“Laken?” I grope the air in her wake, but she’s gone. “Laken?” I scream so loud my throat burns raw, forcing me to sit up straight once again, only this time the room around me looks altogether different. The glare of early morning casts a pall upon the walls, bleaching all of the color out of the world, painting it gray as cinder.
“Skyla,” a decidedly male voice lacerates the air beside me, and I startle because I recognize it. My eyes meet up with a pair of familiar bloodshot eyes.
“Shit,” Logan and I whisper under our breath as we get a good look at one another. It’s not an insult in any way. It’s more of a confirmation of what neither of us wants to be a part of.
“It’s real,” I pant as I drop my face in my hands.
Logan pulls me to him and holds me there over his chest, his skin searing with heat as if it might actually have the power to scald me.
“It’s real,” he whispers it low, but the words sink into my bones like a sonic boom.
Logan and I cry rivers once again, silent tears, angry shaking tears, exhausted as never-ending streams pump from our eyes.
Mia brings the boys by that afternoon, doesn’t say a word as she passes them to me. She offers a firm hug then leaves in a car I don’t recognize—the driver is obscured by darkened windows. Logan helps me get the boys upstairs, and I hold my husband’s miniature doppelgangers in my arms until the fog ushers away all remnants of daylight and the moon dances over the water at Silent Cove once again.
Nathan Gage Oliver is a calm, sweet soul that has the power to convince you he knows so much more than his one year on this planet allows. And his fraternal twin, Barron Logan Oliver, forever the trickster with that crooked grin and that wily gleam in his eyes. My boys are as different from one another as the moon is from the sun, but yet each shines just as bright. I thought things would feel different once Mia brought the boys by—that their dimpled faces would somehow turn the light back on in the world, but the boys only seem to exemplify how alone I feel in the universe all of a sudden. Gage was our rock. He was our muscle, our protector, the owner of our hearts. He was everything, and now he is nothing more than a question mark. How does one go on with the art of living once you lose your most vital organ? With Gage gone, it feels as if the entire universe is thrown on its axis, and it is.
Ezrina texted an hour after the sun went down and let us know she left a bubbling stew on the stove for us. Skyla must keep her strength up, she added. Ezrina is a new mother herself. Baby Alice is less than a couple months old. Ezrina and Nevermore, Heathcliff as is his proper name, which I still can’t bring myself to use, live in the underground portion of Whitehorse, which spans football fields under Paragon it seems. That’s where she has her lab, and both Ezrina and Nev have their love nest. Alice is proof of the love they share, the love they’ve waited centuries to share, no thanks to the wicked Counts.
But neither Logan nor I have left the bedroom. He still has three cribs in here, the third once belonging to Angel, the child my mother thought it a good idea to pluck from the future and gift me for a time. Not a good idea by a long shot. Especially since the feds ended up essentially kidnapping her for a brief time. Angel would have met a fiery death had not my mother intervened and taken her back to paradise. My heart wrenches, squeezing itself into an unforgivably tight knot. My God, does Angel even exist at all? Logan and I hadn’t exactly made her a reality. And God knows I never allowed myself the proper time to grieve her.
I cry for hours. I weep for Gage, for Angel, for Sage, the daughter my mother ripped right from my womb and is now corrupting with her twisted brand of child-rearing. Sage is in desperate need of a mother, and it’s not Candace Let-Me-Destroy-Your-Destiny Messenger that should be in charge of that precious being. It’s me. A thought occurs to me and stops me cold in my internal tirade. Gage is with her. It should bring me comfort on some level, having them together, and yet it only seems to intensify the pain.
Logan wraps an arm around me in that great big bed of his, the one I made love to Gage on just a few short months ago. The boys sleep soundly, one across my body and the other over his.
“What happens now?” I whisper the words as if nuclear codes were about to be divulged.
“We get life back to normal.” His chest rumbles as the words stream from him, and it reminds me of those endless bedtime conversations I would have with Gage—how I’d love to carry on a conversation with him just so I could feel the acoustics strumming from his chest.
“How do we do that?” I glare at him a moment for even toying with the idea of normalcy.
