Elysian

by Addison Moore

  “Ms. Messenger.” Marshall wears his dark trench coat, inky jeans, and that black dress shirt that drives me freaking insane.

  “Mr. Dudley.” I glance around to make sure no one witnesses the event. “Nevermore says Ezrina’s got a secret—spill.”

  He cocks his head amused. “Oh really? The bird whispers, and I’m to leap at his command?”

  “No.” I lay my hand over his chest and create a soft letter S all the way down to the lip of his jeans. “Your spirit wife is whispering, and you’re to leap at her command. That would be me, by the way.” I sharpen my tone during that last part.

  “Is that so?” Marshall takes a step into me with a tender, playful smile skirting his lips. Marshall shines like the moon despite the fog’s best effort to make him look like an illusion.

  “Yes, damn it. Tell me. There’s so much I want to know, and I feel like the entire world—all of creation is keeping things from me.”

  “All of creation?” He frowns openly at my declaration. “A bit mellow dramatic don’t you think?”

  “No.” I shake my head affronted by his insult. “I don’t think it’s mellow dramatic because it happens to be true. Now, would you please be the wonderful angel you are and tell me what in the hell is going on?”

  “As to?” He says it bored. His affect slides right off his face as if he’s had enough.

  “First, Ezrina’s big reveal. Second, what’s up with Logan? Something’s been off since the war. Third, who do I end up with?” I wanted to ask who do I choose but don’t want to insult him. Besides, I’m no longer in the market to choose. The future already knows, and that’s good enough for me. I think.

  “None of your business. None of your business. And me.” Marshall cinches his cheek.

  “Funny.” I take my hand off his chest and take up his hand. “It is my business.”

  “Perhaps I’ll answer, but, quite frankly, I’m insulted you didn’t ask the most pertinent question of all.”

  “Which is, why does Chloe believe she’ll be gone in a year?” I look up at him hopeful because he so has the power to make this the greatest night of my life with that little morsel.

  Marshall jostles my hand. “You’re correct. I could very well make this the greatest night of your life.” A lewd grin buds slowly across his face. “And, believe me, it is no little morsel.”

  “No thanks.” I lower my lids as I step into him. “And, I remember—it is quite an impressive non-morsel.” Heat rises to my cheeks as I take a quick step away. “Now. What was the most important question?”

  “How are you going to retrieve the pendant to save me from impending doom?”

  I dip my chin and look up at him from under my lashes.

  “Would my mother really make you disappear?”

  “It’s a banishment. Hades is synonymous with disappearance. My name would be removed from the Book of Life, and I would be no more.”

  “She’s sending you to hell?” I glance up at the thinly veiled sky, and a star winks right at me. “Nice job, Mother.” I glare out into open space for a moment.

  “Don’t be too surprised. It was designed for fallen angels. A sort of heated pen if you will. And I do hate the heat, Skyla. We must devise a plan of action to free the Eye of Refuge from Ms. Bishop’s claws.”

  “One of those claws happens to be mine.” I shrug apologetically.

  The announcer calls out the teams, and the crowd breaks out in a horrific roar as if Cerberus himself just took to the field.

  “I’d better go,” I whisper.

  “Will I see you later?” Marshall runs his finger along my jawline, and my entire person electrifies with fire.

  “Not unless you’re going to Chloe’s after.” I make a face. “Hey!” I latch onto his shirt and shake him. “Why the hell isn’t Ellis back, and why is there a binding spirit keeping me out of the Transfer?” See? I knew there were way more secrets than I could ever keep track of.

  He pushes out a gentle laugh. “You know my fuel, Skyla. A kiss will drive you beyond the borders of everything you’ve ever wanted to know.”

  That magical erotic journey he took me on the other night replays itself, and my entire person flushes with heat.

  Chloe drills a whistle through the air, cutting through the noise of the crowd and the screams of the cheerleaders, mostly Lexy—she’s like a Chihuahua on the field.

  “Maybe I will give you that kiss,” I say. Our eyes lock for a minute, and I’m certain he’s more than willing to gift me a tongue-lashing.

