Crown of Ashes

by Addison Moore

  The world around us fades in and out like a bad dream as we land on a soft mattress. The walls around us form, and the room is suddenly familiar. Skyla hasn’t landed us at Whitehorse, far from it. We’re in my old bedroom at Barron’s. Skyla has been in my room hundreds of times. It makes sense. This is where her mind equates my bed.

  “Did I do good?” Her body curls into mine, but she doesn’t bother opening her eyes to inspect the surroundings.

  “You did good.” I don’t have the heart to tell her otherwise. Instead, I lean over and land a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

  A light knock comes over the door. “Logan, is that you?” Emma calls from the other side.

  “It’s me.” I try to sound casual, not at all as if I’m in bed with my nephew’s wife.

  The door swings open, and Emma leans in with a smile that quickly fades to a scowl.

  “Oh, for shit’s sake.” She steps back out and shuts the door with a slam. In all my life, I think that’s the one expletive she’s ever spoken in my presence, at least toward me—or more to the point, toward the woman lying in bed with me wrapped lovingly in my arms the way I thought it would be from the beginning. The way fate decided that it wouldn’t be, at least not in the beginning, and everything about that sad scenario breaks my heart.

  Skyla jolts to attention and gives a sleepy-eyed glance around. “Oops! Wrong house.” A sheepish giggle strums from her. “I’ll try again.”

  “No, it’s fine.” I try to assure her, but the words come out too late, leaving my voice behind in a room that our bodies have already vacated.

  Another room forms around us—dark paneling, darker furniture, a ridiculous amount of Victorian décor, and this time we’re not alone on the oversized mattress. Lying down with nothing but a sheet precariously covering home plate, Marshall Dudley relaxes on his elbows with the remote in hand while some psychotic screams her head off on the IMAX-sized television blaring in front of us, and he’s quick to mute it.

  “I didn’t realize I should have prepared for guests.” He offers a bored glance my way as if I were nothing more significant than a gnat in his presence, but his fingers find their way into Skyla’s hair as if they belonged there. “My love—you’ve finally come to your senses.”

  A deep-welled groan evicts from her simply from his touch, and she does her best to burrow into his mattress before offering a groggy look around.

  “Am I dreaming?” She looks from him to me. “Oh no.” She buries her face into the pillow for a moment before coming up for air and locking those red, tired eyes my way. “Is this going to turn into one of those flesh-fests where you suck my nipples?” She turns to Dudley. “And you lick my—”

  “All right.” I pull Skyla toward me before she initiates anything she might regret. “You’re tired. Get some rest. When you wake up, I’ll get you home.” Her eyes seal shut before I can finish.

  I glare over at the wily Sector who’s trying to hide his boner under that sheet snaking around his body. “Party’s over, sweetheart. Get dressed. We’re going downstairs. There are a few things we need to discuss.”

  His fingers dance over Skyla’s bare arm, and she takes in a soothing breath as if she hasn’t felt that level of comfort in years.

  “I’ll meet you down there,” he grumbles, his sexed-up gaze is still very much fixed on the sleeping beauty between us.

  “I’m not leaving.” I lean back and focus in on the screen. I’m not interested in inspecting his junk. I’m interested in protecting Skyla from it. My body melts into the butter soft sheets, the mattress that seems to be made from angel feathers. Damn, this bed is comfortable.

  “Very well.” Dudley rises, suddenly fully clothed in a suit minus the jacket. His fingers work over the buttons around his wrists as if he actually put in the effort rather than materialized the clothing onto his body. “I’ll meet you downstairs.” His body evaporates quicker than the fog, and just like that, he’s gone.

  Skyla nestles against me, and my urge to vacate the premises goes out the door right along with Dudley. I lean over and brush my lips against the soft velvet of her cheek.

  “Sleep tight, princess.” I press in another quick peck, and this time I savor the feel.

  Downstairs, Dudley’s home is still festooned with Christmas décor, an impeccable Victorian motif that Lexy mentioned she helped him with. His tree is lit in the living room with thousands of tiny white lights, and a large raging fire fills the room with a homey glow, but believe me, there is not a single homey thing about this mausoleum. It’s stale, as welcoming as a museum, a morgue for that matter.

