Elysian

by Addison Moore

  “That looked nasty,” I say, dusting my bottom off for no good reason. “I bet Demetri himself increased the velocity a little just to watch you slam to the ground like that. You know you’re bad when the one creature that has to stay on your side doesn’t want to help you.”

  “Skyla,” Logan hums from behind and I spin, taking a breath at what I see. Logan’s skin gives the slightest hint of an illuminated glow. His eyes shine like molten gold. Logan is a sight to behold. I could easily spend the rest of my life suspended in this moment just trying to wrap my head around his beauty.

  “You didn’t fall with me.” I hop on the balls of my feet and peck a kiss on his lips.

  “You brought a guest.” He looks over my shoulder, disapproving.

  “Not really, she hopped along for the ride—kind of like a parasite.”

  Ingram appears, the troll who thinks he rules the underworld of the Celestra tunnels. He glows a sickly yellow, nothing at all like the pale blue splendor that Logan emits. Logan does have some Count blood, and he did pledge over, maybe that’s why he’s blue. Nevertheless, he’s too damn hot for words.

  “Move it,” Ingram yips. “Junior Council has places to go this evening.” He takes a step and stops abruptly after spotting Chloe. I bet he’s never seen anything so wicked, so vile, so inexplicably evil in all his dungeon-master days.

  “Ms. Bishop.” He gives a slight bow. “You’ve been taken?”

  “Heavens no.” Chloe averts her gaze as if this were impossible. “I’m here of my own volition. I thought I’d accompany my friend. Lend her moral support in her time of need.”

  “Why don’t you lend me about eight pints of blood?” I quip. And what’s with Chloe and the Titan of the Tunnels making small talk? And why the hell doesn’t it surprise me that the Tenebrous Woods are her old stomping grounds?

  “You and Chloe are friends?” Logan wraps his arm around me tight as we follow Ingram down the winding path. “When did this happen?”

  “It happened never. She’s just trying to meet her quota of lies for the day. I’m her most prolific subject if you haven’t noticed.”

  We walk a short distance, past hollowed out shells of trees, tall and silent evergreens that hold their arms toward heaven as if they were begging God for mercy.

  The slight stench of something burning tickles my nostrils, and I’m scared to death we might accidentally stumble upon a Celestra on a spit.

  “Here.” Ingram points to an enormous oak tree so thick and wide, it can double as a hotel.

  A deep blue mist seeps around us and out of the oily haze emerges Wesley, the boy who resembles Gage closer than a mirror reflection, except for the eyes. Wesley’s eyes are the color of ocean fungus, and Gage mimics a clear L.A. sky.

  Chloe staggers forward in full stalker mode. “Who in the hell is this?”

  “Wesley Paxton.” Ingram is quick to fill her in on the details.

  “What’s the matter, Chloe?” I sneer. “A carbon copy of the boy you love just step out of a demon-inspired night?” I love teasing Chloe with yet another boy she can’t have. “Too bad he’ll reject you just like Gage. He’s got his heart wrapped around a girl back home. She’s beautiful, and sweet, basically everything you’re not.” I pump a quick smile before Ingram shoots me a wild look.

  “Elysian,” he says it bored, “do present the offering to the Junior Council. We all have better places to be.”

  “Damn straight,” I whisper.

  “What’s that?” Ingram barks. The last time I pissed him off he instructed Wesley to drain me.

  “I said, please Master, take me quickly.” I give a sarcastic curtsy into Logan. It was made clear in the beginning that I’m to ixnay the use of proper monikers and address Logan as “Master” each and every time.

  “Better.” Ingram motions me toward Wes, and I head over willingly.

  “Hi,” he says it quiet, with a touch of shyness. His lids are hooded, and for a fleeting moment I really do believe it’s Gage.

  “Why do you do this?” I don’t hesitate getting into the ready position. “I mean, you don’t really strike me as the pure evil type.”

  Wes pumps a dry laugh, but his dimples don’t quite pronounce themselves as they would on Gage. Wes and Gage are polar opposites. Gage would never steal the lifeblood from someone who was held prisoner. Hell, he won’t take it from me half the time I offer when he really, really needs it.

