Throne of Fire

by Addison Moore

  “Will do. And whatever you do—don’t come after me. I won’t be the one who needs to be rescued tonight.” I glance back to Chloe. “And nobody should rescue the wicked.”

  The air outside is cold and damp, the fog floating between the four of us like another member of the party. A car pulls up at the base of the driveway as Michelle, Nat, and Lexy head our way. Michelle has a small faux veil clipped into her hair that rises above her head in a ragged tulle tuft. She’s wearing a bright pink dress, latex I’m guessing by the high gloss sheen, and she does a little spin.

  “Jealous much?” Michelle snaps her gum at the rest of us. “We’ve got this shit on lock at The Enchanted Closet. So get your asses down there because we just restocked our inventory.”

  That’s right. The Enchanted Closet is Chloe, Michelle, and Lexy’s foray into the fashion business. I’ve seen those hot pink bags lying around the house after Mia and Melissa conduct their weekly raids.

  Lex gives the bride-to-be a firm shove. “You’re scaring the customers. Not everyone is into stripper wear. Messenger prefers the I-stole-this-out-of-my-boyfriend’s-closet look.” She looks to me and sneers. “Don’t worry, Mess. I’ve got you covered. There are plenty of baggy, hide-those-extra-thirty-pounds tunics to go around.” She rolls her eyes at Brielle. “You, too, Johnson.”

  “I make my own clothes in the event you forgot.” Bree’s got her there.

  Lex smirks. “The only thing you’re making is your lawyer very, very rich. On second thought, stay away from my shop. You’re a walking black cloud as far as investments go.”

  Bree postures to deck her, and as much as I’d love to see Lex missing an eye, I hold her back.

  “And on that note—where are we going?” I direct the question toward the mischief maker extraordinaire who according to that promise I made won’t live to terrorize another day. “Choose wisely. It will be the last excursion you get in this weary world.”

  Chloe’s eyes round out a moment as if the concept of becoming persona non grata were quickly becoming a terrible reality.

  “God, Skyla”— Bree gives me a hard shove to the arm—“you really need to practice what you preach. Forgiveness and all that other crap.”

  “Hey”—I swat her right back—“I’ve never preached forgiveness. You’re mistaking me for someone else. My reasons are my own and, trust me, they’re more than valid.” I glare at the demon in question. “What’s the plan for tonight other than me assisting you in giving up the ghost?”

  Em shakes her head at Chloe. “Don’t worry.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” If it were anyone else who said it, I would have breezed right past it, but Em with her elevated gift of knowing has my curiosity piqued.

  Emily grunts my way, “It means Chloe isn’t going to die, Skyla. Or if she is, I haven’t had any visions concerning this. That’s pretty major, don’t you think? The only thing I’ve seen is—”

  “Ah—ah!” I practically shove my hand over Em’s mouth. “I’m taking life as it comes, Em. If it’s something dark and nefarious that involves my own life, I don’t want to know about it. And going back to Chloe, could it be that the good Lord doesn’t care enough to inform you about her soon-to-be demise?”

  “Could be.” She nods as if just coming to this realization herself.

  “Well, then there’s hope for the night yet.” I manufacture a smile for the nearly departed. “Where to, witch?”

  Chloe brushes me away with her hand as if to dismiss the reality to come. “Tonight isn’t about me, Messenger. And it’s certainly not about you running around getting your jollies off while you chase me with a hatchet.”

  Hatchet. God, how I miss those crazy Ezrina days. Hey? Maybe I should take a page from her razor-sharp notebook.

  “Michelle”—Chloe grips the bride-to-be by the shoulders and gives her a little shake—“tonight we’re going to give you the most magnificent gift of all. The truth about who your friends are—and the truth about the man you’re about to marry.”

  Michelle scoffs. “Not that angel shit again.”

  It’s always amazed me at how much Michelle and Chloe look like they could be sisters with that same long dark hair, warm honeyed skin, and wickedly gorgeous eyes. Michelle, however, is the saner, far less evil twin of the two—and perhaps not the brightest.

