Crown of Ashes

by Addison Moore

  “A farm?” Skyla, Gage, and Ellis don’t miss a beat.

  “A pumpkin patch.” I fold my arms over my chest. “Maybe some fresh vegetables and fruit trees. We’ll have an entire section dedicated to Christmas trees, too. Paragon needs this.”

  “A pumpkin patch!” Giselle shrieks with glee so loud that a dozen birds fly from the branches overhead.

  “An effing pumpkin patch?” Ellis is less than dazzled by my line of thinking.

  “That’s right.” I glance down at Nathan and Barron. “I want to be their favorite uncle—so a pumpkin patch it is.”

  Gage and Skyla share a quiet smile, and that alone was worth the effort.

  “Ellis”—Gage nods to him—“Logan’s parents, my grandparents, ran a pumpkin farm back in Oregon. It’s in his blood.”

  Skyla looks toward the woods as the fog plays hide-and-seek between its old sturdy trunks. “And now it’s in his destiny.”

  Destiny. I almost want to laugh, and I do.

  Skyla has her destiny as the leader of the Factions.

  Gage will be king.

  And I—I will be a pumpkin farmer.

  Yes.

  This is destiny at her finest.

  3

  Schemers, and Dreamers, and Liars, Oh My

  Skyla

  In an irony that only the universe can provide, the longer you go without sleep, the more life itself feels like a dream, an uncomfortable waking nightmare. That alone can explain why lying in bed next to me in this late February morning is Chloe Bishop instead of my beautiful husband who has been relegated to his childhood bed at his childhood home miles away from the boys and me. Yes, Gage is here almost all of the time. I would never deny him access to our precious babes, but our marital bed is simply for quick naps—not that I’m getting anything but that these days. The long, thick drag of the night, I spend alone. He has never fought me on that. Never challenged me. And a part of me believes that he enjoys taking a regular hit off the drug that sleep has become, and at the moment the only supplier is the Oliver house. But he stays late with the boys and me and comes back early—sometimes so early he’s only gone an hour as a symbol of our discord. Not this morning, though. This morning Gage is away. He texted—mentioned something to do with the morgue. He could be lying in it for all I know, I’m so dizzy with fatigue. And now that his classes at Host have started up once again, I suppose I’ll see even less of him. He suggested that I sign up again in the fall, and I plan to, but only so I can crawl into some unsuspecting coed’s dorm and fall into a sleep deprived coma just the way I fantasize.

  Chloe kicks my foot with her own.

  “Don’t touch me with your bare feet.” I groan. I loathe feet. The only feet I appreciate are those of the people I love, and even that list is extremely narrowed. Of course, I love the adorable, miniature feet of my children. I spend the livelong day meditating over them with kisses while the boys suckle off my breasts. I love my husband’s feet. God, I love every inch of my husband, and with that thought, a horrid grief envelops me.

  The boys fuss and fidget, and slowly one by one turn a brutish electric shade of blue.

  “No, no, no!” I chastise softly, and the ethereal hue dissipates on command. It’s an odd thing that they’ve been doing ever since they were tucked deep in my belly, but I’ve found with slight reprimanding they return to normal within minutes. God knows they can’t go through life the color of a blueberry.

  My temples explode with a headache to end all headaches, and I can directly place the blame on my serious lack of shut-eye. I never knew how delicious sleep could be. How I would savor the memory of it. How I could be so jealous of my friends who bask in its glory each and every night on the regular. It’s true. I think of Laken, imagining what her thick, lazy nights must feel like, uninterrupted, so perfectly docile and happy in her dreams. Her limbs tangled with Cooper’s the way I used to with Gage once upon a childless time.

  “I want to start having fun,” Chloe mewls as if this long-drawn-out, bored extraction she’s living is entirely my fault. She picks up my hand, begins twirling the ring she gifted me for Christmas between her fingers, and I swear I feel a sizzle of heat from her touch. Figures. Not even the throne of God wants any part of Chloe.

  The brilliant blue stone winks at me as if it were gospel.

