I attempt to step toward my mother, but Logan insists on holding my hand as if it were a leash. I shake him loose before landing right in my mother’s face. “You do not let her get married,” I say, stepping in close to my mother’s face. “I do not care how freaking great you think her engagement party will be. This isn’t about making your paper wedding bells dream come true.” My speech comes out pressured and harsh. “And why the hell hasn’t anyone said a single word about what happened to my husband?” I glare at the remaining faces in the room. The sallow light offers everyone a ghoulish glow, their features lost in elongated shadows, and I’m right back to believing I’ll wake up at any moment. If this is truly a dream, Marshall and his horse-like penis will stride in and take me from behind. I’d welcome it at this point.
“Geez!” Logan drops my hand like the hot mic it is.
“Sorry.” I wince over at him a moment.
Tad waddles over. “What the hell is she rambling about now, Lizbeth?”
“Skyla?” Mom shakes her head. “What’s happened to Gage? He was just here a moment before you arrived.” She’s still shaking her head in disbelief, and I’m suddenly moved to join her.
“Who was here?” I lean in, unsure of my footing in this world anymore.
“Gage.” She juts her head like a chicken as if to insinuate my own shortsightedness. “He swung by with Demetri.”
“Detective Edinger,” Tad is quick to correct. “That’s right. He’s donned his badge again after that bloody birthday fiasco. It looks like they’re in hot pursuit of the monsters who put a hit on that poor man.”
Melissa leans in while rocking Barron. “I still can’t freaking believe there was a murder at the boys’ first birthday party! How the hell are you going to top that next year, Skyla?”
“Oh, shush!” Mom is quick to nudge her away with her elbow. “Don’t you worry one bit, Mr. Spicy Pepper.” She tickles Barron under the chin.
“What?” I’m not sure which elephant to tackle first. “Please don’t call him that.”
“Oh, Skyla, everyone knows Barron is fussier than Nathan. I’m just calling a spade a spade.”
“That’s labeling, and I won’t have it. And do you know what else I won’t have?” My voice curdles to the ceiling, inspiring both Emily and Bree to step forward as if they were about to initiate a takedown. “The outright denial of my husband’s—”
Logan lunges in and grips his hand over my arm. They don’t think he’s dead, Skyla.
I pull back and gasp into the epiphany. “Oh my God.” I turn to my mother. “You really saw Gage?”
“Yes.” Her eyes bug out. “He came by with Demetri to fill Tad in on the good news.”
My gaze darts around the room, trying to piece together what this might mean. “You mentioned they left—something to do with the murder investigation? And Demetri is in charge?”
Mom gives a sober nod. “He insists on handling this one himself. Isn’t that brave? And, of course, Gage is going to help him, I’m sure. He’s very brave, too.”
“He’s also very dead,” I say under my breath.
The lights blink on and off, and Tad yanks my mother toward the kitchen “Never mind, Gregory. We’ve got appliances that need to be disconnected. I may have landed a steady income, but one useless refrigerator will land us nothing but a box of dead meat.”
I hate to break it to him, but Tad Landon is about to become exactly that, dead meat.
I turn to Logan and shake my head as our fingers interlace once again.
It was probably Wes, I say.
Logan winces. We can’t be sure. But I’m betting it wasn’t. Demetri has an entire army of shape-shifting Fems at his disposal.
Before he can elaborate, Bree wraps her arms around me, her chest bucking, her entire body weight falling over me to the point I stagger back to keep from toppling over.
“Oh, Skyla!” she howls so loud there’s a release in me as if I’ve been waiting to hear my name shredded in that exact manner all day. “What are we going to do? We’re ruined! Ruined I tell you!”
“I know.” My own tears sprint to the party. Finally. Brielle has always been someone I could count on. “I don’t know how we’re going to fix this, but we are,” I rail against hope.
“We are?” Bree pulls back, her speckled green eyes sprayed with crimson tracks. “I don’t know, Skyla.” She looks to Em, destitute with grief, and I could just kiss her face for it. “This is pretty big. The attorney said we could go away for a long, long time. And all the money we lost. God, the money!” she wails, falling to the sofa, inconsolable.