  Chloe closes her eyes a moment. “Why yes, Miller, it is. Only this time, instead of trying to beat you over the head with pure facts, I thought we’d show you firsthand.” She takes a step back and looks to me. “There are five Factions of angels—Celestra, Countenance—”

  Michelle tosses her hands in the air and heads into the woods neighboring the driveway, prompting us all to follow the runaway bride.

  “For shit’s sake,” she bleats. “I’ve heard all this, Bishop. Cut to the chase. Are we donning wings and halos and headed to Seattle? Are roller skates involved? Because if so I demand a face mask. There’s no way I’m risking a nose injury days from taking the most iconic photographs of my life.”

  “Listen to me!” Chloe riots in her face. What Chloe lacks in decorum, she makes up for in—oh well, hell, I can’t think of a single good attribute. “We are all descendants of the Nephilim, and Skyla is our leader!”

  Michelle jerks back as if Chloe struck her. A slow, gurgling laugh works its way up her throat, and soon she’s doubled over, slapping her knees, bucking right out of her skin with a bad case of the cackles.

  She wipes down her eyes, and a false eyelash glides onto her finger like a caterpillar looking to avoid the coming flood. “For a second I thought you were being serious.” She whacks Chloe upside the head, and I’m a bit amused by this curious love tap. “Stop it already. I’ve ruined my makeup. Now let’s get our booze on and get this night over with so I can get to marrying Logan Oliv—” She looks to me, and her mouth rounds out in an O as if she were caught red-Oliver-handed. Knew it. The only thing Michelle sees in Liam is Logan.

  “It’s true,” Emily grunts. “And you’d better believe it this time. If you plan on having kids with Liam, you might as well know what you’re getting into. They’re going to have powers. And since Liam leans toward Celestra himself, that means your kids are going to have a target on their back and only Messenger here can save them.” Emily takes a moment to glare at me as if I were a malfeasance.

  Just as I’m about to both confirm this seeming lunacy and defend myself as the Faction leader, a couple of cars pull up to the base of the driveway and out hops Emerson Kragger from one end and Melody Crotch-Faced Winters from the other. No sign of Holden or his pale bride in the sky. Figures. It’s probably for the best. It will be much easier to kill Chloe if she’s not trying to outrun my feathered friend.

  “Who invited the demon?” I bleat.

  Bree sniffs. “Skyla, you’re the one who told me to text Emerson.”

  “Not that demon. The other one.”

  “I did,” Chloe is quick to confess. She expels a rather loud sigh. “She’s with me, Skyla. Don’t get your royal panties in a bunch. I owe her a night of fun.”

  “Why would you owe her anything? She’s—”

  No sooner do the words leave my lips than I suck in a sharp breath as I look to Chloe in horror. No! But Chloe’s eyes are twitchy, and they might as well be saying hell yes.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I hiss under my breath as Mel comes pridefully in our direction—shoulders back, red hair fanning around her face like a halo of flames. I’ll confirm my suspicions later, just before I off my nemesis one final time. And if my suspicions are affirmed, I’ll off Rotten Crotch Mel, too. I have never forgiven her for wagging her lower forty-eight in my husband’s face, and if my theory is correct, killing her will not only be a pleasure, it will be more than justified.

  “Emerson,” I bark. “Come here. You, too, Mel.” I openly glare at her for a solid minute as they hustle their way over. “We’re taking a little trip tonight as an initiation of sorts. Michelle here is marrying one of us,
and we think it’s high time she fully understands what she’s getting into. You bitches in for a night of sin?” Usually I loathe the word bitches as a playful quasi-loving term because it’s crude. But seeing that I just used it in the proper context, I completely approve. Both Emerson and Melody qualify as world-class bitches. And that whole “night of sin” part isn’t too far off-base either. Chloe Bishop is going down tonight, and I’m about to break a few commandments making sure it happens.

  “Where’s this hell train headed, Chloe? You said you had plans.” I needle her with a look.

  Her full pouty lips twitch back and forth. “I say we show off a little prowess and impress the shit out of Miller.” She curves her lips at Michelle. “And then you will have no doubt about who we are.” Chloe kicks my foot. “I’m feeling rather retro tonight. How about a little light drive back to West, Skyla?”

  “Yes,” Emerson roars it out like a threat. “Take me back to that coffee shop Chloe shut down my organs in front of.”

