“My father owned the bowling alley. My uncle had it under management until he could pass it off to me. I’ve ran it into the ground since I was fourteen.” He shrugs. “I never claimed to be good at everything.”
“Fourteen?”
“I had help. Still do. But back to the topic at hand.” He pulls out a lighter, a small glass vial, and a scalpel from out of his pocket. “You ready to get the answers you’ve been looking for?”
Chapter Twelve
On Death and Dying
The morgue is quiet and cold. It sits at the northern tip of the island surrounded by churches as though they needed the strength of brick and mortar to shelter the dead. Most likely it was convenience. The cemetery lies just behind the mortuary proper, no headstones, just long rows of glittering plaques.
I talked my mother into letting Logan drive me home from church.
“Skyla, this is my Uncle Barron, Gage’s dad.”
“Nice to meet you.” I shake his hand. He has a warm glow about him. He’s tall and shares the same stunning blue eyes as Gage.
“Come into the kitchen.” He holds open one of the double doors, which leads into a stark white room with a long metal tray in the center. I blink twice at it before I realize the covered lump lying there is probably a body awaiting some sort of death prep, and I start to sway on my heels.
“Chin up.” His uncle pinches my cheek, hard. “Sorry, I don’t have any smelling salts on me.”
“No it’s OK.” It’s not a kitchen. It’s a place where no one should eat, ever.
“You have any other gifts?” He asks me as he takes the vial from Logan.
It’s hard to imagine that dark crimson liquid bubbling up at the top is what keeps me going. That it holds the secrets to my so-called life. That I produce it deep inside my bones—that everybody does—is nothing short of a miracle.
“Gifts?” He asks again.
“Um, no. I don’t think so. Do you?” I direct the last part towards Logan.
“A few.”
His uncle cuts in before he has the chance to elaborate.
“What you have Skyla, is a unique gift. It’s the trademark of a special faction of Nephilim known as the Celestra.”
“Celestra.” I try it out on my lips. It tickles as it rolls from my tongue.
“Most Nephilim ‘round these parts are Lovatio. Once in a while you roll the genetic die and you get a win.”
“A win?”
“Celestra is the highest order of earthbound angels. They have the ability to rule and other amazing gifts that have them the most hated faction this side of the universe.”
“Hated?” I give Logan a look of discontent. I’m not liking the idea of being hated, and by angels? That sounds illegal on a spiritual level and wrong on just about every other.
“They’re also nearly all extinct. The Countenance faction, they’re the worst. We call them Counts for short. They cover the earth like vermin, demand money from everyone like the world owes it to them.”
“Sounds like a twisted form of government.” I try to make light of the situation.
“Oh, they’re in there too. They’re everywhere.”
“So why are the Celestra nearly extinct?”
He and Logan exchange somber glances.
“Because my love,” His uncle taps my shoulder. “The Counts have them killed.”
It takes a long trip around the outskirts of my mind to grasp onto one of my racing thoughts, and verbalize a semi coherent response. “Do I have a mark on my head? Did they kill my dad? Your parents?” I direct that last question towards Logan.
“Yes, mostly likely yes, and definitely yes.” His uncle is mildly amused looking at me from over his frameless spectacles. “Logan’s parents produced a near pure Celestra. They couldn’t let them breed anymore.” He says it matter of fact as though it were a well-understood fact.
“And my dad?”
“He produced you. But most likely he was killed for his standing not his breeding. You mention your sister doesn’t seem to have this?”
I shake my 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.
“Then odds are the Counts don’t know about you yet. But they will. They have a strong sense of smell when it comes to these things. Don’t be remiss, they will kill you if they feel you’re a threat.”
“Well, I’m not a threat.” I pump a short-lived smile.
“You might be.” He tassels my hair before walking away.
***
“We can’t always know who they are.” Logan says.
We sit on a bench overlooking the cemetery. It’s so calm and peaceful. The sun has stretched her beams over the rolling hills and set her reflection off the grave markers, making them sparkle like a thousand pieces of broken glass.
“Who else is Nephilim besides you and Gage?”
“I just know us.” He shrugs. “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.” He wiggles his fingers when he says it. “It’s sort of like the big reveal.”
“Why this certain age? They don’t trust us because we’re under age?”
“Ageist bastards.” He laughs a little when he says it.
“So how old do you have to be to know everything?”
“Thirty.”
“Shut up.” I push into him with my shoulder. 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’ve got very strong assurance of this.”
“And how pray tell do you know?” I like where’s he’s going. Even if his goal is to comfort me, it feels as though a giant casket has been lifted off my chest.
“Because Gage told me. He knows things. That’s his gift.”
“When did he say this?”
“The day before I met you.” He says it with intentional earnestness.
A light breeze picks up and the dreary afternoon is transformed into the perfect summer day. 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.” He gives a sly smile.
He brushes his lips against mine, soft as a feather.
