Toxic Part Two

by Addison Moore

  Shit. I can never un-see that.

  “OK.” Ethan claps obnoxiously, much like his father is prone to do. “Time to shut down the show.”

  Chloe traipses back to her seat and gives a haughty look to Nat. She’s lucky Nat doesn’t reach over and give her a flame broiled facial, an enema full of fire by way of that long neck bottle.

  Emily takes control and gives the bottle a hard whirl. It spins airborne for a second before slowing to a wobble and landing square in front of me.

  I glance over at Gage and his eyes enlarge, his dimple digs in deep on one side as he considers the odds. Logan looks as if he’s deflated at the thought of witnessing the event and to his surprise the bottle lands on him as well.

  Logan. I’m more than thrilled to grant him a kiss on this, the great day of his birth.

  He bolts up and lends me a hand.

  Happy birthday, I say with an impish grin as I rise to greet him. Make a wish yet?

  I’m standing next to the love of my life, so it already came true. I love you, Skyla Messenger.

  The apples of my cheeks burn as his words pulse through me, covered in his affection.

  I love you, too, Logan.

  He leans in with a wild look of temptation. I half expect him to devour me from the look of viral lust blooming on his face, but he doesn’t. He offers a sweet peck that bears nothing more than a platonic greeting.

  The next time I kiss you, Gage won’t be a part of the equation—nor will he be in the audience. He coils his fingers into the back of my hair. I promise you a kiss that you will never forget.

  Logan and I take our seats. It takes everything in me not to offer so much as a glance over at Gage. It felt intimate what Logan and I shared, like we bared our naked souls for everyone to see.

  “Our spin.” Ellis takes the bottle and twists it softly, and it doesn’t take long before it comes to rest in front of Gage.

  My heart thumps once. A hot spear of heat splices through my stomach. Funny how just a little while ago I was about to let him deflower me right here at Logan’s birthday party, which, come to think of it, would have been the ultimate F.U. to the birthday boy in question. And now here I am, right back to doubting him—mad at him for telling Chloe the Counts would “most likely” win. Maybe there’s no reason not to trust Gage. His vision of us arguing on the beach came true. Maybe the rest will, too.

  Chloe has her eagle-eyed stare focused intently on that brown glossy tube. It’s like she’s using the power of her disturbed mind to make it yield in her favor and black magically it stops just shy of her toe before sliding over to Emily.

  I blink a smile up at Chloe.

  “Technically my foot is there.” She points without moving so we could assess the damage and verify her claim.

  Shit. It so is.

  “It’s pointed at Em.” Brielle gags on the words. “Get up, Emily, and get your kiss from one of the hottest guys on the island.” She gives an impetuous look to Chloe that suggests she might off her in the flames just for the fun of it. I’m really liking this pissy side of Brielle.

  “I take offense at the fact you’d mistrust my judgment.” Chloe stands and walks over to the boys’ circle. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear Chloe and Brielle were having a conversation cloaked in duplicity.

  Gage rises and dusts off his shorts with a look of ticked-off frustration.

  Swear to God if he kisses her—if his lips even enter the same orifice-laced airspace—I will commit a double homicide in front of a rather large audience and not deny the judicial system of the much-desired felony. I would gladly rot in prison than witness the abomination that’s about to take place.

  “Em?” Gage ticks his head for her to get up.

  “Excuse me?” Chloe comes in for the kill. “I believe the rules of engagement suggest you kiss the person on whom the bottle landed, and that”—she lowers her head seductively—“would be me.”

  Figures. Chloe plays by the rules when she thinks the outcome will plant Gage Oliver’s mouth firmly over hers.

  Gage huffs a laugh and cuts a hard look into the forest.

  “Well one thing’s for sure, I’m not a quitter.” He brushes me with his cobalt eyes—stares at me for a really long time before he continues. “But I’m also not an enabler.” He glares at Chloe. “I’m certainly not going to encourage your proactive psychosis and let you believe for a minute I would ever want to kiss you. I’d rather set myself on fire or saw off my arm and eat it than dream of touching you with any part of my body.”

