Toxic Part Two (Celestra Series Book 7.5) (29 page)

Mom and Dad sit on Marshall’s sofa while Candy girl bosses my favorite Sector around like her butler monkey. Needless to say, Candace insisted Marshall reintroduce himself to my mother, which of course he did.

“You call this tea?” The celestial queen balks, at the porcelain teacup he carefully set at her side. “The water I wash my feet with would taste better. Try coffee.” She bats him away.

Logan and Gage decided to grant us some privacy and bowed out of the family reunion even after I begged them not to. Logan stayed behind at the Kraggers and offered to give my sisters a ride home, so I gave him the keys to the Mustang. It’s not like I needed it with the supernatural transport. I also made him promise to bring Emerson in tow. Thinly veiled threats aren’t going to work with the Kraggers. I need to make it clear I’m the one holding the life or death reins around here.

My parents sit side by side on the couch, love struck and doe eyed, reminiscing about the good old days—the long walks on hot sandy beaches and late-night candlelit dinners after the girls went to bed.

I clear my throat in the event they forgot one of the girls was seated right here in front of them.

“I think we should cut to the chase,” I say. I think Mom would stay forever if I didn’t prod things along, not that I could blame her. Anyway, Gage and the butterfly room await.

“What is the chase?” Mom looks over at Candace with a discerning look. “Why are you here?” She pins her with an unnecessary level of suspicion.

“I’ll be prepping Skyla for the war as will her father.” Candace openly takes on my mother with a death stare.

“There are only three regions left,” I say. Isn’t she even mildly aware of the fact I could have used this prepping months ago?

“Then we should get to business.” She glowers at me with a look that suggests she might drag my ass outside right now and slap a crossbow in my hands.

My mother takes in a quick breath and examines this queen perched upon Marshall’s recliner like a goddess.

“I’ll have you speak a little kinder to my child, thank you very much,” she snaps. The baby in her arms dangles lifeless from her breast and suddenly I’m fearing for both of their lives.

“
My
child,” Candace corrects, “is a woman with great capability. She doesn’t irritate easily. Do you Skyla?” She never once takes her eyes off Mom.

“Well…” I start.

Marshall comes back with a steaming mug at the ready and shakes his head at me, imploring me not to continue.

“Bitter as you,” he says, handing it over to Candace, “like it.”

I’m sure he added those last two words for safekeeping of all things scrotum.

“Lizbeth,” my father starts, “I won’t be staying long. Would it trouble you to spend some time at the ranch?” He says it slow, his voice thick with emotion.

“You don’t have to ask, of course I’ll come—if you don’t mind this little one.” She picks up Beau’s tiny listless hand. “He’s not mine, but I wish he were.”

My father brushes her cheek with his finger and gazes at her as if she was the brightest star.

“Does he treat you well?” He’s asking about Tad.

“Yes.” Mom waves a hand in the air. “Gosh yes. It’s just sometimes I wonder if I moved too soon. I should have waited, given fate a chance to step in. I’m not sure if he was really the one.”

“He was.” My doppelganger clears her throat. “I always place the correct people by your side when you need them—when the time is right.” She looks directly at me when she says it.

We are so having a Logan-Gage-Marshall inspired conversation before she leaves.

My father starts in slow with details regarding the war, the fact the Counts have the upper hand, then eases in for the kill.

“One of the Fems—one of these creatures that are trying to overturn Celestra and the Sectors—I think it’s important for you to know he was responsible for my death.”

“Oh my gosh.” She grips her chest in horror, accidently clipping the baby.

“You know him, Lizbeth,” Candace sings like a chime. “He pursues you with a relentless vigor. He would set the universe on fire to have you.”

Did she have to paint such a tragically romantic picture?

“Me?” Mom slinks into her humility. “Who is this? Is it you?” She gapes at Marshall as if she’s seeing him in some predatory light.

“No, Mom.” I take a breath. This is it, the moment I have waited for. I can practically hear the drum roll in the background. “It’s Demetri.”

The room stills. My mother inventories her surroundings as if she’s mildly questioning if this were a dream.

“Demetri?” Mom shakes her head as if a word salad just fumbled from my lips.

