Marshall’s estate shines like a jewel under the duress of the white-hot spotlight of the sun, an anomaly in our gray existence. Whenever this rare solar event occurs, I hear nothing but complaints from the residents—the sun is too bright, too harsh, too hot, and oddly enough on this over bright, hard-lined, searing day—I agree. I suppose that’s the final step over the sand. I no longer consider myself an L.A. outcast. I’m officially an island girl through and through. As much as we lament the sun, we never really want it around.
I park and head inside. Marshall’s door is unlocked, and I frown at that giant hunk of mahogany as if it caused the malfeasance itself. I grew up where triple locks were simply a good start to protecting your home, and on Paragon half the houses don’t even have deadbolts installed.
“Ms. Messenger,” Marshall calls from the alcove where he keeps that haunted piano, that haunted speculum—and I pause because he happens to be entertaining a very haunted guest, Melody Winters.
I can’t help but scowl over at her. She is the girl who tried to seduce Gage on multiple occasions. She’s a skank through and through in my book.
“Well, well”—I speed in their direction—“look who the seventeenth century dragged in.” I come in close, and she inches back as if I might slap her. Believe me, I’m tempted. “And don’t think for a minute I don’t know who you are, Cassandra.”
Her mouth rounds out into a perfect O as she looks to Marshall.
His lips twitch a moment. “Don’t you mind Ms. Messenger. She’s rather harmless.”
“The hell I am.” I stab a finger into her ample chest. “What the heck are you doing here? Haven’t you ever heard that to every man it is appointed once to die and all that other good stay-the-hell-in-your-own-century stuff?”
“Skyla.” Marshall’s tone grows incredulous. “She is a guest in our home. Do work on your hospitality skills.” He turns to the redheaded moppet with a grin. “Skyla is my spirit bride. Soon, all shall be consummated and an earthly bond will ensue. I’m thinking children.”
Melody chortles at the thought. “You’ve already had a few of those.”
A few? Gah! Marshall’s seed is sprinkled all over this planet. Although not necessarily a bad thing, it’s a thing for sure.
“Just the one, and as fate would have it, my lineage has rolled right down to Paragon.” He glowers out the window a moment. “It seems the Olivers stem from greatness after all.” His left eye closes lazily as if trying to push the thought away.
“Don’t forget about Coop. You’re his granddaddy, too!” I rib him with my elbow.
“Do tell.” His affect flattens to morbidly dangerous levels. “What may I assist you with, my love?”
“I’ve invited Logan and Gage over.” I sneer at Melody a moment. “I’m finally ready to tell the three of you about the covenant I’ve entered into with Chloe.”
Melody gasps. “She didn’t!”
“Oh, she did,” I’m quick to inform.
Marshall grunts. “You didn’t.”
“I most definitely did.”
Melody wheezes as if this directly affected her. “Nothing good can come of this. Why would she trust you?” She staggers off toward that speculum, and it’s taking all of my restraint not to push her right in. “My God, it’s as if she’s heard nothing Marlena has told her.”
“In one ear and out the other. That’s our Chloe.” I give a private smile at that conversation my mother and Chloe had a while back where they used just about the same verbiage. “Anyway, yes, I will be the first to admit things have a way of falling to shit when Chloe’s around, but she’s basically what amounts to a celestial dust mite, ever-present and always getting under your skin. There’s no getting rid of her. At least this way I’m able to utilize her. And oddly enough, she’s on Team Celestra.”
Melody’s already pasty face goes stark white, and it frightens me.
“What’s the matter?” I reach for her elbow, but she pulls back, her gaze still lost in some faraway place.
“My God, she’s idiotic! What a ridiculous ninny.” She comes to and looks to Marshall. “I must speak with Marlena.” She shakes her head as if this changed her life on a dime. Newsflash: nothing changes the fact she’s been dead for three hundred years and counting.
Marshall leans in, his affect a mixture of curiosity and annoyance. “I’m afraid that’s not something I can provide.”
“Oh, yes, it is.” I jump to his side, and his eyes widen with horror.
“No, Skyla, it’s not.”
