Toxic Part Two (Celestra Series Book 7.5) (21 page)

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.

“Three thirty?” Three thirty-three to be exact. Shit!

“That’s right,” Tad booms. “Imagine our surprise when the Paragon PD alerted us to the fact a serial killer added himself to the guest list of some wild party taking place at
our
home!”

“Oh dear.” Marshall escorts us out. “Don’t worry about the little one. He’ll be safe with me.”

“I really appreciate this.” Mom touches her chest. “I owe you something big. Oh, by the way, how did you like those invitations I had made for the party?”

“They’re perfect. In fact, if you’re available, I’m in need of a woman’s touch. I’m thinking masquerade ball.”

“That’s fantastic! Consider it done. Oh, I could think of a thousand ideas! We’ll get those little glittery masks from the party store, and paper top hats and streamers. We can have Tad dress up like a jester and have a piñata. It’s going to be wonderful.”

“Sounds thrilling.”
Paper hats?
Marshall looks over at me with disdain.
Glitter? The sacrifices I make to please you are beyond reason and apparently far beyond the borders of good taste.

I reach over and grab a hold of his arm.

Where’s Michelle?

I assume at the station with the rest of the rebel rousers who were in attendance at the slice and slaughter. Do check on her incisions. I’d hate to see infection set in.

“Skyla,” Tad barks with the charm of a drill sergeant. I head over and jump into the minivan between Logan and Gage.

My bandaged wrist catches my attention and I suck in a breath.

Its back—Marshall saved my hand.

I glance up at Logan and Gage and give a weak smile. I’d rather hack off both my hands and feet than live life without one of them in it.

Then again. I’ll be gone in a month—so what does it even matter?

***

A crowd of bodies ten deep stand outside the Paragon police department awaiting instruction. Every teen on the island and at least one of their parental units sways in the fog as the crowd slowly migrates to an outdoor amphitheater under a bed of cleverly hidden stars.

Demetri strides up, confident and cocky. He’s decked out in a long black trench coat with a fedora slightly adjusted over one eye, looking very Dick Tracy minus the Tracy.

“Lizbeth.” He shakes his head as if he were apologizing for disrupting her vacation, like he didn’t relish interrupting the rut-fest that was probably taking place and in front of an infant no less. “We’re ready to question people who were inside the house at the time of the incident. If you would all follow me.”

He leads us into the warm station, lit up with an over-bright peachy glow.

Gage takes my hand.
Don’t offer any information
.

Logan takes my other hand.
Don’t mention the knife
.

I look down at our conjoined hands. That threesome dream runs through my mind in jags and an uncomfortable smile wavers on my lips.

Skyla?
Logan rattles my hand with a look of horror.

“Oh, sorry.” I shake the image out of my head like an Etch a Sketch.

Just crap.

Demetri leads us into a conference room with a group of parents lining the back wall.

Carly Foster and her sidekick Carson sit on the end of the long plastic table. Emily, Nat, Lexy, and Chloe are on one side and Brielle, Drake, and Ethan on the other. You don’t need to understand quantum physics to know this isn’t going to end well. Conveniently Pierce—Holden, whoever the hell he is today, is mysteriously missing. Funny how he brilliantly evades the law when he, himself, is supposed to be incarcerated. Must be nice to have Counts in high places, unless, of course, you’re me.

I take a seat next to Brielle, and Chloe swiftly moves in on the other side, presumably to have some touchy feely conversation at my expense.

Chloe picks up my hand under the table just as I surmised.

You’re going to pay for everything, Skyla. I’m going to eradicate you before the Counts ever have the chance. You’ll be sorry you ever thought it was a good idea to chop my head off
. Her entire person sparkles with revenge.
A head for a head,
she says, glancing over my shoulder at Logan and Gage.
Or two, or three.

Chapter 81

Head Trip

I huff a laugh at Chloe’s threat of mass decapitation. I can totally picture her running around the island like some lunatic with an ax. The visual I had of her burying some poor unsuspecting person’s cranium in the woods behind the Landon house comes back to me and I sink a little in my seat. She was traveling from the future, and well, the future could very well be now. 

Demetri drones on over policy and procedure, while the ‘rents shake like a row of dogs at the pound on day seven. The police station isn’t the place any of us want to be at this ungodly hour. This is what happens when Ethan Landon and Chloe Bishop put in a collaborative effort to entertain the teen population of Paragon. Somehow, I should’ve figured that mythological creatures and murder would be high on the agenda.

I pluck my fingers loose from Chloe’s death grip. While we’re here I should press charges against her for being such a round-the-clock asshole and getting me into this debacle in the first place.

I lean into Brielle. “You have any insta-puke?” I whisper, eyeing the diet soda in front of her.

She reaches into her purse and gives a mischievous grin. She pulls the soda under the table and drains the magical foil packet into it. Brielle sets the can in front of me, glances at Chloe and smiles.

Chloe is way too astute to drink anything I offer. I’ll have to down the sinister syrup myself. I have a spectacular show planned in the event the bumbling detective’s line of questioning starts to grate on my nerves. Plan B is theatrical in nature, even if it is comprised mostly of regurgitating my dinner for divisive purposes.

Demetri rises like an onyx sphinx, his eyes nothing more than marbles full of smoke. “I gather you’ve all heard bits and pieces of what may have occurred at the Landon residence this evening.” He takes a seat about two feet away, then scoots in close to the projectile fun zone. I might actually get a twofer out of this and nothing pleases me more. “I suggest we go down the line and see if we can piece together what developed. Again, just to recap for those of you who aren’t privy, although there was blood at the scene, no body was recovered. There’s a manhunt underway in the woods for any kind of weaponry or God forbid, victim. We’ve received several calls of a vagrant roaming the area, an older woman, red hair.” Demetri looks down at me and casts the hint of a smile.

Hey, maybe I can pass this whole thing off on Ezrina?

“Vagrant?” Lexy coughs the word out while gawking at me. “Your perpetrator is sitting right here.”

Or not.

“Let’s not jump the gun.” Demetri tempers his words with those laughing eyes, always mocking, always believing he has the upper hand, which he totally freaking does.

Tad and Mom move into my line of vision and gape at me with matching bug-eyed expressions.

“Start from the beginning,” Demetri coaxes Lexy. “You arrived at the gathering.”

“I went with friends.” She shrugs. Her dark copper hair frames her chin and accentuates her bronzed cheekbones. “We walked in the door and Ethan was selling rubbers.” She says it sharp as if to alert the lot of us she’s not opposed to throwing anyone under the bus.