Chapter Thirteen
Drama Mama
As promised, I dig through box after box of the crap we’ve managed to hoard all these years. Honestly, I thought we threw so much stuff away before we left L.A. I didn’t think we’d have anything left to unpack.
Piles of my elementary school art and Mia’s preschool endeavors gone awry, clutter up the boxes. Not one note from my father, not a lock of his hair, or his favorite tie. I wonder why my mother bothered keeping my sister and I. Obligation, or fear of prison.
“You have any whites?” Mom breezes past me on the way to the laundry room, her arms already laden down with Tads dirty socks and underwear.
“You ever regret turning into Tad’s live-in maid?” I call after her, taunting.
“Don’t start a war you’re not willing to finish.” My mother bleats. A few crash and bangs later she reemerges, the sound of running water soothes the room from behind her.
“I don’t see any of dad’s stuff.” There’s a note of defeat in my voice. I really don’t get why we need to erase someone just because they’re dead. Even Logan wants his dead girlfriend’s diary, which sucks in a big way, but that’s for another day.
“It’s in there somewhere.” She pushes a broken wicker basket to the side with her foot and comes over to where I’m seated.
“I think I want to put together a scrapbook. You know, of all the good times we used to
have.”
“What good times?” Her eyes widen with curiosity, pale as stones.
I’m pretty sure she’s not trying to get me riled up, although it’s backfiring on her big time.
“Come on mom. You remember the good times.” I don’t let her hear my disappointment even though this blatant dumb blonde shit she’s trying to pull is really pissing me off.
“I don’t remember too many of those, just a lot of yelling—no money.” She picks up a deck of playing cards and pulls them out of the sleeve. “Anything in particular you want to share with me?”
Not really. But I don’t say that, I say, “All you remember about daddy is yelling and no money?” The sky outside the window darkens, and the driving wind pushes the branch of a eucalyptus across the glass.
“It was hard for the two of us. We had you when we were both so young.”
“So you’re saying I’m the reason you and daddy had a rough go of it?” I struggle to keep it together.
“That’s not what I’m saying.” She rubs her hand into her eyes full with regret. “What I’m trying to say is—oh hell Sky, I don’t know. It was hard and it was even harder when he died. Thank God for Tad because without him…”
I hop to my feet and skip up the stairs two by two. I’d rather sit alone in my bedroom with Chloe’s ghost. Maybe she’ll detail to me how Logan touched her, how it felt to have him wanting her. I’ll take anything over my mother right about now.
***
I walk around my room in a slow methodical circle. I tap the walls and say her name, daring her to come to me.
My mother doesn’t bother coming up to repair any damage that may have occurred during our hostile verbal scrimmage. Seems our relationship is on the path to steady deterioration, and neither of us really gives a shit.
“Where are you Chloe? Afraid Logan might like me just a little bit more?” I whisper the words into the walls as though it were a part of her. “I would have had him anyway.”
A sudden drowsy feeling overcomes me. I stagger over to my bed, flop down and close my eyes.
It feels like I’m falling—something unnatural like I’m rotating through the air in a series of erratic circles. I can feel it with every fiber of my being. I’m falling through space and time and landing right smack into a dream.
Doyou know who I am?
A girl in skintight jeans and a hot pink tank top wags her finger at me. She’s got long dark curls that extend past her hips, and her eyes glint out like twin orange sunsets. She’s pretty in a scary, ethereal, sort of way.
Chloe? I don’t hide my enthusiasm. Everyone around me knew her, and now I get to meet her, see her with my own two eyes.
Yes, it’s me. Do you know why I came? She stretches out another foot taller like she’s made out of taffy and someone is pulling at her from both ends.
To tell me how much you hate me? I say. I’m not sure if my sarcasm is coming out right. My voice vibrates like I’m talking from inside a fishbowl.
I don’t hate you. She laughs a haunting river of vocal quivers. I called you here because I need you.
You can’t have Logan. I don’t mean for it to sound so cold, and I’m not sure why I’m suddenly so territorial.
I still have Logan where it counts. She says serious.
I don’t think so. I don’t think I want to help you with anything. Don’t come knocking around these eyelids anymore.
I will myself to wake up. It takes a bionic effort on my part to flutter my lids and open my eyes. I roll off the bed and land on the floor, my stomach writhing from nausea.
If she comes back I’ll smoke her out of existence.
I don’t know how, but I will.
Chapter Fourteen
Game Changer
Brielle drags me to the mall. The air is thick with summer, heavy as a sopping wet bath towel. A thick cloud cover presses in the heat. It feels strange suffering in this airless environment devoid of any sunlight.
It’s an outdoor mall so we don’t have mercy from air conditioning unless we step into the stores, and already we’ve seen everything there is to see.
We sit out under a giant umbrella eating our shared ice cream, a double scoop of chocolate from a cup. A hoard of small children run in and out of a fountain, watching the water shoot up out of tiny spouts that line the area labeled as the wet zone.
