Expel

by Addison Moore

  Logan takes up both my hands and closes his eyes. I take him in this way, he looks lonely, vulnerable, and strangely as if he’s praying for me—to me.

  A grey film fills the air. It’s bitter cold outside. It takes several blinks for me to realize we’ve morphed over to the falls.

  “Did we just light drive? Cause if not, I’m amazed at the mad skillz you’ve acquired postmortem.”

  “Not a stitch in time was removed,” his bare chest comes into view. Logan stands before me in a pair of grey swim trunks.

  “It’s freezing here.” My teeth chatter like castanets.

  “I promise, you won’t be cold.” Logan reaches down into a small pool of water that sits in an alcove, tucked away at the quiet end of the lake. His hand floats over the surface, ignites a sizzle in the small circumference. The water glows an electric sky-blue before defusing to a deeper shade of sapphire, the exact color of the night sky back in L.A. “Warm as a bath,” he announces, offering me his hand.

  I pull off my sweater and jeans, exposing the most modest one-piece that my closet had to offer. I dip my foot in the water before committing to hypothermia, but it’s warm, super warm.

  “I’m without words,” I say, getting into the water with him. I sink down to my chin and scoot into him on a rock that acts as a bench. “I kind of like Logan the magician.”

  “I’m worse than a magician. I’m an illusion, Skyla,” he whispers it in secret, so the moon, the stars that hide like cowards behind a slippery veil of God’s own breath won’t hear. “This is temporal. If nothing happens soon, I’ll be taken to paradise.”

  “Will I see you again?” I hold my breath, afraid that I might already know the answer.

  “There is a chasm. You cannot come to me, and I can’t go to you.” A desperate sorrow blooms in his voice, and it devastates me to hear it.

  “What about Giselle? She obviously knows her way around a chasm or two. She pops up all the time.”

  “Your mother is using her, assigning her missions. She has a free pass for now.”

  The thought of my mother using someone makes her out to be no different than the Sectors and Fems. If I wasn’t slightly pissed at the entire lot of them, I’d be in awe of their utilitarian efforts.

  “You have any luck getting her attention?” I ask hopeful.

  “Nothing.” He fully submerges himself before springing up and with his hair slicked back. It reflects a wash of moonlight over his head like a halo. Logan is luminescent, dead or alive his excellence thrives. I reach over and touch his baby fine hair, his cheek, his lips. It all feels so real. He couldn’t possibly be an illusion.

  “I never want you to go away,” I whisper. It comes out broken, my voice so ready for tears. “I need you forever.” My stomach explodes with heat when I insert my buzzword reserved for Gage into the equation. But it’s true—no matter how much I don’t want it to be, I need Logan as much as I need Gage.

  He cups his hands over my face so soft, so careful and places his lips to my forehead. He pulls back and bears into me with a powerhouse gaze, drops his warm hands to my shoulders. A seductive smile plays on his lips.

  “I don’t plan on going away,” his breath sweeps across my arm, ignites a series of goose bumps from the pleasure of his being.

  “We are never going to work.” The words bleed out of me hard and unwanted. “It’s not fair that you made me love you.” The first tear falls. I tilt my head, and the salty stream trickles into the line of my lips.

  “The faction war,” he whispers it with a hopeless fatigue. “Things happen,” he sighs. “One thing I can tell you for sure—you have a destiny. You can make it easy on yourself and allow the Master to lead you, or struggle, rebel, land somewhere in the vicinity but never, by a long shot, experience the treasure and the glory he has in store for you.”

  “And the Decision Council, they play into this?”

  He gives a gentle nod.

  “My mother is shaping my future.” I huff at the thought. “Then why won’t she see me?”

  “Not to offend you—or her, but, rumor has it she’s...” he briefly glances upwards. “for lack of a better word, a thorny rose.”

  “Could have fooled me.” Figures. I land this ultra amazing unearthly mother, and she turns out to be a celestial spitfire. “I need her mercy, Logan.” I don’t dare tell him why.

