He’s touching you. He looks rather smitten, and wait…oh yes, he’s fornicating mentally as we speak.
Really? Right now? I turn around and look accusingly at Gage.
It’s the male species, Skyla, you have no idea what you’re up against. Marshall smolders in my direction.
I have some idea. I picture Logan and Lexy together, her face crammed up against his and it enrages me.
So it’s the other Oliver. I can torment him if you like. He offers.
No thanks, but you can torment Lexy. Do you have any other demonic necklaces you’d like to dole out? I’d love to sick an entire legion of Fems on her. And by the way she knows how to bind them, or so she claims. It’s the only reason he’s letting her drool all over him.
Marshall leans against his desk and squints into me as though he’s considering this.
Is it possible to bind a Fem? I ask.
It can be done. He slouches a bit as his features darken.
What’s wrong?
Bad memory. His eyes glaze over momentarily. He turns his head as though distracted. Well then, He shoots a predatory smile in my direction. Just had a rather disturbing glimpse into your future.
I don’t like disturbing.
Rain pounds against the wall of windows in the back of the room as though a mass of lunatics were beating their fists to get inside.
Michelle has taken to bitch slapping me on a regular basis, I’ve lost all my strength, my speed—the Fems could take me if they wanted. Perhaps that’s what Marshall knows? If he were to tell me, I could prepare myself—do something to outsmart the situation.
Will you tell me? I’m so desperate to know I feel as though I could break.
You know how to get the information. His head dips down into his chest as he bores into me.
The bell rings. I gather my things and head out into the hall with Gage.
“You know what? I left my History book in the car.” I look at the ground when I say it.
“No problem, I’ll run out and get it.” Gage trots down the hall and makes his way down the stairs.
I step back inside to an empty classroom. Marshall turns around just in time to see me bolt in his direction. I crash my lips into his. Marshall goes off like a radiant bliss-filled grenade, exploding through me with that intense pleasurable sensation.
A picture emerges. I’m with Gage, holding a short silver spear. The blade is covered in blood, and I wipe it down with my finger.
I pull away and stagger back.
“When will this happen?”
“Sooner than later,” he says rather soberly.
“Whose blood was on the knife?”
“Whose blood do you want it to be?” There’s a challenge in his eyes.
Instinctually, I want to say Lexy’s.
“The Counts.”
“Which Counts?” There’s a slight curve to his lips.
“The ones who killed my father.”
“It won’t be.” His tone sharpens. “The blood on the knife was your own.”
31
Animal Attraction
I hate Lexy Bakova. I repeat it like a mantra as I sit at the kitchen counter next to Drake just before dinner.
The strong scent of garlic offensively clots up the air—once again, Mom is abusing the food chain.
Mom and Tad have called us together for another spectacular family meeting. No doubt, to inform us of their procreating schedule or go over graphs they’ve charted of which positions are the least useful in their impotent endeavors. Or perhaps, it’s the big reveal and they’ll expose us to Mom’s swelling uterus, Tad’s microscopic balls. Nothing surprises me anymore.
“Ta-da!” Tad whisks something from out of a baseball cap and places it into Melissa’s lap.
Both Mia and Melissa break out into a wild fit of joy.
“Oh my God! It’s so cute!” Melissa howls.
Drake and I swoop over to check it out.
I gasp at the sight of it. It’s a rail thin looking rat-thing and I can clearly see its ribcage. Maybe those weren’t cries of joy. Maybe they’re scared shitless.
“What is it?” I ask.
“It’s a pocket puppy.” Tad’s shoulders pull back with pride.
“I think he means a purse puppy,” Mom corrects.
“Does it have rickets?” There’s not an ounce of sarcasm coming from Drake.
“It needs food,” I offer. Sympathy is building within me for the badly neglected creature. Obviously Tad picked it up off the side of the road because he’s too cheap to drop a grand on a ball of purebred fuzz, and, for once, I’m glad he’s cheap. I reach over and stroke its back. The thin skin moves as I pet it. Its brown frightened eyes dilate with fear as they stare back at me.
“What’s the occasion?” I seriously doubt Tad’s good intentions.
“I thought this would be a great way for the family to start grasping the kind of responsibility a baby brings into the house.” There’s something mocking in his tone. I can’t put my finger on it, but I can tell it’s there.
“So essentially you’re readying us for an extremely malnourished child,” Drake quips.
“Or maybe they’re warning us it won’t look human.” These are Tad’s genes we’re talking about. I think my mother should voluntarily pull her ovaries out of the simian polluted gene pool while there’s still time. Messing with nature like this is bound to have its side effects. She’s in very real danger of spawning an anthropoid.
“I won’t be disrespected like that, Skyla.” Tad’s nostrils flare as he says it.
“Drake started it.” Lame, but true.
“Both of you upstairs.” Tad flicks a finger to the ceiling in annoyance.
“But I’m hungry.” And I’m willing to subject myself to Mom’s garlic gruel to prove it.
“Now!” His voice explodes in an unexpected fit of anger.
“Tad,” my mother chides softly in the background.
I race Drake up the stairwell and he motions me into his room.
