Elysian

by Addison Moore

  Take the dress, Skyla. Marshall nods with a pleasant smile.

  I shake my head. “I’m not really into it. Sorry,” I say to her. “Not everyone can pull off that whole red and black theme like you can.” Except maybe Chloe and Satan. I’m sensing a pattern here.

  “Then perhaps this one is more to your liking?” She pulls out a purple and black corset with an overgrown tutu attached.

  “Actually.” I hold it out. There’s something definitely hot going on here with the deep purple and black lace, the barely-there tulle that stops mid-thigh. “I’ll take it!”

  “Perfect.” Her eyes light up as if she, herself, were going to the dance.

  “Anyway,” I whisper. “I’d better go.”

  Marshall speeds me out of the room and over to his palatial hideaway.

  “What’s with the dress?” I shake it in front of him accusingly.

  “Let’s just say you’re in for one enchanted evening,” he says, locking the door to his bedroom. “And this dress will ensure you do it in style.”

  “Fine.” I make a face at it. “So far none of your dresses have killed me. But I’ll go it alone for prom. I can’t risk a debacle like this again. There’s a certain degree of humility involved when digging for a dress out of your ex-girlfriend’s closet. This takes ‘out of date’ to a whole new level.” A thought comes to me. “Did you talk to my mother?”

  “I did. The Kraggers’ trial is proceeding at an expedited rate. You’ve earned a reasonable place on their least desirable list. Translation, you’re not their favorite person.”

  “Never was.” I swallow hard at the thought of having the Kraggers upset with me.

  “Your mother has agreed to see you.”

  “Really?” I jump up and down before latching onto him. I kiss Marshall on the cheek. Those feel good vibrations grip me like a live current, and I can’t seem to disconnect. “When?” I pull back still out of breath.

  “In just a few minutes.”

  “Tonight?” I spring up and wrap my legs around his midsection totally psyched at the thought of finally getting some answers—not to mention begging for Logan’s life.

  “In a few minutes her time. That would be two weeks for you.”

  “Two weeks?” Crap. I slide into my dismount.

  “On your birthday to be exact.”

  “Lovely.” I wrap my arms around Marshall’s waist. “The truth is, I’m terrified to see her. Things never end well after a visit with dear old Mom.”

  “This is very true.” Marshall presses me in by the small of my back and rocks us side to side as if we were dancing.

  “Help me think of a way to get that pendent back. I beg of you. I’ll do anything you want. I need to save you, Marshall.”

  He pushes out a despondent smile. “She must gift it to you.”

  “Chloe said she’d rather die than gift it to me.”

  “Maybe someone needs to call her bluff?”

  “Maybe I do.”

  ***

  A swirl of pink and purple clouds taunt us from up above on this, the late afternoon of homecoming. It was an official senior ditch day but still pretty lame overall since we spent it at school decorating the trucks that belong to some of the guys on the football team. I guess the floats they’ve used in the past had some mechanical breakdown, but Logan, Gage, and about six other guys offered to have their gas-guzzlers emasculated with paper flowers in order to save the day.

  “I’m going to need to buy new tires and a lube job just to get it to forgive me for this,” Gage laments as I attach a string of royal blue and white carnations to the passenger door.

  The grey day brings out his eyes like twin sirens.

  “I’ll try to use the least amount of flowers possible,” I offer. I can’t help but redirect my gaze in his direction. I’m heartbroken that he’s pulled out of the race for my affection, and I’m beyond devastated that Logan is dead. Nothing ever seems to go right for any of us where love is concerned.

  “It’s like I’ve forced it to put on high heels.” Gage is still clearly upset over the fact he’s allowing his truck to cross-dress. “Sorry dude.” He knocks his knuckles over the hood in an effort to console it.

  Logan comes up and admires the violation of Gage’s penis extension.

  “You can’t pride the ride, man.” Logan slaps him on the back.

  “Easy for you to say.” Gage glares over at Logan’s truck. “You’ve got Cerberus strapped to your bed.”

