Crown of Ashes

by Addison Moore

  Emma chokes. “Well, I think—”

  Barron clears his throat and wraps an arm around Emma for a moment in that shut-the-hell-up kind of way. “What Emma is trying to say is, welcome to the neighborhood. You’ll be moving in just in time to put up the Christmas lights. The Paragon Estates community takes extra pride in decking the halls. At least the exterior that all can see.”

  Gage wraps his arms around me from behind. “Challenge accepted.” I feel the vibrations of his voice tremble over my back, and I can’t help but purr. “Skyla and I will have that house visible from the moon by December first.”

  “I can’t wait.” I spin into my beautiful husband’s arms. “And I want inflatables, and a thousand of those little signs that say Santa stops here, and tinsel on all the evergreens.”

  “Oh dear!” Emma chortles as if I’ve just said something ridiculous. “I’m afraid we don’t do those kinds of things at the Estates. You’ll have to leave all those inflatables and cute little signs—and, my God, all of the tinsel here at the Landon house where they belong.”

  “Where they belong?” My tone is curt, and well, bitchy, but let’s face it, she drew first tinsel.

  “On that note.” Gage points to the small crowd at the base of the patio. “I think we’d better mingle with our guests.”

  Mia flags me over near the mobile home, and I make a break for my sweet little sister. “What’s up?” I give a little hop toward the girl who holds my likeness.

  “You’re up,” she snarls. “When is that little witch going to be shoved back in that disgusting oversized cage I keep in my bedroom?”

  I blink at her a moment. It takes a second to register that the little witch in question is Emerson Kragger, and no sooner do I open my mouth to say something on the topic of cages and feathers than the witchy Goth owl herself shows up on the scene.

  “What the hell.” Emerson grunts with that dead charm only she can exude. Her hair is dyed black as pitch, and her eyes are so drawn in with kohl all you see are two bright blue beacons staring back at you.

  “What’s going on?” No sooner do I ask the question than I recall the fact that Rev and Emerson have been rumored to be playing hide the Vienna sausage. And, why yes, I did take a moment to swipe at Revelyn Booth’s boy parts, but only because I have it on good authority he’s dipped said mini wiener into my sister—thus stealing her most prized possession, her virginity.

  Emerson gets in Mia’s face. “This twerp actually thinks I want anything to do with that wannabe biker with a boner the size of a Chapstick.”

  “Ha!” I bark out a short-lived laugh because Emerson and I happen to be on the same teeny-wienie page.

  Mia gives her a hard shove to the chest. “She slept with him!”

  Emerson gets in her face. “Only to get him off my back!”

  “Whoa.” I step in between them. “Mia—clearly they’re not together. So please give Emerson some peace on earth”—I turn to the Goth queen with my lashes lowered—“while she’s still on it. In this form, anyway.”

  Emerson bears her pearly white fangs and growls. “You should really consider keeping me around, Messenger. I’ve got balls, and I know how to use them. Not to mention the fact I’m genuinely on your side, unlike that idiot you entered into a covenant with.” She stalks off, and I catch her making a beeline for Pierce and Nat. My stomach goes sour at the thought of Chloe and that covenant.

  “What’s she talking about?” Mia shakes it off as if she wasn’t all that concerned.

  “Never you mind. Just stay away from Rev. I’m sorry you had to see his true cheatin’ heart colors shining through.”

  Mia rolls her eyes as if the thought were absurd. “It’s not cheating if we have an open relationship.”

  My mouth contorts into all shapes and sizes, but not a word evicts itself. For all the times I’ve been accused of having one of those very same things, it makes my skin crawl to think Mia is partaking willingly in such a ridiculous arrangement.

  “Oh, save it,” she snips as she glares at someone coming up from behind. “I learned from the best.” She stalks off, and Gage lands by my side.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Right as acid rain.”

  “Come on, we’ve got guests.” He leads us straight to Laken and Coop, and I pull her into a tight rocking hug because God knows I need one after that bitch-fest only Emma can provide.

  They both wish me a happy birthday, and I’m quick to wave it off. “This day isn’t about me anymore. It’s all about Nathan—and Barron. I think from now on we’ll just have two parties back-to-back and celebrate both boys.” True as God. There used to be so much anticipation and excitement around my birthday and Gage’s, too, but this year it feels as if our birthdays were the least important news on the planet.

  “Sounds good.” Coop nods Gage over to the side, and they start talking shop. Gage has been helping Coop with West’s football team on and off since last summer, and they’ve just closed out the season.