“What?”
“Brielle’s coming over.” He swipes a pair of his jeans up off the floor and sniffs at the ass. “She says you’ve got a hole in your ceiling where you shuttle guys in all night long.”
Crap.
“Bring her to my room about eleven, or I’ll tell the sperminator downstairs, and he’ll have both the hole in your closet and the one between your legs on lockdown by the weekend.” He gives a greasy smile.
“Real nice.” I leave the room. The butterfly room is being turned into a portal for Drake and Brielle’s sexcapades.
The house is officially part brothel, part infertility clinic.
A riot of wild yapping erupts from downstairs.
Add animal shelter to the list.
***
Gage suggests we ditch all our classes and hang out for the day.
“Where should we go?” I’m thrilled at the thought of not having to lay eyes on Lexy another minute. I’m so sick of hearing her coo Logan’s name during cheer like a song she butchers for an hour straight. Not to mention the mind-numbing hatred I’m starting to feel for Michelle.
“How about I surprise you?” He leans in with a careful kiss.
A warm rush cycles through my stomach. I like this romantic yet naughty side of Gage.
A part of me feels awful, like I’m cheating on Logan. Ironic, since when I was with Logan I didn’t think twice about kissing Gage—twisted, I know.
We drive down the road, the opposite direction of school. Fog drifts by in a series of elongated strips. It’s as though Paragon is unveiling itself to us, removing its mysterious layers one at a time like the unraveling of a mummy. It’s the revelation I wait for. The aftermath of what it means.
Gage takes a turn down a familiar looking dirt road.
“Oh no, not here.” It’s where Carly and Carson abandoned me a few weeks back and I got my arm chopped off by Ezrina. It’s a virtual playground for Fems.
“You’ll be fine.
Besides it’s secluded, and that way no one will see us.”
“Who cares if anyone sees us? We can go to the beach, or the Falls.” Come to think of it, I almost drowned the last time Gage and I went to the beach, and I killed a guy at the falls. It’s like I’ve dusted every location on the island with some sort of demonic patina.
“We’ll be needing privacy.” He raises his brows suggestively.
The car thumps along the path riddled with branches as we gyrate over every hill and valley.
“I think your mom’s car needs shocks,” I shout over the sound of the tires grinding their way through the dirt.
We pull into the clearing, and he kills the engine.
“I think I need my truck back,” he says, unbuckling himself. “Come on.”
We head out as the dust plume settles in our wake. The earth smells sweet and the pines give off their fresh scented oils as an offering to the morning.
“So?” I lean in. “Why the need for privacy?” I bite down on my lower lip, trying to hide the fact I’m reveling in this.
“I thought I’d take advantage of you real quick, then take you out for breakfast.” He cocks his head to side.
“Oh? You’ll take me right here in the dirt?”
“I was thinking more of that mud puddle over there.” His cobalt eyes burn through me like a dare.
“Too bad it has to be real quick.” The smile melts from my face as I step forward and graze him with my lips.
“Mmm,” He gives a soft groan. “Maybe not here.”
“Chicken?” It sort of ruins the moment throwing poultry into a conversation laced with sexual innuendo.
“I think we should save our first time for a special occasion.”
“Like our almost shared birthday?”
He presses his lips together and gives a mock smile.
I like testing the limits with Gage this way. It’s my new favorite game.
“Like our wedding night,” he says.
And I thought I was spoiling the mood with poultry. Then it hits me. This isn’t a game to him. He has the gift of knowing, and he’s already informed me we’re getting married.
Panic rips through me. If I marry Gage that means I lose Logan forever, and now I’m completely derailed from the conversation.
I want to ask him more about the future—everything. But innately I know it will only lead to more questions, an entire ocean of inquiry, a world without end.
I lock onto his eyes, the broad even space between them, his flat forehead, the straight bridge of his nose. In every way Gage is perfect.
He bends over and pecks a kiss on my lips. He pulls me in and does his best rendition of the most romantic kiss known to man while Logan’s face brands itself into the recesses of my mind. Logan floats behind my eyelids, settles over my body, adheres to my skin like the scalding hot wax of a candle. He steals the moment from Gage and this infuriates me.
“That’s not really why I brought you here.” His arm dips in through the open window and he pulls out a rather long knife. He glides it out of the sheath exposing a gleaming pewter blade.
“What are you going to do with it?” I touch the chilled steel tongue of the dagger.
“I’m going to cut you with it.”
32
Slash
Gage pierces the solitude with a sharp whistle.
The raven—his bird comes quickly to his shoulder in all its dark glory. It purrs and fidgets a moment before settling down, still as stone.
“Chloe gave her to you.” I reach up and stroke its soft black feathers with the back of my hand. It’s as tall as a table lamp, and this startles me.
“It’s a he—his name is Nevermore.” He holds out his arm and the bird bounces down. “I’m giving him to you.” Gage gives a soft smile just enough to light up his dimples and spear me with those glowing eyes. “A little nick is all we need.”
Marshall’s vision makes sense now. I feel sort of jipped with that whole prediction thing. It’s obvious he’s taking advantage of me. There’s nothing disturbing about the blood on the knife being my own. Gage is offering me something beautiful.
