Logan leads me upstairs. It feels weird knowing his aunt and uncle are aware of the fact we’re headed to his room, only we aren’t. We detour into Gage’s room instead.
He’s fresh from the shower, comfy in sweats and a t-shirt. Same huge room as Logan’s with a shelving unit eating up an entire wall—half as many books.
I’m so exhausted. I don’t think twice before crawling onto his bed. Logan and Gage sit on either side of me and stare down with their inquisitiveness. Gage had already briefed Logan about the mystery man as soon as we arrived at the house.
“Stay away from him next time you see him,” Logan warns.
“Who is he? A Fem?” I pull up on my elbows.
“Too helpful.” He shakes his head. “He found you in the ocean? Too knowledgeable to be a Count. Sounds like he could be a Sector.”
“Sector,” I whisper. Sectors are confusing as hell. They’ve been known to take bribes from the Countenance. They sick the Fems on you to do their dirty work. “What does a Sector want with me?”
“I don’t have a clue.”
“If they’re the overlords of the angel armies, aren’t they benevolent or something?”
“Some are good, some wicked. I doubt you have a good one on your hands.” Logan assures me.
“He looked so nice,” I say, a little out of breath.
“Yeah, well,” Gage and Logan exchange glances. “They tend to masquerade as angels of light.”
“I don’t think you should go anywhere without Gage.” He looks mournful at the thought. “Or me if you have to,” Logan says.
“You?” A rush of adrenaline surges through me.
“Yes.”
“I thought you were off limits. You know, to keep me out of danger.” I shift in his direction.
“You’re already in danger.”
19
Hello
I’ve never felt a more comfortable bed then when I finally sink into my own. My ankles feel as though they’ve been twisted, cracked off at the base and glued back on. My neck is killing me. I can’t fully turn my head to the left.
I managed to omit the finer details of my injuries to Dr. Oliver, like the fact I think a partial paralysis seems almost inevitable which reminds me to never go along with Gage and his insane ideas again. Diving during a storm? Who am I kidding, Gage could take me diving in quick sand, and I’d probably go. I’m a victim of those watery blue eyes and the way he smiles without moving his lips.
A soft glow emanates through my closed lids. My eyes launch open. Reflexively, I part my lips to scream, but a hand clamps over my mouth.
It’s him—the boy from the water. Floating—hovering over my bed. His skin is eerily translucent. I can see the frame of my canopy right through his back. A strange incandescent light radiates from him, illuminating him from the inside like a jack o’ lantern. He gives a spectacular smile, and his teeth pierce the dark like a detonating burst of sunshine. It hurts my eyes just to look at him.
“I won’t harm you.”
I’m in the prime position to kick him in the balls, but somehow I already know it’s useless. Strength, running, none of it will help me now. If I threw myself out the window, I’m sure he’d appear next to me on the ground.
He removes his hand from my mouth with caution.
I scoot up in the bed and lean the back of my head into the wall so hard I think I’m going to push through.
“My name’s Marshall.” He sits opposite me and tones down his brightness, so I can see him without going blind.
“And?” I’m sure small talk is not high on the list of priorities.
“I’ve been dying to meet you.”
“So you can kill me?” I don’t appreciate his play on words.
He gives a convincing smile. There’s a way about him. I can feel his tension as though he wants something from me, but doesn’t know how to get it.
“I’m not going to kill you. I’ll always tell you the truth.” The smile melts off his face. “But I think you owe me a bit of gratitude.”
“Thank you.” I scan the vicinity for something to hit him with, not that it would help.
“Mmm.” His features darken. He’s sharply handsome in an untrustworthy way. “You don’t seem very grateful.”
“Let’s move this along because I have class in the morning, and this little meet and greet is really going to set the bags off under my eyes.”
Warm golden brown hair, eyes an amazing shade of burgundy stare at me. He looks stunning, like I could gaze at his unique brand of beauty for hours and never tire of it.
“You’ll recover,” he says.
Great. I’ve gone and pissed him off. I’ll be lucky to be alive by morning, let alone have bags under my eyes. I’ll be in a bag… wrapped in duct tape…
“Don’t be afraid. I promise I won’t hurt you.” He taps my knee and an electrical sensation runs up my spine and swirls into my brain.
“What a rush.” I close my eyes briefly enjoying the intense euphoric feeling. I don’t want to say it, but that felt beyond great.
“You’re quite the star, Skyla. You’re the talk of the celestial scene, you know that?”
“I am?”
“Yup.” He taps my leg again, and I inhale sharply at the intense rise of pleasure.
“What are you, some kind of drug?” I bat him away.
“Some call it venom, some liken it to a good buzz—some rapture.” His lips curl into a slow grin. “I’m not here to make you feel good. I wanted to let you know I’m your friend. The Countenance desire your capture, but I assume you already know that.”
“You’re a Sector?”
“And I can protect you.” He gives the slight impression of a smile. His light brightens then dissolves sending a series of shadows ricocheting through the room. “You’re not to tell anybody about me.”