“Yes.” I nod incredulously. “He offed Daddy and now he’s trying to buy your affection so he can get into your pants.” OK, so maybe I could have phrased that with a little more finesse.

“Oh, Skyla.” She averts her eyes.

“It’s true.” Candace touches her fingers at the tips, while gauging my mother’s reaction.

Mom takes up Dad’s hand and blinks into him. “He killed you?”

“He was given an order.” Dad glances over at me as if I were the one who gave it.

He means Chloe. And Chloe did so because of me. Holy shit. I’m indirectly responsible for my own father’s death. People who are indirectly responsible are totally innocent, by the way.

“Lizbeth,” my father whispers, “he was indirectly responsible.”

Shit. People who are indirectly responsible are totally guilty and should be impaled on a very sharp post.

“He was directly responsible,” I correct, with no real evidence to back this.

“I agree with Skyla,” Candace chimes. “The fire may have killed you, but it was he who set it.”

“You said he had an order.” My mother nods. “He has to follow orders. He told me so himself.”

Good God. Not only is she defending the Fenemy, but she’s embraced the disadvantages of his lifestyle.

Just fuck. If the fact he set my father on fire is an impotent means of getting her to hate him, then all hope is truly lost. Besides, Chloe gave the order. I should spill everything I know.

I perk up a little at the thought of dethroning the leech of Landon castle as faux daughter of the year.

A vision comes to me, faint and disorganized at first, then the zoom sets in and it hones in with perfect clarity. It’s me, bouncing up and down in front of Gage with excitement.

“
Yes,
” I shout, “
don’t ever let Chloe Bishop die, Gage! You hear me?
” I rattle him by the shoulders to annunciate my point.

I snap out of the hallucinatory montage.

Why in the hell would I not want Chloe Bishop to die?

I try to open my mouth to rat Chloe out to my mother as the true culprit of the Messenger family demise, but I can’t seem to do it.

Something tells me to hang onto this for just a little while longer.

I’ll let Demetri fry alone—for now.

***

The Landon residence is dark—save for a nightlight in the hall.

I steady Mom as she cradles the baby and we make our way upstairs. She doesn’t say a word in this vegetative state of disbelief. I told her to get a good night’s rest—that we could talk about things in the morning.

Nothing is ever going to be the same again. We’ve finally crested the black hole we fell into since the time of my father’s death and now the light was emerging, drawing us in. Salvation had come, an escape from the Counts, from the stronghold Demetri held over my mother. I have Morley and Arson in my back pocket, well, mostly Arson. I can’t say Morley was too impressed with the spit swap, and the way Ellis has trouble hanging onto girls, it’s no surprise he finds this insta-relationship a ruse. Anyway, my father and mother are both in town and my
real
mother, Lizbeth, finally found out she’s being played by the demon who haunts this island. All is definitely well.

I head into my room and close the door, startled to find Emerson sitting on my bed, giving one of her famous goth death stares into my laptop. She probably has like a thousand emails to catch up on.

“What’s up?” She says it bored.

“Nothing. You have a good time tonight?” I ask, plucking off my heels.

“I guess.” She doesn’t look up. The backlight from the computer gives her a bluish hue and I fight the temptation to go over and check out her not so rosy glow in detail.

“Chloe looked pissed,” I say, raking a brush through my hair.

“I own Chloe.” Emerson looks up and gleams a black smile. There’s something innately pretentious about her. An invisible dark air clouds her expressionless features, her low-toned voice that she holds like a secret.

“Nice.” I shrug. Hate to burst her bubble, but Chloe has already been called out on that whole Ethan thing, not to mention the fact that Emerson’s own death is a rather moot point right about now. “Well, have a good night. I’ll be in the attic if you need me.”

“Who’s up there?” She swoops her dark mane behind her shoulder and her pale eyes shine like stones.

“A boy that I happen to love very much.” I think he loves me. I know he loves me.

She glares in the direction of the butterfly room as if she had X-ray vision.

“He’s knows something,” she says it calm, sedate. “He’s keeping things from you.”

“Like what kinds of things?” Seriously? Maybe this is some kind of superpower unique to Emerson, or it’s something she picked up on the other side. Emerson is probably rife with all kinds of death benefits.