Logan locks those amber eyes over mine, and they pierce the dim light with their own brand of illumination. Logan Oliver has always been a heart-stopper, but at this moment he hardly looks human. I suppose it’s just the truth exuding from him. Logan is deader than Gage, or at least dead longer than Gage. And yet he’s here, and that alone screams all things are possible.
“We get Gage back,” he says it so plainly, so factually it almost sounds plausible.
I give a quiet nod as we continue to stare one another down as if this were the ultimate dare in a dangerous game we’ve been playing for the last few years.
“Then that’s what we’ll do,” I say without the enthusiasm or even the hint of a smile to back it up. Logan and I have uttered those words before, and to be honest, they have been quite damning.
Famous last words, I say as I nod to him just once.
Logan closes his eyes for a moment and wraps his arm around me just a little bit tighter. Famous last words.
* * *
I wake with a start the next morning as the Paragon mist rolls in thick from the ocean, pressing its hands against the glass as it looks in, worried for the four of us. Even the evergreen branches seem to lean in just a little as if to observe the agony and the defeat Logan and I have exuded.
The boys are sleeping in their cribs, and I jump out of bed filled with fear as I make sure everything is as it should be. I stand stealth over their bodies, watching their backs rise and fall, licking my finger and placing it under their noses, feeling their warm breath just to reassure myself that they’re both still breathing. My God, I couldn’t handle another damn thing. But that dream, those yellow eyes—it screams we are so very damned. I scuff back to bed and Logan turns to look up at me, offering a lazy smile before pulling me back to the warm sheets with him.
Then, as if someone splashed his face with ice water, he takes a sharp breath and sits straight as a pin. That look of horror he’s now wearing says it all.
“It’s still happening.” He closes his eyes for a brief moment as I slide in next to him.
“It’s still happening, and so is something else.” My voice is frantic as I try to recall every last detail of last night’s dream, but it’s fading fast. “Logan, I’ve had these dreams—one was of Laken.” My brows rise as if I can’t believe my mind has shifted its focus from my precious husband.
“Laken?” he moans, tipping his head back a minute. “Don’t worry about Laken. Coop and Wes can handle it.”
“Handle what?” I watch as he pulls his phone off the nightstand and scrolls through his messages. “What’s going on?” My heart thumps to life as I lean to see the bevy of texts lighting up his screen.
“I don’t know exactly. I’ll find out in a bit.” His attention snags across the room, and he gives a lazy smile to Barron who’s now holding onto the crib railing and bouncing up and down with an ear-to-ear grin, those dimples set in deep. Miniature Gage Oliver just as happy as can be. “What do you think, Skyla? Is today the day we get their daddy back?”
Something in me sinks at the thought. Logan paints such a rosy picture, the realist in me is afraid to align myself with his wishful thinking.
“I suppose that’s what we’ll do.” I swallow down the realist in me and get the boys together as quick as possible. I’m wearing Logan’s sweats with Gage’s dried blood still embedded beneath my fingernails. “First stop, the Landon house. I�
��ll have my mother watch the boys, and then we can go to heaven and hell and back again trying to find him. If he’s with my mother—the other mother—heaven and hell might just be the same place.” My birth mother—Candace Messenger is the infamous purveyor of destinies as it stands. She and her cohorts determine the lay of the lifespan as far as human and angelic factions go. Candace herself is a Caelestis. I suppose that means she’s super angelic, but technically speaking, she’s a power, as are Marshall and Demetri, a Sector and a Fem respectively. Or maybe they were principalities? Hell, I can’t keep it straight. My mind was scrambled that night, and I don’t think I’ll ever keep anything straight again. That demon stains my mind. Demetri’s entire world revolves around toppling the Sectors from their prime power position in the sky and crowning the Fems as the power du jour over the angelic factions. As it stands now, the Sectors reign supreme, and lucky for me they side with Celestra, the most powerful angelic faction, which happens to be my lineage. Sure, we have the basic angelic powers such as strength, speed, but in addition to that, Celestra can hear someone’s thoughts via skin-on-skin contact, and of course, the all-coveted gift of time travel, aka light driving—a Chloe Bishop gifted moniker that has been widely adopted. Most of the Factions have mixed bloodlines at this point in time, but the Factions sway with prominence. It’s majority rules as far as bloodlines go, and then that’s what you’re forced to formally identify with. The next powerful bloodline falls to the Counts, the Countenance if you’re set on formalities. The Counts are nothing special, other than the fact they’re constantly bent on greed and evil. In fact, I’d go as far as to label the aforementioned hostile attributes as their supreme powers, not to mention the fact the Fems—something just this side of demons, side with them. Figures. Then there’s Levatio. The world, my heart stops a moment as I pick up Nathan and catch my breath.
