Gage and I try to break up the party, and for once I feel like a responsible—moral adult, except for the part about having to kiss Marshall later. That will totally ding my morals and it makes me want to hang Marshall instead.
I see Melissa slumped over the counter, barely seated on a barstool, and for a second I think about checking her pulse. The weird thing is, I don’t even panic. With my blood, and Marshall’s know how, I feel strangely removed from the concept of death as I once knew it.
“Wake up!” I jostle her to attention.
She lets out a moan, and I can smell the alcohol on her breath.
Great.
“Where’s Mia?” I slide a stack of paper towels over to her in the event she tries to invert her intestines.
She mumbles and points up.
Up? As in upstairs? Why would she be upstairs when there’s a perfectly good party going on right down here?
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!
My hands push out in front of me as I speed my way through the crowd and up the stairs.
I trip over bodies rolling around in the dark hall until I stumble into Mia’s bedroom. Empty. Thank God.
I breathe a sigh of relief as I shut the door. A vision of Mia tangled up in some boy sails through my brain, and I whip open the door to Mom and Tad’s room.
A circle of kids sit on the bed, smoking, and judging by the very distinct Ellis-like odor, it’s for sure not legal.
“Out!” I thunder scaring them all onto the floor.
I race over to my bedroom and open the door.
“Mia?” The light is on in my bathroom and the obvious sound of giggles emit from the other side of the door. God, what if she’s getting it on with some guy in my bathroom? What kind lowlife tries to get a girl on the freaking toilet?
I burst through the door fully pissed and ready to castrate.
“Skyla!” Brielle snatches a towel off the counter at a lame attempt to cover up her chest. Drake peers over at me from behind the wall. He’s not wearing a shirt, which instinctively causes me to shut my eyes in the event he’s got flesh colored pants to match.
“Sorry!” I close the door. “So glad you’re back together!”
A hissing noise comes from the closet, and I jump, knocking over the lamp in fear.
“It’s me,” Mia hisses.
“Where are you?” I reach blindly towards my desk.
The closet light flicks on, and I go over. The first thing I glance at is the transom over the butterfly room, making sure it’s securely in place.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m hiding.” She pulls a long strand of hair over her face. “Gabriel Armistead wanted to do it, and I chickened out.”
“Who the hell’s Gabriel Armistead? Never mind, I don’t want to know, and thank you for chickening out.”
She shrugs. “I thought about you, and I didn’t do it.”
“Me?”
“Yeah.” Her eyes glow in this gentle light. She’s so beautiful. She’s worth a thousand Gabriel Armisteads if not a million. “You know,” she continues, “knocked up and stuff. I don’t want to ruin my life like you did.”
I want to correct her, but don’t. “You made the right decision.” Sadly I don’t think it would ruin my life if I slept with Gage or had his baby. But I get what she’s saying, and she’s right. No reason to make life harder than it has to be. Not that I’m ever going to admit to Gage he’s right in waiting for that perfect moment. Especially when it’s tons of fun trying to convince him otherwise.
She walks towards the door. “Oh and Skyla?”
I glance over at her.
“I’m going to tell you had the party.”
“I’ll tell you had the party,” I shoot back.
“They’ll never believe you. No one ever does.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
Lips Like These
Horrifying. Trashed. Decimated.
I don’t know how to even begin to clean this mess, so I don’t. Instead, I convince Gage that I’m totally OK with him going home and wait for Marshall to appear over my bed like a glowworm.
“Hello,” he whispers, leaning against the closet.
The next thing I know we’re standing outside in the backyard.
“How’d you do that?” I take in a sharp lungful of air from the surprise.
“I can do anything,” it comes out seductive with a trace of a drawl I hadn’t detected before.
He morphs into Logan.
“No,” I say, flatly. An image of Logan and I rutting in the backseat of his car infiltrates my brain, and I can’t seem to stop it.
He morphs into Gage.
I let out a sigh. Kissing him like this would be easy as breathing air.
His features sharpen back to his own.
“This is the channel, Skyla. Sorry if it offends your viewing pleasure.”
There’s something charmingly boyish about Marshall bathed in this stream of sterling moonlight. I stroke his hair back and pull him in close by the neck.
“I’m not offended. I’m just not the right one for you.” My heart thumps like a jackrabbit. I’ve been this close to Marshall before, closer if you count his vision laced lips, but something about this is different, like I’m actually feeling something for him. But he’s so far behind both Gage and Logan, I don’t think anything there’s a chance for us.
“You’re touching me, Skyla. I can hear you.”
My cheeks burn with heat. “I meant—”
“I know what you meant.”
“Thank you for doing those things for me today,” I stare down at the ground while I say it. I’m afraid if I look up at him I might get swallowed in by the moment. “I really am in love with my boyfriend.”
“Boyfriends,” he corrects.
“I just,” I take in a deep breath ignoring his insinuation. “I don’t want to cheat.” I blink back tears.
