Logan wraps his arms around me like a seat belt that was set to eviscerate me. Another piece of sheeting falls from above, and I can feel Logan’s chest rumble.
“Candace!” he barks into the sky, and the earth gives one final bump before settling. Then, as if we were caught in a vacuum, a violent wind picks up. The debris at our feet flies up where it belongs, finding its home once again, the plaster, the paint, it all falls back into place as day is traded for night, and the lights inside Demetri’s palatial estate burst to life with the ferocity of a bonfire. A heavy murmur of voices comes from inside, and the distinct sound of an orchestra or a band of some sort fills the air with a joyful rhythm.
“Good evening!” a cheery voice calls from behind, and both Logan and I turn around and gasp.
Wearing the most beautiful iridescent gown, glowing from head to toe like some ethereal fairy, my mother, Candace Messenger herself, floats up beside us. A crown is pressed over her golden tresses. Her face is brimming with sharp beauty—I may be her lookalike, but not even on my best day have I achieved that level of beauty-inspired awe.
“My, my”—she scours the two of us while shaking her head in dismay—“you’re not fit to be at such an elegant soiree, now are you?” She waves her hand passively at that, and suddenly Logan and I are dressed to the nines, him in a tux and me in a shimmering baby blue gown that sparkles as if a million miniature stars are trapped within the fabric. This dress is a galaxy of beauty all on its own.
“Where are we?” I pant, looking down at the majesty that my gown evokes.
“Light driving.” Logan picks up my hand like a reflex. Ever since I’ve known Logan, his go-to response is to protect me, and usually the first step in doing so is holding my hand. I would say that I love the way Logan protects me, but he has a history of protecting me with his silence, and for that alone, I can’t love anything about his methods of keeping me safe.
“Yes!” My mother lunges forward and kisses Logan on both cheeks, lingering and slow. She pulls back with tears in her eyes as she bears hard into him, and I wonder if they’re communicating. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if my mother was circumventing me. “My, what a fine man you’ve turned out to be.” She cradles the side of his face with her palm. “I knew you would be.” She says that last part with an anguished fervor. “I had meant you for my daughter all along. Don’t you think I didn’t. Make no mistake about it. I wanted the best. It mattered not what century, what hellscape I needed to pluck you out of.”
A huff of annoyance bucks through me. “You set destinies into place. You could have easily made him my contemporary from the beginning. You could have saved him from nearly burning alive.” Logan was burned significantly in a car fire by the Counts when he was just a toddler. His parents perished in the blaze.
Her mouth opens a notch, her eyes still fully immersed over his countenance—Logan is part Count as fate—aka my mother would have it.
“No, Skyla. I promise you it is not that easy.”
An explosion of laughter comes from inside, and an uneasy feeling comes over me.
“What’s happening here? Where are we in time?” No sooner do I get the words out than in my hand appears an all too familiar rhinestone encrusted mask—the same one I wore the night Gage died.
“Skyla.” Logan holds up his plain black mask, just enough to cover his eyes and give him that bandit appeal. We look to my mother for explanation and she laughs, holding out her arms as the doors burst open on their own.
The sound of raucous music bowls us over, loud and intrusive, far too cheery for my somber heart. A thick mix of cologne and perfume mingles with my senses. Demetri’s overgrown home reeks of dark mystery, and here we are once again, ready to unravel the greatest mystery of them all.
My mother lands between Logan and me as the three of us take in the fashionable shindig that coincided with the boys’ birthday party. It was a ridiculous idea from the get-go, and now I can see how dangerous it was as well.
“There are so many questions you must have for me,” she trills as if this were the night she waited an eternity for, and she may have. “Why settle for words when actions speak much louder? Come, come.” She gives us each a gentle nudge into the massive marble foyer as the Transfer transplants float by, ogling the three of us, wide-eyed and offering their silent approval. Women and men, all dressed in the finest that yesteryear has to offer, each and every one of them a dull illumination, more of an idea than a person. Long dead. All of them in their ghostly forms. My mother pulls Logan and me together until our sides are forcefully pressed. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, have you ever observed a finer couple?” The haunted peanut gallery claps and offers a silent cheer. “My daughter, my heart.”
