Ethereal Knights (8 page)

“Loathed, as in hated?” She glares over at me as if I’d personally put her in this predicament—and maybe in a way, I did.

“Yes”—Barron continues unfazed by the horror on her face—“they’re also nearly extinct. Then there’s the Countenance faction—we refer to them as the Counts for short. They cover the earth like vermin, demanding money from everyone like the world owes it to them.”

“Sounds like a twisted form of government.” Skyla relaxes against me.

“Oh, they have their claws in that, too,” he assures. “They’re everywhere.”

“So why are the Celestra nearly extinct?” Skyla is catching on quickly, and she’s beginning to smell the danger.

Barron and I exchange looks.

“Because, my love”—Barron leans in to make his point—“the Counts have made it their mission to have them eradicated.”

Skyla spears me with a look. Her thoughts spin out of control, splintering into a tornado of worry, of fury, a palpable fear that makes me regret ever mentioning the word Nephilim in her presence. She darts her gaze to the four corners of the room. We’ve caged her in with the truth, and now there’s no escape. We could never undo the damage, never take back the reality she’s been a part of all along.

“Do I have a mark on my head?” She clutches onto me as if she’s afraid she’ll float away, drift into yet another reality that’s even darker than this one. “Did they kill my dad? Your parents?”

Shit.

I glance up at Barron and beg him not to do it. I’m officially putting a moratorium on any crap that flies from my mouth concerning the factions and the body count they tend to elicit.

“Yes.” Barron answers without skipping a beat. “Mostly likely yes, and definitely yes.” He looks over at her from the top of his glasses. “Once Logan’s parents produced a near pure Celestra, they couldn’t let them breed anymore.” Barron nods as though it were the most banal truth, and in our world it more than is. One; Celestra is fucking unlucky. And two; A pair of Celestra declaring their love for one another are nothing less than damned—living on the fumes of their existence until the Counts decide to pull the plug.  

“And my dad?” Skyla touches her chest. Her father’s image filters through her mind in a series of precious memories. Her love for him floods her emotions as her eyes moisten with tears. 

“He produced you.” Barron gives a solemn nod. “But there’s also the chance he was killed for his standing. You mentioned your sister doesn’t seem to have this?”

She shakes her head.
I’m pretty sure she doesn’t. I’ve tested her on many occasions, holding her hand while thinking the most outlandish things, just trying to get a rise out of her. If she can hear me, and she’s hiding the fact, she deserves an Oscar every year for the rest of her life. 

“Perhaps the Counts don’t know about you yet.” Barron looks unconvinced of this. As if he were merely trying to calm her when both he and I know this is nothing short of a lie. “But they will. They have a strong sense of smell when it comes to these things. Don’t be remiss, they will kill if they feel you’re a threat.”

“Well, I’m not a threat.” A smile appears and disappears from her lips.

“You might be.” He taps her on the head and offers a sad smile in my direction before leaving the room.

“Is everything going to be okay, Logan?” Skyla looks up at me as if she would believe anything I said. I try to figure out a way to sugarcoat the truth but come up with nothing but a stack of lies.

I touch my fingers to the soft skin of her cheek and soak in her beauty, her innocence. Everything in me wants to protect Skyla. No matter what it costs, no matter how many sacrifices have to be made, I promise to always make sure she’s safe, that she’s more than loved. But I don’t tell her that. I don’t let her into my thoughts to share the sentiment. No—the less Skyla knows, the better she’ll sleep at night. 

“I don’t know, Skyla,” I whisper, pulling her in. My arms settle around her hips as she presses her body into mine. It feels good like this, holding Skyla in the middle of the spiritual storm brewing around us.

We stand there in the morgue with its sour scents and rotting corpses, holding each other for a very long time.

“All I know is, at this moment,” I whisper, warming my lips over her ear, “all is right with the world.”

***

Skyla and I head out to the cemetery, where the grass cuts through the rocks set in longitudinal patterns. The sun has managed to break through the haze, and you can see the gravestones glittering for miles. We take a seat on the south side that affords the best view of the emerald-flocked hillside. I pull her hand to my mouth and press in with a kiss before diving into anything too deep. 

