She yanks me back by the wrist. “Get the hell away,” she commands. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“Then what’s it to you if I take a look?” I charge over to the plastic bin with its lid sitting off to the side. Who is she kidding? Everything Chloe sinks her claws in has to do with me. Why would this be any different? Who knows what I’ll find inside. The last surprise I found at Demetri’s haunted estate was a room full of decapitated Fems posing as wall trophies. I’m still hopeful Chloe will be added to the disembodied collection someday.
A layer of bubble wrap sits sloppily on top, so I pitch it to the side and peer down at the contents. Ceramic statues—of people. At least a dozen or so painted in cartoon colors, dipped in heavy gloss. I pluck one out. A man. He looks like a caricature with serious frown lines and wrinkles, but I feel like I’ve seen him before. He’s dressed in a business suit and holds a newspaper in one hand. I pick up another, a woman, and she too looks vaguely familiar. I press my lips together while examining the rest of them. It’s not until I get the last one, that of a girl, do I put together what might be happening.
“This is you,” I whisper, holding the miniature troublemaker in my trembling hands. It’s in every way a replica of her highness of bitchiness. “This is amazing. Who are the rest of these people? Is that your family?”
Chloe hovers above with her arms folded defensively.
“You’re a genius,” she says it flat. “I guess you can’t get anything past Skyla the slutty sleuth. Happy now?”
“So what’s this mean?” I twist the see-through container around and find the word, discard scrawled on the side. “Discard.” I try it out on my lips.
As in discard the Bishops? I don’t get it.
“Wow, looks like you’ve been discounted,” I muse. “You think he’s going to sell these on eBay or just take them out back and use ’em as target practice?”
“Shut up, Messenger.” She slouches beside me and opens another sealed container to inspect its wares.
“Doesn’t feel so hot having someone interfere with your life, does it?” I ask. “Looks like good ole Demetri is up to his controlling mind games, and a few pieces of the big picture are no longer necessary.” I meant to let it go as a passing thought, but who am I to waste a perfectly good opportunity to offend Chloe?
“No, Skyla, it doesn’t.” She glares off into some invisible horizon. “I’m pretty damn sure no one is through with me or my family, especially not the Counts.” Her eyes glisten thick with moisture.
Well, I’ll be darned. I do believe I’m bearing witness to Chloe’s nervous breakdown. And pissed at the Counts for discarding her family? This is too fantastic to have missed. It was almost worth the pot bust itself for landing me here.
“I have to go.” She rises and heads toward the exit. “Oh and, Skyla?” She tries to hide a blooming grin. “I found your box an hour ago, smashed your entire family to bits.” She plucks something out of her pocket and tosses it in my direction.
I catch a tiny decapitated head that happens to bear my effigy.
True to life, Chloe hacked me to pieces before I ever got here.
Chapter 32
Wreck the Halls
Once Chloe leaves, I embark on a journey that doesn’t even put a dent in the breadth and width of Demetri’s cellar.
In the next room, a series of tables conjoin to create one long showcase. A miniature replica of the island stretches for an unreasonable length, decked out in a series of fake pine trees and tiny wooden houses. The schools, the library, the hospital, it’s all present and accounted for. Only a smattering of houses are scattered throughout, not every home on the island litters the supersized diorama. I’m quick to find the Landon residence and bend over to pick it up. It lifts right off the base, and to my surprise, eight miniature cast-iron figures stand two inches tall on the floor of the display. I retrieve one and find Tad’s distinct features staring back at me.
“Holy shit,” I say, scooping up the rest of the family and scrutinizing the entire Landon clan. Chloe is numbered with us. “Huh,” I whisper, setting us back down and laying the house where it belongs. I walk around the behemoth display until I hit the Oliver house. I lift the tiny home, and three figures stare back at me. There they are. Barron and Emma look impeccably like themselves. I quickly place them back and cradle Gage in the hollow of my palm. “Hello,” it comes out a broken whisper as I gaze into his beautiful face.