“Yes, Marshall, it is.” My voice is clear and cutting. “You see, Ms. Winters owes me some answers, and if she wants to see Marlena, she needs to provide them. Of course, you’ll play the part of lie detector because this happens to be a no bullshit zone.” I glance to Melody when I say that last part.
“Look at the time.” She straightens and snatches her purse off the piano. “I must run. It was wonderful per usual, Sector Marshall.” She glances back with her hand to her lips and blows him a kiss. “Until hex time!”
Marshall chuckles as he leans in. “A little seventeenth-century humor.”
“Yeah? Well, it’s lousy.” I look to Melody as she’s about to hit the exit. “The seventeenth century is dead! Much like you are!”
She flips me the bird as she heads on out.
Marshall shakes his head with a wistful smile as if it were the cutest thing. “She does seem to be picking up on the nuances of this century. Cassandra always was a quick study.”
“She was a whore in a whorehouse. What the hell is she doing here?”
He hems and haws, his mouth opens and closes as he flits his eyes out the window, and something about this little boy in trouble routine is intensely darling on him. Darn Marshall for captivating me with his cutting good looks at every turn.
The door bursts open, letting in an unreasonable amount of light, and in walk Logan and Gage like gods ushered in by the forces of the universe, their forms outlined in shadows as the sun tries to drink them down.
“Look what this century has dragged in”—Marshall says it with all the boredom he can afford—“the Olivers in multiple.” Marshall might not be delighted, but my heart soars at the sight of them. After all these years, those butterflies in my stomach still flutter to life whenever they show up on the scene. I try to usher us to the dining room, but Logan insists we enjoy the sunshine, and we head out back instead. It’s only then I note he’s holding a brown paper bag.
“You come bearing gifts?” My heart plummets because I recognize the white folder peering out. It’s the same one Lexy gives me once she prints out the pictures of the boys. I haven’t seen the ones we took a few weeks back of Angel yet. I’m not sure I’m ready to.
“Maybe.” He glances to the bag with sorrow as we follow Marshall to the corral, allowing the llamas to come over and eavesdrop on our conversation.
“What’s up?” Gage wraps his arms around me and presses a soft kiss to my lips. “Everything okay?” His head tips to the side, and the color of his eyes reflects the sky, or maybe it’s the other way around. It shouldn’t surprise me at all that the sky would want to steal the color from Gage Oliver’s eyes.
“Chloe’s up.” I wrinkle my nose at him. “I wanted to talk to the three of you. I feel like I owe you an apology for not talking about this sooner.” A ripe anguish rushes through me at the thought of not having this conversation months ago. But, in a way, I wasn’t ready. In all honesty, I don’t think I could ever be. “The night of the boys’ christening, after Marshall and I witnessed what we did—I couldn’t breathe.” I meet with my husband’s intense gaze. “My heart was broken, and yet even in that horrific moment, I knew deep down that you were doing what you thought best. But ultimately, what I came to realize was that Demetri’s hold on us was stronger than I could have ever imagined.” I glance to Marshall who was with me that night. “It was good that you took me to see it. In retrospect, it was as beautiful as it was ugly.” I swallow hard. “That night
I went to the Transfer. The boys—they afforded me powers that I never dreamed of.” My gaze falls to my hands as if the powers they gifted could be contained simply in my fingers. “I found Chloe in Wesley’s house by the fire, and I made her an offer she couldn’t refuse.” I give Gage a sharp look without meaning to. “If you were siding with our enemy, I would, too. I asked her to follow me. To unite her powers with mine, and that I would gift her whatever her heart desired.” A sad smile curves on my lips, and Gage matches it with his own.
“She will never have me, Skyla.”
“Chloe knows that.” I shake my head as if refuting the idea.
Logan groans. “No, she doesn’t. There are some concepts Chloe cannot wrap her warped little head around, and that happens to be one of them.”
“That might be true, but we’ve outlined the terms of our covenant and handing Gage’s head to her on a silver platter wasn’t one of them.” I spend the next few minutes outlining the terms of the covenant I entered into with Chloe and place them on that proverbial silver platter before handing them to the three men I love with all of my heart.