  It’s true. Ms. Richards produced an oversized blow up of the three-headed beast that she picked up on special right after Halloween. Not only that, but Ellis put a Mohawk on the front of Logan’s cab and miniature silver cones all around it to give it that spiked effect. Logan’s ride is twelve different kinds of badass while Gage’s transport looks fit for the New Year’s Day parade.

  “So, what happened last night?” Logan leans against the truck and accidentally unhitches the entire row of flowers I just spent the last fifteen minutes meticulously adhering. “Any grave robbing take place?”

  “Chloe must have blew it off once I split.” There’s no way I’m telling them I sought shelter at Marshall’s. “Giselle said Chloe took her home after that, and Kate’s grave was none the wiser that it was about to be ransacked.”

  Gage pans the field for a moment. “I hung out until about nine and finally took off. I’m a little shocked she gave up so easy.”

  “Yeah well”—I spot her heading in this direction—“she doesn’t give up so easy. But I’m sure once she saw I wasn’t falling into her trap, she hung up her crowbar.”

  “Skyla.” Chloe pops up through the fog like the demonic apparition she’s destined to be. “We need a car to lead the procession, something classic and cool like your ‘stang. You mind?”

  I glance over at Logan and Gage. “I don’t mind.”

  “Perfect. Haul it over, and get that flower power going on,” she says before heading back to bark out orders to unsuspecting seniors. Chloe is in her element as the fearless leader of the floral fiasco taking place.

  “I’m leading the parade!” I squeal into Logan and Gage. “I’d better get the car.” I shove the tape and bucket full of fake carnations over to Gage. “We’ve got less than an hour before the game.”

  I waste no time in pulling the Mustang onto the field. Brielle and the rest of the squad help me decorate while Logan and Gage both stand to the side. Poor Gage looks as if someone just punched him in the neck. I’m going to have to do something extra nice to make this up to him.

  “Geez”—Bree makes a face—“you’d think this stuff never came off the way he’s mourning the degradation.” She shakes her head. “Guys and their toys. It’s like they’ve got their balls wrapped up in the steering wheel. Speaking of balls”—she bites down on her lip—“did you pick one yet?”

  “No. It’s not like they’re puppies, Brielle. Although, if I had to choose between three cute puppies, I might have just as hard a time.” I leave out the part about Logan being dead and me sort of seeing him again under those dismal conditions. I’m pretty sure I can get my mother to reverse the situation.

  “Oh, that’s right.” She shakes her head. “I keep forgetting Dudley’s in the equation. You should totally choose either Logan or Gage and have an affair with Dudley on the side. He’s more of the ‘light your sheets on fire’ type rather than boyfriend material. Hey, maybe Logan and Gage won’t mind sharing you, either? I mean technically, it’s already happening. Right?”

  “Wrong.” Like I’m going to listen to Brielle again. I believe I could pin the entire Halloween kiss off, square on her oversexed shoulders.

  “Oh, come on,” she chides. “Any girl would want to.”

  “That’s the problem, I’m not a girl anymore.” That girl who lived inside of me died in the war right alongside Logan. “Anyway, how are things between you and Drake?”

  “Weird.” She shrugs. “But that’s to be expected. He’s taking Emily to the dance tonight�
��—she makes a face—“but he did say if she puked, he’d totally switch over to me.”

  “Nice.” He’s such a freaking moron.

  “So, who scored a date with the ever elusive Skyla Messenger?”

  “Um, I’m actually going with Logan.”

  “Oh?” She belts out a devious laugh.

  “Messenger,” Michelle barks, doing her best imitation of Chloe.

  “What?”

  She holds up two circular rings that scream ode to glitter. “I’m putting these crowns in your trunk until the end of the ceremony.”

  “Go ahead.” I roll my eyes. “Anyway”—I revert to Brielle—“Logan and I are sort of back together,” I whisper, and an overwhelming feeling of grief penetrates me before I can get the story off the ground. I glance back and catch a glimpse of Gage as he talks to some of the guys from the team. “Never mind. I’m not ready to have this conversation.” Not now, not ever.

