Elysian

by Addison Moore

  “It wasn’t me.” Isis assures us of her uselessness. “It’s the mixture of minerals and healing salts. It’s remarkable what God put in the earth to work on a human’s behalf.” Her mouth opens slightly as if she were suddenly aware of her gaff.

  “That’s OK,” I assure. “You’re among other non-humans.” Partial humans to be exact, but no use in strangling her brain cell with this information. “Make her remember something for Pete’s sake. If she wanted a massage, there’s a yellow lab who would have totally walked all over her back for a handful of kibble.”

  “Charlie would do that?” Giselle perks to the idea.

  “Only on days of the week that end in ‘Y.’”

  Isis ignores my plea and opens a drawer full of bright purple and blue stones that look like they’d make a fine addition to any pool table. She starts aligning them over Giselle’s spine, and Giselle lets out a cry.

  “You’re hurting her!” I go to take one off and burn the hell out of my fingers.

  “Oh no, Skyla,” Giselle moans. “This feels fantastic.” She proceeds to moan in an altogether climactic manner while Isis rolls the firebrands over her back. Swear to God, Ellis looks as if he’s about to explode in a fit of pleasure himself.

  Thank God Logan is nowhere near the breasty vicinity.

  Another minute drags by of listening to Giselle moan at the top of her lungs until her neck snaps back in pleasure, and she collapses over the table.

  “There.” Isis gives one final spin to the sexual billiard game taking place on Giselle’s back, inciting her to cry out in pleasure one more time.

  “That’s it,” I snap, hoisting Giselle to an upright position. The balls drop to the floor like bricks, and one knocks Ellis on the shin—not that I’m sorry. I’ll have a lot to explain to the Olivers should Giselle start a sparkling dinner conversation regarding how exhilarating it is to have someone get their rocks off on you.

  “Do you remember anything?” I look into Giselle’s blue eyes as her dimples tremble in turn.

  “Not that I’m aware of.” Giselle shrugs almost apologetically.

  “What would she like to remember?” Dr. Isis Edinger, the nitwit, has the nerve to ask.

  “Something humiliating about Chloe. We just don’t know what.” I spit it out as rude as possible in the event she has another genius question she’d like to lob our way.

  Isis places her hand over Giselle’s forehead and stares intently into her eyes.

  “Emerson Kragger is dead,” she announces. “And she’s taken all of her memories with her.”

  “That can’t be possible,” I whimper. Chloe is going to die soon, and she’ll never surrender that pendant. I should have read the writing on the wall, long ago. Chloe gets what Chloe wants. Her kind of evil rarely yields to punishment on this planet.

  Isis points her finger-like nipples in my direction. “Every last reflection Emerson had of her life has vanished, right along with her soul. I suggest you look elsewhere for your dirt on Chloe.”

  “Like?” I hold my breath in the event a brilliant idea defecates from her brain.

  “Like, ask Chloe, silly.” She picks up one of the molten stones, a large turquoise piece that looks suspiciously like a miniature version of the planet, and buries it in her cleavage. Both Isis and Ellis let out a collective sigh.

  Crap.

  “Come on, Giselle, let’s get out of here.”

  Giselle takes Ellis by the hand, and we make a beeline downstairs.

  I text Logan and let him know we’re through, that the mind tapping was more like spinal tapping, and nothing of value was achieved other than confirmation of the fact Isis is nothing more than a Fem with boobs.

  Ellis and Giselle take off for his truck while I wait by the entry.

  Logan finally emerges, walking at a quickened clip, his face pale with shock.

  “What did you see?”

  “I saw you, Skyla.” He gives an impish grin.

  “Was I strangling a Fem with my bare hands?”

  “No, you were—” he shakes his head. “It wasn’t interesting.

  “Did you see this?” I pluck out that picture Em sketched for me and hand it to Logan.

  He sighs heavily as though he weren’t shocked at all to see me in so much pain.

  “This”—he flicks it with his finger—“is exactly what I saw.”

  “Do you know what had me so upset?”

  “Yes.” He holds me hostage with that tragic auburn stare. “And I think you do, too.”