Wait. Where’s Logan?
I scan the vicinity, but there’s no sign of him anywhere.
Crap. Gage did mention that Logan never came home last night.
I place the dimpled Oliver in my purse and send a text out to Logan asking him where the hell he is.
My phone goes off and it’s Logan’s cell.
“Hello?”
“Skyla, this is Barron. I have Logan’s phone.”
“Oh.” I jump a little. “Is he OK?”
“I have no idea. His truck is here, his wallet, his phone—he’s all but vanished into thin air.”
I let out a little whimper.
“Well, he’s probably just light driving,” I offer. “You know, seeing the sights or doing some bizarre research that has to do with the faction war. I bet he accidentally got stuck in the future again.” And, sadly, those are all viable possibilities.
“Very well. I’ll try not to panic. I hope he’s back before too long, or I’m afraid I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” I assure. We exchange niceties before hanging up.
I spend the next two hours lifting every house on miniature Paragon off its base in an effort to find him. Just as I thought—he’s nowhere on earth to be found.
I’ll have to borrow Marshall as soon as he gets back from his meeting. It’s time to pay a little visit to the Transfer, and I’m sure as hell not going there alone.
***
I tried to get a hold of Marshall all night. At one point, I almost accidentally answered the phone when Gage called, while on route to sending another stalker-esque text to the Sector I’m trying to locate. Anyway, that travesty was successfully averted with one simple click.
It’s the morning of the not-so-great Rockaway debacle. I’m sure the planets have aligned to ensure this will be another heartbreakingly humiliating day for Skyla Laurel Messenger.
I head downstairs and find Tad hopping from leg to leg while twisting his abdomen. It looks like he’s having some sort of bizarre seizure, and I might be a little concerned if it weren’t for the fact both Ethan and Drake are starting to mimic his twitching maneuvers.
“What’s going on?” I ask Mom while plucking a banana out of the fruit bowl.
“Tad’s been studying the secrets of all the great hotdog eating champions. He’s analyzed tons of Internet footage, and he claims to have picked up some great strategies,” she says, holding out her coffee mug as though she were mocking his genius.
“So what’s the secret?” I ask. “Making the other contestants laugh so hard they pee their pants and are thereby disqualified for lack of bladder control?”
“No, no,” she corrects, “only vomiting can disqualify a person.”
“Vomiting?” Dear God this is going to be entertaining beyond belief. I might have to wear a diaper myself just to witness the event. Speaking of incontinence. “You see the baby yet?” Personally, I’m shocked Brielle is hoarding her child from anyone even remotely related to Drake.
She shakes her head. “Darla and I are barely speaking. But I did arrange a double date for the four of us tomorrow. We’re headed to Seattle for the day. It’s all going to be very romantic.” She winks into me knowingly.
“Great!” I love it when Mom and Tad distance themselves from us with an entire body of water, plus they’re taking Demetri off the island, so it’s made of win.
She glides her hand over my head with the tenderness only a mother could deliver and offers a mischievous smile. “It’s going to be magical for all parti
es involved.”
Oh, I’m sure there will be magic. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if a spell or two were already in the works. Little does she know she’s the victim of the sorcery in question.
***
After breakfast I drive over to Marshall’s. I spot Nev twirling through the virgin blue sky and wave.
Summer has come upon Paragon like a newborn—glowing and beautiful after a long internment, letting out its lusty, sundrenched cry. It’s obvious that either Marshall or Demetri have recalibrated the weather for the island-wide festivities today. How I wish I could share the heated splendor with the old Gage I knew and loved. I think today is as good a day as any to officially bury the old Gage and Skyla, and what better place than Rockaway? I could weep rivers just thinking about the irony.
After a series of brisk knocks, Marshall opens the door. He’s wearing his unearthly glow, which clues me in on the fact the Master of universal ceremonies did, in fact, crash the meeting last night.