  “Skyla.” Laken shakes her head and pulls me in by the elbow. “Are you freaking out over this whole Chloe mess?”

  A bundle of fear knots up in my gut. “No.” I wince. “Okay, I’m lying.” Nearly a month ago, the night that Chloe submerged me in deep waters for old times’ sake—we found out that Chloe had risen to the top of just about every most wanted list—for questioning by the CIA. Nevertheless, over the last few weeks, her face has been popping up like unwanted blemishes all over the island in poster form—cited as a suspicious person. Hell, the peeps on Paragon have known that from the moment she was born. Well, thankfully, Ezrina looks so different she isn’t in any danger. That little angel of hers, Alice, needs her mama to stay out of any and every federal holding facility. But Chloe, my God, the feds have amped up the search for her. She’s been on the national news, all over the Internet, and in every grocery store rag you can think of. You’d think she had robbed the world vault of all its gold the way they’re laying the heat on her.

  “I’ve told her to lay low,” I whisper as I glance to the evergreens skirting the property. “I even offered to send her back to the Transfer, but she hates the Kres and Wes dynamic duo so much she’d rather fry in a thousand electric chairs than listen to their primal grunting. Chloe’s words, not mine.” Laken’s features soften, and I gasp at the realization of what I’ve done. “I’m sorry,” I mouth.

  “No, God no, don’t apologize. She’s been sort of a godsend. And honestly, she’s one of the reasons we didn’t kill him—but mostly it was Tobie. Anyway, there’s been a new plan in action for months, and Coop and I will be implementing it soon—and before you ask—it’s nothing I want to talk about on your birthday. So don’t even try to wrangle it out of me.” She sinks her forehead into her palm. “I can’t believe I actually contemplated the murder of another human being.” She shakes it off. “I wasn’t actually going to go through with it, but my God, it felt good to plan it out to the very last detail.”

  “Don’t I know it!” Bree pops her head over Laken’s shoulder. “I totally felt that way about you—but I’m ready and willing to bury the hatchet.” She wraps the crook of her elbow around my neck and nearly decapitates me. “Go ahead and apologize, and we’ll start from scratch.”

  You can hear the copious amounts of air getting sucked into Laken’s lungs.

  “Brielle.” I untangle myself from her stranglehold. “You can’t be serious. Laken has done nothing to apologize over.”

  Laken combs her fingers through her long caramel waves as if she were readying to pull every last one out in frustration. “Actually, I do owe you an apology.” She offers a stiff smile at my self-proclaimed bestie’s way. “You and I never really got off on the right foot. I sort of barreled onto Paragon and snatched your best friend away from you without giving it another thought. It was inconsiderate of me.”

  “Damn straight, it was.” Bree is quick to glom on to Laken’s line of thinking.

  “And for that I’m sorry.”
Her shoulders compress with the uncalled for mea culpa. “Let’s start over. Hi, I’m Laken Flanders. I happened to have married my best friend in the whole wide world. I can see that Skyla is yours,” she says it sweetly enough, and yet her hand hangs there an unordinary amount of time without any reciprocal love.

  “I see what you did there,” Bree squeezes the words out nice and slow. “Well, it just so happens that I married my best friend—twice!” Her eyes twitch over the circumference of the yard. “In fact, I’m going to jump him right freaking now and prove it.” She bolts off in the direction of the mobile home.

  “Never mind her.” I dismiss Bree and her antics with a wave. “Guess who is going to spend the night in her new house for the very first time tonight?”

  “I’d say me, but considering the fact Coop and I are still in the rental phase of our existence—oh my God, Skyla!” She wraps her arms around me and sways the both of us to the rhythm of her squeals. “That is fantastic!” She pulls back with tears glittering in her eyes. “Coop and I are so very happy for you guys.”

  “Thank you. And I know it’s genuine.” I pause and give her hand a quick squeeze. “And I know it’s not easy—considering the fact my husband’s face looks more than slightly familiar to you.”

  She gives an anxious look just past me, and I turn to find Gage chatting with Wes while Tobie toddles around his legs.

  “Trust me, I know the difference between Gage and Wes.” Her voice grows soft. “The funny thing is, all those years ago in Cider Plains, there really wasn’t much of one. Gage’s personality is sort of the before to Wesley’s after.” We watch as Demetri heads over and completes their circle, and my blood runs cold with an ironic thought. “What if Gage is the before and Wes is the after—as in Gage’s afterlife?” I shake the thought loose. “Gage would never behave like Wes, dead or alive. Leave it to my errant thoughts to kill off Gage right before his birthday.”