  A gasp circles the vicinity.

  Holy shit. Gage just gave Chloe the finger by way of an I-can’t-stand-you proclamation that I might jot down later from memory. It’s the most beautiful poem Gage Oliver has ever written, unless of course, it’s all an act for my benefit to further propagate their malevolent relationship—which I’m beginning to seriously doubt.

  “And another thing?” Gage leans in with his hatred amped up full throttle. “I want to make it really clear to you and everybody here that any agreement you might think we had was born of your own imagination. My only intent was to protect Skyla from any demons that might be out to get her, and that, ironically, turned out to be you. The reason I ever spent time with you was to gain ground on the enemy. Those butterflies? They were to protect Skyla. Everything I ever did was for Skyla, not you Chloe—never you. So you can bury your delusions of ever having me, ever blackmailing me to hang out with you, or sleep with you. I won’t be licking the dust off your feet—it’s not going to happen. There’s nothing you can ever do to truly hurt me or the girl I love. Everything you try will fail, and I’ll be there on the day of your ruin, glad to witness your downfall. You are a liar, a schemer and a murderer. You will never have my heart or anyone else’s.”

  A deafening silence fills in the volume, as loud as Gage in all his fury.

  “You’re right.” Chloe straightens. She grows tall as a statue in her unblemished resolve. She offers a private smile before casting her dark sparkling orbs in my direction. “Everything you do is for Skyla’s benefit.”

  She walks off into the forest undeterred by his serrated words, uninjured by the projectile missiles he spewed so publically in her direction, and it makes me wonder.

  Chapter 75

  The Moustache Man

  Late in the night, or rather very early in the morning, we cuddle up in our sleeping bags by the fire—Logan and Gage as my distal bookends. We keep the conversation light, never once mentioning Chloe or the ramifications that might come from the harsh rebuke Gage delivered only a few hours ago. I can’t imagine what a verbal blow must feel like coming from the one person on the planet you profess to love. With Chloe it’s more of an obsession—a desire to own. I’m not sure if Chloe understands the concept of love and all of its complexities, including the fact you should give the object of your desire the freedom to be with whomever they please.

  I drift off to the sound of Logan and Gage discussing the tire pressure on their trucks, the double filament light bulbs they need to replace for their brake lights. Their quiet midnight murmurs lull me into a series of long, disjointed dreams. I find myself on the sea, floating, lost after a shipwreck. Logan treads water next to me, gathering debris for us to hold onto. He strategizes how to bring us to safety with a fevered speech. Gage and his sad eyes watch from the safety of a boat nearby. He calls for us to get inside, but we don’t trust him. We choose to drift rather than take the shelter, the food, the clean water he offers. Gage is the snake and everything about him is venom.

  In the morning a cool mist settles over us like dew on a field of star jasmine. Voices infiltrate the vicinity as the camp rouses out of its drunken stupor. Logan’s birthday bleeds into its second day under a trembling carbon sky.

  An entire choir of surprise and groans of discontent erupt, forcing me to open my eyes, gritty as sandpaper.

  A blur moves in front of me. I blink several times, revealing Gage still curled up in his sleeping bag and
looking over at me with a sweet smile that has the power to wipe away every transgression ever known to man.

  “Oh my gosh.” I get up on my elbow. He’s got a thick black mustache drawn under his nose that curls up on the sides like some circus castoff. He flattens out his smile and points over to my face then motions to his.

  “Shit.” I sit up.

  Logan is already mixing with the crowd, saying good-bye to a group of guys as they prepare to take off.

  “It’s doesn’t look bad.” Gage holds back a wicked grin. “You look cute.”

  “Oh God.” I bury myself in the sleeping bag. I don’t need to be psychic to know who’s responsible for the graffiti.

  “I swear you’re gorgeous.” Gage grabs a hold of my sleeping bag and drags me over to him. “Wanna go to breakfast? Come on.” He jostles me lightly until I come up for air. “We can go for a swim first and wash it off.” He traces his finger over my upper lip.