  “Skyla?” His eyes ignite with worry as he holds up our conjoined hands. “Tell me everything—tell me now.” There’s a slight mark of irritation in Logan’s tone. It’s bad enough to have Gage and Nev pissed off at me, I don’t plan on adding Logan’s name to the ever-expanding list, so I do. I tell him everything.

  He stares at me a really long time. At first I think he’s trying to think up a way to get me out of the body swap with Ezrina, since we can both safely surmise that the Justice Alliance sure as hellfire isn’t going to renege on their almighty covenant slash eternal punishment, but, instead, he gazes deeper into me, touching the nexus of my existence with his heartfelt sorrow. Logan leans in and bumps his forehead to mine, his nose, his lips, closes his eyes as a thin seam of tears lines his lids.

  “You love me,” he whispers in a long strained hiss like steam from a kettle.

  “Of course, I love you,” I pull him in by the waist until our bare stomachs touch, sending a wave of pleasure swimming up my spine. “I’ll always love you.”

  Our silent, elongated tears stream into the warm inky water. Our bodies move in a macabre slow dance as a gentle whirlpool pushes us along.

  I love Logan with an undying passion—one I know that may never get quenched even after the faction war.

  There’s a time and place for us, Skyla. Not here, not now. He doesn’t open his eyes or acknowledge the thought.

  My heart comes alive like a jungle drum. Somehow, for some unknown reason, my mother has threaded two very different hearts alongside mine.

  His eyes open and he sinks low into the water, takes me in under the umbrella of fog like I were the most exotic pearl. “Never give up on us, Skyla,” it comes out a secretive warning. “Do what you have to do with Gage, but please, don’t ever stop loving me.”

  Chapter 45

  The Letter

  Days slice by.

  Long incisions gash into my existence created by the serrated knife of Gage’s absence. It’s unconscionable that the sun could rise, that time in its own selfish measurement could go on like this, move so brazenly forward without Gage gracing me with his infectious smile, the lure of his husky voice, his strong arms wrapped around me until I fall asleep. Nothing matters anymore. Color, the light, it all turns into the same shade of soot—insignificant as a melted candle, finished with its task, unimportant in every other way.

  I pull a sheet of blank paper from out of my printer and stare at it a very long time. I’ve tried to get in touch with Gage using every modern day modality possible. The only device left to consider is the most archaic form of communication—a letter.

  I start off with Dear Gage then quickly reach for another sheet. Gage—My Love, Hey, none of it fits. I rip through a dozen pieces of paper before giving up on formalities and write from the heart.

  Gage,

  I’m broken.

  Thoughts of you consume me. I miss how you used to hold me, love me until I thought I would explode.

  This rarity—this whiplash love of ours, I want it all back.

  I’m going to be at the Althorpe formal dinner Saturday night, and I wondered if maybe you would like to go with me?

  I would die to see you there.

  All my love,

  forever,

  Skyla

  I seal it in an envelope and head downstairs.

  “I’ll be stepping out for a minute,” I say to Mom who’s busy bastardizing yet another recipe to fit her stringent nutritional needs. The entire family, collectively, has lost a good twenty pounds, albeit from starvation, but still, it’s a win.

  “Oh, I’ve been meaning to tell you, Ta
d and I want to take you and Gage out to celebrate the engagement. I would throw a party, but since Ethan’s girlfriend ran away again, the mood around Paragon isn’t so chipper.”

  Chloe has been dubbed a runaway. Ironic because that was the lie she concocted when I accidentally resurrected her with my own sheer stupidity. Now that she’s busy running around in the Realm of Possibilities, trying to keep her head attached to her body, they’ve labeled her the same.

  “Technically, it’s not really an engagement ring.” I spin the band over my finger, warm the flesh beneath it with Gage’s affections. “In fact, we don’t have to celebrate anything right now,” I lower my gaze. “Or ever,” I whisper.

  “Is everything OK with the two of you?” She sweeps over like there’s been a death in the family. In a way there has, and I’m one hundred percent responsible for the massacre.

  “We’re taking it slow.” More like we’ve come to an abrupt halt, but I leave that part out.

