Toxic Part Two (Celestra Series Book 7.5) (31 page)

Gage yanks the demon-possessed Count off me and she goes ape shit all over him. She picks him up and tosses him into the woods a good fifteen feet away as if he were a toy.

Shit! She’s a monster—a Count jacked up on superpowers that my mother may or may not have gifted her with for just this occasion.

She’s out for blood—it’s her or me.

I sway on my heels, still reeling from the after effects of the blunt trauma she inflicted.

This girl, this Emily lookalike, picks me up by the throat and lands the two of us in the lake. She pushes us out until my feet no longer reach the soggy bottom.

“This is for Countenance.” She says it sweet as if it were a sentimental dedication before kneeing me in the gut like she were stomping out a fire.

The wind expels from my lungs. She snatches my hair at the nape of my neck and dunks my head under as I continue to struggle. Water fills my throat, and I gag and wretch, ready to vomit from the bite of rust infiltrating my senses.

  I promised Logan I wouldn’t die. His image rests over my mind, my heart—indelible, etched in stone, nothing but blood and bone.

I reach up and seize her by the shirt, pull her under and wrap my legs around her chest like a millstone. My fingers knot up in her hair, and I twist her neck—turn it until I feel a pop vibrate through my arms. According to the orator, death isn’t good enough. She needs to bleed. I claw a line up her neck so powerfully deep I shave her down to muscle in one brutal motion.

She evaporates to nothing—and so do I.

Chapter 94

Looks That Kill

Gage and I blink back into the butterfly room, dazed by the prospect we added tally marks to our personal body counts.

My phone goes off. It’s a text from Marshall.

Congratulations Ms. Messenger. You’ve won a region by your own hand. Your mother is beaming with pride. I’ll expect your company in the morning.

“We did it,” it expels from my lips clouded with grief. I pull Gage down into a warm, sultry kiss, forgetting all about the condom, the fact Gage might still be hiding things from me. For sure I’m not giving myself to him. I don’t want the night I murdered for my faction and the night I had sex with Gage to be inextricably linked forever.

My fingers weave slow circles through his hair as Gage caresses me with nurturing comfort kisses.

With Gage it would never be just sex. It would be tangible love, exploratory passion—ecstasy in action.

I pull back and examine him with the weight of a killer in my heart and the killer is once again me. 

“Everything in me feels bad,” I say.

“Death is a horrible thing.”

“You think the Counts will resurrect them?” But really I mean her. The one I laid to rest by my own hand.

“I’m sure they’re in line, as are those Celestra.”

“Maybe it’s best Noster pulled out.” I breathe into his hair. “I don’t think you should participate anymore. It’s too dangerous. You’re risking too much.”

A palpable silence fills the tiny space.

“You can’t stop me,” he whispers.

“They won’t resurrect you.”

“They won’t resurrect Logan, either.”

God, he’s right. If Logan dies, it’s game over, just like Gage.

I wiggle down in his arms and look up at him. Just being near him takes my breath away.

“What’s on your mind?” He drops a kiss over my temple.

“I want to apologize for going off on you in front of my family. That was horrible and disrespectful.”

He glances at the wall and shakes his head. “It’s OK.”

“It’s not OK. I was confused about what Marshall was telling me and then I saw your hand brush up against Chloe’s when she was passing you the water and I lost it. I can’t for the life of me stand the thought of you with that witch in any capacity. It makes me insanely jealous.” I secure my arms around him and bury my face in his chest. “It kills me to think of you with anybody else.”

Gage runs his fingers through my hair before gently lifting my chin.

“I feel the same way about you,” he says as moisture glistens in his eyes, “and so does Logan.”

“Great,” I whisper, touching my cheek to his, “I feel like crap.”

“Don’t. I’m betting something happens soon that changes all our lives forever.”

I lock eyes with him.

“You know something.”

His expression grows all together serious as his features dim to pitch.

“Something.”

I’d ask what, but a part of me doesn’t want to know, especially not after my mother had that cryptic conversation with Logan in the Elysian Fields. I’m still not sure what it means that our paths will part for a while then converge again. And where does Gage and those flaming visions we shared of ourselves fit in all of this? Damn it to hell if I know.  

