Crown of Ashes

by Addison Moore

  Kres steps in as if she were hooked to every word.

  My mother takes in a breath, and the room rumbles beneath her feet. “What was it that you said, Skyla?”

  The fire calls to me with its bright, beautiful flames as I recall that night. “I said follow me. Unite your power with mine, and I will gift you what your heart desires most.”

  “You knew it was Gage.” Chloe shakes her head as she steps in front of the flames.

  “And Celestra.” I look to her.

  Chloe’s chest bucks with her next breath. “And Celestra. My unity is genuine. I am sick of Wes ramming his big dick into the ass of my people”—she glowers at my mother—“while the powers that be sit idly by, filing down their proverbial nails until they are as dull and useless as they are.”

  The walls erupt in flames as fire spreads to the ceiling like a fungus.

  “Mother! The boys are here!”

  The flames vanish, and not even the smell of smoke remains in their wake.

  Chloe steps over to her boldly and stabs a finger into her chest. “Somewhere, some way you fucked up. Marlena told me I was the chosen one. But somewhere along the way, my destiny was ROBBED!”

  “Marlena lied,” my mother roars back.

  “You lie!” Chloe thunders. The room jolts, and a fissure erupts in the ceiling with a loud rushing tear. “Gage—he was mine.” Her voice breaks with emotion. “He was never meant for Skyla. Our children—they were the only ones I could ever love. And you erased them.” A lone tear races down her cheek. As a mother, my heart demands to break for her, but as Gage Oliver’s wife and mother to those boys Chloe is so anxious to erase, I can’t find it in me. “And now I’m taking back what’s mine.”

  Kresley scoffs. “You will never have his heart.”

  Chloe’s eyes widen with venom. “And you will never have his brother’s.”

  It occurs to me that perhaps my mother and Chloe are talking about two different things. My mother is fixated on the royal lineage that leads to the position I hold, and Chloe, well, Chloe per her usual is obsessing over Gage. My mother intended me for Logan. It was Demetri who intended me for Gage.

  “Well”—my mother folds her hands together as if we’ve just concluded a rather amicable meet and greet—“nobody said life would be easy.” She smiles to me as if nothing Chloe said had mattered. “Cassandra Graham should have died hundreds of years ago. Instead, she embodies a girl who should have died in a wreck.”

  A girl who should have died in a wreck? Then it hits me. “Cassandra is Melody Winters.” My heart thumps, hard and fast. “Why is she here?” A violent pulse of anger surges through me because I suspect something nefarious waits for me in the answer. If it were the ring, she could have chopped my hand off for it months ago. And who the hell brought her?

  “I’m afraid Pandora’s box has been opened, my dear.” She picks up my finger and touches the ring, setting off a beacon of sapphire light flooding throughout the room. “Clean up this mess with the government, Skyla. You’ll know what to do. Keep this ring. Cassandra, Melody, whoever it is that dunce is parading around as these days, has no rights to it. I gifted it to Sector Marshall on his first mission to earth.” Her lips curve at the tips. “It looks as if it found its way to the one I intended to have it all along.” She looks to Chloe. “So, you see, no matter how wide you swerve outside of the bounds of destiny, fate has a way of righting itself.” She turns to leave, and I snatch her back.

  “Was Gage intended for Chloe?” My heart bucks as if it were demanding I shut the hell up. How could Gage have ever loved her? And yet my vanity begs I reword the question. How could Gage ever love anyone but me? Gage is mine. His destiny is knit with my own. I know this to be true.

  My mother looks from me to Chloe, then back again. “Like I said, destiny has a way of righting itself.”

  And in that one sentence, my mother has eviscerated me and enlivened a false hope in Chloe.

  Fuck destiny. Fuck fate. Gage and I aren’t going anywhere. He’s never leaving me for Chloe. That’s laughable. I am Mrs. Gage Oliver, and that’s exactly who I will remain.

  My mother’s face smooths out, and I shake my head, expecting this mirrored version of me to do the same.