  ***

  Afterwards, Logan and I head out to the mall to see a movie. A movie. It seems so normal, so benign. We hadn’t done anything so inconsequential and yet meaningful like that in forever. We’re finding our way back to one another. Building a bridge of hope that there could ever be a future for the two of us.

  We hold hands and walk through the open-air mall as the scent of waffle cones pulls us into the ice cream shop.

  “One scoop of chocolate, on a sugar cone,” I tell the girl behind the counter, but she’s too mesmerized by Logan and his cut-to-the-chase good looks, to give me her full attention. I imagine that’s what a lifetime of Logan would bring, other girls admiring him from afar, throwing themselves at him whenever the opportunity presents itself.

  Logan rubs a soft circle on the inside of my palm. He latches his gaze onto mine, and his lips twitch into a smile.

  You are the only girl I see, Skyla. The only one I could ever want or love. I promise, a lifetime with me would be devoted to loving you.

  Logan. I’m at a loss for words. I need Logan just to breathe let alone make it through to the end of my days.

  “And for you?” The girl calls out for his attention, but Logan never takes his eyes off me.

  “Can we share?” His cheek tucks back a notch.

  “Yes,” I purr. “I want to share everything with you.”

  We pay and head outside. It’s dark, and the mall is all but void of patrons.

  “Remember that time we came here, and I lost Mia and Melissa?” I laugh. “My mom was so pissed.” And in a sad way, I’m still losing Mia and Melissa.

  “I remember. It was the day I brought you to the woods to teach you how to use your powers, and we encountered a Fem.”

  “I have a serious disdain for those creatures.” I make a face. “But I love you, Logan Oliver.” I happen to have a weakness for Olivers in general, but Logan knows that.

  He motions for the cone and raises his brows as if to ask the question, so I hand it to him.

  I watch with a sexual fixation as his tongue swipes the entire circumference of the chocolate before tracing its way to the top.

  Crap. Logan Oliver has the power to do things to my body without even trying.

  He glances over as he hands back the cone. It’s only then I notice our fingers are still interlaced, and he heard the entire thing.

  It’s true, I say. A rush of heat runs through me in waves just thinking about the things he can do with his tongue. I want you, Logan. I glance down to my feet a second, and my cheeks burn with heat. I want to love you like that if you’ll let me.

  He backs the two of us slowly to an overgrown Hawthorne bush.

  Logan inspects me a good long while, pulling his tortured gaze over my features as if what he wanted to say were far too painful to formulate in words.

  A surge of rage filters through me. “Can you, just for a second, accept the fact you’re going to live? You’re really starting to tick me off with this piss-poor attitude.” It comes out far sharper than intended. “Your girlfriend just told you she wanted to have sex with you, and all you could do was mope because you’re too busy giving up on life—you’re giving up on us, Logan!” My heart throbs in my chest from the unexpected surge of unwanted excitement. In no way had I envisioned screaming at Logan today over “getting down and dirty with him” of all things.

  “I’m not giving up.” He looks past my shoulder when he says it, his voice no louder than a whisper.
<
br />   “Way to sound convincing.” A brick settles in my throat and makes it impossible to push out another syllable.

  A dark shadow descends from the sky. It’s Nevermore in all his ebony plumed glory, cawing and screaming, until he lands on my shoulder with a thump.

  “Geez”—I try to shrug him off—“you’re as heavy as a toddler.”

  Logan’s dimple inverts. I bet he’s all kinds of relieved to see Nev. He thinks it gets him off the hook as far as the topic at hand goes. I wonder how many other girlfriends have to convince their boyfriends to sleep with them.

  “That’s the second time tonight you’ve called yourself my girlfriend.” He presses his fingers into mine.

  “That’s because I am.”

  “Skyla,” he says it sweet enough, complete with an adoring smile, but something in the implication sets me off. “You won’t admit it, and perhaps you’re not even aware of it, but you were in the middle of choosing between Gage and me when you found out. I refuse to let my death give me the home field advantage. I don’t want pity sex.”