  “Ask Wes to do something with you.” I give her arm a light shove. “Scoot over, would you? And why don’t you ever bring Tobie with you? The boys need to spend more time with their cousin.” Tobie is absolutely precious. She’s essentially the female version of the boys, and every time I look at her I think of Sage, the daughter I lost. Sage didn’t survive the pregnancy, but I think of her every single day. I think of how precious her feet, her entire miniature body would have been. What it would have felt like to be a mother to a daughter as well.

  Chloe grunts at the thought of her husband. “Wesley can go jerk off. And, trust me, he does so on the regular. He only summons me when he wants a toothless blowjob.”

  “A what?” I’m not quite sure why I asked, but fatigue, and well, Chloe herself are grinding my resolve to nothing.

  “My vagina, you idiot.” She scoffs. “I hate the bastard. I couldn’t care less if either me or my vagina ever saw him again.”

  “Wow, I knew things weren’t perfect between you two, but of all the people in the world, one would think that a Gage Oliver knockoff would have the best chance to capture your heart.”

  Barron lets out a sharp cry at the mention of his father’s name, and my own heart breaks as I bring him to where he wants to be. His mouth roots for milk until I unbutton my nightshirt, and he happily finds it.

  “What side does he sleep on?” Chloe hums while molesting the sheets as if they were Gage himself. Chloe has one singular thought ever on her mind, and that is my husband. If anyone can keep me laser-focused on Gage, it’s Chloe. As twisted as that sounds, it is the God’s honest truth.

  “The side you’re on. Don’t get too excited. That’s just a technicality. His favorite side is on top of me.”

  She shimmies her body over the sheets as if soaking him in, then frowns. “I hate that he’s with you, Skyla. Gage Oliver’s favorite place in the world should be on top of me.” Chloe expels an explosive sigh at the thought.

  But I let her words run over my head like water. That’s not news to me or anyone else on the aforementioned planet. “So, what’s Wes got planned next? He has the world in a tizzy with those clowns. Nice touch, but logic only persists that he’s going to follow through with these empty terrors.”

  “Oh, Skyla,” Chloe moans as she sits up and hugs her smooth brown legs. “Don’t you ever think ahead? He has this island crawling with G-men. Two of which he fed to those beasts your husband governs. Rumor has it, you had front row seats. It must have been quite the Spectator sport.” She gives a little wink at her play on words. The memory of Killian and Moser being eaten alive razes through me. I’ll never forget the way her eyes bulged to the point of launching at me like missiles. I tried to save her. I tried my damn hardest to free her from that hideous creature. That’s where Chloe has the story wrong. They weren’t Spectators per se. They were Videns. Wesley has created a monster of the Viden youth, quite literally.

  The boys both squirm on cue, and Nathan begins to articulate what sounds like his vowels.

  “Such a smart boy,” I coo as I give the swing he’s lying in a tiny kick with my foot. “I bet Tobie is ready to say her first word.” I bite down over my lip while I look to Chloe. “Wesley is going to die the first time she says daddy.”

  “Don’t you wish.” Chloe rides a finger over her bare arm. She didn’t spend the night, but as soon as she popped into the room, she practically disrobed to nothing before crawling into bed next to me. And trust me, there was nothing even remotely sexual about that gesture. There simply isn’t a comfortable place to sit or stand in this crowded, little overheated hole. Chloe is the last person I want to be bedmates with, but we are just that,
both literally and metaphorically at the moment.

  “God, how I can’t wait for Wes to die,” she moans with delight. “I’ll celebrate that day each year. It’ll be the greatest holiday ever.” Leave it to Chloe to take my words at face value. “But Wesley’s death is miles away. It’s Gage we need to be concerned with. Demetri has plans for your man, Skyla, and it has nothing to do with pumping blood through that beating heart of his. If anything, that beating heart is an obstacle he’d very much like to extinguish. Gage’s life stands in the way of everything he wants to and will accomplish. Some people stop at nothing to make sure all of their dreams come true, and Demetri Edinger has always gotten what he wants.”

  “He doesn’t have my mother.” It comes out quiet, catatonic, as I silently wonder if he does and if he’s had her all along.

  “Please. Have you seen that kid of theirs? She’s got Demetri’s soulless eyes.”