  “Who’s this?” He whispers as Chloe walks mechanically forward, her hair wild and disheveled from the fall, her hands held out as if she needed to touch him even at a distance.

  I roll my eyes at the sight. “Would you cut the bride of Frankenstein routine?” I snipe at Chloe. “Like I said, Wes isn’t interested. Get it through your fractured skull, he’s devoted to someone who’s not Chloe Bishop. Kind of funny, isn’t it? It looks like Gage will reject you in all his incarnations.”

  “This isn’t Gage,” her voice quivers. Her fingers tremble as she taps alongside his face. “He can never be Gage.”

  “Ms. Bishop, is there a problem?” Ingram asks as though he’s genuinely concerned. He seems to like her well enough. Maybe he can have her? Now there’s a match made in hell if I’ve ever seen one, and I mean that in a good way.

  “No.” She backs away like escaping from a gunman. “No problem, please continue with the show. I’m dying to watch from a spectator’s point of view.”

  A spectator’s point of view? As if she ever played the part of victim. I wonder when her ugly mug haunted these woods last?

  Wes presses out an apologetic smile before pulling me in by the waist like I were his girlfriend. He smooths his lips over my neck prepping me for the puncture. His hot tongue runs a heated line over a small area, and a perverted part of me pretends he’s Gage—that it’s simply Gage loving me and not some strange boy from a place I’ve never heard of.

  Wes bites down and draws the first hard pull of blood. A surge of adrenaline courses through my veins, and my eyes spring open surprised at the fresh bite of pain.

  Laken filters through Wesley’s mind. Her long, golden hair swings from side to side as she runs into the arms of another boy. I recognize him from the war. Cooper Flanders.

  I hope Cooper gets the girl, I say as Wes continues to maul my neckline. I bet Cooper wouldn’t hesitate to save her from a monster like you. In fact, I bet he’s planning on doing just that.

  Wes pulls back and examines me, rife with anger. A seam of sanguine liquid lines his lips, and my stomach turns at the sight.

  “Don’t you ever have anything nice to say?” He wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

  Chloe whoops out a laugh.

  “Sounds as if you know Skyla pretty well,” she quips.

  I pump a depleted smile at him. “I do have nice things to say, Wes, just not to people like you. Not when you’re hell bent on hurting me, on hurting others.” I shake my head. “Listen, if you really want to get the girl, stop acting like you’re untouchable. Everyone pays for their sins eventually. Laken will know all about this one day, and she won’t be pleased.”

  For a second I’m hopeful that I’ve made Wes sick from the sight of me, which was my wicked plan. I’m in no position to be taken and drained when the only person I can depend on to rescue me is Chloe.

  I reach forward and take up his hand. Look, I didn’t mean to piss you off, I say. I’m just trying to get home tonight in one piece. I can’t afford to wake up alone and dying in the arms of my enemy. Honestly, I don’t think there’s a worse way to go.

  “How about watching someone else steal your girlfriend?” Wes is good and pissed. I’ve bruised his ego, and he’s got a look in his eye that says I’ll have to pay. “That’s a pretty crappy way to go, Skyla.” He sighs and glances over his shoulder at Chloe. “She won’t let you die. I can see it in her eyes.”

  “Her eyes lie.”

  Wesley gently pulls me in by the face like he’s about to land a tender kiss over my lips. “I’m sorr
y, Skyla.” Wes plunges over my neck with a rabid aggression. He sucks the life giving plasma out of me, urgent and greedy. I need my fuel, and you’re the best. I’m planning on bringing Laken down here soon. She’ll prove you wrong, Skyla. She wants to be a Count. She openly begs for more. Cooper may get the girl, but it won’t be mine.

  My lids flutter open. The Tenebrous Woods blink back with surprise as if Wesley’s actions appalled these sooted-trees the most.

  Wes evaporates in a cloud just the way he came, and I drop to my knees, too weak to support my own body weight.

  “Skyla!” Logan kneels beside me and draws me onto his lap. “Where were you on Paragon? Where did they take you from?”

  “Demetri’s,” I whisper. “Just me and Chloe.” I shake my head at the hopelessness of it all as the world begins to warble and shift.