Logan and I look to Emily for an explanation, both our faces locked in horror. This entire visit has been a nonstop mindfuck, and the fact it’s most likely going to end with an exchange with Emily I-See-a-Very-Unfortunate-Event-in-Your-Near-Future Morgan does not bode well.
“It has something to do with Landon Enterprises,” Em grunts. “You know, the conglomerate they tied all their subsidiary companies to like the Made in Paragon line, Drake’s Weed farm, and Bree’s nail polish business. They’ve essentially screwed themselves big time. Something to do with tax evasion and a class action lawsuit. I think there was an incurable rash involved.”
I nod, trying to absorb it all, and in doing so marvel at the fact Emily Morgan has spoken the most words to me than she has in a year. Usually, she’s all about brevity. Come to think of it, Em and Ezrina really do have a lot in common.
“And here I thought she was mourning Gage.” I turn to glance at Bree, still in the throes of a full-on tantrum, balled fists, feet kicking wildly in the air. Little Beau Geste heads over and takes advantage of the moment by yanking at her hair, and she pops him on the bottom.
Em nods to me. “I know Gage is dead.” Em’s morbid tone may be typical but, for God’s sake, this time it was warranted.
I lunge over to her and offer a barbaric embrace. “Thank you for that,” I sob silently into her neck as she dutifully plucks me off.
“And I have a message for you.”
“Oh no, you don’t!” I jump back as if a wild current just unleashed from her. “Under no circumstances are you to utter a word of prophecy in either of our directions. I’m sick and tired of living under a dark cloud once you unleash those horrors on me.”
Em shakes her head as if dismissing my tirade. “They’re bound to happen.” She gives a quick blink with that perennially bored look on her face. “But that’s not what this is about. I was just going to say—”
“Stop.” I hold a hand to her face, just shy of clamping over those flapping lips. “I’ll spare you of the energy. I’m not interested.” I look to Logan. “Let’s get out of here and head to Marshall’s.”
“What about Demetri and Wes?”
“I have a feeling we’ll see all of the above in descending order.” I track down my mother and let her know we’ll be back later this evening while dotting a kiss to Nathan’s forehead.
Melissa walks us out, and I gift Barron a kiss as well.
“Thanks, I really appreciate this,” I tell her as I gently comb Barron’s dark hair from his forehead. My heart breaks looking at this miniature replica of my gorgeous husband. “I wonder who they think died that night of the party?”
Melissa shrugs. “Some guy named Ichabod Travers. Goofy name.” She tsks at the thought. “But he’s headless now. What are you going to do about it?” At the moment, Melissa reminds me more of Tad than ever before.
Ichabod Travers? I look to Logan as if asking the question.
Ichabod Travers!
Logan and I suck in a quick breath at the same time. Ichabod Travers happens to be someone I killed myself back when I was pregnant with the boys. Logan and I were light driving in South America, and things went very fucking wrong as usual. Ichabod was responsible for the equator phenomenon as it was known—aka teaming up with the Steel Barricade to make the world feel as if it were going mad. And sadly, Wesley’s scare tactics are only increasing around the globe
despite the fact the Spectators have been greatly culled. Several renegades outside of the Barricade agreed to help Wesley’s wicked cause in order to secure safety for their families by way of sacrificing themselves.
Logan and I met up with Ichabod in a bar, and he and Logan got in a tussle. My hormones kicked in—and, well, I kicked a boot right through Ichabod Travers’ skull for even thinking about hurting my favorite fair-haired Oliver. Yet another body in the tally of the dead that Logan and I seem to rack up whenever we leave the country. Logan and I should definitely instate a homeland-only clause in our relationship. Leaving the borders of this great nation only seems to pique our murderous intentions. But my mother—the biological one—thankfully, reversed Ichabod’s oxygen-deprived state of being, and luckily I wasn’t charged by the Justice Alliance for booting him right into eternity. Now there’s a country song for you.
We say a quick goodbye to Melissa as I grab an umbrella from the foyer and pop it open as we head onto the porch.
