Toxic Part Two (Celestra Series Book 7.5) (17 page)

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.

“I’ll carry you in my arms.” He shuts the book he’s reading and gives a sideways glance.

“Second thought, right here is fine.” I sling an arm around his waist. Marshall plus a bed does not a good equation make. “Thank you for getting us out of the region last night.” I’ve already thanked him twice, but between getting Miller home in one piece and confirming his theory on the grave robbing Counts, I’d like to remind him of how appreciative I am.

“I could number the ways you can show your gratitude—all creative displays of affection we would both find gratifying on multiple levels.”

“Dream on.” I wonder if I’ll fall for a stupid line like that in the future?

“I will and you shall.” He gives it in a heated whisper. “Delphinius was generous enough to cast me a vision of our future.”

I spike up in a panic. “What did you see?”

“Arms and legs, and a tangle of flesh contorting in a deliciously disturbing manner.”

Gah! Disturbing is right.

“Back to the war,” I say, swiping the book from his hands and fanning myself with it.  

“Yes,” he says, running his finger down my nose, “back to the war. You must employ the strategy that you and the tragic threesome devised, however anemic it may be. It’s imperative the Sectors remain in power—Celestra, too of course.”

“Sounds like we’re an afterthought.” I pull on a loose thread at the base of his shirt, lost in a momentary bout of madness with visions of our flesh contorting in unison. It’s easy like this with Marshall. I never question what his motives are or if he’s going to turn out to be one of Chloe’s psychotic minions. He simply wants to marry me and create a super race of Sector, Celestra half-breeds—nothing more, nothing less.

“I see our future is occupying your mind.” He reaches up and gently massages my shoulders. A soft buzz fills me and I close my eyes, enjoying the sensation.

“Our future,” I whisper. It hardly makes sense coming from my lips.

“It’s nice to see you’re warming to the idea. I suppose it’s time to make a formal introduction to society.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary.” Talk about a leap in the wrong direction.

“Nonsense. It’s a privilege to shower my future bride with the accolades and attention she deserves. I can hardly wait to parade you in front of colleagues and adversaries.”

“You make me sound like a show pony.”

“More like princess—royalty. Things are going to be remarkable under our rule. Of course, our child will prosper greatly.

“Just one?” I look up at him.

“Let’s see what Delphinius thinks.”

He locks those crimson sirens on me and I can see right into his thoughts—a scene appears. It’s me lying on a bed. A bright light explodes over my head and I’m panting. Blinding pain rips through my body as a voice calls over my shoulder.
Breathe. You can do this
. I look back to find Marshall hovering by my side with an anxious look.

I turn to face him fully. We’ve shared this vision once before but I so hate the confirmation that Marshall will be present at the birth of my child. God, what if he’s the father?

“It was you, again.” I don’t bother layering it with any unnecessary enthusiasm.

“It was me—wasn’t it?” His lips curve into a wicked smile. “It looks to me that unto us a child will be born. It’s what I’ve always dreamed of.”

Good God.

I lean against him and close my eyes an infinitely long time. I fall into wild and treacherous dreams where hundreds of Marshall doppelgangers shoot arrows at me, and all the while, they call me mommy.

***

In the morning, a wild knock explodes at the door. Marshall bolts up to answer and before we know it, Tad is barreling in our direction.

“Get in the car. We’re going home,” he barks.

Mom trots in after him, apologizing profusely to Marshall for her husband’s erratic behavior while Baby Beau dangles helpless from her hip, his head bobbing every which way.

“Let’s go! Let’s go!” Tad claps up a storm, inspiring the baby to seize unnaturally.

“Oh, no, no. It’s OK!” Mom tosses the infant in the air and catches him. “You are unique!” She shrieks. “You are irreplaceable!”