  “Slow is good,” her eyes well up with tears for me, like she knows there’s nothing good about this. “Are you going to see him now?”

  “Just dropping something off. I promise I’ll be quick.”

  “Come here,” she wraps her arms around me, encompassing me with her warm circle of love.

  “I’d like to talk to you again,” I say. “You know, in private.” I want to get some straight answers out of her regarding the Count round table meeting she attended just a few weeks ago and what the hell her intentions are with my father’s killer.

  “You bet,” she pulls my chin up with her finger and kisses the tip of my nose.

  Something tells me if Lizbeth Landon were on the Justice Alliance I wouldn’t have a thing to worry about.

  But she’s not.

  ***

  The freedom of having my own car—just months ago I craved it. I dreamed of bolting from a house full of Landons’, fleeing from Tad’s psychopathic rants, to hit the barren open road. Of course, on the island there are only two directions that will take you anywhere, and at any given time they could only lead me closer, or further away from Gage. I’ll always head towards Gage if I can help it. I hope for the rest of my life all roads will lead to Gage.

  It’s in these spasms of misery that I find it most difficult to breathe. I can’t fathom how much he detests me. How much he must crave that the Counts would do away with me and he could resume the life he knew before I ever set foot on this island.

  I make my way past the gates and park across the street at Ellis’, high up on the driveway in the event Gage sees my car and decides to slash my tires. Not that he would. Its doubtful Gage is capable of hurting me, or anything that belongs to me, in any way.

  The air is bitter cold, no clouds today, just dull oatmeal skies with ground fog that spins around my legs as I move through it.

  I miss the days Gage would lay his affection over me like mist over Paragon. Everything reminds me of Gage. I see his face in the sky, the trees make up his likeness, he resides permanently behind my eyelids like a recurring dream. A serious kick of adrenaline pumps through me as I fast approach the Oliver’s door. Logan’s truck is gone and so are both Barron and Emma’s sedans. I ring the bell, followed by a brisk knock. Charlie gives a few good barks alerting my presence to anyone who might be inside. I wait fifteen solid minutes, but Gage doesn’t come.

  I stare down at the envelope in my hand with his name scrawled across the front in large flowery letters. It looks far too cheerful. One look and he’ll think that I don’t miss him. For a minute I contemplate tearing it up, throwing the remains in the bushes, but I slip it beneath the door and hope for the best. I lean my cheek against the wood, feel the icy sting until it warms to my skin. There is no comfort for me, no oil of joy in exchange for my mourning. This is heartbreak, heartache, agony, and anguish all on a never-ending loop.

  Hell on earth.

  A prison made of my own doing.

  ***

  I plod back over to Ellis’. His monster truck is crammed up against the garage so close, I swear my fingers couldn’t squeeze through the reserve of space.

  I repeat the process, ring the bell, give a brisk knock. This time the door not only opens, Ellis greets me with a look of welcome surprise.

  “Get in, girl,” he pulls me into a hug as I cross the threshold. “Need a light drive, buddy?” He’s sporting wireless glasses that I think I’ve only seen him wear once before. Ellis is adorable in them, and I wonder why he doesn’t employ their obvious powers to retain girls by the dozens. At least with them on he might actually attract the right kind of girls.

  “No light driving today. Just in the neighborhood, thought I’d drop in—see what the house looks like under all that Goth glory.” It looks feeble, humble.

  Everything about Ellis’ home looks foreign to me with this disproportional amount of light slicing through the wooden shutters. Something in me wants to toss room-darkening blankets over the offensive orifices. They should be ashamed of the way they bleed the secrets of this unholy abode. The darkness softened the home, added a layer of mystery that the light refuses to honor.

  With the lights out I could make my way around, but in broad daylight I need a map just to get to the kitchen. I’ve come to classify Ellis’ house as a creature of the night, but now that I see it for what it is, I’m a bit disappointed in how commonplace everything really seems.

  “Want some cookies?” Ellis leads me towards the kitchen as the fresh baked scent of something sweet fills the air.

