I can only hope he’s right. There’s nothing I like more than letting someone else do my dirty work.
“Skyla,” Holden calls, waving at me. Pierce and Nat straggle behind.
Drake and Emily float by, and I slink on over to the two of them.
“Hi!” I say, watching Holden on his last night disguised as Logan from a safe distance. “So how’s it going?” I pan over the two of them. Really I’d love nothing more than to hit Drake over the head with my shoe.
Emily gives a grunt before excusing herself. Emily always looks like she wants to puke in my face, and I can never figure this out. I would totally be Em’s friend if she would let me. She’s the most normal person I know, and considering I’m aware of the fact she can put the future to paper, it’s a pretty bold statement.
“I have a terrible feeling of foreboding,” Drake holds his stomach like he might be sick.
“Don’t say that,” I reprimand. “The last time you said that all kinds of freaky shit happened.”
Marshall pulses by in the opposite direction. “Whatever you’ve got planned, cancel it.” He continues on as if it were an order I should obey.
The music changes speed, bodies churn on the dance floor quick and neurotic. A strong scarf of perfume ties itself around the room in a rainbow of floral scents, vanilla and grapefruit.
I run and catch up with him as fast as my four-inch stilettos will allow.
“What do you mean cancel it? I can’t cancel. It has to happened.” I pull Marshall to a stop just shy of the exit.
“I forbid it.” He slits his eyes around the room not bothering to slow his agitation long enough to pay attention to me properly.
“You forbid it?” I straighten, not sure whether to laugh or slap him. “Let me tell you something buddy—that falls under the short list of things to never say to your future bride. In fact, it’s the easiest and most assured way of landing yourself an ex Mrs. Dudley.”
His eyes lock onto mine for one brief moment, and he gives a quick nod. “I forbid it.” He marches off in pursuit of something or someone towards the front of the dance floor.
I give a little laugh at the thought of Marshall forbidding me to do anything.
One thing is for damn sure, there’s not a soul on this planet that can stop me from killing Holden tonight.
If they try—I’ll forbid it.
Chapter 85
Safety Dance
A puff of white fog, thick as buttermilk, spills in through the open exit door of the Madison Lights Ballroom. It seeps in with its long frosted tendrils, observing the dew of youth as it floats around the dance floor.
A sad song belts out a steady rhythm that wanes, each note pulls out soft as cotton.
I undergo a major analysis of the exits, the structure of the room, the entire framework of the building, in the event Holden should try to escape. Luring him out towards the beach with raunchy promises will be easy. In fact, I’m sure he’ll come up with his own long running list of carnal titillations he’d like to introduce me to but Holden will be long gone before his fantasies take flight.
Ellis comes over and butts his shoulder against mine. “Come on,” he nods towards the dance floor.
“Where’s the future stripper?” I scan the area for his scantily clad date, not that I’m one to talk, or Chloe, or Emily. Oh, hell, we’re all wearing some sort of ass enhancing apparatus, especially Chloe who sparkles like a hazmat signaling device—as she should.
“She passed out. Her friends rolled her under a table for safekeeping.”
“Nice.” Those girls from East have an amazing code of ethics.
“Last chance,” he invokes the offer once again.
“Sure,” I take Ellis’ soft warm hand and let him lead me through a maze of swaying bodies. We land behind Ethan and Chloe. She glitters under the faded house lights with the prowess of fire in a dim-lit forest. Chloe is a blaze all her own.
I rest my head on Ellis’ chest—try to ignore the fact that his cologne is overpowered with the scent of something far more illegal. I wonder what a life with Ellis would be like? I’m sure we’d live close to the beach, well, probably on it—homeless. Our children would run around barefoot all the time because we couldn’t afford shoes. I can see them clearly, two little girls with cotton candy hair, dirty faces scalded from the sun, parched cracked lips. I shake the thought away, imagine children with Gage instead—dark haired boys with bright blue eyes, dimples you could ladle soup out of.