  I take Gage in. He’s so damn sweet. He fits perfectly into my life. I’m tired of giving Chloe the foothold she needs. I’m ready to take the plunge and believe every word out of this gorgeous boy’s mouth.

  “No to the swim. Yes to breakfast.”

  Brielle comes charging over, her face sporting a rather unattractive beard and large bushy eyebrows.

  Crap! I’ll hang Chloe by her entrails if that’s how she chose to desecrate me.

  “Guess who didn’t get a Sharpie facial?”

  “Chloe, Lexy, and Emily.” Their names speed out of me like a demonic incantation.

  “Ding, ding, ding.” She hands me a mirror. “You get the prize.”

  I examine the damage. A thick black circle outlines my face, a giant dot graces the tip of my nose, and for the grand finale, I’m sporting a moustache that curls up on the sides—a match to the one on Gage.

  “I guess it’s time to put Chloe in her place.” Brielle stares off into the woods a moment. “I’ll catch up with you later and we’ll do a little plotting. I have a ton of great ideas.”

  “I’m staying with Dudley, but I want to get together with you.” I’ve been meaning to spend time with Brielle, get to the bottom of that whole cash-for-friends deal Chloe wrangled her into.

  Gage helps me to my feet and we roll up our sleeping bags.

  “Ready to take off?” Logan wraps an arm around my shoulder. It feels brazen, like he’s stealing a moment right here in front of Gage.

  “Yeah. We were thinking about going to breakfast. You wanna come?” I offer. “After Marshall’s,” I add, pointing to the desecration on my face.

  Gage looks slightly wounded that I would even think of extending the offer.

  “Sure.” Logan takes me by the hand. “I’ll give you a ride to Dudley’s.”

  I don’t hesitate—just start walking with Logan. I’m not really interested in their bidding war over who gets the rights to Skyla.

  “I’ll catch a ride.” Gage wraps an arm around my shoulder. “I didn’t drive.”

  We throw our stuff in the back of Logan’s truck and hop in, with me in the middle.

  We drive through miles of fresh paved asphalt—the black tongue of Paragon unspooling itself for an eternity. It feels like this could easily be last year. That I had just arrived on the island and started going out with Logan—that Gage was here posturing with his pent-up feelings and a poem at the ready, warm in his pocket. It’s strange how life comes full circle sometimes. Funny thing is, it’s not the beginning—it very much feels like the end of a very long season in my life. It breaks my heart just to think about it.

  I look over at Logan, his handsome features that could slay a coliseum full of wild females. On the other side, Gage and his inherent dark beauty, so painfully cutting.

  For sure it’s not the end of our story. A part of me never wants it to end. I never want to hurt either one of them. But already I know this is an impossibility. Someone in this truck will suffer from a massive broken heart. And I’ll share their pain no matter who I choose.

  This is one war I will never win.

  ***

  Marshall’s estate is guarded in a fogbank so thick that I nearly kill myself trying to scale the stairs to the porch. Lucky for me Logan and Gage catch me on either side until I right myself. It’s nice like this having them to support me as I fumble through life. But I know it won’t always be this way—that this in and of itself will end very soon.

  The door sits slightly ajar, so I step in and drop my bag on the floor as I inspect a torrent of destruction that’s taken place in Marshall’s once-pleasant home—a sofa on its back, the coffee table in splinters, the large window that frames the back wall reduced to pebbles. I scan over the entry, the living room, and the great room with the piano on its side and gasp in horror. It looks like a tornado whipped through. Everything is shattered, tattered and reduced to bits and pieces. A brown rabbit hops by like it’s on a stroll in the forest.

  “Holy shit,” I whisper.

  Marshall rounds the corner from the kitchen. Three long gashes decorate his left cheek.

  “Shelly’s back,” he says with a weak smile.

  “Michelle did all this?” I marvel at the decimation of Marshall’s less than humble abode.

  “What the fuck?” Gage steps over a broken vase, the crunch of glass under his feet.

  “Michelle fell in the mirror.” Logan fills him in as he goes over to the large oval frame sitting with an air of guilt about it because it’s clearly still intact. I follow closely behind and we inspect ourselves in the glass.