My own heart stops just hearing the odd proclamation. She strokes her finger along my cheek before waving an arm across Logan’s chest. She steps around her favorite Oliver and runs her finger along his mouth while he remains stiff as a statue.
“A finer man this planet has never known.” Her lips pull into a line as if she were reconsidering this. “A being of angelic order.” She’s quick to make the correction.
My heart sinks and I openly glare at her, pouring out my anger sharper than words. “You know no depths when it comes to insulting my husband.” Gage was a being of angelic order and just as fine as Logan in every respect. In fact, I’m about to push my mother and the ghostly army before me out of my way in an effort to hunt him down. Just the thought of Gage Oliver roaming the premises—alive and well—gets my adrenaline pumping to unsafe levels.
Her dress flashes a brilliant shade of sunset. Her eyes ignite with rage. “This is your husband.” Her words knife through the foyer and whistle right through me. She swoops on over like a poltergeist herself, her face pushed to mine. “You, my dear, have been deceived. The only Oliver you should have ever been with is standing in your presence.” Her features harden to flint. “I pray you see the error of your ways soon and even sooner than that. And when you do, I believe you will rue the day you allowed wickedness to plant a seed in your heart.”
“My boys came from that blessed union.” My voice is hoarse as if I had just wept nonstop and I have—for the exact man she prays I loathe one day.
“And a beautiful daughter. Let’s not leave out my precious Sage.” She gives a sly wink and confirms the fact the more I’m around her the less I understand.
Candace Messenger straightens, chin up, shoulders back, pride shooting out of her eyes at the speed of light as the entry clogs with people. “Fine people of the Traveling Gentry—powers and principalities, thrones, dominions, virtues. I present to you my evergreen and her steed.” She fans her arms our way, and I’m stunned.
A dull roar fills the space around us as if the loudest cheer was coming from the furthest distance.
I lean toward Logan as the crowd grows jovial and begins to disperse. “Did she just liken you to a horse and me to a tree?” The words dumb as a stump come to mind, and I can spit right in her face for even implying it.
Logan winces as he rubs my back. “I believe the symbolism of an evergreen is the ever-presence of a great leader. God Himself compared His being to an evergreen to the Israelites.”
“Oh, that’s a much better explanation.”
“May the Lord bless you and keep you.” Her voice thunders so explosively loud the walls rattle. “May He sanctify you and allow you to prosper in all you do.” My mother curtsies, and this simple action alone stuns me. She nods to Logan and me. “I’ve something to tend to. Mind yourselves in the interim.” She narrows her gaze on mine. “Make the most of your time here. If you’re in need of my company, look to the wicked sky. Welcome back to the Bastard’s Ball, Skyla. Nothing lasts forever.” And with those cryptic words, she begins to dissipate as she walks straight through the stairwell, her hair sparking like stray embers from a bonfire, her very being reduced to a sparkling vapor. My mother holds her beauty, her secrets, her heavenly blessings, her curses, and her
spells like a sickle over our heads. Some things never change, and that’s one of them.
Logan and I head deeper in the estate, stealing a moment to peer into the grand room, ground zero where our hearts were yanked from our throats just a few days ago. But the ball is in full swing. The who’s who of celestial society is mingling with the people of Paragon, each dressed so elegantly for the occasion, each identity cleverly hidden beneath a flimsy paper mask.
“You’re already here,” Logan pants as if we just sprinted across time and space to save Gage, and we did. “I recognize this. There’s Brody and Brookelynn. I was speaking to them. In fact, if I’m right, I was just in here looking for the two of you.”
“Then Gage and I are probably out back.” A shot of adrenaline rockets through my veins.
Without hesitating, we rush through the tangle of bodies, pushing, pulling, colliding our way through the crowd. Nicholas Havar comes at me—unmasked—and try as I might to circle around his lumbering frame, he proceeds to walk right through me. An intoxicating rush fills me as he does it, exhilarating and frightening all at the same time. Never in my life would I have imagined that Nicholas Havar would bring me such a thrill, and a laugh gets locked in my throat as I look to Logan.
“This isn’t your ordinary light drive, is it?”
