Toxic Part Two

by Addison Moore

  “Just get rid of it,” I hiss.

  “I can’t. I’m tied up at the moment forming the guest list for our engagement party. Word on the golden streets is, the Soullennium is rife with envy and gossip. Tsk, tsk, it brings shame to the Kingdom. The quicker the celestial scene sees you for itself the sooner the jealousy can properly set in.” He gives a sly look before evaporating into thin air.

  “Marshall,” I shout, but it’s too late, he’s gone.

  Michelle steps out of the shadows, shaken and staring at the dead space he left in his wake.

  “He was just here.” She grabs a hold of her temples and lets out a mind-numbing scream.

  Shit.

  Can this night get any worse?

  The phone buzzes in my hand. It’s a text from Logan.

  Counts just voted. Sorry Skyla. Treble has been overturned.

  Just craptastic.

  Chapter 79

  Heads Up

  The pale fog cycles and churns as the monstrous creature, Cerberus himself, zips around the yard, scattering people in droves like pigeons. It charges up the porch and into the house where more howls of terror ensue, followed by the draining of bodies who had the iron stomach to handle the ripe scent of vomit.

  The faint sound of glass breaking followed by the crash of random things of great heft, rain down from inside. Just fuck. Chloe and Ethan have reduced the house to rubble in less than an hour.

  Gage heads inside armed with one of Drake’s baseball bats. He looks ready to beat the living shit out of the Fem busy destroying the Landon residence when little does he know I’ll be blipped out of existence soon.

  “Can you believe this?” Brielle shakes me by the shoulders. “That thing just bit Emily’s face off!”

  “It did?” Shit. This is worse than I thought.

  “Not really, but she’s totally got a bloody lip,” she says vindictively.

  “Yeah, well, guess who’s going to wish she was lucky enough to be around to watch someone steal her boyfriend?” I don’t realize that it comes out like a threat until Brielle cowers as if I were about to strike her. “Me,” I jab my thumb in my chest. “The Counts are about to take me hostage and it’s all stupid Chloe’s fault.” To say I hated Chloe, that I wished Cerberus would eat her alive, chew her face off with all three of its razor sharp jaws would be an understatement. I don’t care what Gage’s vision says about the “future me” begging to preserve Chloe Bishop’s life. If it’s the last thing I do before I officially get wiped off the map, I’m going to kill the wicked witch of West. That protective hedge dangling around her neck doesn’t stand a chance.

  “Are you shitting me?” Brielle jumps in a show of agitation.

  “Nope. And now she’s going to pay.” I stop shy of tracking down the blemish on my existence to add, “Just like she paid you to buddy up with me.”

  Brielle slaps her fingers to her mouth. “Skyla!” She snatches me by the arm and pulls me in. Her eyes squint with a viral desperation. “I swear to you, I’m sorry I ever took a penny. I would have been your friend no matter what.”

  I shrug like it didn’t matter, but the truth is it feels like I just slit the throat of our relationship and now here we are, watching it bleed out.

  “Look,” I say, gently pulling my arm from her grasp, “it doesn’t matter anyway. I’ll be gone soon.” I glance back at the crowd simmering around the periphery for any signs of my nemesis. “And so will she.”

  “Let me do this.” Brielle sharpens her features like she means business.

  “Whoever finds Chloe first”—I shrug— “more power to her.” I speed past Brielle because I’ll be damned if I’m going to deny myself the thrill of taking down my least favorite adversary.

  I push my way inside the house, completely unfazed by the fact there’s a psychotic mythological creature running loose on the grounds—hell, Chloe is a psychotic mythological creature running loose on the grounds.

  I snatch a long kitchen knife from the stash of cutlery my mother keeps embedded in a chopping block high on the sink.

  The dining room is trashed, the china cabinet is split in pieces, mosaic glass and pottery are spread over the stone floors like confetti. In the family room, there’s a long gash in my mother’s prized three-piece sectional with its dual reclining seats and convertible cup holders. Tad is going to shit his intestines out all over the floor when he sees this mayhem.

