“Skyla, she’s dying,” Marshall says it sweetly as if composing a lullaby.
“Skyla,” Logan whispers in my ear with no real pretense or judgment. I know he would support my decision either way.
“She hurt Gage.” It streams from me numb. “I watched her kill you.” I can still feel the wild pang of grief—the image of me piecing Logan together like a puzzle has imprinted itself in my mind—over my heart. “She’s done so much harm, so much evil.”
“Skyla?” Ezrina comes in close with her bloodied hands, her face curled in a snarl. “Judge and jury?”
I glare over at the old hag with her dowager’s hump riding high over her shoulders.
“Now, now, Rina,” Marshall chides. “You were present during the Salem witch trials. You, yourself, witnessed a kangaroo court. Sometimes justice needs another way to prevail.”
Gage surges in my heart, in my thoughts as though he were right here with me.
I can hear him whispering—shouting
, whatever you do, don’t kill Chloe
.
“I hate you, Chloe,” I hiss, wielding the syringe high above her chest. “I hope you rot in hell one day.” I plunge the needle straight into her heart and mercilessly push the toxin into her body.
I had better find out sooner than later why the heck I so desperately wanted her alive because God knows Chloe Bishop’s days are numbered.
Rain pounds over my bedroom window like a heartbeat. It comforts me with its nonstop rhythm. Paragon groans and creeks, moans and gasps for breath just this side of midnight as Logan holds me beneath the covers.
“Will Emma and Barron ever stop hating me?” I whisper. We decided not to head back to the hospital since Barron is standing guard over his son’s body like some night watchmen. Report from Emma was that Gage is already on the mend.
“Neither Emma nor Barron hate you.” He pushes a kiss into the back of my head. Logan warms me as he tightens his grip around my waist. “Trust me, they have other things on their mind like the state of their only son, not to mention a few issues with me in general.” He nestles his head against mine as we lay spooning, listening to the storm rage against the world as if God himself were roaring over the sorry state of humanity.
“We were in heaven,” I whisper. “Can you believe it? We saw everything.”
“I want to hear all about it. Tell it to me like you’re telling a story.”
“Are you nuts?” I twist and catch a glimpse of his pale blue features. The moon sprays the room just enough to offer Logan a wash of midnight resplendence. “It was indescribable, and you know it.”
“Then tell me about the war,” he mumbles as if I were about to tell him some kickass, rather violent, bedtime story.
“You were there.” I nestle my bottom into his stomach, and everything in me roars to life.
“I want to hear your version.” He gives a soft groan as he pushes me deeper into his hips. “What did you see? How did you feel? This was everything we were working toward, and now it’s over.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“No, quite the opposite. I’m fucking thrilled. Excuse my language.” His hand slides over my stomach. “You’ll get the sword. And it will all be finished.” He gives my ribs a little tickle. “Now tell me the story. Start from the party. You were talking to Gage and then what?”
I start in on how it all went down tonight, artfully avoiding any lip lock that may have occurred with his raven-haired nephew. I recant every last detail of the battle. Gage with his neck severed, Chloe fleeing the scene like a coward.
“And then we went to the Elysian Fields. You know the rest, the cave, Chloe, the fiery tornado. Then she hurt you.” My voice breaks, and I take a deep breath. “Anyway, Gage came back with these incredible blue wings and touched you—then the two of you disappeared. After that, Marshall showed, and he’s the one that walked me through the fire. It was weird. My entire life flashed before my eyes. You were in it.” I spin around to face him. “Remember that time in Ellis’s pool house? It was our first kiss. I wanted to give you everything that night. That was one of the memories.”
“I remember.” He rubs his thumb over the side of my cheek. “And I’m glad you didn’t give me everything that night. It wouldn’t have been right.”
“I’m glad, too.” I turn my head and bury a kiss in the palm of his hand. “I guess that’s a strange thing to say.”
“No, not at all. Go on.”
“Then we were in the throne room, my mother showed, I got kicked out on my rear—
and
you promised me that we’d happen—the end.” It expels from my vocal cords sad, gut wrenching on some level because of where that might leave Gage and even Marshall.