  “Messenger!” Chloe’s voice rips through the night, and I’m shocked to see her manhandling a megaphone. Figures. Now she can direct all her cheers toward Gage like a good little stalker, or more accurately, huntsman.

  “See you later,” I say it as sultry as possible before heading toward the lineup. “I can’t wait to get to the bottom of this,” I whisper, turning around, but Marshall’s gone, evaporated into thin air—a preview of what my mother will do if I don’t get that damn pendant back.

  Why in the hell does everything keep rotating back to Chloe?

  I head over and sandwich myself between Brielle and Giselle.

  “Hey”—I look to the two of them—“you know what? I just realized your names rhyme.”

  The entire cheer squad looks over at me as if I’ve just sprouted a third arm, which would technically make me the most valuable cheerleader ever. I pick up my pompoms and freeze midflight.

  Fuck.

  Brielle and Emerson so do not rhyme. Shit.

  Chloe gets in my face with that crazed look in her eye before squinting into me as if she were reading me like a book.

  “What the hell are you on, Messenger?” She shouts it in my face viral as a hurricane blast.

  “I don’t know.” I shake my head. “I got confused. I was with Dudley.” Crap. I’m going to confess my questionable relationship with my math teacher right into Chloe’s megaphone if I’m not careful. “You know how disorienting he can be. Right, Michelle?” I glance down at her chest and am shocked as hell to see the unholy rose of terror has sprung back up on her neck. What the fuck? It’s as if it has some serious rebound properties, and no matter how many times I take the thing away, it crops right back on her person as if it belonged there—although, she looks lucid, not at all hysterical. I’ll have to ask Marshall if it’s lost its haunting properties. Michelle Miller is one of the reasons my favorite creatures in the universe might be shoved in a hand basket to hell sooner than later.

  “Are you trying to throw me off my game?” It swims smooth from Chloe’s lips just as West’s football team runs onto the field. Logan and Gage each nod in my direction as they speed toward the distal goal line.

  “I couldn’t throw you off your game if I tried, Chloe,” I say, never taking my eyes off those gorgeous boys running down the field. The two of them are wide as buildings with their shoulder pads on. “And believe me, Chloe, I have fucking tried.”

  She lingers a little longer than anticipated while the girls break out in cheers around us.

  “Are you giving up, Skyla?” Her eyes darken to pitch. A wicked smile glides over her lips because she damn well knows I would just as soon dig my own grave than give up on eliminating her from the game of life.

  “You and I both know the answer.” Figures. The one answer I have and it has to do with eradicating Chloe from the planet.

  “That boy, Wesley”—her entire demeanor darkens—“what do you know about him?”

  “What’s this?” I blink back surprise. “Has Chloe Bishop’s hormonal assault on Gage Oliver come to an end?”

  “Shut up, Skyla. You and I both know he could never replace Gage. The question is, who out there thought he might?” She clips me with her evil stare before sauntering off to the other end of the lineup.

  Chloe joins the girls as they kick and scream like inmates in an asylum, but I stand there stunned for a moment at what she’s just implied. Marshall has more than once driven home the point that ther
e are no coincidences in life. Wesley and Gage look as if they could be identical twins, with the exception of the eyes. What are the odds that Wes would so closely resemble the boy I love? And just what the hell are the odds that he would cross dimensions, time, and space to gnaw off my neck—me—out of all the Celestra in those tunnels. Is my mother twisted enough to have orchestrated this? Or is this the masterwork of someone far more sinister than my mother?

  The game drones on and on. One quarter melts into the next, and before I know it West is at the losing end of the scoreboard with less than a minute left to play.

  The clock runs, and West just walks off the field with their helmets tucked between their legs.

  “What are they doing?” Giselle looks grossly confused by the concept. “There are still a full twenty seconds left in the game!” She screams it out in the event the coach didn’t notice.

  “Yes, but they’ve been defeated,” I say. “There’s no point in hanging on until the bitter end. It’s just over.”