“Everything okay?” Logan gifts my cheek a kiss as he comes up behind me, Barron already in his arms.
“Everything’s great. I was just distracting myself by going over the Factions—reviewing what I stand for.” I jostle Nathan onto my hip. “What we all stand for.” Logan helps me get the boys’ bags together, and we head to his truck where we buckle them safe in the back seat. We get in and Logan starts down the road slowly as we both glare at the newly built, newly bright red bowling alley—correction, the Bowling Barn. Yes, an actual barn has been erected in place of the sweet old Paragon Bowling Alley. Logan is still the primary owner, but Ellis and Giselle had a hand in this barnyard fiasco. Although, I’m secretly hoping it will be anything but a fiasco. The new gym next door to it is shaping up nicely. I crane my neck at the facility as we drive by and catch a glimpse of the farmland in the back that Logan converted to what is now known as Oliver Farms. It started off as just a pumpkin patch, but there are far more moving parts to it. Just like Gage Oliver’s death. So many damn moving parts.
I blow the boys a tired kiss for their father before turning and slumping in my seat. Paragon is veiled in her white wedding gown this morning. So perfectly serene, so perfectly morbid. My God, why did Gage have to die? A single tear singes its way down my cheek, and I fight not to lose it.
Laken’s words come back to me—think of the Factions, Factions, Factions…
Where was I? My eyes squeeze tight as I force my synapses to fire in the right direction. That’s right—Levatio. My entire body begs to evaporate with the memory of that first summer when I first met Gage. He was tall and brooding, but those eyes, those lips, he had me in so many ways. My heart belonged to Logan first, but Gage didn’t play fair. Gage Oliver was—is, hell, I don’t know if he ever really was a Levatio. The Levatio Faction has the strength and speed like the other Factions with the exception they can teleport, levitate, and a select few have the gift of knowing. That was something that deeply attracted me to Gage, the way he fully embraced the fact he was a Levatio. A humble Faction and a humble boy. It seemed perfect in every sense. His gift of knowing tormented him as much as it ever did benefit him, and if you asked Gage, he would most likely say it never really did benefit him in any way. Deorsum, Emma’s Faction, has the usual gifts, along with the power of persuasion. Ironic since she’s never managed to persuade me to care for her all that much. Although, in reality she’s most likely never made the attempt. And now knowing what I do about her, I doubt it will ever happen on my end.
A ragged breath escapes me as we pass West Paragon High and that giant mural of Cerberus, the three-headed mascot the faculty thought worthy to embed in our scholastic history growls silently our way. God, how I miss West. How I miss cheering for Logan and Gage as they obliterated the opposing team on the field. How I miss everything about that time in our lives—the glory days that were a horror while we lived them. Isn’t that life.
My hand falls to the window as the glass steams up and I watch as a couple of ravens—one black, one bone white—glide over the truck as if they were our winged escorts, and they might be. It’s Holden and his Nordic lady friend—now bride—Serena. Holden Kragger was a monster while in the flesh. And after the Faction War, when I managed to have my mother free Nevermore from his feathered imprisonment, she placed Holden into that bird cage as it were. But since Holden has been cloaked in feathers, he’s a changed man, or bird as it stands. He even came back to his natural form for a bit this last year to help me fight off Wesley and his twisted Barricade. But before I skip ahead to that crap-fest... I rub my temples, trying to capture my thoughts and stop them from flying all over my brain at a million miles an hour.
Where was I? Yes, the Factions. Noster. Noster comes next. Noster is better than most Factions, and as they have strength, speed, levitation, teleportation, and a rare portion can also have the gift of knowing. Their specialty is the ability to see through walls. Dr. Booth—my ex-psychiatrist—his son, Revelyn, or Rev as that wannabe biker prefers to be referred to, belongs to Noster. For the life of me I can’t recall if Dr. Booth does, too, or was it his ex-wife? Regardless, Dr. Booth is engaged to marry Laken’s mother. Laken! I take a sharp breath. Laken is a Count and so is her lousy ex-boyfriend, Gage’s brother by another mother, Wesley Edinger. I shake my head at the idea that both Wesley and Gage share the same nefarious father. Good God, Demetri Edinger should never have had the right to procreate.
