Expel

by Addison Moore

  “What’s gotten into you, Skyla?” Mom hands me a dry dish to put away.

  “Nothing, I say,” glancing over at Gage who sits at the table. He stayed over for dinner. Everything feels so wonderfully normal again with Gage.

  He gives Drake pointers on his Algebra two assignment, looking back at me every now and again to flex a seductive smile. Gage is a genius, he could teach a pack of wild dogs to bark out the Pythagorean theorem to the tune of Happy Birthday if he wanted.

  “You two mind picking up Mia and Melissa from their riding lessons?” Mom leans over the sink to get a better look up at the ever-darkening sky.

  “Not at all,” I say. Marshall made it a point to personally invite me over tonight. Tomorrow is the island-wide garage sale that he’s instigated in which he singlehandedly transforms Paragon into a waste laden oasis of treasures and trinkets best forgotten. “You have your garbage ready?”

  “Locked, loaded and ready to go,” her teeth light up like lanterns. They hold a bluish tinge, so perfectly bleached they’re almost translucent. I’ve never seen my mother so primped and polished. Ever since Demetri slithered onto the island, she’s coifed and groomed herself to an exaggerated level of physical perfection usually reserved for the pageant circuit and transvestites alike. I bet Tad doesn’t even notice how her hair shines, the extra bright smile, an entire bevy of low cut blouses that have accosted her wardrobe.

  “Look who’s here?” Tad comes in with Dr. Booth in tow.

  “Time for another ambush visit, already?” I quip, following them into the living room. Gage shoulders up to me for moral support as we take seats opposite Mom and Tad. Team Oliver verses team Landon. I’m tagging myself as an honorary Oliver. It warms me to think of taking Gage’s name.

  “Skyla,” Dr. Booth nods into me. “I suppose this is unexpected in nature,” he gives a weary look in Tad’s direction.

  “She’s jumpy and unpredictable,” Tad counters. “Catching them off guard is the only useful tactic with these flighty types.”

  “It’s a surprise to me, too.” Mom gives an accusatory look.

  Drake comes over and sits on the arm of the couch, a Landon family no-no. Figures. Drake can knock girls up, deform the furniture and no one says boo. What the hell did I ever do?

  “Skyla,” Dr. Booth’s lips press white. “I hear there’s been some hypersexual behavior occurring as of late.”

  Oh that.

  “Dude—the night you tackled Gage during dinner was classic,” Drake spews through a mouth full of garlic bread. “Or when you got it on with his brother during spring break?” He nearly chokes getting that one out.

  “Any other classics you’d like to belch out before I nail you with your own prenatal misgivings?” I challenge.

  Personally, I want a do-over as far as spring break is concerned. I so don’t remember a damn thing Ezrina did—although I did get to spend two weeks with the ex-dead love of my life. That was pretty amazing. Who knew Logan could cook?

  “Sounds like a disturbing habit we should put an end to right away,” Dr. Booth depresses his pen into his cheek. “One of the side effects of the medication we’ve started is spontaneous sexual outbursts.” He nods with a sincerity so alarmingly believable I almost want to applaud the Oscar worthy performance.

  “So you’re saying,” Mom grips her chest in horror, “all these strange acts of a sexual nature were caused by some chemical imbalance?”

  Imagine that, a pill that would create a carnal beast out of a human being. And she herself was the acting Pez dispenser of the teen Viagra.

  “Yes,” Dr. Booth nods, “the trial is over. I’m pulling the medication immediately.”

  Mom zips over to the kitchen and charitably relinquishes the amber bottle.

  “What about the strange behavior?” Tad protests. “She hasn’t improved. She spent the last two weeks mocking me, curtsying whenever I walked into the room and calling me my lord. And, when I threatened to take away her liberties, she threw a butcher knife, that, by the way, I didn’t even realized we had, right at me. Missed my neck by inches!”

  Go Ezrina.

  And she totally didn’t miss. It was a warning.

  Ezrina never misses.

  “Skyla?” Mom’s jaw drops at the homicidal implications.