  Laken and I share a nervous laugh. “At least have the decency to kill him once he’s had his cake.”

  “Amen to that,” a cool voice hums from behind, and we spin to find America’s most wanted right here in the Landon backyard.

  “Chloe.” I reach out to embrace her, and she holds up her hands as if I were about to shove a viper in her face.

  “That’s okay, Skyla.” Those dark eyes of hers zero in on mine, filled with venom, brimming with hate. “We don’t have to pretend anymore. It was so damn exhausting parading around like freaking unicorns with their butts welded together by a rainbow. I don’t live in Bree’s little bestie la-la land, so let’s just call a spade a spade. I’ve always hated you.” She scowls at Laken. “What the hell are you staring at?”

  Laken lets out a tired sigh, and a white plume escapes her nostrils, alerting me to the fact we should probably move this party inside. “I think I like this side of you, Chloe. It’s honest and raw, and brutal around the edges the way God intended you to be. Don’t put on a mask around people—you’re the only one who’ll be confused.”

  Bree pops up with an unwilling Drake just as Chloe is readying to knife Laken’s lady balls off.

  “You know”—Chloe wraps an arm around Laken’s shoulders, lithe and smooth like a tiger readying for the kill—“I think I like you, too. Maybe you can be my new bestie.” She says that last word with all the sarcastic inflection only Chloe can afford.

  “What’s this?” Brielle staggers back as if she were sucker punched, and Drake makes a run for it while he can. “First, you infiltrate Skyla, then you call out my man, and now you tackle the Bishop?”

  “The Bishop?” Both Chloe and I say in unison before glowering at one another a moment.

  Brielle scoffs at the thought. “Well, you can forget it. Skyla, Drake, and Chloe, they all belong to me, so you can just walk your pretty little self back to Tennessee or wherever the hell you’re from and take that smart-aleck attitude with you.”

  Laken’s lips twitch as if she’s holding back a laugh. “I’m from Kansas. And trust me, a part of me wishes I can rewind each day all the way to the time of my death—and before that, just so I could start all over again. But I can’t.” Her tone sharpens as do her features. Bree is in for it now, and I completely think she deserves it on some level. “And you know what? I happen to like the way things turned out for me. I have a wonderful friend in Skyla, a gorgeous sweet, smart, funny husband”—Coop comes up from behind and wraps his arms around her, showing off that handsome as hell smile—“and as for Chloe and me?” She looks to Chloe, puzzled as to what might come next. “We’re still feeling things out. And you know why? Because I have a heart for the disenfranchised. I happen to care about people. Unlike you, Brielle, I welcome them. I care about how they feel, and I want to make them comfortable. It’s called being a decent human being.”

  Brielle chokes on her words, and Laken holds up a finger as if to stop her from even trying.

  “Furthermore, I’m not going to abandon any friendships because of your insecurities. In the event you haven’t noticed, none of us are in high school anymore. Both Skyla and Chloe can have more than one best friend. Skyla and Chloe can both be my best friends.” Coop shoots me a look as if to ask what the hell? “And simultaneously they can be your best friends, too. You and I can be friends if we took the time to water a relationship and watch it grow. All it takes is a little careful attention. But to get to the starting gate, we need to be civil to one another, let down our guard, stop accusing one another of snatching people out from under us, and be as amicable as possible. It’s not rocket science. It’s just common sense.”

  The fog blows in thick between us as if celebrating Laken’s victory.

  Just as I’m about to congratulate Laken on a speech well done, Brielle starts in on her chicken bone in the throat routine once again.

  She looks to me, wild-eyed. “Are you just going to sit there and let her tell me off like that?”

  “Brielle?” I shake my head, completely at a loss for words. “Yes, I am.”

  She sucks in a breath, and half the fog around her dissipates. “And you?” She gapes at Chloe.

  “Get over it, Johnson. Grow a pair, will you? Laken has balls. Maybe you can learn a thing or two from her. She’s open to being decent to you. Who the hell cares if she’s having coffee or sleeping with Skyla? I sure don’t, and you want to know why? Because I know my place in Skyla’s life. I know that no matter who she’s ‘besties’ with”—Chloe shoves her fang-like air quotes in Bree’s face—“and God, I hate that word. Don’t fucking use it around me, got it? Nevertheless, Skyla and I are solid in our dissatisfaction with one another. And I know that some things will never change. Hear that? Skyla and I are unchanging. So if you’re as close to her as you think you are—feel secure in knowing that no matter how many morons she’s lifting pinkies with, there’s always room for one more—and that would be you.” Chloe straightens, staring down her oldest friend, and Bree nods as if this entire bestie fiasco suddenly made sense to her.