  ***

  Evening comes and bears down on us, stiff and cold, like a corpse in a mausoleum. The game drones on like only football can, with West on the losing end of the stick.

  I kick and cheer until my voice is hoarse. It’s a clear night, with just a thin veil of fog, and I’m glad since the entire island has taken to the stands for this showdown between East and West. You’d think a major championship were on the line. Although, Logan filled me in during halftime that the bragging rights attached to this game are very real.

  Eventually, after a staggeringly embarrassing ass-kicking, the game concludes and East wins by twenty-four points. I’m sure both Logan and Gage will be lamenting for a small eternity over their senior year defeat from our crosstown rivals. I stare out into the crowd and imagine the three of us attending these games decades into the future—reliving our glory days as if this time at West were as golden a moment as time could afford.

  Ms. Richards gets the homecoming procession underway, and we each jump into our prospective vehicles, with me leading us in a big giant circle. I honk my way around the circumference of the field, twice, waving at Mia and Melissa up in the stands. It’s hard to believe they’ll be here next year. Mom and Tad will have their baby, and Em will, too. Most of my friends will be off the island. I glance back in the rearview mirror at Logan behind me and Gage after him.

  And where will we be a year from now?

  Dear God, where will we be?

  I pull up next to the makeshift stage that sits near the stands and park before heading over to the squad.

  “This is it.” Brielle links her arm with mine. “Homecoming, senior year. We’ll never get this night back, Skyla.” She hops like it were the best news in the world, not some dismal truth that holds the expiration date to our childhood.

  Principal Rice takes the stage with her squatty features, her bright blue knit cap that I’m assuming she’s donned in the name of school spirit.

  “I’d like to thank the senior class of West Paragon High for putting on such a spectacular show.” She ushers in an applause, and the crowd erupts in cheers.

  Logan and Gage come over, their helmets already abandoned in the gym. God, they look hot with their streaks of black war paint smeared beneath each eye. They look like warriors, like champions, and they both are in the arena of my heart.

  “We miss anything?” Logan drapes his arm around my shoulder, and I catch Gage giving him a sideways glance.

  This will never work.

  “Nope.” Brielle slings her arm around Gage as if to distract him. “They’re just about to announce the super couple of the year. You know—homecoming queen is way overrated.” She flicks her wrist at the drama as Principal Rice opens an envelope to the quaking of a drumroll. “This is so lame.”

  “The homecoming king of West Paragon High is Drake Landon.”

  Swear to God, you could hear a pin drop before the fanfare picks up again.

  “Drake won,” I say it more as a question than a statement. I glance over nervously at Bree. I’m going to have to stop some major emotional bleeding if Principal Rice calls out Em’s name next. I wouldn’t put it past Emily to use her voodoo black magic just to get herself elected, although, something about Em doesn’t strike me as the homecoming type.

  “And the homecoming queen of West Paragon High’s senior class is…” She holds up the paper victoriously. “Brielle Johnson!”

  “Oh, my God, that’s me!” Brielle screams and jumps because apparently it’s not so overrated and lame to be the homecoming queen.

  I pull her into a giant hug before pushing her in the direction of the stage. I couldn’t have been happier if it were me and—Logan or Gage.

  “Messenger, get the crowns,” Miller barks under Chloe’s supervision.

  “I’m on it.” I run over to the Mustang and pop open the trunk. A row of shiny cubic zirconia’s stare back at me as I reach in to snatch it. I go to toss it to Michelle and can’t help but notice how freaking heavy this tiara is.

  I glance down. It looks to be attached to a helmet or a…blonde head of hair?

  Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!

  I’m holding a head!

  Fuck. And it belongs to Kate! Double fuck!

  Without thinking. Without considering the aftermath, or the quite literal fallout, I toss the blonde globe high into the air.

  The crowd gasps.

  Natalie screams in a low demonic pitch that makes the entire scene feel as though it’s in slow motion. Then, with a rotating pitch, and the curse of gravity upon it, Kate’s familiar face comes barreling back to the field and coldcocks a brunette smack in the face—Chloe.

  Brilliant.