  “Watch it. That’s my little sister you’re talking about.” God, she’s right. I can’t even look at Misty anymore without seeing Demetri’s miniature face. It’s shocking to me the way she’s brazenly morphing into him. Soon enough even Tad will be forced to face the DNA, and this entire family will go to hell in a Fem-gifted handbasket.

  “Demetri Edinger gets who and what he wants. If he wants Gage Oliver dead”—Chloe touches the tip of Barron’s foot, and he donkey kicks her until she withdraws her claw—“then dead is exactly what he’ll be.”

  My heart ratchets up into my throat. “We have to do something.”

  “We? Don’t look at me. I signed up for Faction detail.”

  I glower at her a moment. “Liar, liar. I would love to set your pants and the rest of you on fire.” Chloe signed up for so much more. Chloe and I are both Celestra—thankfully, her host body was, too. Speaking of my favorite ax wielding mad scientist. “I think maybe we should pay Ezrina and Nev a visit.”

  Her brows rise at the thought. “That old hag has been foaming at the mouth with revenge for years against the idiots who cost her freedom.”

  “And killed her family. They thwarted her love with Heathcliff for centuries. Ezrina is the perfect weapon.”

  “We are the perfect weapon, Skyla. Once you relegate the victory to someone else, you may as well give up. What we should really do is snuff our own husbands. I’ll kill Wesley, and you smother the last living breath out of Gage.” She scowls a moment as if she were sorry she didn’t assign that task to herself.

  “And then what? Demetri finds a way to resurrect his sons, and we’re still in a shit position.”

  “Demetri isn’t God, Skyla. Who holds the key to life? The Creator or Demetri? If Demetri had that power, don’t you think he would have resurrected the dead to haunt this world? What the hell is a zombie—or a Fem dressed as a ridiculous clown—when compared to a reanimated corpse? If he had that power, Dr. Oliver would have been out of business long ago. Demetri wouldn’t waste any time in bringing back the entire cemetery.”

  “Ezrina can bring back the dead—Counts. And Dr. Oliver did bring you back.”

  “You brought me back,” she says it so fast it feels like a slap in the face. And believe me, I want to slap my own face for the endeavor.

  “My blood, Chloe, never me. I’m the one that put you in the ground to begin with, remember?” That was the only concerted effort I put into this fiasco.

  “Yes, Skyla.” Chloe tosses her arms in the air with exasperation. “You killed me. You slaughtered me in the woods like a boss. You’re the greatest. I’m just a peon that lives in a dark cave in some physical plane that mankind has no clue about. I’m at your mercy. I’m the—”

  “Oh, would you stop. Get it together or you can leave,” I hiss. Nathan shouts something that sounds like an agreement, and I can’t help but give a little smile. “Okay, we’ll both get it together, Chloe. Now that Nathan and Barron have finally gotten over their Emma plague, I can refocus on the task at hand. I think we need to roll into action.”

  “About damn time. And I know just where to start.”

  “Speak.” More often than not, I resort to Ezrina’s style of verbal brevity around Chloe. Just because we’re joined at the hip as of late doesn’t mean I have to like it.

  “Maybe we should kill the Kraggers first?” She strums her fingertips over one another.

  “That would be a great place to start. Killing the Kraggers is like delousing society. But I think I killed them all.”

  Chloe straightens. “I killed Emerson.”

  “Correction, Chloe, I killed Emerson by not stopping you.”

  She blinks with dismay. “My, aren’t you the blonde martyr. What about Arson? Shall we kill him next?”

  A smile pulls on my lips, but I refuse to give it. “I suppose we shall.” Leading Chloe by the nose is far easier than expected. “On second thought, killing Big Daddy K might lead to more problems than it would solve. We need solid ideas.”

  “We need that witch of a mother of yours.” She glances at the ceiling. “Or are you more of a warlock, Candace? I’ve always suspected you’ve been hiding a pair of very large, hairy balls under that white toga you run around in.”

  My eyes close involuntarily, and I groan. “Stop it, Chloe. My mother doesn’t respond to belittling. I should know. I tried it all through high school. In fact, my mother doesn’t respond to almost anything. She’s impossible to get ahold of unless she’s in the mood to play.” It’s true. But as of late, it does seem she’s been a bit easier to connect with. Having the boys—and, of course, Sage, has bonded us on a level I didn’t think was possible. Who knew it would be the children I’d have with Gage that would bring us closer? My mother may not be Gage Oliver’s biggest fan, but she does love his children.