But I still trust Gage. At least I still want to. Just because Emerson nailed the fact he had a condom in his pocket doesn’t mean anything. For all I know, it might be the proper storage compartment for all things prophylactic. It might be the very thing that boys are taught in school—some code of ethics in gym or boy scouts on how to protect themselves from wayward vaginas.

Perhaps the things he’s keeping from me are perfectly boring, like the fact he needs to change the tires on his truck or whether or not he should get a haircut. Although, I hardly think those things will change our lives forever. 

I spend the night in the warm comfortable arms of the one I think I can trust.

But I see those mysteries lying in wait, like a snake in the grass.

I’m pretty sure I can only avoid them for so long.

***

In the morning the dull glimpse of sunlight blesses the fog outside my window, heavy and pale like a fallen halo.

I clean up Emerson and put her in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. She looks totally cute and normal—not dead at all, so I invite her to have breakfast with the fam.

Downstairs, Mia and Melissa are busy scrambling eggs and burning bacon, which smells equally as heavenly as unburned bacon. Chloe and Ethan share their post coital bliss by way of looking and smelling skank as possible. Drake and Tad are going over a stack of paper bullshit that probably has something to do with gases forming in their digestive tracts and how they can market it to the free world.

Everyone is already noshing on Mia and Melissa’s creations sans Mom, who sits in the family room quasi defiling someone else’s child. On second thought, I probably should have debriefed Emerson on the oddities of said fam, but I negated my responsibility as a good hostess and simply landed her in the shark tank dripping with pints of fresh life-giving blood.

“Good morning.” Mom does a double take. “Skyla, aren’t you going to introduce us?”

“Everyone, this is my friend Emerson.” I stop shy of saying Kragger in the event the Landons are aware of the fact Arson’s daughter with the same face and moniker passed away a few years back.

“So nice to meet you.” Mom coos over the baby as he securely suckles off her faux breast.

Drake exams Emerson with great interest while lapping up a bowl of cereal. “Brielle says you were like dead or something. You run away?”

“Nope—dead.” Emerson doesn’t bother to spice up the truth with either euphemisms or enthusiasm. Instead, she makes herself at home and goes over to the fridge to inspect its meager offerings.

“I have to say you have gorgeous hair,” Mom boasts. “It’s the first thing I noticed. It’s so shiny and smooth. I’d love to know what kind of shampoo you use.”

“It was a leave-in treatment.” She hardly cuts a smile as she cracks open a diet soda.

Chloe strums the pads her fingers across the counter while eyeing Emerson as if she were a predator.

“So how long did you leave it in?” Chloe’s question might seem harmless on the surface but her voice holds a challenge. “Like three years?”

“The same amount of time I let my enemies go free.” Emerson hacks her to pieces with just one look.

Tad scoffs at the paper Drake is busy shoving in his face. “We need new ideas for the Gas Lab.”

“Air and coffee aren’t enough?” I ask before putting in my usual order with the girls. “Make it two or four,” I say, thinking of Emerson. I’m pretty sure not eating for several years can really ratchet up an appetite.

“
Flavored
air,” Ethan corrects with a mouthful of food. “Thirty-one flavors of air to be exact.”

“Very original.” I’d ask, flavored with what, but truth is, I’m afraid.

Knowing Ethan I’m betting there’s already one in the works called “Sweaty Sex with Chloe,” or “Killer Sex.” Either way, it’s disgusting.

“Spoke to that Kragger guy last night.” Tad makes a circle in the air with his fork. “Talk about your freak show.”

Emerson’s eyes widen. It’s the closest thing I’ve seen to an emotion since she’s arrived.

“He’s mentally unstable.” Tad espouses his armchair psychology in the presence of said mentally unstable person’s long-dead daughter. “I bet me and the boys end up running all the stores on the island by Christmas. Heck, I might even get that loon to sign over the deed to his house if I play my cards right.” Tad barks out a belly laugh while Emerson needles him with her death spears. She postures as if tackling him were a real prospect.

“We should sell knives on the side,” Ethan offers his illogical advice. “The ones that cut through pennies and shit.” His eyes linger over Emerson—run up and down her body while molesting her with his carnal wanderings. Chloe butts into his shoulder, hard, with a look of discontent. Does she really expect a devoted relationship after unzipping his birthday suit with a knife?

“Oh!” Mom waves her hand with excitement. “I got my milk donor to agree to sell at the store. She’s very excited about the ice cream and cheeses. That’s the new thing all over France.”

