All Hail the King (Celestra Forever After Book 6)

by Addison Moore

  Logan chuckles as he looks at me. “Do you know what I think?”

  “I’m afraid to ask. You did laugh, after all.”

  He picks up my hands and swings them between us, but only because I’m far too enormous for his arms to wrap around me.

  “I think I should reprise my cop costume and handcuff you in the butterfly room.”

  “Ha! Good luck getting me in there.” The baby gives a hard kick and my stomach tightens like a vise once again. I don’t dare tip Logan off as to how painful this is, so I try to remain motionless, lost in thought.

  “Skyla? Why are you holding your breath?”

  “No reason.” I inhale hard once it starts to subside. If I confess to Logan that my Braxton Hicks contractions have turned into a serious torture session, he’ll veto my vote to go out tonight. “At some point tonight, I’ll give Nev the go ahead and we’ll move the Viden youth to Arizona. Then he’ll call Raven’s Eye. Are you ready to raise some hell?”

  “I’m ready to get out of hell and get our people, namely you, right where you belong.”

  Logan kisses me long and hard with his hand over my belly and I hold back tears as another contraction comes harder than the last.

  Oh God, it’s happening.

  It looks as if tonight is going to be hell, after all.

  Of all the years I’ve spent on Paragon, of all the parties my mother has thrown, this one is the goriest of them all—and I’ve only yet arrived and surveyed the outside of Marshall’s goliath home.

  Four ten-foot poles sit staked along his walkway, and each one has a bloody head impaled over the top.

  It’s dark out, the sun set well over three hours ago, the fog is hugging Paragon soil like two old friends visiting. The parking for this island-wide event is already at max capacity with cars parking catawampus and every which way in the field adjacent to the property. But Marshall and my mother have Marshall’s manor lit up with garish red lights, accentuating the fact that the windows, the doors, and the walls have all been splattered with blood. Bloodied handprints are slapped haphazardly all over the place as if the poor victim of this carnage were trying desperately to escape his final destiny.

  But Logan and I are stuck on go. We stare up at those four heads set on stakes in awe, and a shiver rides through me because I know for a fact the owners of these replicas will undoubtedly notice them as well.

  A choking sound emits from me. “Do you think my mother realized she was putting Demetri’s head on a spit?”

  “Doubtful.” Logan takes a breath. “Although he does look spot-on.”

  “So are Gage, Wes, and Chloe,” I muse as I take in their startling likeness. My God, Gage. My heart aches even still at the sight of my once beautiful husband with his eyes upturned toward heaven, those lips I’ve known intimately opened for not. “The snake gliding out of Chloe’s mouth is a nice touch, too.”

  “Dudley is sending out a message, that’s for sure. Come on. Let’s see what else he’s saying through his party-planning Morse code.”

  A laugh bubbles from me as we make our way up the steps. Logan looks far too sexy to ever be safe in his old West uniform and I’m the teen bride, ever by his side.

  Melissa is watching the kids tonight. Mom said she and Tad would only stay a little while so that they could switch places before the evening was through.

  My stomach keeps turning into a rock every now and again, but the contractions seem to be sporadic. Although with every new one that comes it feels as if my midsection has turned into a boulder that the hand of God Himself is squeezing. It’s not fair that women have to go through such living hell to bring another human being into this world and that the men that plant them in our bellies do so in a fit of ecstasy. It’s alarming how vastly different our roles are in the equation. But according to the good word, we have Eve to thank for that. I wonder how many of my people realize that they have my personal debacles to thank for the fact Celestra—the entire Retribution League is where it’s at today. Probably all of them. But I’m about to rectify it all.

  “Look at this.” Logan nods to the doors splattered and smeared in what looks to be dried blood. Handprints dot the surface and the words, Come on in. We’re dying to see you, are slashed across it.

  “I’m more than impressed already,” I say. “Logan, you don’t think this is all one big omen and the night is going to end in a bloodbath, do you?”