“You look amazing.” I give him a heartfelt hug before breezing past him into the living room. He’s smiling and radiating like a star and appears to be in a good mood. Suddenly, I’m hesitant to share my concerns over Logan and his possible entrapment in the Transfer. Maybe he’s just working out the finer details of his arrangement with Ezrina? Marshall will probably put the kibosh on operation “let Ezrina suffer in my place,” so I decide to keep my lips sealed temporarily.
“Come right in.” He lays it out with a touch of sarcasm.
“Oh, please.” I groan, taking in the sights through the back window. There seems to be a whole slew of new animals in the corral, and they don’t resemble anything of the equestrian variety. A lama takeover has officially ensued. “We’re practically family. Soon, I won’t even bother knocking. I’ll just walk right in.”
“I’ll have a key made up for you at once.” Marshall doesn’t miss a beat. “As ‘soon-to-be lady of the manor,’ I don’t see any sense in you ever leaving. In fact, we should christen each of the rooms with our budding passion, if you like.” He gives a mischievous smile. Marshall seems to get off on teasing me about our so-called carnal union—at least I think he’s teasing.
“All in good time.” I press a hand against his chest. “I suppose christening at least one room will be necessary if we’re ever going to produce our lovechild.” I plan on playing up the mother of your child angle in every capacity. Even if I’m positive that both the vision and his orator friend are extremely off base, I know for a fact it’s a very good thing to have Marshall’s loyalties on my side. Besides, he’s always there for me. That’s as good as gold.
I take in a sharp breath. The words my father said to me while I was in the tunnels comes back full throttle.
Marshall’s lips hike to the side. “I’ll throw in ‘his and hers’ towels in an effort to lure you. Anything else I can do to make you feel at home?” He glides an arm around my waist like the slither of a snake. “A warm bath while sitting on my lap?” He digs his fingers into my shoulders, and my body comes to life on a whole new level. “I’ve been known to give amazing full-body massages.”
I give a slight moan before coming back to my senses. “Something to write with would be good,” I say, rummaging through my purse. “I forgot to jot something down.”
He produces a shiny gold pen, and I quickly commit to paper my father’s words. You’re as pure as gold. I draw a single line through it and correct it to read, I’m as pure as gold. It’s not until I’ve dashed the words across the page do I note the dark crimson ink and glance up at Marshall with a questioning look.
“The blood of your enemy should never go to waste,” he purrs, taking up my hand.
“The Counts hold the same sentiment.”
“So I hear.” He pauses to examine me. “Aren’t you the least bit curious as to how the meet and greet went with the celestial in-crowd?”
“Dying to know,” I assure him.
“You’ve been called to the throne, Skyla. The Master himself wants to speak with you.” His features darken at the thought.
“That’s fantastic! When do I go? I have so much I want to say. If anyone can help with the faction war—with the Celestra trapped in the tunnels, it’s him.”
“I implored him for a reprieve.”
“You what?” I take back everything about Marshall being on my side. “Why would you do that? He’s my only hope.”
“True, but appearing in his presence is a rather permanent arrangement. You cannot see God and live, Skyla.”
“Oh.” I swallow hard at the thought. “What would he do with all these crazy plans He has for me? Aren’t I the chosen one to win the war? Free the people?” It all sounds very political at the moment.
“He would simply find another—discard you from the task at hand.”
Discard. There’s that word again.
“Is that what happened to the Bishops?” I tell Marshall all about the miniature island, the houses, the people, before pulling the iron version of Gage out of my purse.
“Why would you take this?” He scoops the figure out of my hand and examines it with a disgruntled look.
“I wanted to show you.”
“Nonsense. You took it because you wanted him for yourself. You still do.” Marshall depresses the words out. “Nevertheless, you must put it back where it belongs. Let’s not add thievery to your long list of grievances.”
“Grievances? What grievances?”
