president.”

  He shakes his head. “Who cares? You get the point. So who’s the daddy?”

  “You are,” I say without thinking.

  Drake pulls a serious face of disgust just before his cell goes off.

  “It’s her. Great. I got my own personal stalker.” He glares into the phone.

  “Aren’t you going to answer it? You should at least talk to her.”

  He spins me towards the door.

  “Wait, what made Emily draw those figures?” I say trying to slow myself down from being firmly ejected.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know.” He launches me into the hall and slams the door behind him.

  Yes, I would.

  ***

  Gage picks me up at nine in his truck. I’m so glad to see it, I actually throw my arms over the hood and give it a kiss.

  “How about one for me?” His dimples ignite on either side without trying.

  Gage comes over and wraps his arms around my waist, cleanses me with his touch.

  “I really missed you,” he whispers.

  “I really missed you,” I say before indulging in the hot of his mouth.

  “Holy Christmas!” Tad shouts. “Are you on the way to church or a motel?”

  “I don’t think the neighbors heard,” I mutter hopping into the truck.

  Gage and I quickly pullout and head onto the road so we won’t have the Landon Counts tailgating us all the way down.

  “Logan told me about your little adventure,” he says, padding over the steering wheel with the palm of his hand.

  I’d hardly call the slaughter we took part in an adventure.

  “I guess we pretty much avenged those Celestra deaths,” it comes out quiet, sad.

  “Not according to Logan. He says you have one left in Rome and still have Demetri Edinger to get to.”

  “Yeah, well, I’d rather off Chloe any day of the week. Speaking of which, what are we going to do about her?” I can’t help feeling like it’s game over for me. Here I thought we were going to take down the Counts, stop them from killing any more innocent Celestra—hell, from eradicating Celestra then Chloe steps in and effortlessly becomes the new millstone around my neck.

  “What exactly did Dudley say when he told you not to tell? Do you remember his exact words?”

  “Not really. He basically said I couldn’t tell anyone he was a Sector or he’d be bound, and if it came to me or him, he would always choose him.”

  “Great.” He stares out at the road depleted. “Maybe he just needs a pure Celestra to turn in? Maybe if Chloe were to tell him she knew he was a Sector, he could turn her over to the Counts. The Counts only wanted you because you were pure, I don’t see the difference.”

  “I hope you’re onto something. I’m getting the feeling the only real thing holding Marshall back from handing me over is the fact he wants to marry me.” Have my partially human children and hold dominion. I’m sure that entails lots of great perks like him morphing into Logan or Gage on demand, but I’m not interested. “I’m not going to marry Marshall am I?” It seems like a stupid question to be asking Gage, who has already assured me he’s seen us take that mad dash down the alter.

  He tilts his head thoughtfully to the side as though seriously considering this.

  “I don’t know.”

  “What?” I jump a little in my seat.

  “I don’t know. I know that we get married, but I don’t know at what point, or what the circumstances are.”

  “What do you mean circumstances? People get married because they’re in love, not because of circumstances. What did you see in the vision that made you think we were getting married? Was it a big wedding?”

  That would be sort of awesome if he could fill me in on all the decor and colors and bridesmaid dresses and stuff because I’m not really creative in that way. I could plan the whole thing backwards—sort of reverse engineer the entire event.

  “I never saw a wedding,” Gage glances over and gives a mischievous half-smile.

  I reach over and run my fingers through his thick damp hair.

  “Well, well, aren’t you a dirty little liar.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  The Art of War

  Paragon Presbyterian erects itself like an ancient relic of mass and marble into the dull grey sky. It’s carved of stone with etchings and statues molded right into the infrastructure. A wash of fog stretches over the building and escorts us inside as it seeps into the foyer.

  I’m half expecting the walls to tremble, or the floor to open up and drop me into Ezrina’s lair as some after effect of hosting the rose of a thousand demons inside my intestinal track, but nothing.

  I turn around to tell Gage and bump right into Michelle Miller who’s still sporting her run-in with pinking shears. It looks a little more refined, like it’s the scalp clenching salon version. Surprisingly it doesn’t look bad on her. I bet it’s totally easy to wash and style in the morning and—oh freaking shit!

  The rose gle
ams off her neck like it never skipped a beat.

  “Where’d you get that?” I shriek.

  Gage pulls me a step back.

  Michelle looks dazed—stoned. Heck, Ellis Harrison looks more lucid any day of the week with an entire marijuana field clouding his brain.

