I had to outright lie to Ms. Richards that I was fumbling around on my own and not passed out when Logan found me. And, lastly, I had to deny the fact I was in the middle of one almighty headache that feels like its more than capable of landing me in the Transport for real this time.
“The nurse said to watch you,” Logan pipes up from the foot of the bed, “make sure you don’t sleep until after midnight.”
“That’s because she’s a sadist, like you,” I moan.
Gage pulls me in, touches his forehead against mine, and I wince in horrific pain. “God, Skyla—if it’s killing you that bad, I’ll take you to the hospital.”
“Look,” Logan leans in, “everyone’s at dinner and there’s a movie in the game room after.”
“What are you saying?” I ask, annoyed. “You want me to suck it up, eat dinner, and catch a flick?” Honestly, I don’t think I’d mind sitting in a darkened room pretending to watch a movie while I secretly fall into a blissful coma.
“I’m saying the best way to stay awake would be to come with me to see your Dad,” Logan takes a seat beside me. “I’m heading out in a little bit, and I don’t think they’ll miss us too much if we’re gone.”
“No,” Gage gives Logan a hard look, “she needs rest.”
“I have to go anyway.” Logan shrugs as though there were nothing that could stop him.
I don’t like the idea of Logan running off to see my dad for God knows what.
“Then I’m going,” I say, defiantly.
“Then,” Gage gives a reluctant nod, “it looks like I’m going, too.”
***
The moon’s round face stares down on a warm L.A. evening with an impression of a faded image on its surface that it brandishes like a worn out tattoo.
I miss L.A. nights. The balmy breeze picks up. The light is still on in my bedroom window and just as I’m about to point it out to Gage, it extinguishes itself.
My father steps out in his tracksuit. His shoes shimmer with built in reflectors that flick in the night like lightning.
“Right on time,” he smiles, trekking over lawn. “And you brought friends, one of them being my daughter,” his teeth illuminate as he grins. “Skyla,” he embraces me with a depressed sigh.
“So Logan has really been coming to see you?” I’m puzzled as to why.
“Yes. Hasn’t he told you? I’ve been mentoring him.”
There’s that word again. Marshall said he was mentored by my father as well, most likely in the ethereal plane before Marshall took up residency in Paragon.
“So what does mentoring consist of?” I take him by the hand.
“Strategies. Remember all those hours I logged reading books, watching movies about wars?”
It saddens me to hear him talk about himself in past tense, especially since he’s right here in the flesh still spinning on the planet. Well, in one time dimension at least.
“You were a war buff.” I cringe when I say it.
He used to take us to every museum he could find that housed any type of combat paraphernalia. My mother used to say he had a sick-obsession with wars—that all men did.
“I’m a strategist. I work closely with faction leaders, plotting out a game plan that will help us stay one step ahead of the Counts.”
“Did Logan tell you he’s converted—that he’s one of them? You’re helping the enemy, Dad.”
His eyes glint in the night as he cuts a look over to Logan, standing there trying to look innocent with his hands stuffed in his pockets.
“He’s proven his loyalty.” Dad dips his gaze and transfers it to Gage as though changing the subject. “And who’s this?” He offers a polite smile.
“This is my boyfriend,” I say, pulling Gage in from the side. “He’s a Levatio.”
“Nice to meet you.” My father shakes his hand. I wish Gage could see my father bathed in the gold L.A. sunshine, not lost in the dark with nothing more than his voice and the whites of his eyes shining out at us like a disembodied spirit.
“Real nice to meet you.” Gage shakes his hand. “Skyla says nothing but great things about you. Do you trust Logan?” Gage could care less that Logan is standing less than three feet away—that they’re like brothers, and if anyone should trust him it would be the one asking the question in the first place.
“Yes, I trust him emphatically.” My father doesn’t hesitate.
“He tried to sacrifice me to the Counts,” I say. “I would never have gotten away if I didn’t panic and default to time travel mode.” I want to shout the words, wake the neighbors with all of this lunacy.
“His intent was a blood bond,” Dad says it low, gravels it out as though he knows all about it. “You would have been useless to the Counts afterwards.”
“How do you know this?” A part of me wants to shake my father.
“I’m privy to more than a few of their rituals. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m over thirty,” he points to his graying temples.
“And so is Logan.” I look over at him accusingly. He knows far too much, always has. And even in this dim light, I can see the thin lines around the ridges of his eyes. “He can’t hide his real age when he light drives.”
Gage steps in towards him, examines him in the luminescent moonlight, and frowns. “What are you meeting up for?” He looks to Logan, then my father.
“Come in. I’ll show you.” Dad leads us towards the house.
We follow him into the sunroom off the back of the house, a glorified covered patio with a sliding partition that mostly acted as a dog house to the strays Mia brought home. A white wicker table and four chairs surround it. We each take a seat. It’s freaky to think I’m upstairs sleeping, that both Logan and Gage are here in my house—one for each of me. I bat the thought away.
“Logan and I,” Dad starts, “have been trying to glean a battle plan for the three of you once you get thrown into the ethereal plane. Your bodies will be transported, so should you die there, you don’t get a ticket back.”