  A dark laugh brews in his chest as his eyes light up a strange shade of fire. “Not this night, Skyla—but a night.” He sighs heavily and we head on inside. “Tonight we simply pull the pin.”

  The interior of Marshall’s home is lined with bodies. It’s wall-to-wall questionable human flesh. The lights are dim and flickering, and it looks as if someone invited the fog in as well. That haunted piano of Marshall’s is playing some half-baked ragtime beat that makes it sound as if whoever is at the ivory helm is pounding their heart out and determined to break the entire unit.

  Logan groans as he looks to his left, and we spot Marlena laughing caustically with an entire tribe of seventeenth century harlots. And just beyond that, I see a sight that makes my body seize. The Transfer transplants are out in force, their ghostly frames glow a pale ethereal blue, laughing and chattering away a million poltergeist miles a minute. It sounds like nothing more than a dull hum to the human ear. There’s a newly installed chandelier above in Marshall’s vaulted ceiling, covered with gossamer and swaying hard. It’s only then I note the blood slowly trickling down the walls, and I’m mildly alarmed by how my mother managed to pull this off. However, I’m not too concerned with the cleanup since I’ve seen Marshall whip up a miracle or two.

  My stomach begins to seize again and I spontaneously let go of Logan’s hand. The temptation to squeeze it to death will be too strong, and in no way do I want to be removed from the party by force.

  This too shall pass—in about one hellish minute.

  I’m in the middle of breathing my way through it when a dapper Sector appears before us and I gasp. Marshall has donned his requisite suit and his dangerous, sexy smile—but gone is that earthly, dare I say, human demeanor about him. Instead, it’s replaced with eyes that glow like hot coals and flesh that is illuminated with a clean white light that makes him hard to look at with the naked eye.

  “Marshall”—I’m quick to admonish him—“why in heaven’s name are you turning up the supernatural volume tonight?” I snatch up his hand and squeeze the ever-living hell out of it because it’s all I can do to keep from groaning. And sure enough, Marshall’s feel-good vibes course through me, stronger than morphine could ever hope to be.

  “You like? I thought I’d fill this fright night with a few special touches in order to send a message to our friends. Come, let me escort you to the rear of the property. That’s where Lizbeth and I truly shined in our efforts.”

  “You leave my poor mother out of this.” I meant to laugh but ended up gritting it through my teeth like a threat as my contraction tries to squeeze the life right out of me—the baby by way of my vagina and me by way of my soul leaving my body.

  Marshall weaves us through the thicket of bodies, each face obscured with a ridiculous amount of caked-on makeup or a cheap mask, and every single person here is costume-clad. The girls all look adorably sexy and the guys run the spectrum from dapper to gruesome.

  Outside, the fog is thicker, but there are enough space heaters spread out as far as the eye can see for it to feel downright balmy. The music pumps loud and proud through various speakers he has set out around the area and a few people are swaying to the beat.

  “Oh, Marshall,” I say as my contraction thankfully subsides and I get a chance to properly take in the beauty of what I see. Normal people would have had to string up twinkle lights—miles and miles of them to garner this effect, but Marshall pulled this party trick out of the paranormal hat.

  Everywhere you look there are clusters upon clusters of luminescent bright blue butterflies fluttering around the grou
nds, the meadow-like backyard, filling the space above the corral where that behemoth horse of Rory’s glows as bright as the moon. They fill the surrounding woods and the sky as far as we can see. And tucked in the branches of the evergreens that stand tall as celestial armed guards hang throngs of fireflies as they dance lazily between their branches.

  “It’s perfectly magical.” I shake my head at the splendor of it all.

  Marshall takes a breath. “You gave life to those delicate creatures,” he says while holding out a finger and having one of the mystical winged butterflies land right on the tip. Each one of the winged creatures is extraordinarily large, and I watch breathless as their wings flutter with a personified sense of innocence.

  Marshall steps in and warms me with his presence. “Jockstrap and Ms. Bishop birthed the dead version—a cheap paper imitation at best. But it was you who breathed life into them. You have the power to breathe life into your people, Skyla. Don’t let the enemy fool you. Only you have the ability to save the Nephilim.”