“Not by a long shot.” He looks past me, and his expression darkens. “Why don’t you head out back and find Gage?” He rubs my shoulder, his gaze still locked in the darkness just beyond the stairwell. “Spend some time with your husband, Skyla.” His eyes meet with mine, pained and silently pleased with the idea. “Don’t leave his side, whatever you do. I’ll be out in a minute.” He brushes my cheek with a kiss and takes off for the stairwell.
Normally, this is where I’d accuse Logan of taking off without filling me in on whatever the hell he’s thinking, but I’m over it. Gage is here, and he’s still alive. That’s all I care about right now. A burst of joy buoys through me, propelling my spirit to heights unimaginable. I thrash my way past the masses, crushing through walls of crinoline, men in svelte tuxedos—everywhere you look there’s a burlesque version of a wedding cake topper.
The hall leading out to the back of Demetri’s property is congested with women in full couture, drenched in expensive brocade, men who are their dapper equals. All of them unrecognizable to me with or without their masks. If it wasn’t clear the night of the party, it’s clear now that this disgrace of a ball should never have happened. My boys were just a ruse for Demetri to commence his cruel end game with Gage.
I bump into a body on my way out, and immediately two things startle me. One, I bumped into a body? I was walking through one less than a minute ago, and now I’m something shy of a wall? Second, it’s Bree, mask in hand, her eyes filled with glee at the sight of me. At the sight of me. My mother has played many a head games with me, but hell on Earth, she is reigning supreme in that arena tonight.
“Get out there, girl!” Brielle offers up a hip bump and sends me flying to the porch. “Find your man and pony up on the dance floor.” She gives a hard wink. “I’m sure you’ll be wishing you could later.”
“You’ve seen Gage? Is he…okay?”
“Alive and well.” She kicks her hip into mine once again. “But you know what they say—being alive puts you at major risk of death.” Her eyes ride down my body, forlorn as if she were predicting his demise, and suddenly I’m not nearly as interested in hunting down Gage as I am in Bree’s cryptic words.
I lunge at her, pulling her in by that full skirt, my fists knotted up in the taffeta. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I grit the words out while inspecting her green speckled eyes for an ounce of wicked intent. Brielle is a Count. Perhaps that was my first warning. My husband was murdered tonight—this very night I’m wandering through—and nobody is off the table as a suspect, not even Bree.
“Your boys just celebrated their first birthday.” She shakes my hands off her. “You’re the one forever complaining that they don’t give you an ounce of shut-eye.” She scowls at me a moment while walking backward into the house. “You should have just given them to your mom like I did. I sleep like a baby.” She chortles at her own words. “It’s still not too late! Your mom was just telling me she’s ready for another!” The darkness swallows her whole, and I frown into the hollow space. Of course, she meant the boys. My God, I can’t go around suspecting everyone of slaughtering my husband. A thought comes to me as I speed my way to the dance floor looking for the husband in question.
“Oh my God, oh my God,” I hiss frantically as I scan the crowd for that beautiful familiar face. The back of Demetri’s haunted estate is magically lit with a spray of stars, with tens of thousands of twinkle lights, all competing with one another in an effort to showcase their brilliance. The flowers, the roses in lavenders and blues, the wisteria in sublime royal purple hues dominate with their beauty as they festoon the periphery. It looks more like a regal wedding than it does a child’s birthday party, or a Bastard’s Ball as it were. Demetri is the only bastard around here. And then it dawns on me that perhaps it was a literal title in that sense. It was never about Gage. Nothing ever is when Demetri is involved. It’s always about him.
I fly down the stairs, breathless, and bump into a familiar body—my true mother, Lizbeth Landon, with her tired, rather run-down looking steed by her side, Tad.
“Skyla!” She inches back while examining me with surprise. “My God, you’ve changed—and what a dress! I must know what costume shop you got that from. It’s simply divine!” Her voice rises to the sky like a battle cry and, believe you me, when it comes to role playing, my mother is all in. Thus her sham of a marriage to Tad.
“It actually is divine.” I have no doubt about it. “Have you seen Gage?”
“Not since that dramatic entrance.” She leans in with a devilish gleam in her eye. “Can you believe how far Demetri has gone for the two of you this evening?”
Tad barks out a laugh. “Damn right. It’s his way of saying thank you for not holing up in his mansion and eating him out of house and home. Trust me, I’d play nice, too, if I knew it would keep the two of you away for the rest of the year.”