“We don’t always know who they are,” I say, trickling out just enough information. As much as I’d like to never mention it again, she needs to know the basic danger, the rules of the game—after all, having Celestra blood makes you a major player by default.

“Who else is Nephilim, besides you and Gage?”

“I just know us,” I say it hushed, like a secret, in the event those around us who are long dead and buried were somehow listening in. “There are a few people my uncle’s age. I only know this because they hold council meetings. Once in a while, the meetings are on Paragon. When you reach the age of enlightenment, they graft you in—tell you all their secrets.” I try to make light of it by wiggling my fingers. “It’s sort of the big reveal.”

“Why this certain age? They don’t trust us because we’re young?”

“Ageist bastards.” I push into her playfully. It’s easy like this with Skyla, nothing but open country, and her killer smile that makes my body quake.

“So how old do you have to be to know everything?” She wants this knowledge. She’s hungry for poison, and doesn’t even know it.

“Thirty.”

“Shut up.” She pushes her shoulder into mine.
You may as well not know anything if you have to wait all the way until you’re thirty. Thirty is practically on the verge of senility.

“I’m serious. Thirty. Most Celestra die by then. Don’t worry, you and I will make it. I have a strong assurance of this.” I pause shy of mentioning the blue-eyed sage.

“And how, pray tell, do you know?”
If his goal was to comfort me, he succeeded. It feels as though a giant casket has been lifted off my chest.
She twitches a smile, and a slight dimple forms in the shape of a perfect comma.

I can feel his name trying to wrestle past my vocal cords. I don’t really see the harm, so I give it.

“Because Gage told me.” I take in her reaction. Her face smooths out when I say his name, but I can’t tell if it means anything significant. “He knows things. That’s his gift.”

“When did he say this?” She gives my hand a gentle squeeze, prompting me to continue. 

“The day before I met you.” I push the words out slow and measured. I leave out the fact he said this was the girl, the Celestra that was going to change my life forever. Gage knew, and Gage is never wrong.

The wind sweeps away the haze and reveals the world in all its crispness. The hills and the cemetery take on hard contours that hold something sharp and dangerous in their newfound glory. The gravestones flicker with movement under the supervision of the sun like a thousand lost souls trying to get the attention of a passerby. 

Skyla leans into me.
I couldn’t think of a better place to be than sitting in a cemetery with my favorite angel right by my side.

“Me, neither.” I rub my shoulder over hers and trace out her features with my eyes. Skyla is a jewel, so rare and beautiful that a part of me is afraid for her—of her.

I press my lips over hers, and every cell in my body sings. Her tongue swipes softly over mine, and I reciprocate the effort. Then something in her shifts, and she’s hungry for me in an all new way. Skyla dives down over me with a passion that lets me know Gage is far removed from the picture. Her mouth can’t get enough as she pours out all her affection for me.

We kiss for weeks while the cemetery flashes its approval, lighting up like the Las Vegas strip at midnight as the markers of those long departed spasm in the sun.

This is bliss. This is ordained from above. I can feel it.

Gage was right. Skyla and I most definitely have a future with one another. We’re going to live to a ripe old age, together.

Happily ever after starts right here, right now.

Gage

In the late afternoon, the bowling alley has a rhythm all its own—the whir of the balls rushing the lanes, the whack of the pins, the measured laughter sprinkled in like a chorus. Logan struts by, emanating my least favorite sound on the planet, his happy-go-lucky-I’ve-got-Skyla-under-my-thumb whistle.

He leans in, snatches the glass cleaner from between my legs, and pops up beside me with that shrill sound still flying from his lips.

“You mind?” I say, slamming the register shut.

“Sorry about that. Next time, I’ll just knock you out of the way. But it’s more action than you’ve had in a year, right? So you should probably thank me.” He smears it with a loose shit-eating grin.

“Yeah, right.” I fold my arms across my chest. I suppose he’s quantifying Chloe as action, although nothing ever happened there.

Logan tries to circle around me, but I block his path.

“So how’s she taking it? The fact she might be a Celestra.” I whisper in the event someone hears. Just mentioning the word Celestra is like grabbing a tiger by the tail. The Counts love to smear Celestra blood around with the bottom of their shoes.

Logan darts a quick glance past my shoulder.