“Too late.” I don’t do well with celestial bullying.
“I knew your father Skyla.” He softens a bit. “He was a friend to me.”
Doubtful.
“I’m here for you. But if you expose me…”
A chill races through me.
“To anyone,” he continues. “I’ll have to take you. If I don’t take you I’ll be bound. That’s like death to me and I can’t have that. Don’t make me choose between you and me, Skyla. It won’t be a choice. It will always be me.”
“I’m prone to telling people things.” The logical part of me wants to believe I’ve just signed my death warrant, but I don’t think so. It’s as if I know something—that he can and will protect me.
He pierces me with those strange eyes, gazing into me with a violent intensity.
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out. I’ll let you get back to your beauty sleep. Would you like me to touch you again?”
I have the very distinct feeling I’m making a pact with the devil. I know that I will tell Logan and Gage, that no matter how much he threatens me, offers to protect me, I’m in the same amount of danger.
I wonder if Chloe felt this way—certain she was going to be captured, certain there was no right answer to pull her out of the mess she was in. I hadn’t asked to be born as a pure breed anything. In fact if I were asked, I would have declined the offer a thousand times again and again.
A dull ache permeates throughout my body. This is who I am, and these are my very unique dilemmas.
I extend my hand in his direction. “Marshall,” I test his name out on my lips and his eyes widen with satisfaction. “Touch me.”
His hand connects with mine setting off unearthly splendid reverberations.
Rapture—yes that’s it.
I never, ever want him to let go.
20
You Again
“Mr. Denny’s mother is very sick.” He runs his fingers across the desk as though he were petting a kitten before sitting on the edge.
It’s him. The man of my dreams, the boy-man who looks like he aged overnight to the ripe old age of twenty-seven. He just strolled i
nto second period. His features seem more defined, more heart-stopping than last night.
“My name is Mr. Dudley.” He shoots a look right at me, Hello Skyla and I jump in my seat.
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.
My heart races a million miles an hour as a cold sweat breaks out all over my body.
He hands the graded tests to a student in the front row and instructs him to pass them out.
Marshall? I think, looking right at him. I want to know if he can hear me, read my thoughts without touching me. I don’t like this one freaking bit—but he doesn’t acknowledge me in anyway.
My test lands on my desk with a bright read B decorating the front. I spin around to show Gage, momentarily taking flight from Mr. Dudley and his wicked plan to take over my life. The next thing you know he’ll be scrambling eggs for breakfast pretending to be my mother.
Gage holds up his paper with a triangular A scrawled over half the page.
“Nice.” I twist a smile.
“Hey, what’d you get?” Ellis taps me on the shoulder.
“B.” I look over at his paper. C—knew it. He got the last two wrong. Guess he won’t be offering to tutor me again anytime soon.
“Excuse me?” Mr. Dudley, Marshall, whoever he is, booms from the front of the class.
I straighten in my seat when I realize the concentration of his focus is square on me.
“If you won’t pay attention, I’ll be forced to move you.” His finger dips into the empty seat besides his desk.
No thanks. I shake my head and stiffen in my seat. I don’t care how good it felt to touch him. I want to be here, safe, next to Gage.
He starts in on a lesson, writing fast and furious on the board while explaining the concept in such an entertaining way that he actually has the full attention of the class.
Within minutes, the female population falls victim to his comeliness, his quick wit and exasperating charm.
Ellis turns around and gives a brief look of confusion.
“He’s good,” he whispers.
He is good. For the first time since I sat down in this chair, I’m fully able to grasp the concepts. I fill my notebook with numbers and formulas that, for once, don’t look like hieroglyphics. A part of me feels like actually thanking him. The hour flies by.
“Skyla Messenger?” He looks down at his roster pretending to be perplexed. “Can I see you a moment?”
Bodies file out on the way to third. Gage clasps onto my hand as we make our way to the front together.
Marshall pushes back in his seat amused at the sight of Gage by my side.
“Which one of you is Skyla?” He asks sarcastically.
“I am. This is my boyfriend.”
“I need to speak with Miss Messenger. You can go.” He flicks a finger towards the door, scowling openly at Gage.
“I’ll wait for you.” Gage gives my hand a hard squeeze.
Marshall restrains himself until Gage is out of view. A rush of new students fills the seats, and Logan walks in with Michelle licking at his heels.
“Is this an act for my benefit?” It comes out rhetorical.
“I’ll be here the rest of the year.” He looks over my shoulder, probably at Logan who I can only guess is shooting daggers at him.
“What happened to Mr. Denny?”
“His mother’s sick. I wouldn’t lie to you. I think the brunette likes me.” He gives a flirtatious smile to someone behind me.
I glance back, catching Michelle in full-blown star-struck mode.
“Does that make you jealous?” He returns his full attention to me amused.
“No.”
His brows crease to a point.
“I dare you to flirt with her—date her,” I whisper. “They’ll throw you out.”
“They won’t throw me out,” he assures. “But I’m not here for her. I think we both know that.”
***
The bell rings. I rush out and find Gage still waiting.
