“I’ll carry you in my arms.” He shuts the book he’s reading and gives a sideways glance.
“Second thought, right here is fine.” I sling an arm around his waist. Marshall plus a bed does not a good equation make. “Thank you for getting us out of the region last night.” I’ve already thanked him twice, but between getting Miller home in one piece and confirming his theory on the grave robbing Counts, I’d like to remind him of how appreciative I am.
“I could number the ways you can show your gratitude—all creative displays of affection we would both find gratifying on multiple levels.”
“Dream on.” I wonder if I’ll fall for a stupid line like that in the future?
“I will and you shall.” He gives it in a heated whisper. “Delphinius was generous enough to cast me a vision of our future.”
I spike up in a panic. “What did you see?”
“Arms and legs, and a tangle of flesh contorting in a deliciously disturbing manner.”
Gah! Disturbing is right.
“Back to the war,” I say, swiping the book from his hands and fanning myself with it.
“Yes,” he says, running his finger down my nose, “back to the war. You must employ the strategy that you and the tragic threesome devised, however anemic it may be. It’s imperative the Sectors remain in power—Celestra, too of course.”
“Sounds like we’re an afterthought.” I pull on a loose thread at the base of his shirt, lost in a momentary bout of madness with visions of our flesh contorting in unison. It’s easy like this with Marshall. I never question what his motives are or if he’s going to turn out to be one of Chloe’s psychotic minions. He simply wants to marry me and create a super race of Sector, Celestra half-breeds—nothing more, nothing less.
“I see our future is occupying your mind.” He reaches up and gently massages my shoulders. A soft buzz fills me and I close my eyes, enjoying the sensation.
“Our future,” I whisper. It hardly makes sense coming from my lips.
“It’s nice to see you’re warming to the idea. I suppose it’s time to make a formal introduction to society.”
“Oh, that won’t be necessary.” Talk about a leap in the wrong direction.
“Nonsense. It’s a privilege to shower my future bride with the accolades and attention she deserves. I can hardly wait to parade you in front of colleagues and adversaries.”
“You make me sound like a show pony.”
“More like princess—royalty. Things are going to be remarkable under our rule. Of course, our child will prosper greatly.
“Just one?” I look up at him.
“Let’s see what Delphinius thinks.”
He locks those crimson sirens on me and I can see right into his thoughts—a scene appears. It’s me lying on a bed. A bright light explodes over my head and I’m panting. Blinding pain rips through my body as a voice calls over my shoulder. Breathe. You can do this. I look back to find Marshall hovering by my side with an anxious look.
I turn to face him fully. We’ve shared this vision once before but I so hate the confirmation that Marshall will be present at the birth of my child. God, what if he’s the father?
“It was you, again.” I don’t bother layering it with any unnecessary enthusiasm.
“It was me—wasn’t it?” His lips curve into a wicked smile. “It looks to me that unto us a child will be born. It’s what I’ve always dreamed of.”
Good God.
I lean against him and close my eyes an infinitely long time. I fall into wild and treacherous dreams where hundreds of Marshall doppelgangers shoot arrows at me, and all the while, they call me mommy.
***
In the morning, a wild knock explodes at the door. Marshall bolts up to answer and before we know it, Tad is barreling in our direction.
“Get in the car. We’re going home,” he barks.
Mom trots in after him, apologizing profusely to Marshall for her husband’s erratic behavior while Baby Beau dangles helpless from her hip, his head bobbing every which way.
“Let’s go! Let’s go!” Tad claps up a storm, inspiring the baby to seize unnaturally.
“Oh, no, no. It’s OK!” Mom tosses the infant in the air and catches him. “You are unique!” She shrieks. “You are irreplaceable!”
Beau Geste’s head flops back. His face explodes in full-blown distress as he hacks out an injured cry. Marshall takes him up and blesses him with a soothing kiss on the forehead, inspiring the redheaded infant to sigh with delight. I hope to God Marshall rectifies the baby shaking syndrome my mother just inflicted.
“Look at you!” Mom marvels. I’m not sure who’s she’s yelling at, Marshall or the baby. “You are fantastic!”
“I am rather fond of children.” Marshall steals a sidelong glance at me.
“Ha!” Tad barks. “He just leered at your daughter.” He jabs a finger at my mother before reverting to Marshall. “I bet you’re fond of children.” He pokes him hard in the chest. “As evidenced by the fact you let a minor take up residence in your home.”