  She reaches out and clasps my cheek in her palm. “Skyla Dunamis. That alone is your name. Messenger, Oliver, Dudley—those are earthly window dressings, nothing more than a paper Valentine pinned to a wall, fragile and fleeting, the edges already yellowing with time.”

  Her words sting like the scorching of the sun, and I turn my head away, wincing as if she slapped me.

  “I’m stopping at Oliver,” I’m quick to inform her. “Gage Oliver to be exact.” I look to Chloe. “It’s a done deal. You and I both know that.”

  My mother begins to fade, and a rise of panic rattles me. “Wait! I need to get back to Paragon. They have Angel!”

  “Who?” My mother leans in, looking every bit confused.

  “My daughter! The one you dropped onto my lap like a sack of potatoes on your last visit!”

  “Angel?” she moans as her form quickly dissolves. “Really, Skyla, that’s so achingly generic.”

  “It’s a placeholder,” I say under my breath, no louder than a whisper because what I really fear is there will be no place to hold as far as Logan and I go—and it makes me feel like a monster.

  “There will be.” My mother dissipates to nothing. “Destiny has a way of righting itself.”

  I would never let anything happen to her. My mother’s voice rings through my ears alone. I am not a monster, and neither are you, Skyla Dunamis. Now go and save your people.

  The room around me quickly morphs into that of the Landon house with both boys in their rightful cribs. Chloe lounges on my bed, filing her nails into needle sharp points, and Kate sits beside her, looking bewildered and frightened.

  I’m back on Paragon—and now both Gage Oliver and the feds will have hell to pay.

  On the way to Marshall’s, I spot a fallen tree at the entry to the Estates, and it pains me, panics me on some level as if Paragon itself is struggling under the weight of the devastation this afternoon brought with it. I had my mother watch the boys and charged Chloe with making sure Kate got home safe. I drive by the property slowly and deliberately, noting a bevy of cars still parked haphazardly around the periphery the way they were when I arrived. The door to his home is agape, and I can see the dark hole of the interior looking lonely and haunted. The government had ripped my people from Marshall’s yard like savages. They stormed Paragon, my Paragon, like animals. They can’t have the people. They can’t have the island. I love this bitter rock almost as much as I love my people, and I want those bastards gone.

  I speed on by Marshall’s home as if I never knew it, as if I never knew him, in order to divert suspicion in the event they’re watching. And they wouldn’t be watching if it wasn’t for Wesley. He’s the one that called their attention to us. He’s the one who scattered the food they were so hungry for along the four corners of the earth, and, of course, he was the one who welcomed poor Moser and Killion with open arms last year. Wesley Edinger is the nexus of this disaster. It’s almost laughable that I saw them take him first.

  I’ve decided it’s too risky to call or text anyone I know. I’m sure confiscating cell phones is rudimentary business. No. There’s only one person I wish to speak with at the moment, and that is Gage Oliver. But where to find him? Ironically, if I text or call my own husband, he might be furious with me for escaping that hell he imprisoned me in. But I keep driving down that silver tongue of Paragon road because deep down I’ve known all along where I’m headed—Demetri’s. I roll up to his pop-up mansion and pull out my phone, staring at it, wondering who in the hell wasn’t at that party that might be able to help me, and then it hits me. Brody. I send a quick text letting him know we’ll be meeting later before heading up the long winding driveway. No sign of Gage’s truck, which doesn’t surprise me. His father isn’t his first choice of
alliances to draw upon when the going gets tough. He’s not mine either, but I have questions, and he has answers.

  I give a brisk knock before walking in. “Anyone home?” My voice booms throughout the cavernous mausoleum. I still remember that horrible room upstairs, the Fem trophy room. Its walls are adorned with hideous clown heads and creatures that have no earthly relatives, and I’m sure Demetri had a literal hand in decapitating them.

  “Demetri?” I stalk into the grand room and find him seated facing the fire, a puff of smoke swirling to the ceiling as he enjoys a cigar. Figures. Rome is burning, and Demetri is sitting around with a fat stogie in his crooked mouth. He turns my way with that forever-wicked grin and opens his arms.