  “As fun as that sounds, I’m pretty sure watching yourself bite the big one won’t be the good time you think it’ll be.” I should know. I’ve done a little light drive to that time and space myself way back when, while I was still a junior. Hey. I had a great time during my junior year other than the fact I was being chased by Fems, the Counts wanted me dead, and Logan and I were forced to pretend we hated each other so we could date on the sly. A sinking feeling grips me. Logan and I never did recover from that. I guess you could say the Counts’ objective on that front was clearly met.

  All that irrational stuff Logan has been filling my head with comes back to me, and I quickly shake it off.

  “I want to dance.” Michelle tilts her head, pleading with me as the fog fills the distance between us.

  Dance… dance!

  “Hold hands,” I bark, and our little motley crew does as I say. I’ve got Emerson to my left and Melody to my right, and as much I want to pluck Mel’s arm right out of its socket, I resist the urge. I pause a moment to see if I can listen in on any errant thoughts, but it’s crickets in there—not that this surprises me. Hell, I’m betting a cricket would have upped Smelly Melly’s IQ by twenty points. “Ready to go?” I cast a quick glance around as they nod in response. “Good, because you’re all about to have the time of your life.” I close my eyes and remember every last detail of that beautifully horrific night, and the world around us melts like snow as our cells evaporate from this time and space and journey us back several years.

  “Junior prom,” I say as we startle to life on the sandy shores of the beach right outside of the Madison Lights Ballroom of the Paragon Palms Luxury Resort. “It’s the night I arrived with Logan”—I say Logan with air quotes—“only it was Holden taking over his body.”

  Emerson grunts as if confused.

  “Ah, yes”—Chloe applauds—“those hazy crazy Kragger days. Good choice, Skyla.”

  Bree perks to life. “I came to prom with Gage! And I was bigger than a house—preggers with Beau.” Her face glows blue under the pale moon. “Holy shit! I bet I’m out in that parking lot right now, squeezing that bugger out of my ass!” She bolts for the hotel like a bat out of the Transfer.

  “All of you stay away from your former selves—especially you, Emily.” Emily working on those prophesies of hers alone is dicey, but Emily working with herself in tandem from the past is downright terrifying. “Be back before midnight!” I shout. “Or you’ll lose your ride home!”

  “Got it!” Bree’s voice echoes past us, sizzling over the water as if our very presence in this time had the power to sear the energy around us.

  “Same with the rest of you.” I look around as the whites of their eyes glow like lanterns. “Emerson, do not kill anyone. Mel—Gage Oliver is off-limits to you.” I spear her with a look, and her eyes widen a notch. Oh my God, she is so guilty! I lay my budding anger aside a moment. “And no mention about time traveling from any of you. The last thing I need is someone getting detained tonight. Nat, Lex, Em—you babysit the shit out of Michelle. This is going to be a mindfuck for her.”

  Nat bucks to life. “Oh my God! Pierce is here!” She jumps a foot off the ground before bolting into the woods behind the hotel. Nat and Pierce were pretty hot and heavy at this point in time if I remember correctly.

  “That went well,” I mutter. Yes, Pierce is here. It also happens to be the night I killed him—in self-defense—and Nev ate his eyeball as if it were the most delectable dessert. “Oh my God—Nev!” I cry out in euphoric anguish! My goodness, how I miss him in his feathered form. I can’t help it. I’m a bit masochistic that way.

  A dark shadow blossoms overhead as a plume of ebony feathers spirals down until he lands over my shoulder, heavy as a dining room table. “I’m traveling from another time!” I shout excitedly.

  “Oh shit,” Chloe moans. “Come on, guys. Let’s get inside and shake our hips before Messenger here gets us thrown into the government pokey about four years too soon.”

  My fingers fly to my lips a moment as our small crowd follows Chloe to the cheery peachy glow of the Madison Lights Ballroom. The faint sound of one of my favorite songs floats through the air, and I steal a moment to nestle my head against Nevermore’s downy wings.

  “Hey, guess what? If you meet me in the armpit of those woods in, say, a couple of hours? I should have a feast for you that neither of us will forget.”

  Will do, Ms. Messenger. Might I ask if things work out for me in the future?

  I bite my lip, just dying to tell him everything.