  I’m sure she’s been busy the last couple weeks cavorting with Demetri. How could she possibly keep tabs on who was attempting to butcher who while she was out sacrificing wildlife with the man who murdered her husband? And, if I could have voted which of my mother’s husbands Demetri was going to off, it for sure would not have been that one. God—I’m not even sure I would hate him if he had chosen Tad.

  “I don’t know what the heck he’s talking about,” I amp up my defenses. “But, I have been feeling really weird the past two weeks. Everything was sort of grey and fuzzy. It must have been the medication.”

  “I hate to be rude,” Mom checks her watch. “But I’ve gotta run. I told Demetri I’d help him tag his items.”

  Tag his items? If that doesn’t sound outright sexual in nature, I don’t know what does.

  “You should go with her,” I shoot Tad a curt look for being such an imbecile.

  “It’s cold out.” He crosses his arms and burrows deeper into the sofa. “I don’t want to go.”

  Great.

  “Gage and I have a half hour or so before we need to pick up the girls, we can help,” I offer. The last place on the planet I want to be tonight is the Fem funhouse, but if it keeps my mother’s visit chaste, it’ll be well worth the effort.

  Gage widens his eyes. He has a date planned for us tonight. A total surprise for me, and I love it in theory, but I’m pretty sure my mother is about to tag more than Demetri’s miscellaneous clutter, so unfortunately, we might have to include the two of them in the grand design for the next few hours.

  “Nope,” I won’t hear of it.” Mom winks over at Gage as if she’s in on his true intentions.

  Perfect. Now I’m going to expect some secret engagement party, where Chloe does something freaky like pull all of our doppelgangers out of the Realm of Possibilities and confuses the hell out of the living and the dead.

  Dr. Booth rises and says goodnight. Gage and I follow him to the door.

  He waits until we’re safely outside before turning to the two of us.

  “There’s an emergency faction meeting tonight at Nicholas Haver’s home, ten o’clock sharp.” He looks over at us with an insolence he’s never exhibited before. “Heads up. The two of you are in a hell of a lot of trouble.”

  We watch as he stomps down the porch.

  I can’t think of a thing that Gage and I have done wrong—unless of course they’re pissed about that whole faction war thing.

  Like the fact we keep losing.

  A lot.

  Chapter 61

  Mommy Dearest

  Marshall’s home burns bright against the backdrop of a watercolor night. The night fog glows like paper, bleeds out its milky tendrils over the rim of the forest.

  “Enter,” he gives a slight bow as he holds the door open for both Gage and me.

  I’m curious as to why he invited me over to begin with, but I didn’t think he’d mind if I brought Gage.

  “Mr. Oliver, I have a plethora of boxes in the barn, and I’d like them all placed on the front porch before morning. Might I trouble you to muscle them over?”

  “Sure,” Gage doesn’t hide the fact he’s not thrilled with the task.

  “Do circle around to the side yard. I’d loathe for you to trail muddied footprints throughout the house.”

  Gage raises his brows in my direction before heading out back.

  “Isn’t this lovely, Skyla? We’ve our own personal lackey.” Marshall’s lips curve into a nefarious smile.

  I shake my head at him. “You owe me,” I say.

  “Anything, Love.” He picks up my hand and kisses it before I can snatch it back.

  “You let Ezrina play skin tag with h
er boy toy, and now I’m questionably defiled.”

  “Nonsense. I’d pluck the wings off that ball of feathers myself if he mistreated my future bride in any way. There were rules—although vague—they were followed. You’re pure as the driven snow you plowed that poor girl’s head into. By the way, I was apprised of another near death you were party to inducing.”

  “That’s right,” I say, rather proud just thinking of the way I took down Holden. “I didn’t need you after all.” I nestle in the satisfaction of knowing I could kick some Count ass all by my lonesome if needed. And, boy, was it ever freaking needed.

  Marshall pulls back, folds his arms across his chest, narrows his gaze into me. “You have no clue what you have or haven’t done. You have an army of sniveling Fems ready to terrorize you out of your sanity, not to mention a war you’ve taken to losing right from the outset. You aren’t even aware of who the enemy is.”