“Why Ichabod?” I ask as the rain gushes down in a torrent, each drop hurtling to Earth with the precision and speed of a missile.
Logan glances toward the woods, that long dimple I gifted him years ago by way of a root beer bottle depresses as he considers this.
“It’s a message,” he concludes.
My mouth falls open. “Ichabod Travers was dead, and then he was alive. My mother brought him back herself.”
Logan and I lock eyes as we stare straight into one another’s weary souls. We’re far past telepathy. We don’t need to touch to know what the other is thinking.
“Resurrection,” we say in unison.
My heart explodes with relief as we speed to Logan’s truck.
Gage Oliver himself—Demetri—somebody just gave me hope.
Logan speeds to Marshall’s estate as if our feet were to the flames and my favorite Sector himself held the last bucket of water, and sadly that might be more literal than I’d like to think. Ironically, the rain stops abruptly as if letting us know that in no uncertain terms it will not aid us. We can burn to cinder for all this damn island and its nefarious cohorts care.
Paragon flies by in a blur as the mist, the evergreens, and the peek-a-boo view of the rocky crags, the Pacific Ocean itself spin in marbled hues. Marshall lives behind the gates in a wealthy area of the island known as Paragon Estates. It’s where Barron and Emma live.
“My God—Barron and Emma.” I’ve been so immersed in my own black hole I forgot they’ve landed in one, too.
“I’ve spoken with them.” Logan’s fingers fan out as he grips the wheel even tighter. “Barron said not to worry about anything. They’re a mess—they just don’t want us worrying about them.”
“Are they a mess?” Emma blinks to mind. That note Kate left for me replays in my mind word for word. Is Emma stricken with grief or with joy? At the moment, I’m not all that interested in the answer.
We pass the Olivers’ home, then the home Gage and I newly renovated for ourselves, the old Walsh home. The red door catches my eye. Above it Gage had the words Always and forever, you will be mine. You have all of my heart. Our love is eternal painted in beautiful script. The entire house is so beautiful now. It took a year to renovate. I even teamed up with one of my least favorite members of the old West Paragon cheerleading Bitch Squad, Lexy Bakova. I overlooked that obsession she has with my first husband, and we worked elbow to elbow making sure every material, every appliance was well-thought-out. My God, Gage and I only spent one night there.
I glare up at the sky, right past the heavens and into that nebulous place where my biological mother sits. Surely Candace the Great could have done something to avert this horrific tragedy. Warned me in the least, for God’s sake.
A thought comes to mind, and I’m thunderstruck.
“Oh God.”
“What’s wrong?” The truck glides over the median as he turns my way.
“My mother—she said she’d grant me a wish for my birthday.” A horrid cry rips from my throat. “She said I could spare almost anyone from the grave. She gave me till midnight, and I didn’t bother waiting until we got to the finish line. I chose Giselle and Emerson. Emerson Kragger. She gave me both as a bonus. I’ve deposited yet another Kragger on this planet and had I waited—”
“Skyla,” Logan winces into the road. “You had no idea what the night held, and at that moment you were too preoccupied to have thought of it. Don’t beat yourself up. Let’s zero all of our energy on the here and now. You and I have a mission.”
“And what’s that?”
“Getting Gage back on this planet—back in your bed.” He glowers out the windshield as if it were the very last thing he wanted, but I know Logan’s heart as well as I know mine. He means it with every ounce of his nonliving being.
My mother gave Gage an out. If I had only waited. If I could have kept my wits about me instead of splashing around in my husband’s blood as if I were at a water park. I did this to Gage. And if I’m not careful, in the future, I will do this to every single member of the Factions. Whoever thought it a good idea to let me lead the celestial pack had better think again—heed the warning I’ve afforded them. But I know who put me in charge—the same person who’s pulling my strings, making me dance as the bullets land near my feet. My mother.
A wave of nausea rips through me. Logan races to the front of Marshall’s estate, and I eject myself from the passenger’s seat without offering him the privilege of coming to a full stop.