I scoff at Mom’s spectacular level of insanity.

I’m pretty sure human boobs were never intended to stray into the dairy business.

“What do you think, Chloe?” Emerson leans her elbows onto the counter. “Do you think people should barter their bodily fluids in exchange for cold hard cash?”

I bet that’s how Chloe sponsored her
friends for Skyla
campaign.

Chloe narrows her steely gaze over Emerson. She galvanizes her hatred and fear all rolled into one.

“I think,” Chloe starts, “helping someone get something they otherwise could never have is a beautiful thing.”

“And when it hurts them?” Emerson glowers. “When all of your so-called good intentions poison them—and they wind up dead?”

“Sometimes things happen.” Chloe doesn’t waver.

“Sometimes they do.” Emerson plucks at her fingers.

I smell some serious payback in the works.

“Accidents happen,” Emerson hums.

Second thought, I smell a serious “accident” in the making.

The two of them shoot hate-filled beams at one another. I’ve never seen Chloe so challenged before, so taken aback by a show of force.

“Yes.” Chloe gives a morbid nod. “Accidents do happen.”

It’s a total kill or be killed atmosphere. I’d better hand deliver Emerson to the Kraggers before Chloe hand delivers her to the yard in the form of mulch.

Drake stiffens at the strange show of bravado. “Are you two like on something?”

Mom sucks in a lungful of air and plucks the baby from her third nipple, leaving him to squirm and gyrate unnaturally. The short auburn hair on his head wafts in the breeze, soft as down feathers.

“Oh dear God up in heaven, forgive me.” Mom pants as she places him over her shoulder and runs in a spastic circle. “It completely slipped my mind that this woman, whom I don’t even know, might be under the influence of some chemical substance. She could be poisoning the baby and I’m party to it.”

“For God’s sake,” Tad crows. “I bet you’ve just funded her reefer habit for the next two years.”

“Never mind that.” Her voice spikes clear and high. “Help me get him to the emergency room. Oh God.” Mom is in a clear panic as she hustles around collecting bottles and formula, shuffling diapers into a large bloated bag on the floor. “That E.R. is a germ emporium, and we could be stuck there for hours. God knows what the baby will come home with.”

Tad throws on his jacket. “Pretend to faint, Lizbeth,” he advises. “That’ll move us to the front of the line.”

They zip down the hall and out the door, leaving the freshly packed diaper bag in their wake.

“Wait!” I run out after them and catch up with Mom on the porch.

“Thank you.” She snaps it up and hikes it over her shoulder.

“I’m going to see Dad.” I whisper so Tad won’t hear. “Are you going to stop by?”

Her face pinches before smoothing out in a sad expression.

“Honey, that was just a dream. None of that was real. Get some rest, OK?” She runs her fingers over my cheek before rushing to the minivan.

“It wasn’t a dream,” I call after her, but she doesn’t listen. “People don’t share dreams.” Unless of course, you’re Logan.

Figures. Mom’s shock over Demetri put her in a hardcore state of denial. Obviously, she’s too enthralled with the prospect of having a spare penis around to paint him as the villain in her life. I wonder what Demetri would do if he knew we outted him to his precious Lizbeth?

A small pink duffle bag sits next to the door and catches my attention. A note is pinned to the side.
From D. Edinger
.

I pick it up and unzip it.

“Oh my God.” It expels from me in disbelief.

An entire array of leather straps and buckles, the very kind they use down in the tunnels fill the small tote. I do a quick inventory of the sexual perversion—a long leather leash, a whip, a collar with metal spikes—nothing but a bunch of S&M crap.

It’s like he’s brazenly threatening me with some sort of demented captivity. 

I suppose I got my answer.

If I thought brining Emerson back was enough to keep my treble open, I’d better think again.

Chapter 95

Nature Verses Nurture

A somber sky boils up above in a rainbow of muted colors. A deep siren of red tints the underbellies of the pregnant clouds, reflective of the evil that’s overrun the island. Paragon laughs in the face of the seasons. It sinks us in mire, powders us with fog from dusk till dawn, dressing the sky in an ashen canopy of defiance. It is the wound of the world, the place where God weeps over the sorry state of humanity, grieves the fact he ever made such vile creatures worthy of contempt—creatures who eat evil for breakfast.