  “The enemy is Demetri,” I say it simple.

  “Who is his Counterpart?”

  I take in a breath. “My mother?”

  He gives a dismayed blink. “Skyla,” he pulls my name out in a frustrated sigh. “Speaking of the mare, I’ve put in yet another request for you to speak with her—she’s accepted.”

  “Now? Now that I’m out of the prison that is Ezrina’s flesh and that Logan is alive and well and living in his own body—now she wants to see me?” I huff a laugh. “No way.”

  “You have to!” A female voice startles me from behind. It’s Giselle, Gage’s long dead sister. I go over and give her a hug. I’m relieved it’s her and not me, well, the me from L.A. two years ago. I’m still a little freaked out about sharing my personal space with another version of myself. I was rather annoying at that stage of the game and, well, overall hard to get along with sometimes.

  “Thanks, but no,” I say. “I’m a little miffed at her at the moment.”

  “You have no choice, Skyla,” Giselle takes my hand and the world begins to fade.

  “No, wait! I need Gage,” my voice thickens, echoes as if it were in a tunnel.

  Marshall scoffs at the idea. “We won’t be needing him. In fact, it would be awkward for all parties involved once I present you to the Justice Alliance as my future bride.”

  “No!” But it’s too late to protest.

  The world evaporates to nothing.

  ***

  “Skyla.” My mother rises to meet me.

  We appear in Ahava over the lake with the twin falls off in the distance. A red glow illuminates from the lower tier where the sword of the Master is stowed. That’s the culmination of this entire war. And here I am so close it hurts.

  My mother takes her invisible seat next to three gentlemen, Rothello, who I’m not entirely convinced isn’t something sinister, and two gorgeous men who could pass as Marshall’s brothers.

  “You’ve lost all three regions,” it comes so benevolently from my mother’s lips I’m alarmed at how comfortable she is with the idea.

  “How about, congratulations on your All State win? Or, thank goodness you’re in your right mind and oh, yeah, body!” I don’t mean for it to sound as pissy as it does.

  “You’ve come to grumble about my mothering skills?” Her eyes ignite crisp as lamplights.

  “I haven’t come at all—you dragged me.”

  “Skyla,” Marshall’s voice slashes like a whip. “There is a time for anger, and I assure you, this is far from it.”

  “I’m not angry,” I’m quick to correct. “Anger would require me to care. I’m bothered by all of this.” I throw my hands in the air. “My own mother wanted to send me out into a warzone with no protective disc should I need to get back to Paragon for oh, I don’t know, the simple fact the two boys I love lay dying? But you knew about that didn’t you? You started this war on the heels of a tragedy.”

  “You keep this up young lady and I’ll be sure it ends with one,” she snaps. Her hair glistens an iridescent gold, her face radiates a special aura all its own. Her entire being is lit up from the inside—reminds me of a firefly.

  “Are you threatening me?” The words grate out of me, each their own sentence.

  “Skyla,” Giselle pulls me back onto the grassy blue hill. “Please don’t infuriate the Justice Alliance.”

  “You mean my mother. Why are you afraid of her?”

  “She has nothing to fear,” Marshall takes me aside, “but you do.”

  “I’ve called you here, Skyla,” my mother rises again, although this time she doesn’t look so welcoming. “I was going to educate you on a few strategic principles that would sway victory in your favor.” She gives a curt nod. “But I’ve decided against it.”

  Figures.

  “Instead, I’m going to increase your level of punishment for going against the Faction Council for the duration of the war.”

  “I suppose you’d like a thank you,” I say it low under my breath.

  “I would most certainly like a thank you. I gave you life,” she cuts a look that could carve a statue out of a tree trunk.

  Funny, I didn’t think they pulled the life card up here in the nether sphere where they cavort with angels and strum on harps all day. It’s a tough job this Decision Council hobby she’s got herself caught up in—boss around the universe, torment your only child.

  “Enough,” her voice erupts like a riot.