“Marshall said I’d have to advance to Ahava to win the war.”
“Ahava?” Dad looks puzzled. “You need for him to show you the lay of the land. The Counts have an infantry set to fight.”
“How many in an infantry?” I ask.
“About fifteen thousand.”
“What?” I hiss. “There’s only three of us, well,” I look over at Logan, accusingly, “two. And it’s going to take a miracle to get the other factions to side with Celestra, they don’t have the balls.”
“That’s where the problem lies.” Dad rests his elbows onto the table. “Noster has volunteered to send units. It’s not entirely clear, but Noster may have a vested interest in Celestra’s dwindling numbers. As much as they want the Counts out of power, they realize their lineage puts them next in line to rule. Of course, there are a number of Celestra involved in the war. It’ll be a tragedy to lose another soul regardless.” My father folds his arms together. “Try and get the lay of the land, Skyla. That Sector friend might be your only hope.”
“I think Mom can help,” I say. “Not the Count you have me living with, the other one. I met her.”
“When?” His face smoothes out.
“This afternoon. She’s amazing. She said she had to come to earth to have me. She said the world needed me, but then Logan came and woke me.” Logan and bad timing seem to go hand in hand.
“What have you learned from the Counts?” My father directs the question to the traitor in question.
“They have a resurrection process,” Logan leans in on his elbows. “They’ve been reanimating the dead for years.”
“The blue tubes.” I look over to Gage. “Ethan Landon was resurrected.”
I tell Dad all about the Transfer, the bodies floating in blue toilet water that preserves their tissue. I leave out the part of me doing time in Ezrina’s lair.
“They haven’t perfected it yet,” Logan continues. “Some of them are nothing more than pieced together monsters.”
/>
“Like Chloe,” I say.
“No,” Logan continues, “I’m talking their brains, they’ve been fried and rewired.”
“When we were offing them during the New Moon festivals, you said I shouldn’t feel too bad about killing them, that they were less than human.”
“That’s exactly what I meant.”
Something loosens in me physically. I’m terrified to admit it, but I’m actually starting to trust Logan a little.
“Why do you have a supervising spirit?” Gage asks him point blank. It’s as though he picked up on the fact I was feeling something for Logan again and he wants to squash those feelings before they proliferate, eat up my entire existence.
“You can’t travel into the future without one,” Logan doesn’t miss a beat with his vague reply.
“Why don’t you go into the eth—”
Logan cuts Gage off before he can finish. “Can’t go to the ethereal plane, just here, Earth.”
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He and my father exchange sober expressions. My father knows exactly what’s going on, or at least Logan leads him to believe he does.
“I don’t have to tell either of you what I’m doing here or there,” Logan pauses to glance in my father’s direction one more time, “or what I’ve already done.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
What is Love
In the morning, Marshall and I convalesce together at the base of the ski run where they have picnic tables set out for those of us enjoying the sport from a spectator’s perspective. The air is thick with the scent of barbeque as an outdoor grill flame broils an endless stream of burgers—smells like heaven.
“So, do you ski?” I try not to bring up the fact he looks ragged and peaked. Human, most definitely, does not become him.
“I don’t ski. I could if I wanted but not today.” He holds his hands as if to testify to the fact his flesh is worthless without his powers. “Who did this to me, Skyla? I don’t believe for one minute that you stuck me with the blade—pushed me over the balcony.”
I gaze out at the thin grey sky. The mountain brims with life as people move up and down the slopes. From this vantage point they look like toys. I’m surprised to see how many of the students from West that are able to expertly swish across the icy terrain.
“Natalie and Chloe seem to be disrespecting you openly. Maybe they’ve taken their aggression to a whole new level?” I’m not in the mood to get into what actually occurred. It’s his own fault. If he hadn’t sent that picture to Gage none of this would have happened.
“Those two? Doubtful. Although, I haven’t forgotten what you told me. I don’t look too kindly on mockers,” he pushes a loose hair behind my ear just the way my mother does. “Which Oliver was it? Or should I punish them both?”
“Natalie stole from you.” It rattles out of me in one last-ditch effort to protect Logan. Why am I protecting Logan to begin with? It’s not like he had my best interest in mind when he dragged me to the sacrificial stone. OK, so maybe he did, but it hardly seems possible. Every time I give in and trust Logan, he goes and gives me ten thousand new reasons to prove me wrong. Truthfully, I’m terrified of what those new reasons might be.
“Natalie stole from me,” he repeats softly while staring off into the slopes. “What do you think the punishment should be?” Marshall relaxes into the table, studies me as though I might suggest Ezrina hack off her arm.
“I think you should kill Chloe.” I think killing Chloe is the answer to world peace, world hunger, the common cold, just about everything.
“Don’t rely on others for what you could do yourself.” He gives a cool smile in the direction of the lift.
I track his gaze and find Chloe boarding the lift with Brielle. Funny, for someone who professes to not liking Chloe she sure spends an awful lot of time with her. The protective hedge gleams in my direction.
“I can’t kill her and you know it.”
“Not yet.”
“What’s that suppose to mean?”
“It means all bets are off in the ethereal plane.”