  A swarm of bodies line the walls. A wasted boy sleeps in his own vomit on the carpet while some couple from East makes use of Ethan’s glow in the dark party favors on Tad’s favorite chair. A terrified crowd starts to build in the living room again.

  Gage comes trotting down the stairs and heads straight for me.

  “He went up to your Mom’s bedroom and ran right through the wall.” Gage points wild-eyed at the concept.

  “You see Chloe anywhere?” I ask unfazed by the Fem’s abrupt departure.

  “She’s in your room—”

  I don’t wait for Gage to finish. I propel up the stairs, hopped on adrenaline and a serious lack of time as I burst through my bedroom door.

  Carly Foster, Carson Armistead, Emily, Nat, and Lexy, all cower in terror of Cerberus, their worst nightmare, while Chloe stands with her back to the door as their self-appointed fearless leader.

  I don’t hesitate. I swing the blade, quick and swift—and to my surprise her head flies right off the base of her neck. Her decapitated body stands erect for several seconds while a geyser of blood pumps into the air before she collapses at my feet.

  “I did it.” I pant, marveling at the fact I actually managed to lop off her prime appendage.

  “Shit!” Gage explodes from behind—but before I could turn or move, a black haired beauty walks out of the bathroom looking an awful lot like Chloe freaking Bishop.

  “Oh, shit.” I sniffle. I glance down at the severed head sitting perfectly centered on my desk, using my laptop as a pillow.

  I did manage to lop off a head—only tragically it didn’t belong to Chloe. It belonged to Michelle-been-to-hell-and-back-Miller.

  ***

  It all happens so fast, the body Gage cradles like a ragdoll, the bloodied head he shoves in my chest for safekeeping—him blipping us over to Marshall’s quicker than the blink of an eye.

  I set Michelle’s bloodied head down on the island in Marshall’s kitchen and gape at it like a thing of horror. I did this. I was the monster at the party tonight. It wasn’t Cerberus—it was me.

  “Good God up in heaven!” Marshall’s voice booms through the marrow of his haunted estate with a viral intensity. “Get her to the table.” His baritone vibrates through the cookware dangling from the ceiling. “Grab that,” he barks, pointing over to the bloodied globe that is Michelle. It’s only then I notice I’ve inadvertently set her down on a flat silver tray with metal leaves that protrude as handles. I make my way over to the dining room with Michelle staring blankly into my chest, nothing but the whites of her eyes gazing out, her hair completely congealed with blood on the side.

  Gage lays her body along the length of the table, and I place her head down in the middle. Gage blips out of the room reappearing with Logan, then Dr. Oliver in tandem.

  We all sit there for a moment in shock just staring at Michelle Miller’s head on a platter, wondering how the hell the night went so wrong so fast.

  Michelle is dead and I’ve killed her.

  I swallow hard at the concept. This is an entire lifetime of pain and suffering I’ve caused her family, not to mention the horrific trauma I’ve inflicted on the friends unlucky enough to witness the event. For me, it’s a prison term in the least. If I wasn’t known as the decapitator before, I will be now. I’ve pretty much solidified that nickname along with a life sentence or two. This was an unprecedented level of recklessness on my part and now I was going to have to pay. I accept that, but I still very much feel the need to off Chloe.

  “What in the hell are we going to do?” Dr. Oliver asks, white wi
th shock.

  “We’re not going to let her die, that’s for damn sure.” Marshall rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt. “Ezrina!” He roars. “You.” He points at Dr. Oliver. “We’ll need three vials of the venom at least. Be gone.” He snaps his fingers and Dr. O disappears without the aid of his teleporting offspring.

  “Michelle is going to get the venom?” I say momentarily confused by the order.

  “What the hell happened?” Logan wraps his arms around me from behind and nestles his head next to mine. We stare out in disbelief at Michelle’s grey features, her dark blue lips sunk in a pout.

  “I…” It occurs to me there is no justification for slicing off anybody’s principal appendage, and well, not even Chloe’s. It was a stupid idea. I’ll forever be a fugitive on the planet, people will be looking for Skyla Messenger, homicidal maniac, when in fact, I’ll be having the blood drained from my body in some demented dimensional plane. And my sisters thought their so-called friends made fun of them now—wait until they hear the playground chants constructed around my newfound manslaughter fame.