“What did he want?”
“He accused me of cheating.” I can’t believe how easily the lie came from my lips.
“He knows you copied off Ellis? You should have changed some answers.”
“I did.” I look down the long empty hall. “I guess not enough. Come on, we’re going to be super late.” We head off in the direction of our chemistry class.
We make it outside to the senior lawn, and Gage pulls me back by the elbow.
“Since we’re already late. I want to give something to you.” He leads me over to the trunk of an over grown peppertree still wearing a thin veil of morning precipitation. “Here.” A neatly folded piece of paper appears between his fingers.
I take it from him and open it.
I see you clearly in my dreams
Long hair I long to touch
Life is not what it seems
Without you, it is all too much
“Did you write this?” I give an open mouth smile.
“It’s my lame attempt at poetry.” The apples of his cheeks fill with a hint of crimson.
“It’s not lame,” I shake my head. Gage wrote these words because he knew I would cherish them. He saw my notebook filled with flowery poems back in my old bedroom, and he’s trying to navigate this maze to my heart. I’m touched he cares to try so hard to get there.
I push up on my toes and press a soft kiss against his lips—let it linger.
A loud pinging sound disrupts the silence. We look back to see Mr. Dudley tapping something metal against the glass in an effort to garner our attention.
“We better go.” Gage grabs my hand and rushes me off in the direction of the science building.
I see the heads of the students turned in our direction. I know Logan is one of them.
21
Angel
Logan and I sit in the remnants of the kitchen in the bowling alley, in the walk in freezer to be exact. It’s storming outside, and every once in a while the electricity stutters, blinking on and off just enough to confirm the severity.
The freezer’s been powered off for weeks yet still holds the slight stench of smoke and rotting animal flesh.
We create an entire file on how we could possibly kill off Counts, that is, once we’ve identified who exactly we’ll be killing.
“Why don’t we kill all of them?” Sure it’s bloody, but if they have wicked genes, why not?
“Trust me, you wouldn’t want to. Besides I’m opposed to a complete genocide. The Counts are corrupt because of their leaders. If we’re lucky we won’t have a bloodbath on our hands.”
“Bloodbath.” I let the word hang in the air, stunned with how it coats the inside of my heart and makes it quiver. “What’d you think of Mr. Dudley?” I ask changing the subject.
“Is he the Sector?” His eyes peak at the epiphany.
“No—God no. He’s just some random teacher person.” I’m not really that into protecting Marshall’s identity as I am into protecting myself. He’ll be bound if I open my big mouth unless he captures me, and something in me innately knows he wasn’t kidding when he said he’d choose himself.
Logan looks over at me with his fingers pressed into his cheek as though he were waiting for me to say something that made a little more sense.
“I don’t believe you,” he says.
“I can’t lie to you.” Actually I don’t know that as fact.
“You skirt the truth well.” He studies me with his chin down towards his chest, lips pursed tight in a knot. “Whatever you’ve gotten yourself into, whatever he’s telling you to gain your confidence, it’s not true.”
“What do you mean gotten myself into? You think I’m a troublemaker?”
“No.” He reaches over and picks up my hand.
I shake him loose and sit on my fingers. I know Logan. He wants in on my stream of consciousness to see if he can figure out what’s really going on, and I’m not really good at that whole white noise thing.
“You look pretty guilty.” He rubs
his palms over his jeans. “Look I’m not stupid. He’s turned the whole school upside down in one day. I heard his name whispered by every female in a ten-foot proximity. He’s either one of us or one of them. Whatever the heck he is, he’s not human.”
“Right.” If I don’t agree with him, obviously I’ll be covering things up. I should outright suspect him. “So what? He’s ruining your quarterback swagger?”
“Is he?” Logan considers this a moment. He gently lifts me off my seat and over to his lap. Our fingers find one another and flex tight as we hold them in the air. “What did Gage give you?”
“The poem.” I finger the class ring on my necklace, but I’m assuming he’s already seen that a million times.
“Did you like it?” His disappointment comes through clear without bothering to wait for my answer.
“Of course. It was a nice gesture.” I love seeing Logan writhe with jealousy. I love watching the flames shoot up through those tortured amber orbs.
“Looks like I’m down flowers and a poem.” He stares out at the black hole of the kitchen with a bleak expression.
I give a gentle bite on his soft earlobe. I’ll let you make it up to me.
We relax into one long stream of supple warm kisses.
I wish the world would melt away. I don’t want to think about school, or angels with death warrants, and for sure not Mr. Dudley. I want to think about Logan and etching this moment deep in my brain, so I can savor it over and over again later.
Logan wraps his arms tighter around my waist. Me too.
***
Gage drops me off at home. I walk into the house and toss my backpack in the corner of the dining room. Mia and Melissa laugh in unison while watching cartoons, and I try to remember if I still watched cartoons in junior high as I make my way to the fridge.
My feet freeze in their tracks paralyzed by the bizarre sight in front of me.
“Skyla, you know Mr. Dudley.” My mother looks over the rim of her glasses at me.