Marshall bumps his forehead into mine before retracting. “Very well. I’ve left something for you in the closet. I was going to gift it to you regardless, sort of a belated birthday present. Nevertheless, in exchange for the kiss, to uphold your end of the agreement I’d like for you to wear it, Monday.”
I nod eagerly. I’d wear less than a dress if he wanted me to. I’m so thrilled I don’t have to cheat on Gage, he could throw in a pair of dusty angel wings for kicks, and I wouldn’t protest.
His brows peak. “Next time.” He lands a soft kiss on the tip of my nose. “Be forewarned, pop quiz first thing Monday morning.” And with that he disappears.
***
That night I lose myself in a world of spasmodic dreams. Me chasing Gage— apologies drip from me like oil. I chase Chloe with a blue flaming axe and hack off her limbs. I chase an entire school bus of boys out of Mia’s bedroom, laughing because she doesn’t want to be like me—but really she does.
In the final installment of my REM feature presentation, I see Logan’s orange Mustang rocking in a dark lot overlooking Devil’s Peak. It clots up my dreamscape like a guilt-riddled stain, beckons me over to it like a dare. I know full well what I’m about to see.
There we are—me in my ball gown and him without a stitch. It looks so primal, the two of us lost in our lust. I can hear the erratic breathing as our secret perfume lets out its scent through a crack in the window.
“Hello, Skyla,” a voice rumbles from behind.
I jump back to see Logan standing there with a forlorn look.
“You just can’t walk into someone’s dream like that.” It doesn’t come out half as irritated as I want it to. “Didn’t I banish you?”
“I don’t think you banished me, and if you did, I don’t remember—lousy memory.” He gives an unconvincing smile.
Logan walks over and looks in through the fog-laden window. He folds his arms and watches unmoved with an undertone of great sadness at what’s transpiring on the other side of the glass.
“I can’t control my dreams,” I say defensively. The possibility o
f dying from embarrassment in this subconscious world feels very real.
“No, they’re usually uncontrollable,” he admits. His jaws cinches as though he were in great pain. “You can’t control your dreams, but they’re really good at exposing deep-seated feelings.” His fingers touch the glass, right over the hand on the other side. “Oh, and, by the way,” he looks right at me and gives a sarcastic smile, “I have a birthmark on the back of my upper left thigh.”
“Very funny.” The air clots up with tension again. “Logan?”
“Yes?” He looks hopeful as though I might somehow decide to replicate what’s going on in the car behind him.
“I just want you to know that I really do trust you.”
“Thank you,” he picks up both my hands and kisses them in turn—then disappears.
***
Mia and Melissa flat out refuse to clean up their disaster, and since I worked a long shift on Sunday, I don’t touch the mess either.
So early Monday morning when I hear the front door open and the obscenities flow from Tad’s scab encrusted lips, I haul ass downstairs to rat out my sisters before they do me.
“Skyla.” My mother closes her eyes in a forced neurotic calm that I can only hope won’t rocket into a well lathered fury.
“Wasn’t me.” I say proud of the fact I’m not lying.
Tad wades through a flotilla of plastic cups that rise from the floor like a foul red tide. The sofa in the family room is upside down. Gage offered to flip it back into position, but I decided it might be a good testament to the debauchery their little darlings were capable of.
Mia and Melissa file downstairs still wiping the sleep from their eyes. To my surprise Drake is already in the kitchen lapping bits of soggy cereal from a bowl.
“For two days we leave you!” Tad slaps his hand down on the counter, and a plume of drywall dust explodes in the air. Technically that’s from Holden yanking the chandelier. It just keeps snowing like powdered sugar each time we move around upstairs, and there’s not a darn thing we can do about it. “Who is responsible?” He snarls.
Mia and I exchange accusing fingers.
“OK,” Tad balks through puffy cheeks. “We’ve narrowed it down to two, both yours Lizbeth.” His hands fly up as though he were exonerated from the verbal gaff he’s just committed.
A horrid groan comes from deep inside Mom.
“It was Mia and Melissa,” I say, trying to balance the Messenger to Landon ratio.
“Drake—Melissa?” Tad looks soberly over at the two of them.
“It was Skyla,” Melissa shrugs in my direction.
I sigh. “Of course she’s going to side with Mia, they’re emotionally conjoined.”
“No, it was really Skyla.” Melissa’s face turns a bright shade of pink. “And she made us stay up in our rooms all night.”
“What? You were sitting right here about to puke your guts out when I found you. I even gave you an ice pack before I left for work yesterday to help with the hangover.”
“You let my baby drink?” Tad takes a bold step in my direction.
“No, she did it herself. Right, Drake?”
“I’m Switzerland,” he says shaking his head.
Figures.
“Skyla, we had an agreement.” Mom tosses her purse on the counter.
“A signed legal document with real ramifications,” Tad states regaining his composure.
“What’s he talking about?” I ask Mom. I need her to decode his stupid speak for me.
“The contract, Skyla.” Her eyes close in frustration. “The one you signed when we first arrived?”