  “It fell in Dudley’s room. He gave it back to me,” her voice sounds distant, wholly removed from her person, and suddenly I’m wondering if she should be in the facility with that thing on. And speaking of which, it’s not the exact same pendant I swallowed, is it?

  She picks the rose up puts it into her mouth as though it were a habit.

  I push my face into Gage’s chest in disgust.

  “Excuse us,” he says escorting me in.

  We take seats near the back with a group of the kids from West. East keeps to itself a few pews in front of us.

  Pierce! I recognize his freakishly wide shoulders that look as though he’s wearing football padding beneath his jacket—and Nat.

  I shrink a little in the pew.

  “Relax,” Logan whispers, “he can’t do anything. He’s out on bail, he has to behave.”

  “The reason there’s bail to begin with is because of me,” I whisper back.

  Gage secures his arm around me and pulls me in tight. I don’t know if it’s some kind of signal to get Logan to stop talking to me or if he wants to make me feel safe, but either way it’s working on both points.

  Pierce turns around and glares right at me as though some sixth sense alerted him to my presence. He bites over his lower lip exposing his sharpened canines then retracts them slowly into his mouth.

  “Did you see that?” I hiss. “He just threatened me.”

  “Won’t hold up in court,” Logan points out.

  Nat turns around—her eyes still blotchy and swollen, her nose distinctly broken. She looks as though she were in a major car wreck even though the only thing she collided with was a delusional version of me.

  She gives me the finger and turns back around.

  “Did you see that?” I flinch at the gesture. “That is completely illegal in here.” I push into Gage a little deeper.

  “She always did have class,” Gage whispers.

  This isn’t going well. In fact, I can’t imagine the rest of my days going well ever again.

  Marshall walks in as if on cue.

  Ms. Messenger, he says, striding past our pew, landing on the other side near Tad and Mom.

  It really is a wonder this entire place doesn’t ignite. It’s a tinderbox of assholes, well, not that Marshall’s one of them, but sometimes he is.

  The worship music starts up. My eyes wander towards the art along the walls. I’ve never really taken an interest in art, before Emily and her cryptic compositions injected themselves in my life.

  Just your run of the mill poster sized paintings of angels, here. White robes, wings, nothing out of the ordinary. After a while my eyes trail up towards the pulpit. Something white and glazed harnesses my attention on the front of the pulpit itself. I straighten in my seat to get a better look. The bust of four figures carved in creamy marble stare back at me, one of a man, one of an ox, an eagle, and a lion.

  Maybe Logan was supposed to be a lion, and I made him an ass? I give a wry smile.

  I look over at Marshall who stares studiously ahead. I’ll have to ask him what all this means. Am I the man—the woman?

  From behind Marshall the curve of dark hair emerges. Chloe gouges me with a hate-filled stare. She eyes both Gage and I as though we just ate her firstborn. She cuts her gaze to Marshall, then me again, and gives the hint of a smile.

  Crap.

  The microphone crackles, and I redirect my gaze.

  “Spiritual warfare,” the man at the pulpit clears his throat. “Wars—they happen just about everyplace.” He gives a little smile as though the idea he was about to present was absurd. “The book of Revelation reads, ‘And there was a war in heaven. And Michael and his angels fought against the dragon, and the dragon and his angels fought back.’”

  Marshall turns his face ever so slightly in my direction.

  A war in heaven—can you believe that, Skyla? He glances over at me, serene as the ocean before a typhoon. You should—because you, my love, play a very crucial role.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Wild Abandon

  After the service, Gage informs me he’s taking me on a top-secret date.

  “So you’re stealing me away?”

  “Consider yourself kidnapped.” He gives a sly smile.

  We pull into a quiet emerald cove marked Rockaway Point that sports a sandy beach the color of charcoal. We get out and I scoop up a handful, watch the ebony dust run from my fingers in a shower of sparkles.

  “This is amazing. I can’t believe how beautiful this place is,” I say.

  A row of pelicans jet out over the horizon, their bills give a history lesson on prehistoric birds all on their own.

  He holds me with one hand while carrying a fast food bag and a soda in the other.

  “Now that you’re here it doesn’t look so beautiful. You outshine the best nature has to offer.” He gives a playful bite to my earlobe, and my stomach erupts in one hot bite.

  I swill the ice in my oversized drink and look up at him. Gage looks sublime against the heavily charred sky.