  Logan spikes to his feet and rattles Chloe by the sweater. “Help her, dammit!” He roars like a lion, and I buck at the impressive sound of his voice, as deep and wide as a mountain. “You fucking owe me!”

  And the world goes dark.

  It’s a strange feeling knowing you’re locked in a dream, that your lids struggle to open but can’t.

  I can feel my body moving through time and space, my head bobbing up and down.

  “Skyla!” My mother’s voice echoes my name. It sounds as though I’m buried in deep waters, the vibrations from her demanding tone move from above in waves. “Demetri, do something! Damn it all to hell, I will never speak to you again if you don’t fix this right this minute.”

  A sharp sting ignites just beneath my thigh. My lids quiver, and I see Marshall’s precious face, interchangeably with my mother’s. I’ve become an infant all over again, and they’re admiring me in tandem.

  Death played fast and loose with the rules, killing and resurrecting me by the power of my own Celestra blood. It was a gift and a curse all rolled into one.

  I give a few hard blinks and wake to my mother holding me in my bed, back at our own house, far from Demetri’s, far from Marshall’s. Here I was within the familiar walls of my bedroom, perched on this demonic rock called Paragon.

  “Skyla.” Her tear-stained face dissolves in a heartbreaking smile.

  “Mommy,” I whisper, falling asleep again, safe in her arms.

  15

  A Tower of Questions

  A new day dawns over the Landon house. I peer out the window at the mango-colored sky as morning cries out like a newborn.

  Nev swoops down in all his ebony caped glory, and I roll open the window to let him inside.

  Snowball lets out a series of high-pitched gurgles and bats her wings in a panic.

  “Don’t worry cutie-pie,” I purr. “It’s not like Nev, here, is going to eat you.”

  Nevermore lands on my shoulder with a hard thump and stares intently into the cage.

  Why in heavens are you allowing this ornery fowl to disgrace your bedroom?

  “Nev! Go easy on her would you? She’s totally precious. I accidently killed her years ago, and Marshall was kind enough to resurrect her for me.”

  Nev lets out a squawk, loud as a fire alarm, right in my ear.

  “Ouch.” I buck him off. “And would you keep it down? I’m pretty sure Tad would be up for an early morning hunting session in my bedroom. Now that we’re broke, nothing is off the menu so long as it’s f-r-e-e.”

  Nev hops to my bed and hitches me over with a tick of his head.

  “What’s up?” I land my fingers gently on his back.

  I’m not a fan of feathered creatures.

  “Ironic. Hate to break it to you, but you are one.” I scoot next to him. “So, what’s going on? Are you here to fill me in on Ezrina’s big, bad secret?”

  You mean you still don’t know? His wings expand and retract.

  “Nope. Apparently Ezrina is excellent at keeping things from me. Hey, I know—I’ll ask Marshall, and he’ll find out.” I’ll simply tell him I’m willing to pay any price.

  Do yourself a favor and make haste with the task. This is time-sensitive information.

  “Shit. Is my mother going to zap you out of existence, too?” I swear on all that is holy, I will go batshit if that’s the case.

  No, I fear for a friend—a few friends to be exact, and one of them is you.

  Nevermore hops to the windowsill and lets himself out. He stains the orange sky with his marvelous wingspan, nothing but dark plumes over the sanguine heavens.

  He fears for a friend. He fears for me.

  Curious.

  ***

  Downstairs I’m treated to a scene I’m ill-prepared for. Mom and my sisters hyperventilate over stacks of newspapers while hacking through them as if their lives depended on it. Tad sits with his man teats exposed while the faux nipple, that will one day turn out to be the root of all that is wrong with poor baby Beau, is strapped to his chest like an explosives device.

  Oh my, fuck.

  “Hand me the baby, and no one gets hurt,” I say, holding out my hands for Tad to surrender the infant, but he doesn’t. He smirks as Beau latches on and begins to nurse off him as if it were the most unnatural thing in the world. And holy shit it so is.

  “What in the hell is going on?” I bark.

  Clearly seeing me in a fragile state last night really lit the mental fuse in my mother. She’s hacking up colorful newspaper clippings in such a furtive pace she hardly manages to glance in my direction.