  She hears everything, they all do, Marshall gives a wistful smile as if he were enjoying this on some small scale. Proceed to thank her, Skyla, so we may be dismissed.

  My mouth drops open at the thought.

  “Thank you,” I seethe. Giselle pats my back as if to say job well done. “For harvesting me,” I continue, “like some able-bodied war machine you needed to use to fight your battles.”

  “Forgive her my fine people,” Marshall bellows. “My future bride knows not of what she speaks,” he cuts me a hard look.

  I’ve just verbally spit in all of their faces and now there would be hell to pay. I don’t need Marshall to spell it out for me.

  We appear back in his kitchen abrupt and without warning.

  “That was rude,” I say, dusting off my arms as if there were intergalactic residue left from the trip. “She didn’t even say goodbye.”

  “That, my love, is the equivalent of someone hanging up on you.”

  “I’ve had a mother or two mad at me before.”

  “Not this one,” he doesn’t waver his harsh stare.

  “She’ll get over it. It’s not like she’s going to kill me.”

  “She’s on the Decision Council, Skyla.” He lifts my chin, soft with his finger. “She can change everything.”

  Chapter 62

  Call to Arms

  Once Gage and I drop Mia and Melissa off at home, we speed over to the faction meeting.

  We park high on the property behind a long row of sports utility vehicles—glossy sedans that look fresh off the lot.

  We’re technically not allowed to attend these meetings because we’re under three hundred, well thirty, same difference. But apparently our presence has been requested. I have a feeling I’m in for my second ass whipping of the night.

  “Logan’s here,” Gage whispers. He takes my hand as we cut through the thick curtain of fog towards the barnlike structure in the back of the Haver’s property.

  “I’m surprised he hasn’t painted his truck yet—impounded, tarped it in the least, anything to hide Holden’s bombastic sense of self expression.” Every time I see those crazy orange flames, it makes me want to smack someone.

  “I mentioned it this morning, he said he was looking into buying a new one.”

  “I guess I forgot to let him in on the fact he owes Marshall 18K.” Wait, I think I did.

  Gage gives a little laugh. “That’s what the bastard gets for pawing you.” His dimples sink with the hint of a mischievous smile.

  “I like this bad boy side of you.”

  “Oh yeah?” he sneaks a kiss just below my ear. “Wait till you see
what I have planned for later.”

  “Is it bad?”

  “It’s corrupt, and vile, and most likely criminal in twelve different states,” he growls, pecking my neck with a series of kisses.

  We run into Emma and Dr. Oliver just shy of the entrance. It sort of puts a damper on the sexual banter—and just before we got to the good part—the heavy use of expletives peppered with sacrilegious overtones.

  Emma pinches her lips at the sight of me. Dr. Oliver doesn’t look too thrilled either.

  “Something wrong?” Why do I get the feeling I’ve just stepped on a land mine?

  “Let’s get inside,” Emma ushers us in quickly. “They’ve already begun.”

  “I saw Giselle tonight,” I whisper, bribing her with the words I know she longs to hear in an effort to quell her hatred towards me.

  “Bring me my daughter.” She stops all movement and clutches onto me as if I’ve got her stowed away somewhere for ransom.

  “OK, I’ll bring it up next time she pops in.” I give a circular nod as she glides me towards a row of empty seats near the front. I hate the front. It’s the not-so-freaking-fun zone. People always get picked on for sitting up front, but something tells me this is reserved seating.

  “Eighty-nine was the final count,” Nicholas Haver says. He’s a heavyset man with a triple chin whose broad chest and bright nose give the indication of an upcoming cardiac infarction. He grips his water bottle like a gavel. “In the event those who’ve just arrived missed the topic of conversation, eighty-nine was the number of Celestra souls sent to paradise during the last few weeks.”

  “Shit!” I say out loud.

  All eyes cut over to me as I sit there stunned by the annihilation of my people.

  “Yes, Ms. Messenger,” Mr. Haver gives a cold steely look. “You should be appalled in every way,” his voice escalates. “In fact, you should be downright outraged that the one who took his hand to God and sent those brothers and sisters home is seated in your midst.”