  “I can’t believe Chloe gave you the afternoon off.” I examine him for clues. His cheek rises on one side when I say it. “So what’s the deal? Is Sunday really the day of rest?”

  He stares out into the rugged whitecaps. They cycle in and out with a recklessness that leaves you in awe.

  “I worked out a deal with her.” His jaw clenches.

  “Oh. I don’t think I want to know.” Whatever it is I’m sure it isn’t anything to do a cartwheel over. The last thing I want is for Chloe to ruin my moment with Gage. She’s already ruined so many. “I officially ban Chloe and Pierce and Tad from our conversation for the rest of the afternoon—make that all day.”

  Gage spreads a thick plaid blanket under the umbrella shade of a coral tree. Its bright red flowers dot the plain fat leaves like miniature trumpets. It feels like a cavern of privacy right here in open nature. I’m pretty sure we’ve officially found our spot. I hope something momentous happens to confirm this.

  “And what about Logan? Is he banned?” His cheeks flex with disappointment.

  I wonder if Logan played up the boyfriend angle while telling him about our trip? If he told him how he stole that kiss, stretching the truth to make it sound as though I had initiated it—wanted it.

  “We can leave him out for sure.”

  The waves crash on the shore in an explosive roar as though somehow Logan himself had intervened with nature and was disputing his absence from our conversation.

  “I think he was supposed to be a lion,” I say as we grab our burgers and start in on lunch. I take a sip of my soda and lose myself watching the boiling sea thrash over and over.

  “Who?”

  “Logan.”

  Gage dips his head.

  “Sorry.” I give a quick shrug. “So tell me about our wedding vision.”

  Gage played coy after I grilled him on what exactly it was he saw, and he promised he’d tell me later.

  He sucks into his straw examining me with great intensity as though somehow I had liquefied, and he was drinking me down deeply.

  “I saw us together,” he reaches over and picks up my hand, “we were facing the judge and he said, I now pronounce you man and wife.”

  “Did you see my face?” My heart thumps unnaturally. What if this is the caveat? What if it was a misunderstanding right from the beginning?

  He nods. “When you turned to kiss me. You whispered I love you.” The apples of his cheeks darken.

  I scoot in and lay my head in his lap.

  “So it is you.” I smile up at him. “A judge, huh?” Sounds like a quickie to me, but really I don’t care. I’d run to the courthouse today if he’d let me—if m
y heart didn’t demand I fight a faction war and give Logan an official big fat no. My stomach tightens in knots. It feels so official—Logan and I over forever.

  “I love you,” I say it out of guilt for letting Logan steal another minute of our time.

  He scoops me up and gives a soft lingering kiss, laced with the sweet taste of soda.

  I dip my hand up his t-shirt and feel his warm flesh underneath.

  “I love you with an eternal passion,” Gage breathes the words hot into my ear.

  My mouth falls open at the thought of eternal love.

  “You have an amazing way with words.” I dig my fingers into his hair at the base of his neck, soft slick tendrils, so unnaturally dark it gives off the slightest hint of blue. “Loved the poem. I wish you’d write one for me everyday.”

  “Maybe I am. Maybe I’m just saving them all to give to you one day.”

  He gives a gentle rumble of laughter lying besides me, sliding his hands up the back of my sweater. His warm fingers push under my bra and curve their way over stopping shy of my chest. I watch as his eyes shut just barely, as they roll back in ecstasy when I draw a line down his chest. It’s so easy like this with Gage. Everything about it feels right.

  “Were we at the beach our first time?” I wash over his neck in kisses.

  His hands slip down into the back of my jeans in one quick motion.

  “Hotel.” His chest quivers with inaudible laughter and jostles me.

  I sigh into him. Forever now I’ll be eyeing the hotels on Paragon, counting them out, wondering which one we’ll be in, which room, not that either of those things matter right now. Gage has the patience of a saint, something of which I seem to be sorely lacking.

  “We can practice,” I say taking off his shirt. Then without hesitation I whip off my sweater and roll us in the blanket, engulfing us in enough privacy to practice just about anything.

  His eyes light up in the shadows like brilliant blue stars as he rolls on top of me. I can feel his stomach over mine his chest just cresting, afraid he’ll crush me with his full weight. I reach back and unhook my bra, yank it off in one stealth move. I toss it into the bushes, pressing the small of his back into my bare flesh until I can feel him covering me completely.