  Chloe walks up still out of breath. “They’re losers,” she quips. “Just like Skyla.” She gives a little wink over at me. “Come on, Emerson. I’ll give you a ride to my house. It’s uniforms on tonight, girls,” she says, dictating to all of us what we’re to wear to the after-party.

  Giselle makes big eyes at me as if she’s afraid to accept the offer, but I give an approving nod to the situation.

  “I’ll catch you guys later,” I say. “Is there anything—anyone I can bring?” I swallow a laugh as I chide Chloe.

  “Bring your boyfriends, bring your sisters. I really don’t give a shit if you show up at all, Skyla.” Chloe seems to have reignited her hatred for me in this short time during the game.

  That last conversation we had about Wes thumps through my mind as if it were trying to afford me a clue, but I can’t figure it out.

  The team comes up, and a crowd blooms around us in every direction.

  I glance around for those familiar faces that I long to see, but I don’t find Logan or Gage anywhere. Instead, I see Emily with her legs wrapped high around Drake’s midsection, and it makes me want to vomit. Seriously? I hope to God Brielle is in the gym, so she doesn’t have to see this bullshit. And if she already has, I bet the poor thing is probably trying to poke her eyes out with her keys just from witnessing the spectacle.

  A friendly face waves from the stands. It’s Emma standing next to Barron.

  My heart sings as I make my way in their direction. Honestly, I’ve never thought Emma liked me. Maybe she knows I’m no longer technically with Gage, and she’s conveniently wiped me from her shit list?

  “Hi!” I shout up over the noise of the crowd.

  “Oh, hi, Skyla.” Her face deflates as she continues to stare in the direction where I was standing. “I was hoping the boys would see me, but it looks as if they’ve gone into the gym.”

  Of course, she wasn’t waving at me. I’m such a dunce. Emma couldn’t care less if an entire army of clown Fems swallowed me whole. I glance to Barron as he offers a simple smile.

  “So, have you decided which one you’ll spend the rest of your life with?” Barron says it so banal and polite you’d think I was getting ready to order dinner off a menu—more like dessert. Gage would be liquid fudge, and Logan would be one of those exotic dishes that they set on fire before they serve it to you.

  I shake the thought away.

  Shit!

  I can’t believe my mind just reduced a Celestra to flames, it’s so not right.

  “Um…” I look to the crowd for an answer, an out, and sure enough I spot Mia and Melissa hanging off Holden like bookends. “I’ve got to go.” I make a mad dash through the maze of bodies until I yank the two of them back by the elbow.

  “Hello, girls! Need a ride home? I’ll be happy to comply.” I glare over at Holden. He’s got a ginormous set of big hairy balls if he thinks he’s going to inaugurate my sisters as a part of his demonic band of bitches.

  “We’re with Pierce!” Melissa squeals as if this were some lifetime achievement.

  “What? He’s too old for you. Besides don’t you both have boy-toys your own age? Gabe and Nave?”

  “Nate.” Mia shoots me a look. “Tonight is our inauguration into the Treasures, Skyla. A secret club, so secret, you know nothing about it.” Mia brings new meaning to stupid while wearing my face.

  “You are not joining anymore Count covens, do you hear me? I demand you come home with me right this freaking minute, or I’m calling Mom and Tad and letting them know you’re pining after some nineteen-year-old low life.”

  “Pierce picked us up at the house.” Melissa threads her arm through his. “My dad loves him because his last name is Kragger. He said so himself.”

  Tad is such a dumbass.

  Mia nods. “He said Pierce could have any choice of his daughters.”

  Shit.

  “Guess which one I’m choosing to go after, Skyla?” Holden comes through loud and clear with those unsettling eyes. It’s me he’s coming after, only love is definitely not on the agenda.

  Natalie springs up and sweeps her arm around his waist. “Come on, let’s get these twits home, so we can get to the party.”

  The four of them melt into the crowd, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

  At least with Nat there I know my sisters will be reasonably safe.

  But everything in me knows reasonable and the Kraggers have nothing in common.

  Nothing ever makes sense on Paragon.