“Mmm,” Logan gives a slow, tired nod. “Did I have wings?”
“You did until you ripped them off.” I reach up and cup his face. “Are you quizzing me?”
“No, I just wanted to relive the night, straight from your lips.” He sneaks in a kiss, sultry and heated. “It was perfect.” He touches his forehead to mine, and I listen to his steady breathing as he falls asleep.
Logan looks like an angel, a god. His breath touches just over my chest, soft and warm. I can see us doing this night after night. Logan and I entangled in one another’s arms for all eternity. If I choose Logan, every day will be filled with the magic he delivers, the all-encompassing sacrificial love he brings to the table. And if I don’t choose Logan, every day will be covered in soot, in dross—coated with an impurity that only he could wash away. Logan burns so bright he purifies my life in his own special way.
Nope.
I definitely cannot live without Logan.
Or Gage.
Or Marshall.
***
In the morning I text Giselle to make sure all is well in Kragger hell.
The rain streams against my window, soft and lithe as a waterfall, as if someone is standing on the other side with a garden hose.
Logan stretches his arms over his head, and the muscles that rope over his shoulders define themselves in turn.
“At what point did you strip down to your boxers?” I ask half-teasing, mostly curious but, for the love of God—thankful.
“At the point it reached two hundred degrees in here. You’re a little heater, you know that?” He gives a lazy grin, looking sexy-as-hell in the process. He swipes up a water bottle floating around on my comforter and knocks it back.
I’ve been up for the past half hour watching him like some erotic dream about to unfold on my bed. I’ve already brushed my hair and teeth. I can’t imagine what it would be like waking up to someone in your bed every day. If Logan saw what a witch I look like in my natural morning state I’m sure he’d rethink his whole
choose me
stance.
“I’m not a heater. You’re just hotter than hell, Mr. Oliver.” I toss my pillow at him.
He tucks it under his head until he’s comfortable and ready to drift back to sleep.
“I think you’re hotter than hell,
Mrs. Oliver
.” His lips pull back just shy of a smile. “That will be your name one day, and you know it.” He strokes my cheek with a barely-there pass of his finger. “Speaking of Gage.” He groans as he rolls off the bed. “I’d better go and see how he’s doing.” Logan presses a quick kiss to the top of my head before pulling on his clothes.
“I’ll come with,” I say, just as I get a text from Giselle.
Mom picked me up at the coffee shop. On my way to see my big brother. She says he’s healing and that you should let him rest.
I flash Giselle’s text over at Logan.
“I’ll go and scope things out. I’ll give you a call in a couple hours.”
“They can’t stop me from seeing him.” A surge of anger rises in me over Emma of all people. I don’t know why I’ve singled her out. Barron is just as ticked as she is. I’m not sure I can blame them, though. Everything that’s falling to shit in this world, and the next, seems to be my fault.
“Nobody’s going to stop you from doing anything. I promise.” He tousles my hair as he heads over to the butterfly room. “School starts tomorrow. You ready?”
“For senior year?” I hold back a laugh. “I say bring it.”
“Oh, I’m bringing it.” He shakes his head as if I had no clue. “I’m bringing my A game, Skyla.” He comes at me playfully and tackles me to the bed. Logan pins my hands up high over my head and bounces a kiss off my lips. “Gage and Dudley will never know what hit ‘em.” He gives a little wink.
I bite down on the bubbling laugh ready to spring from my throat. Logan gets up and heads across the room.
“Sounds like a plan,” I call after him as he disappears into the closet.
I wonder if his plan will be enough. Something tells me I’ll be leaving senior year just as confused as when I started.
***
The scent of bacon melting into a beautiful deep-fried, artery-clogging promise filters through the house as I make my way downstairs.
I swear if Chloe has the balls to show for breakfast, I’ll personally give my family a demonstration of what she did to Logan by way of my fingernails. Not as efficient as the business end of a blade but ten times as fun.
I bounce into the family room on my way to the fridge. Mom is nursing baby Beau over on the couch, while Tad sits glued to the local news channel.
“
Aha,
” he crows.
“They caught the transient responsible for all the mayhem last night.” He points hard at the screen. “Told you, Lizbeth. There’s been some lunatic on the island all along.”