  “No thanks.” The last time Ellis played pastry chef I became an honorary stoner by default, ended up making out with Pierce Kragger because that’s where brownies enhanced with narcotics gets you.

  “What? No cookies?” A female voice calls out, stilted, as if he has her locked away in the pantry.

  A woman pops up from behind the counter. Her long, over-processed hair lies thick and straight, almost the exact color red as my mother’s but with a touch more pumpkin, and decidedly singed. A ruffled apron covers her waist, leaving her red silk blouse precariously exposed to the sticky elements.

  “I won’t hear of it. You must try my cookies,” her lips struggle to rise.

  “Mom, this is Skyla. Skyla, Mom.” Ellis scoots into a seat at the bar, and I join him.

  Ellis has a Mom—a real in the flesh, drop dead gorgeous mom. Go figure.

  “Hi, it’s so nice to finally meet you,” I extend a hand, and she greedily shakes it. She seems overtly thrilled that I’m here and yet oddly unable to convince her face to follow suit.

  “Olivia,” she says before the buzzer goes off and she trots away in four-inch heels.

  “Botox,” Ellis whispers as she scuttles to relinquish another batch from the oven.

  “Amazing,” I say, under my breath.

  It’s clear where Ellis gets his wide-set eyes, his high cheekbones from.

  “You know,” she strides back. Her heels click against the stone floor, creating an echo reminiscent of Ezrina. “I do believe you’re the first girlfriend of Ellis’ I’ve yet to meet.” Her lips move sideways as if she were trying to throw her voice while her eyes dance in amazement.

  “Oh, we’re just good friends.” A guilty feeling comes over me for not spontaneously offering Ellis a promotion. “I can always count on him for anything.” I have serious reservations about just having used the word Count. It probably works like a bat signal. An entire coven of them will descend upon the Harrison estate. Or maybe she thinks I’m one of them now. Use it in a sentence, and you’re secretly outing yourself to the crew.

  “That’s fantastic. Some of the longest, most satisfying marriages start out as friendships.” Her eyes squint as she recalls a distant memory.

  “She’s a divorce lawyer,” Ellis translates.

  “Attorney at law,” she corrects. “Paragon Legal,” she throws in the advertisement. “I handle just about everything, but unfortunately it’s the demise of the matrimonial dream that keeps a roof over our heads. That,
and my alimony,” she whispers that last part with a twinkle in her eye.

  Judging by the way Demetri has my mother running to him like a magnet, I gather we’ll be procuring her services sooner than later.

  She opens her mouth just a crack and pushes a cookie inside, examines me with a feline intensity. She gives a little giggle and shrugs. It’s as though her body has adapted to exaggerated responses since her features have lost the ability to mandate emotion. Her baby smooth flesh is unnaturally alluring, her foundation is spread thick and even around her face like a well-frosted cake. It takes everything in me not to reach up and touch her. Something about her rubbery flesh reminds me of the corpses at the morgue. Perfectly smooth skin just doesn’t exist naturally in the order of things unless, of course, you’re dead. That’s when you truly lose the ability to worry over anything anyway. Ellis’ mother is simply one step ahead of the game. Then again she is a Count. Speaking of Counts.

  “Hey, I have this problem.” I pull the cease and desist letter out of my purse and start in on the story with Pierce—how he really didn’t take down a crowd of people and beat up his girlfriend. “But my parents will kill me if they find out I’m lying.”

  “So will the courts,” her ears peak back. God—that was probably a full-blown scowl. “I’ll look this over and see what I can do.” She peruses it quickly. “Damn Kraggers,” she whispers mostly to herself. “I’m going to retire to the office. Take care, you two.” She gives a quick wink—more like an eyelid malfunction rather than the coy nod of approval it was meant to be.

  I’m moving Botox injections to the top of my do not attempt list. Most people have a bucket list, but I’m pretty motivated to keep up my do not attempt list. Sadly, there are a number of things on there, and, to date, the Counts and Fems have demonstrated their ability to help me face my fears. Things like, do not attempt to climb the highest tree on the island, do not run into granite walls, and do not hack off the arm of your enemy and wear it as your own, have already been officiated.