The dress warms around my body unreasonably. Either Logan is getting antsy, or he wants a demonstration of what our children would look like. I envision a blonde goddess of a girl who could rule the universe with her looks alone. Logan can rule an empire with his smile. The dress tingles, ignites a happy vibration of joy in the same vein as Marshall.
The music comes to an end. The houselights brighten before dimming to pitch again. A spotlight covers the stage and Marshall chokes the life out of a microphone before releasing it from the stand.
“Ladies and Gentlemen of Paragon’s finest esteemed schools,” he hums into the mic. “I would like to draw your attention to the candidates of the royal court. Would the junior nobility of the evening please step up and take your places as we announce the victors of tonight’s festivities.”
“I guess that’s me,” I pat Ellis on the chest before heading towards the stage.
Holden flies at me like a magnet, drips a kiss off the side of my face as if that might somehow secure a win. The polls are over I want to tell him, but refrain since he’s in a good mood.
“Time to end the drought.” He slithers his hand up and down my back before reaching underneath my dress, landing open palmed on my behind.
I jump out of reach and give a tempered smile. I’d slit his throat if he weren’t wearing Logan like a jacket.
“I’m still trying to get my mother to grant you your powers back,” I shrug. “So I guess I lose in the interim.”
He twists his lips. “I’ll let it slide just this once. No use in letting a perfectly good hotel room go to waste. But get on that tomorrow. It sucks not being Celestra.”
“I’ll get right on that.” As if.
He takes my hand, and we make our way onto the stage. I squint into the crowd for Gage and Brielle. It’s so close now. It’s almost time to bring back Logan. Nothing can go wrong. My chest heaves in anticipation until I spot them standing near the front. I press out a nervous smile before focusing back on Marshall.
Skyla. My name rattles through the crowd.
Ezrina.
Shit! She must know I’ve got a life that depends upon me, a soul literally wrapped around my person.
Now. Her voice echoes, louder coming from my left. And there she is.
Double shit!
Ezrina is covered in a black velvet cloak, nothing but a shag of wild hair spraying out from under her hood like a tumbleweed locked in flames.
“I need my mother,” I speed the words into Marshall so fast I don’t realize my lips are level with the microphone until I hear my voice boom across the facility.
The crowd ignites in laughter.
Again—shit.
In due time. Marshall assures.
“You’re effing embarrassing me,” Holden pulls me back. “Stop being such a baby.”
A drum roll purrs over the speakers. Marshall reads off a list of names from East before crowning their junior king and queen. A pretty girl with a familiar face and a tall boy with broad shoulders share a brazen kiss, their crowns hang precariously from their person.
“We should totally do that,” Holden whispers.
“Do what?”
“Kiss like that.”
Gah! That was a nasty kiss. It looked like she was trying to suck a snake out of his mouth just to save him. No thanks.
“I prefer a peck on the cheek in public,” I’m quick to relay. “You know, save the good stuff for later.”
“So you’re a good girl.” He leans in seductively wit
h Logan’s immaculate features. “I’ll have you on your knees in less than an hour.”
“Can’t wait.” I’m going to use my knees all right. Something in me reverts, and I bite down on my lip trying to return the seductive favor. “I won’t have time to get on my knees, I’ll be too busy bending over.” Mother F! I don’t even know what the hell that implies.
He pulls a single gold key out of his pocket, dive bombs it into my cleavage before shoving his face in and kissing it.
Everything in me freezes.
I shoot a quick look to Gage. His eyes are swollen with anger, his mouth gapes, and for a second I think Gage might jump on stage and kill Holden himself.
“The nobility of West Paragon reads as follows,” Marshall booms. “Skyla Messenger and Logan Oliver.”
Holden rights himself just after the spotlight catches him with his face in the Messenger cookie jar.