  “My favorite daughter-in-law. To whatever do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Please. The feds took half the island to who knows where and Wes is in that number.”

  “The twins?” His head cocks as if maybe he doesn’t have a clue.

  “They’re with my mother. The one you love.”

  “My Lizbeth.” That greasy smile returns to his face.

  “Yes, well, I need your help. What’s happened to my people, and how can I get them back?”

  He lets out a tired puff of smoke and extinguishes the fat stick in his hand. “They’re coming home. But they’ve been tagged. They will be watched. This is a tragedy unfolding.” His dark eyes meet with mine. “However will you avert this from exploding in the faces of every Nephilim on earth? They are mere moments from discovering the marker present in your people.”

  A breath hitches in my throat. “I can’t let that happen.” I look to him with fear and desperation. I need the truth from this demon and so much more than that. “Has Wesley secured the Barricade? Are they impervious? Has he found a way to hide the markers permanently?”

  “No.” His grin widens before it collapses. “But let us not forget the dead.” He holds out his hand as if asking for mine, and surprisingly I give it. Demetri’s hands are coarse and calloused, thick and welcoming as untanned leather. “Skyla, you must see what they’ve done to the dead.”

  In a moment we’re transported, walking the halls of an unnamed lab. The white walls are reminiscent of Ezrina’s old stomping grounds—but the smells, the stale looking laminate on the floor, dehydrated from years of neglect and wear, inform me this is a strictly human facility. Ezrina would rather gouge out her own eyes and drink them down in a smoothie than work somewhere so unhygienic.

  “So this is where the dead are,” I marvel mostly to myself.

  “Raven’s Eye, just a stone’s throw from Host. But this is where they’ll remain while they have breath in their lungs.” He nods left and leads me into a vast facility, and as soon as my eyes absorb what’s happening, I stop short of breathing myself.

  “Oh my God,” I whisper. Settled around me are a group of men, each in his own confinement cell, each with bloodied faces, fingernails missing from their hands, one of them lies on a bed with wires coming from every limb and orifice, his mouth agape as he lies unconscious. “No,” I whisper as I touch over the bars. “I can’t bare it.”

  “You should, and you will.” Demetri moves me along, his cool hand still clamped over mine. “If not but for the grace of God, there go you and yours.”

  “Understand,” I say it under my breath. An incomplete thought that encompasses all of the horror this moment has to offer. I get it. I do. This could very well be my people. And if not for these brave, sweet souls, it would be. And now that we’ve been incarcerated in such a great number tonight, it will be. “Take me back,” I pant, but Demetri leads me deeper into the facility, past rows of countless cells, each filled with the sobbing and moans that only deep anguish and pain can produce. “I never thought they’d be inhuman. I never thought they’d dismember, dissect.”

  “They have, and they will.” He sniffs. “All of these once dead souls are crying out for mercy. Their cry has risen to the throne, Skyla. Even the Master is imploring you to put an end to their suffering. Can you think of a way?” Demetri’s never-ending grimace preens for my attention.

  “A way to end their suffering and not begin that of my people? Oh my God.” I bury my head in my hands a moment and envelop myself in a haunting darkness, reminiscent of the twisted fingers of Paragon’s most hellish woods, the color red staining in the backdrop. Moser and Killion… “I have it.” I spring up for air, the light of this horror far too bright. “Take me back to Paragon—back to Gage. I know exactly what I have to do.”

  Demetri laughs, dark and rumbling, thick with evil. “You are your mother’s daughter.”

  The world around us softens, but I force these horrid halls into my memory. I stain the inside of my mind with the blood that’s been shed. These people—my people are being tormented alive. It’s not what I intended. It’s not how it should be.

  It’s the tunnels all over again. And ironically, that’s exactly where I’m taking Gage once I find him.

  The lawn in front of the Paragon Police Department is flooded with people bolting—escaping from the facility into waiting cars and vans. Although presumably they’re not escaping. They’ve been tagged as Demetri suggested, only to be toyed with at a later date.

  “They’re free.” I let out a breath of relief, only to find I’m shy one Fem by my side. Figures. He knew so much. Demetri is a retired detective. Everything that describes Demetri in earthly terms requires air quotes.