  “She thought it was Chloe,” Gage interjects. “There was a Fem running around in the shape of Cerberus—everything was insane. She was just trying to protect herself.”

  Not quite the truth but I’ll go with it as a bargaining ploy if I have to.

  Marshall simmers in my direction. “I’ll have you know my bailouts are far and few between when death is issued.” He settles a bevy of supplies down at the far end of the table: a bowl of clean water, an entire stack of lemon yellow kitchen towels, a butcher knife the size of a watermelon.

  Ezrina appears with a metal tray full of medieval tools fresh from the Transfer.

  “Pretty,” she says upon inspection. She grabs Michelle by the hair and flips her over, judging the intricacies of the veins and arties neatly severed at an even length. “Clean,” she says to no one in particular.

  Dr. Oliver comes in dazed from the kitchen with his shaman suitcase and holds it up to Marshall. “All here,” he says, pausing shy of Ezrina with the heart-stopping attention she commands.

  The scent of clotted blood, thick as rust, clouds the air.

  “Lay her down,” Ezrina instructs and points to the floor.

  “I’m afraid I don’t keep house quite the way you do,” Marshall says, arranging his dining room chairs in a tight row, long enough to accommodate a body. “There are all sorts of staph waiting to descend. Lie here Skyla,” he says rather nonchalant.

  “What?” Gage, Logan, and I gasp in unison. It’s sort of a lovely bond since we’ve never accomplished that particular feat before. Who knew a beheading would be the unifying event we so desperately needed.

  “Skyla.” Marshall darts a scowl at me. Dear God, he’s even more cuttingly handsome with a pissed-off look on his face, and right now, I’d rather focus on just about anything than Michelle Miller’s head on a platter, especially since I put it there. “We’re going to save Shelly. Does this please you?”

  I give a furtive nod.

  “We’ll need the blood of a Celestra to make this happen—a complete transfusion. Do you understand where I’m going with this?”

  Shit.

  I nod, a little less enthusiastically this time.

  “Lie or sit, it doesn’t much matter.” He inspects the needle Dr. Oliver hands him. “Regardless, I foresee you passing out in the end.”

  “So, like, you’ll just need a vial or two, right?” I try to back up but Logan has a death grip on me.

  “Oh, no.” Dr. Oliver looks up from over his glasses. “We’ll need six to eight pints at least.”

  Gage inches his chin back. “That’s all the human body can store.”

  “Precisely.” Dr. Oliver nods into his genius. “You might want to get her a blanket. She’ll be cold once we drain her.”

  Shit!

  I try to shake Logan’s arms off me so I can make a run for it, but he’s turned into a vice grip.

  “I’ll be here.” His features soften into me. “You don’t want Michelle dead, do you?”

  “No.” Well maybe on occasion, but not particularly this one. Logan moves me toward the homemade gurney and Ezrina yanks me in. She pulls my hand down flat on the table and her face contorts in a grisly quasi-smile.

  She lifts a knife up over her shoulder as if to threaten me and it takes a moment to realize Ezrina’s blood draw method may not be as orthodox as the one administered by the Counts. She brings down the blade with a horrific velocity and my hand jumps to the other side of the table.

  Oh fuck.

  I suck in a sharp breath. My entire person enlivens with pain.

  “Holy shit!” Logan cries, holding me up by the waist as my knees give way.

  Ezrina drains my arm into bowl with what looks like an aquarium pump running bubbles through it.

  “Oh God,” I bleat. The floor gyrates. The ceiling spins a kaleidoscope of grey. Ezrina presses my flesh from the elbow down like squeezing a tube of toothpaste.

  I catch sight of my severed hand abandoned at the edge of the table, and the room begins to fade.

  “Skyla.” Gage presses his face to mine before the whole world disappears in a thunderclap.