Marshall clears his throat before continuing, “Chloe Bishop and Ethan Landon, Emily Morgan and Drake Landon. ” Marshall’s smooth voice is a comfort, a strange shelter from the storm that is hurricane Holden. “The junior gentry—your new king and queen of the junior class are…” he bows slightly into the announcement, “Skyla Messenger and Logan Oliver.” A polite applause erupts. I look over at Chloe and Ethan, Emily and Drake almost apologetically. I’m not sure how anyone in their right mind could vote for Logan and me since we weren’t together almost all year long, unless, of course, it was their way of thanking me for providing endless hours of entertainment via Chloe’s generous DVD distribution. I hear they play it on a loop during chess club.
A pair of freshman girls come at us with glittering headdresses, before I can properly observe my tiara, Holden does a faceplant over my lips. I press my hands to his chest to push him away and the dress electrifies, a personified hum emits as it vibrates like an engine. Logan is ready. I carefully unzip the purse and bring the needle to Holden’s chest.
I slit my eyes open just enough and catch Gage taking off through the main entrance with Brielle.
What the heck?
Where is he going? After the crowning we were supposed to lure him outside. We were going to kill Holden together. Didn’t he instruct me under no circumstance was I to pull this off on my own?
My face fills with heat as I finger the needle.
What am I doing? I take a breath as Holden continues to take free roam of my mouth with Logan’s tongue.
Gage is wrong. I can do this on my own.
The lights go out. The music stops. A series of gasps circle the room.
I press the needle into Holden’s chest and give a hard shove.
Holden jerks, lets out a sharp cry right into my ear. The houselights go on all the way before dimming down to nothing. The music picks up and the crowd gurgles back to life.
“What the hell was that?” He pats his chest in horror.
I replace the needle back in my purse and slip it behind my back.
Shit. One more second and I could have zapped him off the planet.
I wave a hand in front of him. “Just got my claws sharpened. I’m totally afraid of the dark.”
“Shit,” his eyes widen. Holden doesn’t look amused by my professed fear of all things nocturnal.
“Let’s dance,” I nod towards the beach. “You know, in private.”
“Let’s.” He whips us through the crowd at lightning speeds.
A shadow moves outside the door, an orange blaze of hair gives the Fem away.
“In here’s fine!” I pull him back inside so quick it looks like we’re doing the Tango. I place his hands over my hips and begin to sway to the music.
“This is a good start.” His eyes shine a familiar look of desire, and at this moment he looks and feels most like Logan—but he’s not. He’s a far cry from the boy I love.
The dress warms around me like an L.A. afternoon.
I scan the room for signs of Gage, but neither he nor Brielle have returned. Perfect. Why can’t things go right when I need them to? Why does everything have to fall to crap the second I put my hand to anything? I’ll be lucky if Gage and I get our forever. Hell—I’ll be lucky if forever exists by the time I get through with it.
I reach down and pluck the needle out of my purse, and the small electrical box tumbles right out. I catch it between my elbow and thigh before capturing it safe in my hand.
“What’s that?” Holden backs up and takes a good look at it.
“Speaker,” I hiss. “New speaker I got for Christmas. I don’t go anywhere without it.” I’m quick to shove the heart stopper back inside the sequin satchel before he sees the needle.
The lights cut in and out again, the music fizzles before recapturing its rhythm.
“Let’s get out of here—start our own party,” his hot breath lights a fire across my cheek. “I’ve got the room till ten in the morning.”
“Sure.” I dart around looking for Gage, or Ellis—hell, I’d take Marshall at this point.
My phone goes off. It’s a text from Melissa.
I can’t find Mia. She went in Mom and Dad’s room and never came out.
Crap. Mia must have went into the mirror before Chloe sicked her binding spirit on it.
A surge of bodies push in. Young women and men with an odd sense of style descend upon us, dancing and swirling to a frenetic rhythm all their own.
“Dear God,” I whisper. I recognize those full bustled dresses, those pantaloon knickers peering out from underneath. Handlebar mustaches adorn men who happened to be much too old to attend prom.
The Transfer.
“Something’s happening,” I pant.
“I know.” Holden rubs the growing bulge in his pants abruptly against my thigh. “Let’s get out of here.”