  16

  Girl Talk

  Brielle and I drive out to Chloe’s house together on the slick roads of Paragon. The clouds have sunk to earth leaving us in an ethereal haze. The moisture hugs the trees, the fields—every blade of grass is licked clean by the soft spray of precipitation.

  I would have driven with Logan and Gage, but the showers in the boys’ gym were defunct, so they went home first. I volunteered to go out ahead since I knew Giselle was already on her way with the Queen Bee, herself. I’m not sure if I trust Giselle to keep up the Emerson routine. And who knows what Bumble Bitch would do to poor, sweet, innocent Giselle if she ever found out we were shitting her.

  “So have you figured this all out yet?” Brielle gazes off at the dark tunnel of eucalyptus that converge over the road. You would never know a game just let out at West, the roadways are practically empty. Paragon in general has a cemetery-like appeal to it.

  “Figured what out?” Host comes to mind, the neighboring college. I wonder when they start taking applications.

  “You know,” she sings. “Logan, Gage, or Dudley? Who’s it going to be, Skyla? You can tell me. I swear I’ll keep your secret safe.”

  “I don’t know.” And that’s the sad, honest truth.

  “What do you mean you don’t know? Everyone knows. Deep down inside, you know, Skyla. Maybe you don’t want to admit it to anybody, not even yourself, but you know.”

  Brielle hitches her long curls behind her ear. She added so many blonde highlights over the summer that there’s hardly a trace of her auburn hair left.

  “I’m not shitting you.” I push back in my seat. Brielle’s jeep is way more comfy than my Mustang, but it is several decades newer, so there’s that. “I really don’t know. If I knew—if I even had an inclination, I would be thrilled. A part of me just wants to get this over with like plucking off a band aid.”

  “You should pluck off your underwear instead.” She darts a quick glance my way.

  A bolt of lightning crackles overhead, and the sky lights up, pale as paper, as if someone were flicking on and off the lights in a bedroom.

  “I’m not plucking off my underwear,” I say. Brielle’s head is permanently in the gutter. So is mine lately, but that’s beside the point.

  Thunder growls so aggressively loud the car trembles as we continue down the lonely stretch of highway.

  “You already know you like them,” Brielle starts swerving into the oncoming lane for the hell of it. “I me
an why not? Wouldn’t it be a tragedy to pick one, only to discover that you’re totally incompatible in bed?”

  I click my tongue at her. “Would you stop? I’m not going to sleep with three different people just to see who makes me feel better.”

  “Exactly.” She slams her palm over the dashboard. “You should give yourself some time—at least until graduation. That leaves you the entire senior year to figure out who’s got the moves down beneath the sheets.” She takes a swig out of an old soda sitting next to her. “Like I said, my money’s on Dudley.” She shrugs into the road.

  “I’m not screwing my way through senior year. I’m pretty sure that’s not what my mother meant by, make it memorable.”

  She chokes out a bubbling laugh.

  “Speaking of, making it memorable,” she starts, “Chloe hasn’t said too much about the haircut I gifted her with. You think she’s moved past it?” Brielle chews on her thumbnail as if trying to quell her anxiety over the situation.

  “I don’t think Chloe gets past anything—that’s actually a fact. Chloe can hold a grudge through all nine of her wicked lives. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about Chloe.” Lately every time I think of her, all of her evil deeds play out in slow motion through my mind.

  “I get it. You’re stuck on this Logan, Gage, Dudley merry-go-round, and you want me to help you figure out how to get off. Get it? Get off!” She belts out a laugh and slams her hand over the steering wheel a few good times.

  “Ha ha. Very funny. And stop beating up your car. You’re going to screw up your alignment or something equally goofy.”

  “It’s not funny.” She pops a piece of gum in her mouth and tosses the package into my lap. “It’s sick is what it is, but I mean that in a good way. I’m pretty sure every girl on earth would pay to be in your shoes—solid gold stilettos to be exact. It’s like no one can touch you. What are the odds that three of the best looking guys on the planet are after you?”