There’s something strange about this atypical day that doesn’t settle well with me. My skin feels like it’s on fire, and it has nothing to do with the bizarre dark heat wave we’re experiencing. It feels odd. As though someone’s watching me, following me. I scour the vicinity like a hawk, looking for people, animals, an errant shop worker who happens to be leering in my direction, but nothing.
“You’re thoroughly paranoid, you know that?”
I’ve made the mistake of sharing my thoughts with Brielle.
“I don’t know.” I stage my body out like a siren waiting to draw someone in. “It’s like an instinct. I just know someone’s watching. You ever get that feeling?”
“No. Besides you’re starting to creep me out. It’s the same kinds of things Chloe was saying before…” She shrugs and takes another bite of her ice cream.
“Really? Then maybe they’re back?”
“Don’t say that.” Her voice sharpens. “Don’t ever say that, Skyla. There is nobody around us. Trust me I’ve looked. My dad is a detective, it’s in my blood to know these things.”
And it might be in mine to know if someone or something is after me.
I don’t let Brielle see how shaken I’m beginning to feel. It’s like each passing moment brings them closer. Their intent is not good, that much I know. I can’t help but wonder if it’s the Counts? Bitch squad maybe? Most likely the latter, or worse, Tad and my mother.
“Oh thank God.” Brielle stands up and lunges in to hug someone behind me.
It’s Gage.
“Hey!” I’m thrilled to see him, partly because Logan is never far behind, and partly because I suddenly feel well protected. No offence to Brielle, but I’m pretty sure she’s worthless in that department.
“You’re late for your shift.” He pats her on the arm.
“Oh shit! I’m so sorry! We have to go.” She quickly gathers her things.
“Don’t go.” Gage says to me. “Hang out for a minute. I’ll give you a ride home.”
“Sure.” I watch as Brielle spazzes out on her way towards the parking lot.
“Drive careful.” I shout after her. “Is Logan here?” I revert my attention back to Gage. He’s already helping himself to Brielle’s half of the ice cream. He looks up and gives a wry smile.
“What’s the matter? I’m not good enough?”
Something about the way he says it melts the pit of my stomach.
“Of course you’re good enough. It’s just you’re not Logan.” I’m not sure that made things any better.
Gage leans back in his seat. He takes me in without an apology. He lets his eyes roam free over me, up and down until I clear my throat.
“You always rude like that?” I ask.
“I’m not trying to be rude. Sorry.” His dark hair nestles in little curls towards the base of his neck. He has got to be the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, next to Logan of course. It’s like they suffer from some beauty gene that took over and accidently created two perfect beings. “Heard my dad’s looking into things for you.”
“Yeah. I’m pretty excited. I’ve never thought about myself as an angel before. More like the opposite.” Not really, but I don’t have anything else to say. I take a huge bite off my spoon and fill my mouth with chocolate—prevent me from saying anything that might sound stupid.
“Well you’re definitely an angel.” He arches his eyebrows at me. “I know.”
“And how do you know?”
“It’s my gift.”
“Oh that’s right. Logan said you told him we weren’t going to die until a ripe old age.”
“Don’t go doing anything s
tupid like standing in front of a train. Just because you’re going to live doesn’t mean you can’t do it as a vegetable.” His features darken.
“Oh, right.” Mental note; Gage equals buzz kill.
“I know something else about you.” He looks at me with studious intent.
A bird whistles to his right, a large black bird, far too monstrous to be a crow.
“Look at that thing!” I press my hand into my chest and back my chair up an inch. It’s sitting on the trashcan directly next to Gage. It looks like it flew in from some prehistoric time period. Its feathers are the exact same hue of Gage’s hair, and its eyes are glued with great interest on him. “Shoo it away. Make it go.” I cover my face with my hands so I don’t have to look at it as a horrible tremor of fear spirals through me.
I look over my fingertips in time to see Gage flick his finger lightly into the air with no real malfeasance behind it.
The giant bird races into the sky quick as a demon, streaks across the hemisphere like a black billow of smoke until it evaporates into the grey nothingness of the sky.
“You made it do that didn’t you?” It was something more than your typical scatting of a bird. Something in the way Gage nonchalantly directed his finger in the air, it told me so much more.
“I did.” He slumps into his seat as if bored with the effort he’s having to put in with me.
“So what is it you know?” I lace my fingers together and flex them.
“I know you’re going to marry me someday.” He doesn’t bother with a smile or a laugh, or anything to indicate he might be teasing.
“Well I’m not.”
“You will.” He pulls his cheek to the side almost apologetically.
Chapter Fifteen
Virtue
Logan called a quarter after two and said he wanted to take me somewhere. Of course I said pick me up in fifteen minutes without even asking where. I’d go to the landfill if he wanted me to.