“So, all I have to do, to off Chloe, is lure her into the ethereal plane?” God, could I really kill Chloe? In theory I could, well, in reality I did, but everything was different then. She hasn’t once threatened my life since she’s been back. And why would she? How could she properly torment me while I was six feet under?
“Having second thoughts on Ms. Bishop’s final demise?”
“I have a heart.”
“What is it you want from her?”
“For her to leave Gage and me the hell alone. I just want my boyfriend back.”
“Well, then, it looks like Ms. Bishop and I share an agenda.”
A cauldron of anger boils within me. Marshall doesn’t have my happiness or even what’s best for me in mind, he never has. He’s right—he’s exactly like Chloe, both with their own agendas converging when it comes to the issue of Gage and me.
“She has my blood,” I throw it out there to see if he’ll bite.
“She’ll never be you. Not by a landslide. Did it ever occur to you that it is your very soul, your own unique spark of existence, I find intriguing?”
“I’ve considered it, but my ovaries tell me otherwise.”
“I simply want the best mother for my children,” he pauses, “I’m destined to become a parent. Why not employ the best humanity has to offer as my counterpart?”
“Employ,” I choke out the word. “That’s what’s the matter with you. I don’t think you understand love.”
Marshall openly balks at the idea.
“I live in love. I am love. Being drained of my glory and having to endure life as a human, has highlighted nothing more than the fact I know more about love and joy than the entire lot of you do sealed in flesh.”
“I’m not talking love in the general sense. There’s nothing global about love between two people that plan on being parents together. Intimacy goes much further than logging time between the sheets. It’s an emotional bond that takes place. It’s way more psychological than it is physical.”
He gives a mock applause. “Spoken like a true woman.”
“And what says you?”
“I say, more prowess to the one who excites you best.”
“Spoken like a true man.” I meet his gaze and hold it.
“Touché, Ms. Messenger. Just know this, you will love me—emotionally, psychologically, and physically.” He rises and gives a raspy knock on the table before leaving. “I’ve seen this.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Caveat Emptor
At dinner I sit with Nat, Kate, Emily and Brielle while Chloe and Lexy make it a point to cackle up a storm with Logan and Gage. It’s Logan speaking, making them laugh. Why does he bother entertaining the enemy? Obviously, he’s on their side. He could never love me and even remotely like Chloe. Not after how miserable she’s made me ever since she’s been back, not after the fact she all but killed my father. Speaking of my father, I’m a thousand percent convinced Logan has him duped. Look at him, just sitting there, blabbering away to Chloe like he wants to get into her pants. God, I’m so angry I just want to launch a scalding hot bowl of vomit at them.
“Hello? Captain obvious?” Brielle stabs into her salad.” Why don’t you just go over there and kick some Bishop ass?”
“Because she has that protective hedge soldered around her neck.” I say it out loud right in front of Emily and Kate who I assume are obliviously human, well, Kate anyway.
“Where’s your boyfriend?” Emily scoffs, plucking the lid off her chocolate milk.
“If you’re talking about Dudley, he’s having dinner in his room. He’s got a cold or something.” More like a bad case of mortality, but that’s soon to be resolved since it was a temporary side effect of Logan’s affection for me. At least now I know how to disable Marshall should I ever have to in the future.
“Stay away from Chloe,” Emily doesn’t look up. �
��I’ve got her back. I don’t want you messing with her.”
“I don’t want to mess with her. I’m the one who’s supposed to be with Gage, and she’s blackmailed her way into his arms.”
Emily leans in with a pinched off expression. Her black curls cling tight to her head from wearing a ski cap all day. “If Gage really did want you, he would be sitting next to you and not her. There’s nothing in the world that she could say that would make him hang out with her twenty-four seven. And if he’s got you believing that’s true, then you’re an idiot.”
I glare over at her. I happen to know better. I happen to know that Gage is protecting me from having my arms forever hooked up to Pierce Kragger’s fangs or strapped to some bed in Ezrina’s lair where she carries out experiments like the mad scientist she is. I happen to know that Gage really does love me—that tonight at ten, we’re going to express that love for the very first time.
“So how’s your head?” Kate leans in as if to inspect me.
“It’s better.”
“Your eyes look funny, they’re like dilated.” She surveys me intently.
“That’s probably because it’s dark in the room.” That’s only half true. I happen to know for a fact I have an honest to God concussion because I’ve self-diagnosed after ransacking the Internet for information. I frightened myself with all the terrible things that could go wrong with my body after a fall like that. I’m lucky I can see, let alone worry about oversized pupils.
“You know,” Kate rescues a long blonde curl from dipping into her tomato soup, “my Aunt fell off a horse when I was eight. She had this horrible headache and I totally remember her eyes looking like two black holes right before she blacked out.”
“Oh, so then she woke up, and she’s OK now, right?”
“Nope. She died.” Her cheek cinches up on one side as though it were almost inconsequential to the conversation.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I pause shocked at the revelation. “Well, anyway, I’m not going to die.” I roll my eyes at the thought, and my brain grinds inside my head. It takes everything in me to stop from audibly groaning.
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