  “What have you been up to these days, young Oliver?” Dudley takes a seat on the couch and kicks his Italian leather shoes up onto the coffee table. He flicks on the television right back to that raging, talking head he was glued to upstairs. FNX News. It’s the same station that’s kept Barron and Emma riveted for years. “Are you keeping up with the humor these days?” He raises the volume on the one-eyed monster, and a panel of angry men and women rage about the recent clown sightings that have half the country in a state of panic.

  “It’s just Wes up to his old games. I don’t need a road map to draw that conclusion.”

  “That it is. But the Videns aren’t doing this for Wesley. Aren’t you in the least bit interested as to who exactly has taken an interest in joining forces with him?” He mutes the cacophony of sound once again, and the fire crackles, soothing the room with its flickering rhythm.

  “Fems.” I close my eyes a moment. “So it begins.”

  “Not yet.” Dudley tosses the remote onto the table and misses by a mile, but that remote floats right back into the air and lands softly on the marbled top table as if Dudley scored the first time. Only on rare occasions have I seen Dudley do anything so blatantly unhuman around me. Not that there is anything remotely human about Dudley. He’s the only created being outside of Demetri that I know of roaming this planet. “They’re waiting for their leader.”

  “Gage doesn’t take the position until he’s good and dead,” I say the words lower than a whisper, because let’s face it, there is nothing good about Gage’s impending death. “And I plan on keeping him around for a long time to come.”

  “I’m afraid his father doesn’t share your sentiment. In fact, he’s worth more to him without his heart pumping away in that useless body. He’s procured his heirs—heralded one magnificent commitment from his favorite offspring. That was some covenant ceremony. Skyla was quite pleased to witness the event.”

  “You wish. She’s still pissed as hell.”

  “She should be.”

  I pick up a small pillow and beam it at his head, but Dudley catches it like a pro at the last game of the World Series and launches it back, nearly decapitating me in the process.

  “Do refrain from physical violence. I’d loathe rearranging that pretty face I’ve gifted you. And you’re welcome.”

  It’s true. It was revealed not that long ago that Dudley here is an Oliver gene generator, and that somewhere back in time our lineage meets up with Coop’s as well. That explains the good-looking family dynamics, although there’s not enough left to gift me any Sector glory. I scowl over at this created being that somehow managed to infiltrate my DNA.

  “Why is Skyla suddenly friendly with Bishop?” I growl as if it were somehow his fault. A thought comes to me. “You know what? It is your damn fault, too.”

  “Language.” Dudley’s eyes boil like rusty cauldrons as he glowers my way. “I know not what you speak of. Ms. Messenger and Ms. Bishop haven’t seen eye to evil eye in years.”

  “Until this year.” I lean in, ready to pounce and strangle this menace I’m facing. “If you didn’t invite Skyla to that hell Gage put himself through at the christening, then she never would have turned to Chloe. It’s clear she’s trying to get back at him—hell, she’s pissed at me, too. But what I don’t get is how she could ever think it’s a good idea.”

  “That’s funny. She said th
e same about you and Tweedledum the night he grafted himself to darkness.” He offers a shit-eating grin that melts off his face just as quick as it came. “The Fems, though not a fallen brotherhood, are just as damning to mankind as the nefarious ones, much like Bishop herself.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. Chloe is fallen. She is evil through and through. I know for a fact she’s feeding Skyla whatever bullshit it is she wants to hear. And right now, I’d prefer bullshit to the truth myself. The truth is pretty bad.” I think that’s where Skyla is at with Chloe. She’s a bandage covering up the real wound, which is Gage. But why Chloe? To piss us off? She’s achieved that.

  “Were you present at the hour when Jock Strap laid himself on the altar to his new master?”

  The thought of Demetri being Gage’s anything makes my stomach turn.

  “Are you senile? Yes, I was there. Or were you too busy getting a boner watching Skyla lose her mind?”