  I spot Gage and Logan off on the south end of the property and bolt over.

  “Logan!” I crash over him with an embrace that not even death could cut through. “Thank God. What happened? What made them turn everyone loose?” I glance at the crowd for familiar faces. Those pens at Raven’s Eye were full. It makes sense that they’ve opted to take names and kick ass later.

  Logan glances to Gage briefly. “They didn’t let everyone go.”

  “God, they’re holding Marshall? I mean, not that it worries me. Marshall can hold his own.” A thought comes to me. “Wait, are they holding Wes? God, this is beautiful!” And just like that, all of the anger I had toward Gage evaporates. Wesley’s incarceration covers a multitude of sins.

  “No.” Gage pulls my hands forward and clasps his fingers over mine hard as if stopping me from pulling away before I ever try. “They have Laken”—he winces—“Ellis, Tobie, and Angel.”

  “Angel,” her name strums from me numbly, and Logan pulls me in by the waist.

  “A handful of others.” Logan glares at the facility behind me. “Last night—Casey wouldn’t answer. Her dreams, they were—gone.” He looks over at Gage and me as if surprised on some level.

  “You think she’s dead?” My throat constricts at the thought of those monsters hurting a single hair on her head. “God, I never thought they’d be so cruel, so swift with their deranged experimentation.” But a part of me decries the idea. Of course, I did. We expected death. Did we honestly believe they’d let them rot for years in those cages? Yes, a very real part of me did believe just that.

  “I didn’t either.” Logan grimaces. “But there’s not a whole lot we can do.”

  Gage gives my hand a tug, demanding that I look at him, a sheepish apology already flirting with his lips.

  My eyes sharpen over his as the fury builds in me. “How dare you leave me behind like some helpless kitten.”

  “Skyla.” He implores me with that desperate tone. “The boys needed you.”

  “My people needed me. My daughter needed me. The boys slept through the whole ordeal.”

  “Because I got you the hell out of there.” He leans in, and I can tell my opposition frustrates the living hell out of him. As his does mine.

  “Let’s get one thing straight.” I pluck my hands free. “You are not my master. You may never incarcerate me against my will no matter what the circumstances. I am the one charged to keep my people safe—one of which is you. You may never defy me again. I absolutely forbid it.”

  Logan flinches as if he were suddenly a
third wheel. “Hash this out at home, kids. We need a solution right now. No matter what—my daughter is getting out tonight.”

  “I agree.” The brief tour with Demetri runs through my mind. “And that’s why we’re going to take care of this right this fucking minute.” I look up at my husband. “We’re going to Tenebrous.”

  “Tenebrous?” Gage steps back, the storm clouds already brewing in his eyes.

  “We’re feeding the feds the Videns.” I look to Logan. “You and I will free the rest.”

  Logan searches the vicinity as if seeking out an answer. “I’m in. I’m willing to storm Raven’s Eye, but how the hell are we getting those cells to open up? I’m not sure if our strength will be enough. They know what we’re capable of, and I’m sure they’ve taken precautions.”

  “Stop.” Gage cuts the air with his hands. “Nobody is touching the Videns.”

  “I am,” I’m quick to inform. “They feel nothing. My people feel pain. They’re virtually indestructible. They’ll occupy the government for years and fill ten facilities the size of Raven’s Eye. We’ll flood them with hundreds, two for each of the dead, and then we’ll slowly feed them the rest. If this works, we can keep the government off our asses for decades. It’s an easy and necessary fix.” My breathing is labored, my nostrils flaring with every other word because everything in me knows this will be anything but easy. Gage is the Videns’ leader. Of course, there will be some resistance, but he has to agree. I’m right on every count.

  “No.” He pulls me in gently. “Skyla”—those dark brows of his knot with worry—“I’ve promised their families I’d keep them safe, that I’d get Ezrina to work on restoration.”

  “She can’t restore them. She’s tried. She’s not capable. Not yet, anyway. It’s not happening. Gage we need them. They’re our only hope.”