  “She’s not going to answer us. I’d take us to her if I could, but any extra powers these babies have gifted me are quickly fading.” I’ve had the ability to head to Ahava on my own, but with the boys and Chloe, I don’t think I can make the trip.

  “She’ll respond, Skyla. You’re forgetting, I’m a lot like Demetri. When I want something or someone, I most certainly move heaven and hell, life and death, to get my way.” Her words sizzle around the room like eggs on a hot skillet. “Candace fucking Messenger, get down here right this minute! I’m in bed with your precious child, and I’m thinking about humping her for the hell of it. I’m within biting distance of those babes you hold dear but never near. And I’m about to touch one and lay claim to his soul,” Chloe moans as if she’s conducting a séance, and both boys fuss and kick.

  “You’re such a circus, Chloe. Would you knock it off? In fact, I think you should go.”

  But Chloe doesn’t leave. Instead, she gets on all fours, and her face contorts into a holy menace as she bears her teeth toward Barron.

  “I am going to eat you!” she chides as I roll my eyes and kick her in the shin. “Then I’m going to eat your little brother, too!”

  “Would you stop? There’s no way my mother is falling for that. She’s way too—”

  An explosion of blinding light goes off in the closet, forcing us to close our eyes. A rumble of thunder growls around the room before the door slowly opens, revealing not only my mother in all her incandescent glory but a button-nosed little girl with her daddy’s dark hair, deep-welled dimples, and a smile that makes my heart melt.

  “Sage!” I can’t contain my excitement. My heart bursts open with joy like a piñata as I extend my arms toward her. Sage didn’t make the duration of my pregnancy. I lost her early on, but my mother has taken her under her feathery wing. And since my mother wants nothing whatsoever to do with infants, she’s aged Sage to about the ripe old age of five. “Come to Mommy.” I don’t hesitate with the moniker. It feels natural.

  “Mommy?” She tries it out on her perfect bow tie lips as she hops on over. She was so painfully shy the last time I saw her—still wrapping herself around my mother’s legs like a tree post. She looks up at Candace, the smile quelling on her face. “May I, Your Grace Candace?
”

  “Yes, you may.” My mother chortles. It seems Sage has even managed to bring my mother’s sour countenance a sprinkle of joy. And if anything, my mother does appreciate a good game of Mother May I. It seems to be our go-to shenanigan each time we’re together. Only in my case my mother repeatedly disallows my next move.

  I wrap my arm around Sage and bury my face in her dark, glossy hair. She holds the scent of lemons and peppermint. Just holding her like this is heaven. I can’t bear to let go. Gage should be here. He needs to see what he’s lost, too. She’s so much like him in every way it breaks my heart all over.

  “This is your brother, Barron.” I hold him out for her to see, and he dislodges from my nipple.

  “And this is Nathan.” My mother scoops the baby out of the swing. “Skyla, why do you insist on keeping them in that dizzying contraption?”

  “Because they insist on not sleeping. Can’t you cast a spell or something and make this happen? I’m knee-deep in delirium.”

  “Skyla!” my mother barks. “I do not cast spells.” She coos into Nathan’s face as she holds him over her head, “No, Your Grace does not partake in such abominations.”

  Sage touches the tip of Barron’s big toe, and he gives a husky giggle of delight.

  “He’s laughing.” I marvel as his tiny dimples go off. It’s a bona fide Gage Oliver dimple explosion in the room, and the only living person I’m able to share this special moment with is Chloe. A thick sadness spreads over me at the thought. In the least I should have Logan here, but I’m currently still pissed at him as well.

  Sage settles her eyes on the dark-haired demon to my left. “And who is this, Mommy?”

  My heart warms when she says my name once again. “This is Chloe Bishop. She’s sort of a friend.” Dear God, did I just spout off a blatant lie to my own child? In all honesty, though, at the moment, Chloe and I have called an official truce. That whole friendship thing is true in effect.