  “Morning.” She nods hardly acknowledging this strange adventure. She’s obviously experiencing some kind of nervous breakdown after discovering the Fem she quasi-courted was responsible for the damage inflicted on me last night.

  “Skyla help,” Mia pleads. Her hair is swept back, and she’s still in her PJ’s, not at all ready for school. “Mom has reduced us to manual labor.”

  “She’s not even letting us get in the shower until we finish all these rows,” Melissa snarks as she scowls at Mom.

  “What is this?” I speed over, ready and willing to gawk at anything that isn’t Tad’s third nipple.

  “Extreme couponing.” Mom manages while snatching a stack of tiny squares from Mia and Melissa before they float into the air like confetti. “Isis turned me onto it. It’s part of her ten-point plan to help decrease the financial bleeding in this family.”

  “Bleeding?” I involuntarily touch my neck. Is she even aware of her play on words?

  And who takes financial advice from a glorified snake? Speaking of the nonsensical Fem, I’ve been meaning to set up an appointment with her regarding Giselle’s caged memory.

  “Tell her, Lizbeth,” Tad crows while holding Beau upside down by the ankles. God, it just gets worse. He’s probably trying to keep the crap in.

  Mom takes a breath, frustrated by the talking human baby bottle.

  “Lights on for an hour at breakfast and an hour for dinner.” Mom shudders. “Showers are relegated to every other day…” She strums her fingers against her chin, trying to recall the rest of the advice Isis put into practice in the first part of the twentieth century.

  “Oh, that reminds me!” Mom goes off course for a moment. “I need to call and cancel the trash pickup.”

  “What?” I pull a seat at the table and fall into it. “First, you are aware that the island is covered with a dark cloud at any given hour of the day. Have you ever heard of night blindness? We’ll have it permanently if you try to make us live in the dark. We need electricity. That’s what made the twentieth century better than all of the rest—we need to maintain manufactured light, or we’re going to be no better than cave people.”

  Mom clicks her tongue at me. “Oh, Skyla, we’ll burn candles. And there’s nothing like a fire to keep us toasty and warm.” She gives a quick wink.

  Why does it suddenly feel like a vague, underlying threat was just delivered by the very woman whose arms I cuddled in last night while calling her mommy?

  “And second…” I choose to ignore the mention of matches for now. “We have to bathe eve
ry day. It’s like the eleventh commandment, followed by, thy must take out the freaking trash.” Honestly, you would think she and Tad singlehandedly wanted to take down the social standing of each of their precious children. “And who the hell is going to want to sit with us if we smell like dirt and onions?”

  “Very funny.” Mom makes a face at the scattered mess on the table. “Girls, you can get ready for school.” She looks up at me and mouths the words, “Are you OK?”

  I give a quiet nod as she pulls me into a strong bear hug.

  “I talked to Demetri,” she whispers. “He’s going to try and help.”

  “Really?” I pull back with a thread of excitement. Amazingly I feel like a panhandler who finally received her first red-hot penny. And did this act of questionable mercy come from my biological mother? Nope.

  Figures.

  “Yes, really.” Mom speeds me into the kitchen away from Tad and his nosy nipples. “He says all you have to do is leave Celestra and join our group. It’ll be fun.” She adds that last part coaxing me along.

  Shit.

  “No, it would not be fun,” I say with my voice laden with defeat. “It would be surrender.”

  ***

  Friday night, at the football game, I spot Marshall wafting in and out of the fog like a ghost. The bare maples spread out behind him like a skeleton, their leaves already fanned across the lawn in a kaleidoscope of browns and golds.

  I speed over in my barely-there cheer uniform. God forbid Chloe sees me defecting from the group. She’ll probably have me turning in my miniskirt before the end of the evening. Sometimes I think the only thing Chloe loves is cheer itself.

  Just what in the hell is she going to do with herself after graduation? Oh, that’s right, according to Chloe she won’t be here. As if. I’m never that lucky. I’ve got a mother who practically rules the universe, and yet my name might as well be Skyla Misfortune Messenger. Nope. I seriously doubt Chloe will bite the dust as a graduation gift to me. She’ll definitely be hanging around for Gage, crawling after him on her knees in the supermarket, the gas station. I predict a permanent restraining order is in the works.