Logan sighs, and I don’t bother trying to read whether or not he’s disappointed in me. “She gets to live above ground. She’s your number two. She’s for Celestra.”
I nod. “She doesn’t make a move without my approval. She doesn’t harm my family. She leaves my husband the hell alone.”
Marshall tenderly picks up my chin a notch, the look of sorrow upon his own. “And what’s to stop her?”
“I have the power to send her back to hell or wherever I wish—a quite literal hell if I wanted.” The afternoon of the covenant comes back to me. “She did say something…” Something that didn’t even faze me that day in Tenebrous, but now that I rehash the words we shed like water, I can’t help but trip over it. “She threatened me.” My gaze gets lost in the vibrant green lawn that spreads beneath our feet. “In the event I changed my position—she said woe to the hour I turned on her—that she would usher a darkness in my life like never before.” The words stream from me in a whisper.
“Skyla.” Gage pulls me in tight, his face buried in my neck a moment before he pulls back, exposing the crimson tracks in his eyes. “I’m sorry I drove you to this.”
“Don’t apologize.” My heart grows heavy because I don’t know how to candy-coat the truth. “I plan on keeping all of my enemies, present and those implied in my future, close to the vest.”
Marshall gives a sly smile. “Arrow to the heart, Skyla. There’s no better way to do it.”
“And on that note.” Logan holds up a finger. “There’s something I want to show you—all of you.”
“I’m sorry,” I mouth to Gage, and he shakes his head as if it’s nothing.
“We still win. You and I remain the same. We won’t bend to the will of anyone. I’m not going anywhere. You and I will raise our boys. My heart belongs to you and to our people.”
Marshall grunts. “I’m tempted to clap, but then I recall it’s Jock Strap who’s speaking. His people are not your people, Skyla.”
Logan offers a dull smile. “Neither are they yours, Dudley.” He holds that white file between us that reads Bakova Studios. “This isn’t easy for me to say or share.” His eyes look to mine, weighted with grief, and I see a citrine sunset buried in each one. “Skyla”—That longitudinal dimple I gave him dips in—“she’s not here anymore.” He opens the file as Gage wraps his arms around me from behind, and in that instant I realize Gage has already been apprised of the terrible news. I don’t need to ask who she is. Tears stain my cheeks quicker than expected as Logan shows us the pictures we took that morning with Angel and the boys—with Gage. All of us one big happy family. One by one I observe the void our little angel left behind. Not a single trace of her or that ruffled pink confection I dressed her in that morning.
My throat constricts, but I push past the baby-sized knot. “I thought people disappearing from pictures was just some tired trope used by Hollywood, and here we are proving it wrong.” My fingers brush over the space where her body once stood. “How cruel of my mother to leave nothing of our little girl behind.”
“We have our memories,” Logan offers the empty consolation. But we both know that could never be enough. Memories fade. They’re unreliable at best. Even as we stand here, I’m forgetting the subtleties of the way her hair smelled, those rolls of flesh along her legs. And that husky, and yet completely feminine laugh—thankfully, that’s ingrained in my soul, coursing through my veins like the whisper of, yes, an angel.
Marshall lets out a sigh that could take down a forest. “I’m sorry—for the both of you.” His eyes drag from Logan to me. “I’ve been summoned to the holy throne for a routine accounting. While I’m there, I’ll see if there’s anything I can glean for you.” He gives a subtle nod before leaning in and landing a chaste kiss to my cheek. I’m forever at your service, your majesty. “Anything else I can help you with?”
I’m about to open my mouth when Gage gives me a hard squeeze before spinning me gently into him. “There is something we need.” His dimples depress, and all seems right with the world again. “Our anniversary is tomorrow. Two years.”
“And counting,” I add.
He pushes out a quiet smile. “If you don’t mind, I’d like for us to renew our vows. It feels as if we had a tough year, hiding in and out of shadows, and I think it’s appropriate that while the sun is up over Paragon we shower our union with light and love.” His thumb swirls over the palm of my hand, and my stomach does that roller coaster thing I love. “Would you mind saying a few words?” He’s speaking to Marshall, but his eyes won’t leave mine.