The way they’re talking about it makes it sound like some sacred document signed in blood, but it’s not. It’s that ridiculous statement of oppression they rigged, making me swear I’d never smoke pot or open my legs.
“Oh that.” It was totally stupid and probably qualifies as child abuse. The consequences probably have something to do with turning me over to the Counts. Although at the moment I’m feeling rather turned in by my sister who is a Count, and imprisoned by the ones appointed as my legal guardians.
“Yes, that.” Mom shoulders up to Tad.
“Pack it up, kiddo, I’ll have you shipped, lock, stock, and barrel by the first of the year. There’s a boarding school on the East Coast that will gladly take you mid-semester.” He strides over to the junk drawer and pulls something out before slapping it on the counter. It’s a brochure with the picture of some haunted looking castle on the front. It reads Ephemeral Academy, where legacies are created.
“I’ll run away.” The words fly out of my mouth before I can process them.
“You can’t run away,” Mia interjects. “What about the baby?”
The entire room depletes of oxygen as everyone sucks in a lungful of air.
“You have crossed the line, Mia,” I say with a controlled anger. I snatch the curtain rod off the table and lung towards her just as Drake intercedes.
“Whoa,” he gives a sly smile. “I knew it. It was you Brielle was covering for.”
“No,” I shake my head. “It’s not me.” The tight building knot in my throat restricts my protests.
“She’s got a bunch of baby growth pills in her room.” Drake folds his arms.
“Prenatals,” I correct.
“Oh, Skyla,” Mom’s face bleaches out. She holds out her hands out in an effort to balance herself from the shock.
“Well there you go, Lizbeth. Your own daughter is trying to eclipse your glory. I bet she did it just to steal your thunder.”
“Mom—are you having a baby?” I ask, quick to glom onto anything that has nothing to do with the lies propagated against me.
She shakes her head.
“And she doesn’t know who the daddy is,” Melissa points hard in my direction.
“Skyla?” Mom clutches at her neck.
“It’s either Logan,” Mia presses down a finger, “Gage, or that creepy teacher we take horseback riding lessons from—I caught them making out in the barn.”
Fuck.
My mother slaps her forehead.
“Now that is just a flat out lie.” I needle Mia with all of my wrath. Marshall is the catalyst for the utter disgust I’m feeling towards my sister right now. Then an ingenious thought comes to me. “She’s just saying that because I caught her smoking pot, and she knows I’m going to rat her out.” Two can play at the lying game. I give a little smile.
I’ll plant pot all over her room before they ship me off and set the damn thing on fire if I have to. Thanks to Ellis and his never-ending supply, I can rival any marijuana bust in modern day history—make it look like Mom and Tad are nothing but a bunch of reefer farmers.
“Mia, I want you to take back what you said about Mr. Dudley.” Mom’s tone lets her know she’s not shitting around. “He’s a very good friend of the family and I won’t have you slander him that way.”
Slander? I squint into my mother. Marshall has said more than once, you don’t slander celestial beings.
“It is true,” Mia whines, “They were all over each other in the backyard Saturday night, too.”
“That was Gage,” I’m swift with the lie.
“Ah-ha!” Tad slaps his hands together before pointing over at me. “Bam! She’s guilty, and I bet good money he’s the daddy.”
Just perfect.
“I tried telling you months ago we had a problem on our hands,” Tad assumes a posture of superiority. “She was sleeping around the entire time,” he narrows into my mother accusingly, “and you chose to believe her lies. I hope that illegitimate child she’s carrying stamps your passport to reality because I sure couldn’t.”
I glare over at Mia.
“Get ready for school,” Mom whispers. “We’ll figure this all out later.”
I head upstairs wondering if I let Holden out of his spiritual bondage a little too soon. Or perhaps I should have asked Marshall to hit the mute button on Mia.
“Thanks for taking t
he blame for the party,” Mia traipses up the stairs beside me. “I still have the picture, so don’t mess with me.” Her lip curls to the side. “Look,” she blocks the door to my room, “I feel like shit, OK? I’ll split the fifty bucks with you.”
“It’s more like a hundred,” Melissa says, heading down the hall.
“Not interested.” I push past her.
The only thing I’m interested in is staying right here on Paragon.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Me and My White Dress
Monday is West Paragon’s official last day of school before winter break. Yes, Monday. The rest of the week is replete with pupil free days, and everyone knows you don’t go to school on pupil free days unless you have a crush on your teacher, or live in a house full of hostile Counts.
Gage is nice enough to pick me up, and I relay the series of events on the way to school including the immaculate conception of our nonexistent child, which both Mom and Tad firmly believe exists.
We take the long way and have to park in the student overflow near the charred forest.
“We burned this down with our love,” his dimples ignite on either side as he helps me down from his truck. “You look gorgeous.” He leans back and takes me in. I give a little spin in the stark white dress Marshall gave me. It’s arid and loose, but sexy with alternating rows of intricate lace inlays.