  “Must you always either invoke an expletive or a sexual analogy? Does your mind offer any other avenue of expression other than one that leads to the gutter? Please keep the grime of your thoughts to yourself, young man. You are in desperate need of my supervising services. You’ve informed me of this yourself just this afternoon, or perhaps you’ve forgotten and it’s you who’s going senile.”

  “Wait.” I can only catch so many of Dudley’s verbal throwing stars at a time. “Back up. Yes, I was present at the altar call for darkness.” I tick my head in his direction. “And?”

  “You seemed to have been paying attention to what was being said—you tell me.”

  That night comes back to me in jags—Gage and I following Demetri into the woods like lost children to the slaughter, Demetri’s dissertation on wickedness, Gage stretching out his hands to heaven, begging forgiveness. Then it comes back to me. “Demetri—there was something he said that stood out to me. He mentioned something about the Steel Barricade, about the Fems, but he never mentioned that Gage was bound to the Counts.”

  “Relay it to me word-for-word.” A smug grin twitches up his lips.

  “I can’t do that. I can hardly remember what I had for breakfast.”

  “Who’s the senile one now?” Dudley closes his eyes for a moment and takes in a quick breath. “He said—may the Lord of Glory find favor upon my son, Gage Edinger, who is willing to war against the enemy in the name of the Steel Barricade, in the name of the glorious Fems, upon the dissolution of his soul from the flesh that is mortal. And that, my friend, is word-for-word.”

  I drink down his words a moment, examining them as they swim by. “Okay, you’re better than me. You are not senile. I’m senile in comparison. But I was right. The Counts are left out of the equation. Yes, the Steel Barricade is a reboot, but it’s not a Faction. It’s a rebellion. If the Barricade is dismantled, then Gage is—”

  “Still the king. He’s a Fem. Demetri is gifting Gage his right as leader of the pack.” He forces a tight smile. “Gage Oliver is a Fem, and he is their future king. There is no changing the facts.”

  “No changing the facts.” I scan the carpet while trying to decipher his words as if they were a riddle. “What if the Fems suddenly sided with Skyla and her people? What would it really matter if Gage was the king of the Fems? There would be no discourse.”

  “Young Oliver.” He sighs with that perennial look of boredom returning to his face. “The Fems are insistent on removing the Sectors from their high place. We side with the light. We side with Celestra. We side with Skyla. Our beings entered into a bonding covenant with Celestra long ago, as did the Fems with the Counts. The ramifications during the church age are significant yes, but the real struggle holds eternity in the bounds. Time is running out. The Sectors must hold secure their standing.”

  “Gage will gladly give it to you. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why Demetri didn’t just slap a crown on Wesley’s head and call it a wicked day. He’s far more enthused with the idea of ruining our people and running over whoever the hell he needs to on the way to ruling the world.”

  “Wesley is greedy, yes. An attribute one would think valuable, considering the circumstances. But Skyla doesn’t care for Wesley, nor is she willing to bear his children.”

  “So Demetri wants Gage and the twins.” Shit. Shit. Shit.

  “That is the prize package. I’m sure he has fantastic plans for them all.” He glowers at the fire, and it rages ten times in ferocity, igniting the room in a flash of nuclear light.

  “You’re right. I’m going to need your help.” A thought comes to me as abrupt as a slap to the face. “But I didn’t visit you this afternoon.” I’m not even going to bother suggesting Dudley is losing his mind after his word-for-word play-by-play. If Dudley says it happened, then it did. “Which version of me was it?” I already know the answer. It’s the same version that met me in the woods that horrible night Gage committed his soul to all of Demetri’s no-good intentions.

  “The one that counts. You saw a vision that night after Skyla let you have it. He mentioned you saw Gage on his throne, his body transfiguring into the serpent he is destined to become.”

  “The dragon.” It’s true. I saw Gage on a throne with fire and rage shooting from him as he rose up and morphed into a hideous beast with wings—breath born of fire.

  “You will need me, indeed, but not in any way that you imagine.”

  “I can’t lose him. I can’t lose Gage. We have to save him. He cannot die.”