“She’s confused,” he whispers. “Results aren’t in yet but I still feel the need to take her down that road slowly. You know—keep her on a need-to-know basis or her head might explode. So don’t go blabbing anything off. I need to keep her safe.”

“So what’s the plan?” I’m pretty damn sure I’m not a part of it, but I’m willing to listen to how “he” plans to protect her and which body part might be involved.

“The plan is to keep her busy with the task at hand.” He taps his chest while that signature lewd grin takes over.

Figures—condoms are his first line of defense.

I cast a glance at the floor.

School starts in a few weeks, and by then, Logan and Skyla will have more than cemented their social standing as a couple. The door is quickly closing on any chance I might have with her. I should just tell him she’s the girl from my visions and mention the fact he might want to back the hell off, but something isn’t sitting right with me.

“Hey, you okay?” He rattles my shoulder like he’s trying to wake me from a bad dream. Little does he know, he’s the one who’s morphed into my worst nightmare.

“I’m great—just did one too many push-ups today gearing up for the big season. I think first games against East.”

“We’ll kill ‘em.” He looks past my shoulder. “Bree better show soon. She was supposed to start fifteen minutes ago. I’ll cover the shoes until she gets here.”

“You do that. I’m off the clock, boss. I’m out of here.”

“Go for it.” He socks me in the arm just enough to make it hurt. “Don’t worry about the game. We’re destined to win. Remember—when the Olivers go after what they want, they always get it.”

Logan jumps over the counter with a whistle on his lips, and I shake my head at how quickly everything’s falling to shit.

I wanted to say, what happens when two Oliver’s want the very same thing?

What then, genius?

***

Outside, it’s hotter than an overheated engine. I lean up against the truck and give a sharp whistle for Nev. It takes a minute for his dark plumes to cover the sky, gliding across the vanilla expanse like a primitive-looking kite. I flick my finger in the air and hop into the truck. I don’t know where Skyla Messenger is on this island, but I’m sure as hell about to find out.

Nevermore leads me down the main stretch of highway with traffic backed bumper-to-bumper, no thanks to the endless roadwork Paragon seems to demand.

All of those dreams—the endless visions cycle through my mind. Skyla and I holding hands, rolling around on a black sand beach, Skyla dressed as a French Maid, kissing me like she means it—the courthouse scene where the judge pronounces us man and wife. That’s my favorite, outside of the juicier ones that double as porn. Nevertheless, I like the idea of ending up with Skyla—Skyla as my wife one day, in the not-so distant future.

A horn goes off behind me, and I scoot through the intersection, following Nev all the way to the mall.

“Mall, huh?” I say, pulling into a parking spot near the front. I couldn’t think of a better place to “accidentally” bump into someone.

I get out of the truck and watch as Nev loops around the food court. I never did appreciate the fact it was an outdoor mall, since it usually rains twenty-four seven, but for today’s stalker-esque purposes, I couldn’t think of a more brilliant design.

I navigate my way through the sparse crowd and spot them sitting at a table.

And there she is. Skyla sits with Brielle beneath a big umbrella, playing with the cup in her hand. Every now and again, she glances around with a nervous look.

Perfect. As if Brielle hasn’t spooked her enough with all that talk about Chloe, Logan had to join in on the fun and let her know she’s got a bull’s-eye on her back. I don’t need any test results to let me know she’s the Celestra I dreamed about for Logan. Too bad for him our dream girls are one in the same—I know for a fact that she ends up with me.

I duck behind an overgrown plant and watch as Nev oversteps his bound by landing too close to her.

“I see her, dude—split,” I whisper, but Nev doesn’t twitch a feather. Looks like Nev has decided to hop on board the freak-Skyla-out express.

Maybe it’s a good thing. Maybe she needs someone around who can calm the storm—someone who has no intention of rocking the boat—like me.

Okay. Here it goes. A flood of nerves bum-rush my stomach. I feel like I should be hitting the nearest restroom, definitely not continuing toward Skyla and Bree, but my feet won’t stop moving. I bypass a swarm of kids running through the fountainheads that shoot out of the concrete. The water spouts to life behind Skyla like she’s some ethereal princess, and I’m betting she is.