A sharp scream emits from the center of the room.
I turn in time to see a body flying up towards the mirrored sphere hanging above the center of the dance floor. A pair of long brown legs kick up a violent tantrum. It’s not until I take a step forward that I see its Chloe. She spins and clutches at her neck. Her red dress goes off like shimmering fireworks on the Fourth of July.
It looks as if the protective hedge has caught on something, a wire that dangles from the disco ball.
Holy crap.
Could this be Ethan’s late, great, final act of revenge? Could Ethan Landon really be this big of a genius to hang Chloe Bishop in front of God and country right here at the East meets West glorified dance-a-thon?
Chloe is showing us up in the moves department with her determined spin, sway, swing—the way she bucks into her own departure is glorious.
Screams erupt like a choir of hellish angels. All eyes are focused upwards at Chloe as if we were sharing in some mass hallucination—a heavenly vision that will christen our flesh with a radioactive glow for days to come. This is a blessed event, songs should be written about this moment, poetry to recite to our grandchildren.
I step forward, dazed—in love with the idea of watching Chloe meet her most timely demise.
It is a thing of beauty. I wish my father could have been here to witness the grand finale of all her wicked schemes. It comes down to this. Chloe Bishop dies as a spectacle, dangling fifty feet off the floor, glittering proud as a brushfire.
She bucks and writhes, clawing at her neck with sharpened fingernails. Her flesh erupts in a series of long blood-soaked lines.
I want her blood to flow—my blood. I want to open my mouth, drink down her pain. There’s something orgasmic about this—sensual. I’ve achieved nirvana by the sheer prospect of watching her life expire.
Chloe lets out a horrid, gurgled cry. Ironic how the protective hedge is actually in the process of doing Chloe in. It must be a nice night for assholes to die. Unfortunately, if Chloe doesn’t survive, Mia may not either.
I grab a hold of Emily and drag her over to Michelle and Lexy.
“Get me up there,” I instruct. The bitch squad gets into basket toss formation. I conjure all of the angst and ho
stility I can muster towards Chloe in an attempt to leap to her rescue. “One, two, three!” I rocket up towards the ceiling easy and light as a butterfly. I pull down the metal hook that’s adhered to the chain around Chloe’s neck, hard and fast.
We fall in tandem. Her face, pale as plaster, lips as blue as a summer sky. The bitch squad cradles their limbs around Chloe, and I land with a gentle swish in Marshall’s waiting arms. A quick bite of sadness twists through me. I was half expecting him to be Gage. I pan the facility as Marshall props me up on my feet.
“She needs a jump start, Skyla, or she’ll be dead before help arrives.” Marshall hands me my purse.
“This has a one-time use only,” I scold, making sure he understands the dire implications of it all. “Besides, she’s still wearing that protective hedge.”
“Yes, Skyla,” he leans in, “But if death is ordained in the near future for Ms. Bishop—the Decision Council might just let the tragedy slide.”
He gives a quick nod towards the crowd amassed around her.
I look over to Chloe lying on the ground, limp as kelp, a most beautiful cadaver in the making.
My lips curve into the promise of a smile, my chest still panting wild from the effort.
I go over and touch my hand to her forehead.
I must choose.
Save Chloe and get Mia, or risk getting Mia out of the realm of Demetri’s horrors all on my own.
I stroke Chloe’s long dark tendrils arranged like snakes around her beautiful dead face and whisper, “Oh my sweet little bitch, how I hope you rest in peace.”
Chapter 86
If You Don’t Know Me By Now
Gage appears, panting, bloodied from the elbows down, his shirt stained with a strange viscous fluid. He snatches my purse and removes the device, shrouding his body over Chloe.
Good God, he’s going to zap her back into existence.
Her entire person jumps chest first off the ground an entire foot. Gage places his lips over hers, blows in breath after breath until she coughs and sputters. He spits out the residue behind his shoulder and wipes his lips down on the lapel of his jacket.