  “You of all people understand there is only life after life.”

  “The longer Gage lives in his body, the less time he has to get his hands dirty with the Fems. And in the event you were being literal—because death sucks if you haven’t noticed—it hurts to be separated. It hurts that nothing is the same—even if we do get to see him again. Nothing ever gets to be normal again.” I fall into the seat next to him as I try to envision that dismal version of the future.

  His brows hike into his forehead as if I’ve amused him on some level. “Which version of normal is it that you’re looking to preserve?”

  Skyla blinks onto my lap, naked as the day she was born and moaning, “Are we done with our run?” She looks up at me with sleepy eyes as my arms swoop over her body to cradle her, my fingers drinking in the feel of her bare, heated flesh.

  “Yes, we’re done.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” She glances over to Dudley and offers a weak wave. “I took a nap. It was heaven.”

  My gaze dips down to her oversized nipples, her tits heavy and weighted with milk, and my heat index spikes without meaning to.

  “I’d better get you home.” I glare at Dudley a moment. “Dressed and in bed, please.”

  He glares right back before offering the hint of a crooked grin. “As you wish.”

  The room disperses as Skyla and I float through time and space. A thick darkness envelops me. The air is heavy and moist as something settles over my head, and I’m quick to snap it off—Skyla’s sweatpants.

  Both Skyla and I have landed back in her bed, Skyla stark naked and me with her sweatshirt twisted around my legs.

  “You’re not funny, Dudley,” I whisper as Gage sits up next to me and frowns over at his deliriously exhausted, yet decidedly naked wife.

  He offers up a grunt. “A good time was had by all, I assume.”

  “Something like that.” I roll Skyla onto the mattress and blow a kiss to each of the boys before turning back to Gage. “I just want you to know that I have your back.”

  He lifts a brow as he sweeps his gaze over his wife’s luscious curves. “I can see you have something going on behind my back too.”

  It’s not worth getting into. Not with both Gage and Skyla running on empty. “We’ll talk.”

  “Whatever, dude.” Gage presses his head against the pillow and closes those sleepy lids of his.

  No sooner do I get on the other side of the door than I hear the boys roaring back to life with their hacking cries. Both Skyla and Gage moan in unison.


  And that’s when I realize I’m powerless to help Gage with his life in any real capacity.

  January drags its tired feet through Paragon’s muddy waters and ends with as much lackluster enthusiasm as it began—at least when it comes to the customer base at the bowling alley. So I’ve summoned together what little employees I have and filled them in on the fact I’ll be letting them go in the next few weeks for a remodel that just might span the length of Nathan’s and Barron’s childhood. Nobody seems too surprised by the news. In fact, the girls who work the kitchen head back to their post as if I’ve just filled them in on a new menu item that they couldn’t care less about.

  “Cool beans.” Brielle winks as she takes a sip of her soda. Bree hasn’t taken a formal check from me in months, but still shows up to work the odd shift when I need her. In fact, I called in several people—Gage and Skyla, who in turn brought the boys out to the bowling alley for the very first time. Ellis and Giselle, Drake and Ethan, Emily, Liam, Natalie Coleman, Michelle, and Lexy all stare back at me, flabbergasted, as if I’ve just announced the fact I’m taking a jackhammer to the entire damn island. Laken and Coop walk in late, but Gage leans over and whispers my plans of deconstruction and then hopefully construction. The only person who isn’t shocked as hell is Ellis. Ellis Harrison, my new partner in corporate crime, stands staunchly by my side with an ear-to-ear grin.

  “Dude, we are going to kill it.” He slaps the back of his hand into his right palm. “Tell them about the gym. Tell them about the hookah parlor.”

  “No hookah parlor,” I say under my breath.

  Skyla gags for a moment, the first person even remotely interested in speaking out. “Why haven’t you discussed this with any of us? And by any of us, I mean me.” She holds her hands over the ears of the twin in her arms as if attempting to shelter him from my stupidity. Good luck with that, I want to tell her. I’m teaming up with Ellis. That alone speaks volumes about a lot of things going on in my life right now.