  “You know, Nev. I think one of the best things in life is a happy surprise. Let’s just say not only will it be a happy future for you—but all of your wildest dreams come true,” I assure him, walking briskly toward those golden opened doors with the music getting louder with every step.

  Fair enough. I’ll be in the vicinity if my presence is required.

  I don’t waste any time in springing into the ballroom, and a breath gets caught in my throat at the majestic beauty of it all. A bevy of miniature trees are strewn about the room, each one adorned with thousands of twinkle lights. A pale blue light is cast over the ceiling, and the entire room has transformed itself into an enchanted fairyland. I look over at the dance floor and spot Ellis looking a bit ganglier than he is now with about a dozen of his love honeys dripping off his limbs, and I can’t help but laugh. Old Chloe and old Michelle look to be their usual pissed selves, brooding in the corner with their sparkling ruby-colored dresses. I’m shocked Chloe didn’t go for the jugular after Michelle showed up in a near matching dress. From across the room, I spot Brielle with her bloated belly. And standing devotedly by her side is a boy who takes my breath away, so tall, dark-haired, and handsome, my sweet Gage. Tears fill my eyes, and my heart stills at how cuttingly handsome he is tonight, and he only gets better in that respect. My heart races, pitter-pattering like mad for my husband—I refuse to call him anything else—and I’m anguished because I now realize what a thorny road lies ahead of us from this point in time. I can’t help but wonder what a future version of me would think of the me of today. Would she weep and wail at the heartbreak still to come? I can’t bear to think about it. Life has to get easier. Things must let up. Gage and I need to have our happily ever after. It’s only fair.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” a deep voice strums in my ear, and I spin to find Logan Oliver in all his stunning brilliance, but that demented grin, those octopus hands that are drifting south quickly make me want to slap him. It’s not Logan at all. It’s a horny as hell Holden Kragger.

  The scent of hard liquor floods my senses, forcing me to take a step back. “I believe the girl you’re looking for is over there.” I point blindly into the crowd. “I’m her wicked twin sister,” I say, stabbing my heel over his shoe and wrangling a howl from him.

  “Shit,” he thunders as he bolts into the throng of bodies.

  “Good luck,” I whisper to myself, ironically for myself, and just as I turn to leave and find a bett
er vantage point, I bump into a body—a solid wall of feel-good steel.

  “Marshall Dudley.” I bat my lashes at him before slithering my arms around his waist as if we were dancing to a slow song.

  Marshall’s lips curve with wicked intent as he lifts a finger, and the music shifts to something slower, far moodier. “You’ve read my mind, Ms. Messenger. Do tell what’s brought on this devilish delight in you.” Just as he pulls out those last few words, his eyes harden over me. “Where is that dress I issued?” A moment stills between us, and just as I open my mouth to explain, he lands his enormous hand over my head, reading me like a library book, and groans. “I see. Welcome to the past, Ms. Messenger. You’ve been a busy girl, I take it.” He lifts a brow. Marshall has many gifts and talents. However, coming to Earth and dwelling among humans and supernatural hybrids alike, he hasn’t the slightest clue what the future might hold—just the one who holds it. And tonight, that might as well be me.

  “It’s the night of Michelle’s bachelorette party. Chloe thought it would be a good idea—”

  He closes his eyes and holds up a hand, and I cease in the middle of my sentence. I already know what he’s going to say.

  “Please tell me you don’t take orders from that witch, Skyla. Ms. Bishop has proven time and time again to be as amicable as a shard of glass. Have you not cut yourself to ribbons yet in an attempt to get a handle on her?”

  I snarl up at him. “Yes,” I hiss. “And that brings me to my next point. I’m offing her tonight and hauling her dead carcass back to the base of Devil’s Peak where she belongs. She’s a public nuisance that must be stopped, and the only way to do that is slaughtering her one more time.” God, Chloe really is a cockroach. You excise her heart and she keeps on ticking.

  A moan of curiosity rumbles through his chest, and it echoes right through me like an orgasmic gong. Wow, Marshall is the equivalent of a giant human dildo.

  “Ms. Messenger.” He takes a full step back. His arms, however, refuse to unleash themselves from me, but shockingly he does look markedly pissed.