The boys gurgle and laugh from the back seat as if they heard, and my stomach explodes with acid. Of course, thankfully, Demetri did reproduce or I would have missed out on Gage and then by proxy my boys and Sage. My entire heart would have dimmed, and I would have never known why. I guess something good can come from something so wicked after all.
I pluck my phone from the diaper bag. Mia must have found it and stuffed it inside. I left it at Demetri’s. I’m pretty sure it slipped right out of my hand the minute I spotted that puddle of blood in the grand room. My husband’s blood. It was seconds before I bathed in it. I hold up my encrusted manicure to the light and marvel—the night of the boys’ first birthday party was the last night of Gage Oliver’s life.
“I hate whoever did this,” I whisper. “I’m assuming Demetri ordered it, but he likes to keep his hands clean.” Ironic since my hands are still filthy from his evil efforts.
“We’re going to find them, Skyla. I’m going to make them pay myself.”
“So much bravado.” A dull huff comes from me.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Logan has an edge to his voice. He’s trying to hide it, but I’m betting deep down he knows what I’m getting at.
“It means nothing, Logan. It means that you and I should never plan on another slaughter. It leads to a domino effect that kills the people we love.”
The muscles in his jaw tense. Logan doesn’t take his eyes off the road. “Gage would have died anyway, Skyla. His death was bigger than you and me. It was his destiny all along, and we both know it. I didn’t kill him, Skyla, and neither did you. So you can put your bloody finger away.” It comes out with a controlled calm, his anger with me and the rest of the world
thinly disguised.
A dull laugh pumps through me, curt and short-lived. The thought of Logan and me arguing just moments after the biggest loss of our lives is mindboggling. And when you get down to brass tacks, it’s Demetri that’s once again the cause of our discourse. Damn Demetri Edinger to hell. If we’re angry at anyone, it should be the biggest bastard of them all.
“Plan of action—what is it?” I ask. “We drop the boys off, and then what?”
His lips twitch as we turn down the familiar evergreen-lined street. The road looks darker here. The fog grows thicker, socked in and blooming between the woods that nestle on either side of the road. The Johnson house sits high on our right. It’s Brielle’s old home, still that of her mother, Darla, and now her sister Brookelynn, too.
Brielle was my instant best friend when I arrived on Paragon. We’ve had a sordid past of our own, but for the most part, Bree has been a rock to me for the last few years. Bree married my stepbrother, Drake, and together they started an empire of Made in Paragon Island apparel. And being the savvy businesswoman she is, she went straight into another endeavor of her own, a line of nail polish concocted in Ezrina’s lab, Spellbound. It’s safe to say, Brielle has showered the world with her entrepreneurial skills post-graduation, and I couldn’t be happier for her. She is a Count, too, but I’ve never held it against her nor has she ever held the fact I belong to Celestra against me. Chloe tried to wedge her wickedness between Bree and me, paying her to be my friend and thus extracting who knows what information from me. But our friendship has proven both genuine and solid. Chloe Bishop, however, remains a wild card—ironic since she belongs to Celestra like me. She killed my father by setting him on fire, she killed Logan by slicing off his head in the Faction War—and now—had Chloe killed Gage? If you would have asked me a year ago, if this nightmare had happened then, I would have screamed yes. But after that covenant we entered into... I shake my head at the idea. Chloe has been pissed at me for the last few months. I used her to feed the Spectators to the feds, and that action landed her at the top of the most wanted list. It’s clear she has given both me and our covenant the finger. Not to mention the fact my mother may have set Chloe up by way of personally landing her at the top of the CIA’s most wanted list. Although, Marshall alluded at the boys’ birthday party that it was my mother who set Chloe up with the feds, which makes me think every move I make has a twisted root system that snakes all the way back to that creature in the sky who bore me. Marshall’s word is gospel as far as I’m concerned.
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