“So you cut me and the bird?”
“I promise I won’t hurt you.”
“Why such a big knife?” Not that I don’t like the drama associated with the weaponry. In fact, I wouldn’t mind having it around since I’m ready to take on the Counts myself if I have to.
“It’s a sacred blade. Chloe gave it to me. Came with the bird.” He hands over the knife, and I examine it. It’s heavy. The metal handle is carved to look like a rope that wraps around in a smooth coiling pattern. The entire dagger is made of one piece of metal.
“Careful, it’s sharp. It’ll cut your fingers off before you notice.” He reaches for the handle, placing his hand over mine, and the knife begins to wiggle. “Don’t do that,” he warns.
“I’m not doing that. I thought you were doing that.”
The knife twists violently between us—a force so powerful that the two of us start to lose our footing.
“I’m gonna let go,” I scream, plucking my hand free from underneath his.
Gage grasps the handle with both hands as it continues to seize combatively in the air. The tip of the blade rises and points in my direction.
“Run,” he instructs.
It’s a scene from a bad movie playing out before me. Me running from Gage, Gage groaning, slashing through the air to keep from stabbing me relentlessly. My foot catches on an errant branch and I land face first in the dirt. I’m too exhausted to move another inch. It takes everything in me to turn my head so I don’t inhale the forest floor and choke to death.
The silver steely blade swipes down next to me. It plunges with the heft of an anvil right through the center of the back of my hand, pinning me to the earth with a forceful thrust.
I squeeze my eyes shut and let out a harrowing scream. The blade is pushed so far down that the base of the handle is the only thing rising up out of my flesh. I’m so thoroughly nailed into the ground it takes Gage standing over me with both hands to yank the knife free.
Nevermore goes wild, pecking and clawing at seemingly nothing but the air nearby.
“Shit!” Gage’s voice booms all around us. “What the fuck was that?”
“It’s my ghost—Holden Kragger.” I say his name accusingly. “He’s here.” I moan nursing my fresh new wound. “He caused the accident too, I’m pretty sure of it.”
Nevermore lets out a series of harsh cries before settling back down the ground not too far away from me.
Gage circles me with his eyes like I’ve got the plague.
“Looks like Nev just sent him packing,” he says. “But how are we going to get rid of him permanently?”
“No clue. With my luck I’ll need an exorcism.” I try to stop the blood from streaming free from my hand. I press my palm into my jeans and watch the red flower of my existence expand by inches every second.
“Nev.” His tone is sharp as he calls the bird.
I pick up the blade and watch my blood rise up on the sides. I swipe my finger down over it and realize I just fulfilled Marshall’s prophecy. I look up at Gage as a thought runs through my mind. What if I knew what was coming and refused to comply? Could I change things?
Gage takes the knife and punctures the bird at the base of his wing. Gently he rubs my wound over Nevermore.
“You’re bonded now.”
“So that’s it? Last one bleeding gets the prize?” I ask as the bird hops onto my shoulder.
“Something like that. It understands what you need from it and does what it can to help you, like with Kragger’s ghost. It’s more of a messenger than a guardian.” Gage takes off his shirt and wraps it around my hand, tight.
“Sort of a prehistoric 911.”
“He can’t do everything, but he’s trained pretty well.” He holds out his arm and Nevermore hops over to him. “Say Skyla.”
“Say Skyla.” It repeats crackled and broken.
“That’s amazing!” For a moment I forget about my throbbing bloodied hand.
“I love you, Skyla.” Gage says sternly to the bird.
“I love you, Skyla.” Nevermore looks right at me when he says it then bolts up toward the upper branches of an evergreen.
“That’s sweet,” I say. His sincerity and loyalty take my breath away. “Thank you.”
“Let’s get my dad to look at that.” Gage places the knife back into its sheath.
“So is Nev enchanted or something? What’s with the whole blood brother thing?”
“It’s a bound spirit. It’s trapped. Your blood controls its actions. Nothing can happen to that bird while you’re still alive.”
“What kind of spirit?”
“It could be anything but human. It’s a punishment.”
“So basically its punishment is hanging around with me? Figures.” I lean into Gage. Everything about me feels like a punishment lately.
***
The morgue is teeming with people. One of the viewing rooms has a crowd nine deep, and it doesn’t register until I see Carly Foster twirling her finger around her long blonde hair that everyone here is a teenager.
“Who died?” I whisper to Gage.
“Don’t know.” He floats me back toward the kitchen in a hurry.
“Skyla.” Dr. Oliver sounds disappointed as he adjust his glasses. He picks up my hand and removes the blood-soaked shirt. “You’re bleeding again. What happened? A Fem?”
“Holden Kragger happened.” Gage says filling him in on the bizarre string of events.
“You need stitches, but I think I’m going to glue you. It’s a fixative I use to keep peoples eyes shut, but it’ll work just the same. Are you taking vitamins? If not, do. Load up on iron.” He cleans the wound before pumping a thin line of fixative on the palm of my hand and pressing the flesh together. “East High is here on a field trip.”