  When I come to, I’m lying on Marshall’s couch staring at Michelle who sits opposite me. She’s wearing the most unfashionable red and white-blotched scarf that looks like it came straight from the butchers, and with startling clarity, I remember exactly just who that butcher is.

  “Skyla?” Marshall comes in. “Shelly is healing well.” He gives his signature peaceable smile that he pulls before everything officially goes to shit. “You’ll heal soon enough, but first, you’ll feel a little pinprick.” Marshall jabs a hypodermic needle right through my jeans and pushes in a Molotov cocktail into my ass, engineered to bring me a masterful amount of pain for the next several hours.

  I open to mouth to let out a cry but lack the energy to scream. A fire rips through my bottom, shoots down my right leg before spasming into my chest. It’s in me, now, this poison, this toxin, surging and storming, intent on killing me. It forces my cells to pull the Celestra card in hopes to recover my supplies before I unceremoniously croak on Marshall’s couch.

  Logan swoops in and cradles me in his arms. Gage sits next to my head and pulls at my midsection until they’ve regulated a tug of war over my soon-to-be remains.

  “Enough.” Marshall intervenes and my top half lands on Gage while the rest of me bucks into Logan with passionate seizures that powerhouse through my body. This hell was brought on by my own hand, literally. I decided I knew better than fate and this is what I get for challenging its well thought out plan.

  I should bow and kiss Marshall’s feet for allowing me a get out of jail free card on what might be the very last night I exist with all human kind.

  The Counts are coming for this broken-down body while everyone I love watches me engage in a macabre lap dance over Logan’s hips, my face writhing in Gage’s crotch.

  Kill me now.

  Please.

  Chapter 80

  Nothing but the Truth, Sort of

  “Skyla.” Gage whispers my name soft as a song.

  I see Gage in my dreams, our tangle of flesh, my pale legs riding over his tawny skin, his strong hands pressed up against me. I rub my lips over the soft underbelly of his arm—his cord-like veins rope up and down, warm and pliable to the touch. I love it like this with Gage. I turn to smile at him and see Logan beneath me instead with Gage lying by his side. They ride their hands down my back, over my bare bottom until they start in on an unholy feast.

  I sit up with a start to find myself still safely tucked in Marshall’s oversized abode.

  “Skyla?” Gage kneels beside me, fully clothed.

  Marshall stands in the background while an irate Tad drills him a new one by way of an expletive riddled tirade. Mom flanks his side with the baby, trying to offer Marshall feeding instructions.

  “What’s happening?” I pant, wiping
my eyes down with my fists.

  “Someone called the cops,” Gage whispers, darting a quick look over his shoulder. “They reported the Fem, and”—he winces—“the unfortunate incident with Michelle. There may be a rumor going around about an ax murderer.”

  “Shit.” I snatch onto the couch to keep the world from spinning.

  Logan walks into the room and sets down a tray of orange juice, eggs and bacon.

  “Logan!” I grab him by the arm. “The treble…”

  “Next new moon.” He casts a glance to the floor before sitting beside me.

  “How many days?”

  “About a month.”

  “Skyla.” Mom scuttles over. “We came as soon as we heard.”

  “Yeah,” Tad growls, “try to guess how much the emergency ferry runs after midnight?”

  “Stop.” Mom raises a hand. “Mr. Dudley is kind enough to watch the baby. Let’s hurry and get down to the station. Demetri says the entire island is on alert for some lunatic running around with a butcher knife.” She presses a hand over the baby’s ear as if shielding him from the news. “I don’t want to alarm you, but they found blood in your bedroom. Do you have any idea what might have happened?” Her eyes practically cross as she digs into me with a look of concern.

  I shake my head. I’ve told lies before, plenty of them. In fact, it’s a hobby I’ve come to realize is morally reprehensible. But honestly, this is one time I think I should distance myself from the truth in a spectacular way.

  “Come on,” Tad shouts from the door.

  Logan and Gage help me to my feet, and sure enough, the poison seems to have dissipated, leaving a fresh batch of clean, pure Celestra blood coursing through my veins.

  It’s still dark outside, and the damp air spells out midnight more than it does morning.

  I glance at the time on my cell.