Poor transient.
“I talked to Emma this morning.” Mom looks up at me, ignoring Tad’s lunatic ravings. Most likely because we both know the only loon on the island is Tad himself. “She said Gage was fine. Nothing more than a few stitches and a sore throat.”
I doubt Emma was being one hundred percent truthful with my mother, but I do appreciate the good report.
“That’s great to hear. I’ll be headed that way after breakfast.”
She shoots me a look that spells out we-will-continue-this-conversation-in-private.
Now that my mother is privy to the faction war, I’m sure she has her suspicions on what might have really happened.
“Good morning, sis!” Melissa beams. She and Mia pull me deeper into the kitchen out of view from Mom and Tad. “Tell us all about our superpowers.” Melissa is serious as death as if I’ve just inflicted them with the plague. And considering they’re both Counts I guess you could say I sort of did.
Mia squeals and jumps as if she’s been waiting her entire life for this celestial morsel.
Melissa looks decidedly like Drake with her sharp nose, her broad cheeks. She’s pretty in a Tom-boy sort of way with her dark hair chopped to her neck, the severe bangs my sister inflicted on her.
“Relax, you’re not superheroes, you’re angels. And hardly angels at that.” I start to dish myself a plate of scrambled eggs. “Besides, you’ve already got the power, you just have to believe.” All those memories of Logan teaching me these things last summer flood to the forefront of my mind. “Don’t do anything stupid like hurling your teachers into a ditch. These so-called ‘powers’ can land you straight in juvie if you’re not careful.”
Mia belts out a laugh. Her blond waves don’t fare as well being clipped just past her ears. Her curls are springing every which way, and she looks insane cackling for no good reason this early in the morning.
“Are you kidding?” She balks. It’s weird that she looks so much like me when my biological mother and she are of no relation, but, then again, knowing my mother, she designed Mia to look this way on purpose. “We’re eighth graders now. We’re going to
run
that school this year. Besides, these powers are strictly going to be used to impress boys.”
“Geez.” I close my eyes for a minute. “Mom is totally going to have her hands full with the two of you.” I sail past them and pour myself a cup of coffee. “Look,” I sigh exasperated by their “powers,” and it’s only the first morning of the rest of their Count lives—“whatever you do, keep this under the radar, or else you’re going to get yourselves locked in cages in some underground government laboratory. And, in case you can’t guess—that means no Jr. High prom.”
They gasp in horror at the thought of being denied sateen dresses and carnation corsages. Serves them right for threatening all of humanity with their newfound Countenance disorder. I glance over at them, all giggles and happy dances like they just scored the superpower lottery. Little do they know that we’re diabolically-opposed enemies. Although, once I take the helm as the overseer, I’ll change all that. I plan on having all of the factions live in harmony with one another. Once I even out the psychological playing field, I’m sure the Counts will come around and embrace Celestra.
The windows illuminate, bright as noonday, followed by a roar of thunder so fierce it shakes the house right down to the foundation.
Probably my mother’s way of telling me unity is just out of reach.
I head to the breakfast bar ready to wolf down my eggs and freeze at the sight of two disheveled heads hovering over a notebook—Drake, and Emily Morgan. They both look wrecked and exhausted. I’m betting whatever happened in that bed last night had very little to do with sleeping.
Ethan, Tad’s other irresponsible seed, belches as he strides into the room.
That’s the Landon way of saying good morning, so I go with it.
“So where’s
your
other half?” If Chloe is about to saunter out of his bedroom with her usual early morning nipple erection, I’d like to be notified before the braless transgression takes place.
“Never showed.” He plucks out the O.J. and proceeds to drink straight from the carton. “You,” he barks at Drake while wiping his lips with the back of his hand. “I need your help down at the Gas Lab today. Bring your chick. I don’t give a shit which one. We’ve got a shipment coming in, and you need to unbox it.”
“What are you going to do?” Drake looks miffed by this older, surprisingly less hygienic version of himself.
“Stand around and watch. What do you think? I’m going to supervise.” He turns to me. “You can come, too. Chloe will be there, so save the drama for later.”