  Logan wraps an arm around my waist—what’s left of it—and inadvertently starts off a contraction to end all contractions.

  Oh God. Breathe. Don’t let on or Logan will shuttle me right on out of here. And there is no way I’m going anywhere. This is Celestra’s big day. Besides, this baby has two more weeks of cooking to do. She’s just trying to keep me on my toes, is all.

  I quickly move out of Logan’s grasp and take Marshall by the hand once again, moving us deeper into the woods.

  “Skyla!” a voice calls as a couple of familiar faces waves us over toward the corral. Nev and Ezrina.

  Ezrina has her red hair wild and teased over her head, a white lab coat on, and a couple of bloody smears running down her side. Nev has donned a fedora with the glossy black plume of a raven sticking out of his hat.

  “Ezrina,” I marvel, taking her in as my contraction begins to subside. Honestly, with Marshall latched to my side, I hardly feel a thing. There’s no way he’s getting rid of me tonight. “It’s nice to see you getting into it. The massacre getup is a hit.”

  Ezrina looks stymied a moment before looking down. “Skyla, I came from the lab. I’ve been busy.”

  Nev chuckles. “That’s exactly what we dropped by to show you. Ezrina has been working on a gift for both Logan and you.”

  Ezrina lifts her chin. “Early wedding gift.”

  “Ooh.” I look to Logan and he takes up my left hand. I cringe slightly as he does it and quickly put a wall up around my thoughts.

  “Let’s have it.” Logan pulls me in and I can feel my stomach hardening once again. Oh God.

  Ezrina squints her eyes my way as if she were reading my mind. “Follow us.”

  She takes us deeper into the woods, near the stream that runs through Marshall’s property, and we find a few men on the other side, seated around what looks to be a small fire pit. The moon shines bright over the area like a spotlight as if they chose that meadow for that very purpose.

  “Ezrina!” One of them hops up and crosses his arms over his head enthusiastically. There looks to be eight of them and they all seem about the same age as Logan and me. “Is it time?”

  “Time,” she shouts back and the eight of them stand, drifting a few feet apart from one another.

  One of them lets out something akin to a bark or a howl and the rest join in—and then the unthinkable happens.

  Clothes begin to tear. Their bodies contort unnaturally, backs bent, arms to the ground as horrific moans expel from the entire lot of them.

  “My God, Ezrina,” I say, breathless, taking a full step forward. “What’s happening?” And then, as if they knew I needed an answer, I see it. One by one they begin to stagger forward, groaning. Their faces look deformed in this dim light.

  “Spectators, Skyla,” she sighs the words out.

  “Oh my God.” It’s all I can muster as I take a few staggering steps myself to the edge of the stream. “Ezrina? This is counterproductive.” And then a thought hits me. “Unless they’re working for us in some capacity.”

  “I agree,” Logan expires the word from his lips. “We were sending them home, Ezrina. Are we back to square one with these guys?”

  “No,” Nev answers for her. “There was a reason it took Rina so long to get these Spectators back to their initial forms. It’s because it wouldn’t take. And it wouldn’t take because there wasn’t a permanent shut-off valve.”

  A laugh gets buried in my throat. “There was an on-off switch instead,” I say, looking back at Ezrina, my chest pounding as she offers a curt nod my way.

  Marshall takes a breath. “Shall we leave them as a surprise for Wesley?”

  “Heavens no,” I say with a morbid delight as I watch the men—the Spectators—moving and bobbing about. “I want all of my surprises to hit them below the belt when the time is right.”

  “Very well.” Ezrina cups her hands around her mouth and shouts, “Enough!” Her voice riots against the expanse and echoes ten times over.

  The Spectators halt a moment as their movements become rigid. And then, one by one, they fall on the ground and curl up into a ball as if she had shot them dead with the sound of her voice.

  Logan lets out a ragged breath. “They’re transforming? Just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  No sooner does Ezrina say it than they begin to rise again, smaller frames, bodies easily discernable as men that the naked eye wouldn’t bat a lash at.