“Thaddaeus Thorne Landon!” My mother slaps him across the chest with the gloves in her hand. My God, that middle name gets me every time. “Might I remind you that Skyla and Gage have moved out and are living on their own now?” She turns to me, her features morphing to a saccharine smile on a dime. “I bet last night was very special. I’m sure it’s a memory you’ll cherish for the rest of your life. Oh, the freedom you must have felt, the love, the fits and starts you and Gage have had must have only made those precious hours all the more sweeter.”
The first and last night in our new home was a dream within a dream. Gage and I made love as a thousand cobalt blue butterflies exploded around us in a flurry. The boys slept through the night, and Gage and I kept one another up by way of our bodies. It was bliss. It was heaven, lightning in a bottle, and then death marched right on in and unscrewed the lid, let the butterflies loose, and hacked my beautiful husband to pieces.
“Save it, Lizbeth.” Tad snaps me right back to the present. “My money says they’ll be home by the end of the week. Once the food runs out, they’ll migrate back with their tails between their legs. Face it, they’re our cross to bear for the rest of our days,” he grunts my way as if accepting his lot in life.
Mom’s mouth opens, but before she can utter a word, I lift a finger.
“He’s right.” And I do loathe the fact. “We’ll be back before you know it. It was a trial run and let’s just say things ended badly.” I crane my neck past them and spot a couple of glowing beings, tall and stately, looking every bit like Marshall Dudley as they stomp this way and I gasp. I recognize those starlit Sectors. It’s the bookends to my mother’s destination station. Normally, I’d concede to the fact it wasn’t a good sign to see them running around in the natural, but nothing about tonight is natural—starting with t
he fact I’m here in duplicate.
“What are you talking about?” My mother’s head is on a swivel as I push her aside.
“Never mind!” I’m about to trot right past them and yet stop cold as I look dead into my mother’s eyes. “I need you to take care of the boys tonight. Mia will bring them to you. Thank you for that.” My voice is smaller than a whisper. If I don’t stop Gage—if I don’t stop his killer, she’ll need to know those words.
“Of course, I will.” She snatches me by the fingertips just as I’m about to disappear. Her blue-green eyes latch onto mine, and for the first time they look vibrant and wicked all at the same time. “Demetri wanted me to tell you he has a surprise for you. One you will never forget, Skyla.” Her voice slithers out like the hiss of a snake, and I draw my hand back as if snatching it from a viper’s nest. “This is a holy night, Skyla!” she shouts after me as I dive into the crowd, trying to escape any thoughts that my innocent mother might actually grasp the wicked underpinnings this night truly holds. “This is his gift to the world!”
To the world…her words echo like a tine through my bones that refuses to die.
I trot over to the somber looking Sectors as fast as my heeled feet will allow. I try to kick off my shoes in an effort to move things along, but they won’t budge. They’re gorgeous, though, and I pause a moment to ogle their glassy diamond glory. I’ve never seen anything like them. The heel looks to be made of pure sapphire. It’s clear my mother has utilized her supernatural prowess to adhere them onto me for the evening. I can hear her now. A person of excellence does not run amuck barefoot at a ball. How about headless? Do they run around headless, Mother? In my eyes, she’s almost as culpable as Demetri.
“Hey.” I come up on the sexy Sectors, breathless. “Look, I need your help. I’m actually time traveling right now.” Those hard, comely, features don’t crack a smile. They look so much like Marshall, it’s breathtaking. “My God, lighten up. I’m on my way to a murder, and I’m in a better mood than you are,” I snap, and yet they choose to remain stoic. They’re like Marshall without the sense of humor. It really does dial down their hotness about ten notches—or up, I can’t decide which. The one to my right raises a brow as if he heard my internal tirade. “Honestly, I have no time for this. If you’re not going to help me, then get lost. Drink the trash can punch that I’m sure Demetri has littered with supernatural roofies because I have a husband to save.” I spin around, only to find yet at third glowing Sector, and I growl at him like a junkyard dog in the event he thinks he can take me. Normally yes, but on a desperate night like tonight, there’s not a Sector in the universe I won’t battle to the death, or extinction. At this point, I don’t have a problem with either.
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