  “I get it. You’re a genius now, Chloe, aren’t you?” Bree gives a couple of doll-like blinks, and for a moment I’m frightened. I’ve known Brielle to be a lot of things, but sarcastic isn’t one of them. I’m getting the feeling I should intercept, and quickly.

  “Since we’re doling out life lessons so freely tonight”—I pull a tight smile in Chloe’s direction—“why don’t you take a brief moment and say hello to your daughter, and maybe even have Lex snap a few pictures of the two of you?” Lexy is around somewhere doing just that—documenting the boys’ first birthday party.

  Chloe tips her head back and laughs so sharp and loud, Gage and Logan glance over from their conversation with Ellis.

  “Skyla—my darling little Skyla.” She shakes her head. Her lids hang low, and there’s a note of despondency I’ve never seen before. Chloe on a good day is dangerous, but Chloe knocked off her axis and desperate is an entirely other animal. “Wouldn’t that just solve all my problems? A little snuggle-fest that Bakova could
add to her bloated portfolio.”

  Emily, Nat, and Kate head over with caution.

  “Don’t you judge me,” she snaps in their direction. “None of your lives turned out that great either. Kate—you are dead. Read up on the definition and figure out a way to stop breathing. It’s confusing the hell out of people, and nobody can understand whatever the fuck you’re trying to say.” She steps in close to their tightknit circle. “Em, you’re miserable, and we both know it. The only solace you have is in the kitchen. Wake up and stop chasing a man who isn’t even halfway interested in you. You’re smart, and you kick ass in everything you do. Get your own place, open your own damn kitchen, and give the Gas Lab some competition on this island.” She glowers over at Nat just as Michelle walks up with an uncertain gait with Lexy not far behind. “Nat, you’re fucking a dead guy. Need I say more? When his coffin closes one last time—and it will—go find yourself a decent person who treats you like a queen. Stop cutting guys off at the balls without giving them a chance just because they’re not Pierce. It’s going to be a long life. You might as well enjoy it.” She steps into Michelle, and a shit-eating grin gobbles up her face. Michelle, however, looks as if she’s about to have her ass handed to her, and she undoubtedly is. “And Shelly. Still secretly pining for her Dudley—still carrying around that hard-on for Logan. Well, you’ve done well for yourself, haven’t you? You’ve got Liam Love ’Em and Leave ’Em Oliver diving down your panties night after night—munching you out after smoking one of those big, fat blunts gifted to him by Ellis. Tell him to shit or get off your lap. You’re not some tramp who’s going to please him until his dick makes up its mind.” She darts a look near the fire pit and scowls at Liam—we all do. That big, fat blunt revelation is a new one for me. I’ll have to make a note to talk to my favorite stoner about who he can and can’t distribute to. All Olivers are off the reefer list, and that especially includes Giselle.

  “And you”—Chloe turns to Lexy—“you think you’re hot stuff with your business off the ground and running—Logan Oliver eating out of your hand.” Thank God she chose to avoid any disgusting euphemisms about Logan having the munchies for anything Lex might be stashing in her panties, namely her pink parts. “You’re too hopped up on how wonderful you are—you can’t even see he’s trying to avoid you! You don’t have his heart. He won’t gift you his body, and you will never be his anything.” Chloe turns her wrath my way, and poor Lex looks as if she’s been bitch-slapped. Okay, so I feel a tiny bit of satisfaction, but it’s less than a molecule in size. “And sweet little Messenger. Our angel of salvation, the chosen one to lead the Factions nowhere. Aren’t you a sight for no eyes. Whoever the hell appointed you for anything was drunk on their own power. The only thing you managed to save was your virginity for your wedding night, and for inquiring minds that was with Logan.” The crowd around me gasps, and it’s only then I note we have an audience that spans outside of the Bitch Squad, Laken, and Coop. Logan, Gage, Wes, Ellis, and Marshall, not to mention Liam—Paragon’s newly minted pothead, plus, Drake and Ethan. Here we go. Let the good times roll. I’ll let her say her peace, then walk her to the woods and banish her somewhere because I just so happen to wield the power to do it.