“It seems your inability to win a region has more than the Faction Council asking questions. The treble was brought up. Arson Kragger and Morley Harrison aren’t the only ones whose interest has been piqued over the situation.”
“Arson and Morley?” I whisper mostly to myself. I’m pretty sure those are two Counts I don’t want to piss off.
“You have your work cut out for you. The next region must be secured with a win. As for the faction meeting, both Delphinius and I have determined it’s best if you bring up the Celestra souls that have parted and where they are now. Be sure to recount how terrible the tunnels are. Let them know emphatically that you, yourself, are willing to sacrifice everything to save them.”
I give a furtive nod. Truth is, I’m scared as hell to face the Faction Council, fight the war—save those souls. I’m starting to think maybe discarding me isn’t necessarily the worse idea ever.
“There is no discarding you, Skyla.” Marshall gives my hand a squeeze. “We must finish what we’ve started. We’re in too deep to turn back now.”
“We need a miracle,” I whisper.
“All we need is you.”
Chapter 33
Burn
After I leave Marshall’s, I pick up my sisters and head for Rockaway Point.
The late afternoon holds true to the clear summer sky. The evergreens release their fragrant oils into the air, perfuming it with their hushed magic.
I park in the overflow parking across the street from the black sands of Rockaway. The entire island has flocked down to celebrate Independence Day together, which usually guarantees a safe combination of both drama and discord.
Still no word from Logan, which has me hysterical with worry. I’ll have to do something drastic by night’s end if I can’t get a hold of him.
Mia and Melissa sprint from the Mustang in unison.
“Hey,” I shout after them, “try to get along. Stay away from boys! Remember what I told you—they’re stuck on stupid!” As if.
Both Mia and Melissa have donned baseball caps to cover their follicular setbacks. They’ve actually been speaking to each other lately, which I suppose is a progressive move away from the course of disaster their relationship was barreling toward.
I kick my flip-flops off and let my feet sink into the warm, familiar sand. Its ebony crystals glitter like diamonds across miles of shoreline.
I scan the vicinity for Logan.
God—where is he? My heart plummets out of my chest at the thought of never seeing him again. If he made so
me supreme sacrifice on my behalf, I won’t be able to live with myself.
“Messenger!” Ellis shouts through the crowd while holding a bright yellow volleyball hostage. There’s a makeshift net set out and a few people stand on either side. I can make out Chloe and Em on the opposing court while Michelle and some girls from East side with Ellis.
I jog on over and put down my beach bag, take off my shirt without thinking twice about revealing nothing more than my teeny bikini.
“Balance out the teams.” He ticks his head over toward Chloe’s side.
“No thanks.” I land next to him. My feet melt into the powder-like sand, all the way to my ankles.
“We don’t need her.” Chloe is quick to dispense.
Two of the girls from East cross the net, and we start in on the game.
I wish I could say I was enjoying the exceptional touch of sunshine blanketing my shoulders or the fact Chloe seems to miss each ball with a comedic display of clumsiness, but I’m not. I’m scanning the area for Gage like a spy on some covert mission. I can’t help but wonder if he’s looking for me or if my bizarre and somewhat disturbing PDA with Marshall finally stomped out any further desire to play with my heart.
A familiar frame catches my attention next to a series of tables laden with food and beverage dispensers. Gage. His shirt is off and he’s wearing dark sunglasses. His face his perfectly positioned in this direction and I can only assume he’s seen me.
A heavy thump lands over my head.
“Pay attention!” Michelle barks. Her dark hair is pulled back, revealing large bruise-like rings under each eye.
I pick the ball off the sand and toss it over the net. It heads toward Chloe and she dives into the earth and eats a mouthful of sand in her failed attempt to connect with the ball.
Ha!
The best part is Emily, herself, kicked a bucket full of sand in Chloe’s face as they converged. Next time, I hope to achieve a head-on collision between the two of them. A coma for Chloe would be great and perhaps some overall sense knocked into Emily would be a nice perk, too.