  Crap. I forgot about what an idiot I look like. Logan and Gage don’t look all that ridiculous with their handcrafted stubble but I look like some long-lost hermaphrodite.

  “What’s with the ghoulish display of vandalism?” Marshall stands behind me touching his finger to his chin.

  “Chloe,” I say, poking the hard surface of the mirror with suspicion. “Why isn’t it letting me in?”

  “It determines the course of entry upon its own whims. And today”—Marshall whispers, leering over my shoulder—“it appears you need to fracture your way inside.”

  “Michelle went in?” Gage shoots me an accusatory look.

  “Oops?” I shrug, trying to wipe the guilty expression off my face. “Well, she’s not in there anymore and that’s what’s important.” Thank God. The idea of venturing in to save her wasn’t all that appetizing.

  “What happened when she got out?” Gage flexes his brows with curiosity at our math teacher. “What did she say?”

  Marshall ticks his head in disgust at Gage’s spontaneous interrogation. “She said to destroy both Olivers if they dare set foot on the property,” he sneers. “I don’t know what kind of gentleman I’d be if I didn’t adhere to her wishes.”

  “I thought you couldn’t lie.” I smack him in the stomach.

  “I choose not to,” he corrects. “Besides, she used formal names and included a few more people in her verbal rant, you being one of them.”

  “Nice.” I turn to look back at the mirror just in time to see a shadow cross over it. Something moves, a glint of wild hair, a shriveled spine, a mass of clumped flesh. “You see that?”

  “See what?” Gage squints into my reflection.

  “I did.” Logan looks right at me.

  “Wait—you have to break your way in?” I glance back at Marshall. “Sounds like a portal to the Transfer.”

  “Or somewhere else entirely.” Marshall stares into the glass as if he were looking through it. “Why don’t we ask Shelly?” He spins on his heels.

  We turn to find a frazzled Michelle Miller looking like she stuck her finger in a light socket, her olive skin covered with a layer of soot, and her hair rising toward the ceiling.

  “Shit!” I go over and help her to the couch. “What the heck went on in there?” I ask in my I’m-so-sorry-this-happened-to-you voice.

  She shakes her head, eyeing the four of us as if we were in some way responsible—well, maybe I am. OK, so I am.


  “Were there people in there?” Logan picks up her hand and kneels like he’s about to propose but we all know he’s brilliantly trying to read her mind.

  Michelle’s cheek bulges unnaturally on one side.

  “You’re safe now,” Gage whispers. “Nobody’s going to hurt you. But we need to know what you saw in there.”

  Michelle twitches and jerks in a horrific spasm. Her head yanks back violently, her face loses all color as the whites of her eyes stare blank at the ceiling.

  Michelle’s mouth pries wide open, and a dark winged creature darts out. It circles around the room in a spastic show of futility before exploding in a magnificent ball of fire.

  “Shit,” Logan says, transfixed by the bizarre sight.

  I reach down and take the demonic Fem rose from off her neck. Something tells me Michelle has endured more terror than necessary for one lifetime.

  Gage’s cell goes off and he steps over to the mantle.

  “What?” He shouts into the phone before returning. “My dad just opened every Celestra grave in the mausoleum.” He looks over at me and gives a brief nod. “Every single one of them was empty.” He turns to Logan. “We need to get over to the cemetery.”

  “What for?” Logan asks.

  “Dig for bodies.”

  Chapter 76

  No Place Like Home

  All day and all night, I wait to hear word on the Oliver’s hunt for Celestra corpses. Logan and Gage sent a brief series of cryptic texts but that was only after I hounded them. Turns out every single Celestra coffin they pop open is curiously empty. Not that there were many to begin with, according to faction records.

  I curl up with Marshall in front of a raging fire as a peal of thunder explodes outside. It’s near midnight and both Logan and Gage are exhausted but determined to go forward with their task come hell or high water—and the water started rising about an hour ago.

  “I guess I’ll go upstairs and turn in,” I say, relaxing my head on Marshall’s shoulder.