“Marshall!” I pound over the door before struggling with the handle, only to find it locked. Marshall lives in an outright castle, and his home security system is enough to keep any well-seasoned criminal at bay. Without giving it a second thought, I muster my angelic strength, kick my foot against the deadbolt, and the door swings open, taking a piece of the doorjamb with it.
“Geez, Skyla, you have a key,” Logan muses, albeit a bit heated and for good reason. I’ve just destroyed Marshall’s beautiful mahogany double doors. “But I like where you’re going with this.” He strides out in front of me and kicks over a recliner. “Dudley?”
The piano starts in on one of those keyboard smashing hyper tunes that they specialize in the Transfer, something akin to ragtime if ragtime were having a very unfortunate day, and I run over to it.
Sitting on top of the heavily lacquered concert grand is a bright yellow legal pad with something scrawled over it. I snatch it up and begin to read out loud.
“Skyla, if you’re reading this, then you stubbornly refused to listen to Ms. Morgan. Do refrain from all rash decisions and histrionics as I am unable to assist you at the moment. I left detailed instructions with Ms. Morgan, and it doesn’t behoove me to repeat them. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a soul to tend to.” I look up at Logan, and I can practically feel the color draining from my face. “A soul.” It comes out weak. “Gage is that soul.” A small part of my shredded heart is warmed at the idea that Marshall is with him. As terrified as I am for Gage, I now see that he is safe and sound. Ironic, considering he had his head lopped off and is deader than a doornail.
Logan immediately sends a text to Emily, and within a nanosecond she pings right back.
“You should have listened to me,” Logan reads, incredulous.
She sends another quick text. “Go to Demetri’s,” I read as Logan and I race back to the truck. “Why do I get the feeling I’m going to learn a hell of a lot of lessons dealing with patience and hysterics.”
Logan shakes his head as he jettisons us halfway to Demetri’s haunted mansion at the other end of the Estates. “Do not berate yourself. This is a shit time. And you, my love, are on a shit ride.” He rams the truck up the driveway so fast you’d think we were about to go through it.
I peer out the window at Demetri’s monolithic estate, white and beautiful, ironwork adorning the second level, the windows full of beveled glass. An expansive porch wraps around the front with large fluted columns that create a dramatic entry point. Deme
tri Edinger claims this was once his grandfather’s estate. Perhaps. But I doubt it. Demetri is a Fem, a created being, a nefarious one at that. As misfortune would have it, he is the biological father of my precious husband—not Barron, the sweet, righteous man who raised him. No, this slithering snake of a creature made a deposit in the bank of Emma and yielded a perfect being, the one who holds my heart and that of my children’s.
“My God, we need to get Gage back.”
Logan and I head up the stairs, landing just shy of the door, and Logan gives a polite ring. He looks to me and nods.
“We’ll catch more flies with sugar than we will with vinegar.”
“Another lesson learned,” I muse. “I should probably be taking notes.” No sooner do the words leave my mouth than an electric blue butterfly dances between us from seemingly thin air. “Oh, wow.” I hold out a finger, and she gently perches herself on the tip before fluttering above us. “I have never seen such beauty.”
“I have.” Logan gives a sheepish grin my way before sighing at Demetri’s monstrous estate. We glance back up at that butterfly and watch in horror as it morphs into a bat. Smooth move, Demetri.
Logan presses on the doorbell again and again, irate and quick—far beyond any sugary bounds, and I turn to study the sky above us. Dark clouds rush in over the estate in haste, rolling, boiling, curling their fingers at us as if inviting Logan and me along for the ride. A psychotic jag of lightning strikes the north lawn, then again over Logan’s truck, and the entire vehicle sizzles and jumps. A peal of thunder follows less than a second later.
“Shit,” Logan hisses as we marvel at the sight. “I’m guessing that’s going to cost me my trani.”
The ground beneath us begins to rumble, and both Logan and I increase our stance to keep from toppling over.
“What’s happening?” The door behind us pulsates in and out while the house bucks and seizes as if it were having a seizure.
Logan pulls me in tight just as a piece of the awning crashes down where I was standing.
“Demetri!” My voice shrills to the heavens, and as if the sound of it angered God Himself, a roar of thunder deafens us.
Throne of Fire Page 5