“Most certainly.”
“Thanks.” He dots my lips with a kiss before looking to Logan. “You up for witnessing the event?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.” Logan tucks the file under his arm, and his chest expands as if he were girding himself.
Marshall steps before us and offers a loving prayer, blessing us in this hour—in every hour that God deems to give us, and I stop shy of flinching, of crying out that we would have more than that even. “And with that—may God bless you both and keep you. What have you to say for yourselves?”
“Skyla”—Gage holds my hands between us—“I love you more than words could ever speak. I have loved you before I knew you. And I will love you far beyond my final breath.” Tears glitter in his eyes, and my heart wrenches because the last thing I want is for this to turn into a eulogy of our love.
I press a finger over his lips, sealing in all talk of eternity. “We have this moment. This is our moment, our time, our life—and I plan on spending the next eight decades at least with you by my side. There isn’t any being on earth or in heaven that could break the bond we share. Our love isn’t temporal. It isn’t something subject to the breath in our lungs. Our love is infinite, as deep and wide and mysterious as the existence of the living God who sanctioned it. Yes, you are mine, and you always will be. We are steering the ship of our love, of our lives, of our future. And I chose a long and arduously drama-free life with you and our boys.” My heart pinches hard because it feels as if I’ve just driven the final nail through any life Logan hoped to have with me. But I’m not up for juggling three men like my mother suggested. I’m up for loving the one I’m with. The one my heart says I’ll live my days out with by my side. Gage Oliver is mine, and fate and all of her fury can go fuck herself.
“Kiss the bride if you must.” Marshall heads for the house, and Logan offers both Gage and me a quick pat over the shoulder before doing the same.
But Gage and I seal our love by way of a wet, delicious kiss under the supervision of a small army of long-lashed llamas, under the supervision of a crystalline sky and that burning heart she bears down on us with. I can feel the white light of its affection warming my back as Gage probes my mouth sweetly with his tongue. Two short years under our belt and yet it feels as if Gage has been with me since I took my first breath on this pl
anet. Our kisses pick up pace with a heated frenzy of things to come, but I can feel the fevered anguish layered beneath the lust, crying out in agony of what lies ahead. A damned future painted by the hand of my mother, his father—two celestial beings with one dangerous agenda—to sever the bond that holds us together. My mother wants Gage exchanged for Logan in my bed, in my heart—and Demetri, well, he needs his son on the throne. And it just so happens to be that the path to the throne is through the curtain of death.
Sometimes being an angel can be such hell.
Halloween. A month rolls by, bringing the boys both to their eleventh month of life—standing while holding onto furniture and laughing with glee as they threaten to take their first voluntary steps in this world. But mostly, importantly, this month, on a cold night exactly a week ago, Ezrina and Nev ushered in a dreamy pink bundle of joy named Alice. Dark hair, deep navy newborn-colored eyes, and a face blessed by God Himself— Alice O’Hare is a bewitching beauty. Nevermore explained that the name Alice came from what was once Ezrina’s most beloved blade. It might seem like a strange leap to others, but it’s obvious to those of us who know and appreciate Ezrina and Nev that this child’s name is a great honor bestowed upon her.
But this night, all hallows evil, the who’s who of Paragon have been summoned to Demetri’s haunted estate to celebrate the day of his people.
I frown at my reflection in the glass of the minivan passenger’s window.
Gage and I opted for a couple’s costume—I’ve donned my West cheerleader uniform because thank God Almighty I was able to squeeze into it—mostly. I don’t suppose anyone will know I’m buying a couple of inches with an obscenely long safety pin Emily lent me. And Gage, well, he’s hot as hell dressed as a West Paragon dirty, dirty Dawg who’s already threatened a touchdown in my kick pants before the night is through. And seeing that we’re at Demetri’s and not Marshall’s the way God intended for this unblessed event, I’m suspecting the night will end rather spectacularly and abruptly.
Crown of Ashes Page 59