  Nevermore lets out a piercing cry, and I try to shrug him off once again before he blows out an eardrum.

  “If you don’t want to listen, Nev, then beat it. I’m busy drilling Logan a new one for being so damn stubborn.” I shoot my boyfriend a look. “I’m sure if I were Nev’s girlfriend and wanted to sleep with him, he would totally comply.”

  He coos and shakes his head.

  “You’re not helping.” I place my hand over his back, and Logan does the same. “This had better be good. What is it?”

  I spoke with my love regarding your predicament with Ms. Bishop.

  “That’s great!” I give a little hop. I bet Ezrina concocted some crazy brand of truth serum that forces idiots like Chloe to spill their guts until they die. Although, in Chloe’s case, she’d rather die than tell the truth.

  Not great. Nev continues. She’s unable to force someone to like you, Skyla. Let alone gift you anything of value. She suggested you try a different approach.

  “Like what, a fake friendship? She’ll see right through that. Besides, I just humiliated her at homecoming, and, apparently, that highlighted my name on her shit list.”

  Perhaps she’ll gift it to another, and they can gift it to you? he suggests.

  “No.” I sag, dejected. “She’ll see through everything. She hates me to the core. Face it. That pendant is going down to the grave, right along with Chloe. There’s no way in hell she’ll ever take it off.” And I mean that last part literally.

  One more thing, Skyla—Nev stretches his wings and accidentally smacks me in the face—the Justice Alliance has officially reopened their case and is actively investigating the evidence against Ezrina and me.

  “That’s wonderful!” Dear God, I pray that’s wonderful. My stomach explodes in a pocket of nerves as if someone kicked a beehive.

  We’ll see. Nev pushes off and soars into the air, spiraling upward as though Logan had just tossed him like a football.

  “So I guess things are happening,” I pant into Logan. “If the Justice Alliance is working on Ezrina and Nev’s case that means…” Shit.

  “That means we’re next.” Logan darts his eyes into mine, sharp as razors.

  The clock is ticking, and we both know it.

  There’s no way in hell I’m letting my mother take Logan from me.

  Every hour that bleeds by has been in our face, loud as a riot, and here we are in the final minutes. It’s almost as if the pulse of the universe has changed its rhythm like a bomb ready to blow.

  Tick tock…

  32

  The Good Sneeze

  Late in the evening—after a long, drawn out goodbye with Logan, I make my way upstairs to my bedroom, exhausted and emotionally spent.

  I didn’t want to go over to the Oliver’s and have Gage see me like this. He would instantly know what was wrong—Logan and me to be exact. Speaking of Logan, a very real part of me knows that he’s right. He’s dying, or technically dead, and my entire body wants to weep rivers over his flesh. I want to love him, please him in every way possible with my mouth, my teeth, my legs tangled around him in knots.

  It’s the optimist in me that insists we can somehow fix this—that death is simply a stone in our path that we need to step over—move past like some psychological barrier we’ve yet to break through.

  If only it were that easy.

  The door to my room sits slightly ajar, and the light is on.

  God, if I find Chloe in there, I’ll probably be moved to strangle her with dental floss. She did this. She damned Logan to death. It was tough enough deciding between three great men, and now a body in the Transfer looms over our heads with its glass casket.

  Damn bitch.

  But it’s not Chloe who’s in my room, its Bree.

  “I’m so glad it’s you,” I say, closing the door and locking it. “I’m in a totally pissy mood, and, trust me, I haven’t taken committing a felony off the table just yet.”

  “Are you going to kill me?” She scoots to the wall in an effort to evade any ninja executioner-style moves I might be tempted to throw her way.

  “No,” I groan. “It’s Chloe. I want to stomp that scorpion down with the heel of my shoe.”

  Snowball goes ballistic, rattling her cage and screaming as if the house were on fire.

  “God.” Brielle grips her chest. “I didn’t know owls made those kinds of noises.”

  “They don’t. I think Marshall gifted me some defunct bird.” I leave out the part about it essentially being a zombie, the exact winged demon I killed when I was seven. “What brings you here?”