She shakes her head. “Don’t trust him.”

“You’re full of shit,” I flat line as I make my way over to the closet. Looks like someone’s been sipping the Chloe Kool-Aid, and I’m the one being played. “See you on the flipside.”

“He has a rubber in his right pocket.” She drones on in the same monotone voice. “He always has one handy, but he’s too embarrassed to admit it.”

I stare at the emo princess firmly planted on my mattress, not sure what to make of her spontaneous prognosticating before stepping into the closet and shutting the door. I let the darkness seep in around me as I contend with her words.

What if Gage Oliver really is hiding more than a condom?

I hate this seed of doubt. Something tells me reanimating Emerson was a very big mistake.

I would have gladly gone down to the tunnels believing Gage Oliver was the boy who would love me forever. 

Chapter 93

Pick Pocket

The air in the butterfly room is perfumed with a familiar woodsy scent. Gage sits cross-legged against the backdrop of a thousand paper wings. He looks mythological, godlike, in their presence. I’m bowled over by his onyx hair—his angelic, yet bewitching, features. The harmony and rhythm God put into him is a stunning tribute to His otherworldly craftsmanship.

Gage greets me with a magical kiss, one that says, “I love you” in so many soulful ways.

“How’s your face?” I feather my fingers over his wound. He looks glorious, immaculate. Even with this horrific show of injury, Gage is fiercely gorgeous.

“Better now.” He pulls me into his lap and loses himself in my hair.

It feels precious like this with Gage—as if I know deep down inside our days are numbered. I can see the writing on the wall. I didn’t need Emerson and her forked tongue to clue me in on the fact. But really, more than any deception he might be pulling, it’s Logan and the gap closing in on the faction war that’s about to put our love on trial.

“Tell me everything,” I say, slipping my hand up his shirt and scratching at his chest.

“I swear to you I learned the vision trick from Dudley.” He readjusts me over his lap so he can look into my eyes. “He was gutting a rabbit in his sink, babbling on about how powerful he is, and he started to talk about his favorite ability—‘show time on command.’ When I asked about it, he said it was vision distribution he could share with other people. I asked if it was through dreams and he said that I wished. He mentioned his kisses may have felt like dreams but they were in every way real.”

“Sounds like Marshall.” I’m totally relieved. “So what’s the deal?”

“He said that he believes he can share his visions to the point of commanding the prophecy to manifest itself. You can do it with your eyes or with your lips, so…” Gage leans in with a smoldering seduction and blesses me with a kiss. “I chose lips.”

“Excellent choice.” I reward his wisdom with a peck. “Marshall didn’t even realize he was selling the farm.” I coil my finger in the back of his ebony hair. Gage’s blue eyes magnify like miniature globes and my stomach melts just looking at him.

“Do you believe me?” He touches his forehead to mine.

“Yes, a million times, yes.” I try to shake loose the image of Gage brushing against Chloe’s fingers at dinner last night. I’m so ready to be done with Chloe in general. “Let’s put this all behind us and get back to being Gage and Skyla before—” I stop short of saying,
it’s too late
.

His dimples dig in—no smile.

“Before Logan comes in and tries to reclaim what he thinks is rightfully his?” Gage doesn’t look amused.

“I didn’t say that.”

“I did.” He drops a kiss to my neck. “I’m not afraid. I know you love me. I know you’ll be my wife.”

It’s this moment that galvanizes us.

“Gage and Skyla forever.” It passes through my lips sovereign and righteous like the most sound doctrine known to man.

“Gage and Skyla forever.” He grazes my lips with his teeth as we collapse in a heated kiss. His tongue flexes and darts over mine. Gage is lost in a blaze of passion, a detonation of his love waiting to blossom inside me. He pulls us to the floor and rides his hands up and down the inside of my dress. There is no question of who we are and where we’re going. Destiny is driving this train. It’s real and it’s right.

I push all thoughts of Logan out of my mind. I try to ignore the idea that my girl parts have the power to spiritually link me to a person and pursue the act of taking off his clothes with a vengeance. His jeans unbutton on command—his zipper melts on its own volition. I tug down his pants and touch on something square and rigid in his pocket.