  They wave over to us and Nev waves back.

  Ezrina turns my way. “Happy wedding.” She makes a face. “Or whatever it is you moderns say. It’s a nice touch. Don’t you agree?”

  “It is indeed. Can anyone instruct them to change? Are we going to have a problem with the Viden youth making a game out of it?”

  “No,” Nev says it firm.

  “How can you be so sure?” I ask as I watch the men put out their fire and head into the woods.

  “Because I’ve threatened them.” Ezrina presses out a line of a smile. Of course, threats make Ezrina smile, that and little Alice. “I have them chipped.”

  “Marked”—Nev nods—“with a thin filament, half the size of a human hair, in two different locations in their bodies. They don’t know where. They don’t know about the chips. We have the ability to track their genetics, their blood pressure, and their chemical makeup. Ezrina had them swear their allegiance to Celestra. Should they break faith or decide to animate into a Spectator on their own, we not only have the ability to know—we have the ability to shut down their vital organs.”

  “We can kill them,” I whisper mostly to myself.

  Logan takes up my hand again. “We have them on a leash.”

  I glance to Marshall. “You’re awfully quiet. Spectator got your tongue?”

  “Faction business is none of my own. I’m simply an observer. I suspect we’ll see a reversal of fortune shortly and the Sectors will return to their rightful positions and you as well.”

  “Will.” Ezrina glares at me a moment. “We’re leaving.” She takes up Nev’s hand and they start toward the house. “Logan, we’ll need assistance with transport back to Whitehorse.”

  Logan twists his lips as he looks to me. “I’ll be right back.” And then maybe you can tell me why you’re giving me the cold shoulder. His brows bounce and he looks mildly amused that he’s calling me out on it.

  “Fine.” I lean in and offer him a wet kiss on the lips. “I’m sorry,” I whisper as he takes off with them.

  “Ms. Messenger.” Marshall offers a slight bow my way. “That was a powerful pulse of electricity I felt surge between the two of us as we made our way over.”

  “You don’t need to pretend to hit on me, Marshall. I know I look hideous.” I pluck at the white lace number that makes me look twice my gargantuan size.

  “I’m talking about that contraction.”

  “Oh, that. It was just a Braxton Hicks.” I grimace at him as I say it because I’m pretty sure we both know i
t wasn’t.

  “Skyla?” He inches back. “You’ve had three in the time we’ve been out here. You’re in labor.”

  “Really? And you expect me to know this? I’m not an expert. I’ve only done this once before,” I say, quickly trying to waddle my way back to the house. I’m half-afraid Marshall will force me to lie down on a patch of hay in the barn and deliver.

  “Now, now, no need to run.” I can tell by his playful tone he finds my predicament entertaining. Not to worry. I’ll get him back when I all but staple our bodies together. He’s giving me some relief, and if some celestial body in the sky decides his feel-good vibes are off-limits like she did last time, there will be hell to pay. “Why don’t you lie down in my chambers?”

  “The one we’ve already determined I’d give birth in? No thanks. That’s tantamount to a death chamber at the moment. I’d like to keep out for the next two weeks, thank you very much.”

  We hit the thick of the party, and soon enough we’re weaving our way around costumed bodies. Everyone is looking skyward, taking pictures of the thousands of glowing butterflies, the fireflies, and, my God, I want to do the same.

  “Ms. Messenger, I’d like to have a word in private with you.”

  “Request denied.” Another quickening of pain grips me, and I let out a yelp as I fish for his hand and latch onto it. “Oh God, Marshall, I can’t take this.” I give his hand a vicious squeeze and those vibratronics of his pulsate into me far more effectively than before. “Wow, what a rush.”

  A dull laugh tremors through his chest. “You’re welcome. And I’m afraid you know how your mother feels about this.”

  “My mother can suck a lemon. She can suck an egg—an entire carton of eggs. She can—”

  A hard crackle of lightning explodes overhead in a plethora of large jagged shards.

  Marshall growls, “As you were saying?”