  Well played, Kate, well fucking played.

  29

  A Ghost of a Chance

  Paragon sparks to life from the viral shock of Kate’s corporal apex being tossed about at the homecoming ceremony.

  Chloe and her incessant need to terrify—to ram me into a corner and watch my insides bleed out had finally gone about as far as I could let her. She killed time and time again and spread her hatred like a disease from me to my father, Logan, and now Kate with her face staring out at the crowd, her mouth misshapen as if she were about to be sick—this was the bottom of the barrel even for Chloe Bishop.

  “Fuck!” Ellis barks. “Is that thing real? Is that really, her?”

  “No.” I try to run with it. I’d hate for her mother to have witnessed the abomination.

  Demetri runs over and peers under Ellis’s T-shirt. He looks up at me and shakes his head as though I were directly responsible.

  A mass of humanity swells around the stage as school officials bleed from every orifice to tend to the nightmare.

  I catch Michelle hustling Chloe into the gym to sanitize the shit out her no doubt. Although, I think we all know there’s no way to cleanse that wicked soul. I’ve had about enough of her shit, and I’m going to make sure she understands exactly that at some point during this catastrophe of an evening.

  Ms. Richards dismisses the assembly, and the field starts to drain.

  Giselle comes up with a frightened look on her face with Logan and Gage as her stoic bookends.

  “What was that about?” She has a look of horror plastered to her face, albeit childlike and in no way true to Emerson’s stone cold affect. “Chloe said the big plan was canceled! That I shouldn’t worry my pretty little head about upsetting you.”

  Shit. Between my mother and Giselle, I’m sure Chloe has done the resurrection math by now. My insides boil at the thought.

  Gage comes over and locks me in an embrace. “I swear to you. No one got anywhere got near Kate’s grave last night. I locked the gates myself.”

  “I bet they did it earlier in the week.” I let out an exasperated breath.

  “She’s pegged this on you.” Logan looks more than a little pissed.

  Before I can respond Mom, Tad, and Demetri speed in this direction.

  “What the hell was that head doing in the trunk of your car?” Tad goes off like a half-cocked
ballistic missile, clearly missing his intended target because I, for one, had nothing to do with the cranial kidnapping.

  “It was…” Shit. I’m at a loss, myself.

  Demetri steps in with a determined smirk. “It was clearly planted. I suspect a senior prank is at hand. Do you know anything about this?”

  “I do!” I dart a quick glance at the gym. I will so sing like a canary if it gets Chloe and friends booted off campus. “I mean I have an idea who could have put it there.”

  Demetri glances around at the crowd encroaching in on our conversation and motions for me to follow him off to the side.

  “You and I both know Chloe Bishop is responsible,” I hiss. “Use your Fem grave-ray vision, or light drive back in time and witness the unholy scene for yourself. Chloe is as sick and twisted as you are.” Perhaps I should have refrained from that final dig, but I couldn’t help it.

  He blinks off into the forest a moment. “Ms. Bishop may have dented your reputation, but I can assure you, Skyla, you’ll have the last laugh.” He takes in a breath, and his chest expands beneath his thick, wool coat.

  “I need that pendant back from her.”

  “Back?” He scoffs at my erroneous claim. “Was it ever yours to begin with?”

  “No, but Logan wished he had gifted it to me. And I need it more than ever to help—” I stop shy of mentioning anything about Marshall’s impending banishment, and that I’m sure Logan has a few interesting reason’s himself. “Will you help me?” It comes out desperate. My words bloom like a smoke signal that spells out hopelessness more than anything else. It seems no matter where I turn, no one has the power to make Chloe gift me anything.

  “Perhaps you haven’t discovered your enemy’s weakness yet. Target that, and the world shall be yours for the asking.”

  If he knows so much about gaining the world, why isn’t he living the dream with my mother?

  Mom crops up beside him with the baby bundled like a cute little Eskimo.

  “It’s all under control, Lizbeth,” Demetri purrs while touching his hand to her cheek. “It appears Skyla, here, was victim to a most unfortunate prank.”