  “I thought I’d see if Drake wanted to hang out.” Her face does the insta-frown, and I already know where this is headed. “Em is in his room. I think they’re fighting.” She bites down on her lip with a sudden burst of excitement.

  “Really?” You could hear the wind howl outside, a pin drop, when I walked down the hall, so I highly doubt this. “Emily doesn’t seem to show much emotion. You think she’s capable?”

  “I just heard Drake complaining. But he sounded beyond irritated, and I’ll take that for now. So, what’s got you ready to shit nails?”

  I make a face at her euphemism and land next to her on the bed.

  “Logan,” I say his name with the same enthusiasm reserved for a dental drilling.

  “You chose, Logan?” She kicks my foot, squealing with elation. “Congrats, girl!”

  “No. He’s…” I try to think of a way to say this without telling her the truth, then in a fit of righteousness, and a lack of imagination, I tell her the exactly that—the truth.

  “Oh my, God. Skyla, that changes everything.”

  “I thought so, too.”

  “You guys should totally leave town and spend like the rest of his visit locked in a hotel room somewhere.”

  I swallow hard.

  It’s usually trouble when Brielle and I engage in the same line of thinking.

  “Maybe Logan is right,” I sigh. Maybe I am favoring him because he’s dying—dead.”

  “Duh!” Brielle swats me with a pillow. “And what’s wrong with that? He’s going to be gone—as in forever. You’ll always have Gage, and, of course, Dudley and his molecular molestation on the side…but, Logan, he’s like…” Brielle racks her brain to come up with an analogy. “Logan is like a flower. You think it’s beautiful, so you pick it and put it in a vase, but as soon as you do, it only has a few days left before it starts to fall apart, and the water turns all green and smells like a corpse.”

  “Brielle! That’s a disgusting comparison.”

  “No, it’s true. When you pick a flower, you don’t just throw it back in the garden. You put it in your best vase. You give it fresh water hoping to make it last just a little bit longer. You give it special attention because you know it’ll be gone soon—in the trash, and in some dumpster, buried under six feet of Paragon soil.”

  Tears come to my eyes, an
d I blink them away.

  “You’re right. Everything in me wants to give Logan special attention, but is it fair?”

  “You mean, would you have chosen him if it were an even playing field? The answer is yes.” Brielle strokes her fingers through my hair. “Skyla, in your heart, you’ve already chosen all three of them. Whether the universe likes it or not, that’s your decision. I knew it from the start. I was just waiting for you to figure it out.”

  My heart palpitates so hard I swear it could register on the Richter scale. My body ignites with a bite of perspiration because, damn it all to hell, Brielle is right. It wasn’t indecision, it was a radical decision—which also leads me right back to square one.

  “So what now?” I can hardly push the words out.

  “Love Logan with all your heart, all your soul, and all of your body.” She wiggles her chest when she says that last part.

  Giselle and her heated frenzy comes to mind.

  “I’ve never done that before. You know, loved someone with all my body.” I really don’t mind being a virgin. Although the incessant need I felt to tell people this bit of non-news over the last year really did push me over the edge. Nevertheless, I don’t care what people think of the celibate state of my vagina. That’s my damn business.

  Not to mention that sexual light drive I took with Marshall felt real in every way, so I’m not sure I really am a virgin any more. It would figure, Marshall would be my first—sort of.

  “Don’t even worry about it.” She flicks her wrist through the air as if it didn’t really matter. “Just relax and enjoy Logan. The rest will come naturally. Trust me, there’s not a guy on the planet who can’t figure out his way around the female anatomy. And Logan…well, just looking at him, you can tell he knows how to handle his equipment. It’s going to be amazing, Skyla.”

  “What’s…you know, the big O feel like?”

  She makes a face. “That’s not a promise. But if it does happen—” She looks to the ceiling for a second. “You know when you feel a sneeze coming, and it feels like that’s the only thing in the world you want to do at that moment because you know it will feel really satisfying? It’s kind of like that. And when you finally do sneeze”—her eyes light up, and Brielle looks as though she’s just won the lottery—“it’s pretty darn amazing.”