“I slept on the couch,” I fire back. I don’t care for Tad’s sickening accusations, even if they are true. It’s not like Marshall is some twenty-seven year old pedophile—he’s at least six thousand.
“Tad!” Mom slits her throat with her finger and he quickly subdues.
“I apologize,” Tad whispers with his tail between his legs.
It looks like Mom has firm command of the whip.
“Not to worry,” Marshall assures, handing the baby back to my mother. The tiny Count bursts into tears once he releases. Marshall takes him back and the crying is exchanged for happy coos.
“You’re a baby whisperer or something.” Mom touches her chest, amazed.
“Or something,” he says.
“You shouldn’t put off having children.” Mom is quick to dispense the procreation counsel.
“I plan to get right to it.” Marshall shoots a look to me “Just need to find a willing victim.”
“Please.” She takes the baby back as Tad storms off to the car. “You know...” Her eyelid jerks in a mini seizure. It’s that same twitchy look in her eye she gets whenever a bad idea is ready to bubble to the surface. I distinctly recognize it from the time she was dating Tad. “I just might know someone I can set you up with. I’ll call you over for dinner as soon as I can arrange it.”
“I look forward to meeting the young lady.” Marshall gleams in my direction. Rest assured, I’ve already met her. He winks. I’ll drop the rest of your things off later. “Speaking of dinner,” he says, holding a finger in the air toward Mom, “I’ll be hosting an end of summer soirée and I’ll need help with formal invitations.”
“I can hardly wait.” Mom sags into him dreamily as if he had offered to inseminate her himself. “Demetri sort of opened the season and now you’ll usher us out.”
“In style. This is no bikini romp by the pool. Prepare to be dazzled. The menu will astound you.” He washes his eyes over me as if I were the main course. It’s a betrothal ceremony, Skyla—a coming out of sorts to Sector society. And you will dazzle them all, of this, you can be certain.
I follow Mom onto the porch. I having a feeling there’s nothing I can say to stop Marshall from throwing me an engagement party that spans time and dimension, humans and heavenly hosts. It’s not like it’s written in stone, and I’m really going to lose hold of my senses and marry him.
Marshall checks his watch and smiles up at me.
“Three days, and eleven minutes—spot on.” Looks like Delphinius has quite the track record.
A breath gets caught in my throat.
Shit.
I’m going to marry Marshall.
My only hope is to twist the hands of fate, i.e. my mother. Although, I have a feeling I’d be better off dealing with Ezrina.
A glint in the woods catches my attention.
Wild flaming hair, a crooked frame trying to blend into the scenery—it’s her. Ezrina is here and
openly sizing me up.
Mine. She cackles into the wind.
It hits me as I scoot the hell into the minivan—it’s not me Marshall is going to marry.
It’s Ezrina.
Chapter 77
The Air Up There
The Landon house looks unusually small and boxy as I make my way in the entry. Even the framework, the staircase, and the doors all looks several feet shorter, as if someone bulldozed the original in the brief time I was gone and built this miniature replica. It never fails. When I leave Demetri’s or Marshall’s and come back to Tad’s glass castle, it feels no bigger than a dollhouse full of Counts.
Ethan and Chloe are huddled around the kitchen table with a plethora of papers fanned out in front of them.
“Home so soon?” Chloe is the first to greet me.
“That’s right, back to reclaim what’s rightfully mine.” I lean in. “I’m talking about my bedroom since I already have Gage.”
“The room is mine for one more night,” Chloe quips, highlighting something in front of Ethan, trying to look important. “I’m hosting a sleepover. Isn’t that exciting? All our friends will be there.” She blinks up innocently as Mom and Tad file in the room. “Tad said you wouldn’t mind.”
“Won’t that be really disruptive for the baby?” I make large angry eyes at Mom, who’s about to nuke a bottle for Beau.
“Oh, we won’t be here,” she says, plucking things out of cabinets at an alarming pace. “I’ve got to run over to the mainland to discuss arrangements and details about our last fertility trial. I need to see how many viable eggs I have left. It’s really getting down to the wire.” She holds out a box of quinoa in Tad’s direction.
It’s nice to see her focus back on breeding, and hard to pronounce culinary disasters, right where it belongs. Which by the way, I never thought I’d say.
“That’s right.” Tad yanks a beer out of the fridge and cracks it open. “Only one more opportunity to spread my seed over the land.” He toasts the air just before Mom replaces the beverage with a glass of water.
Must we go there? The thought of Tad crop dusting his seed over the land is enough to make me want to vomit for a month straight.
“How the plans coming?” Tad asks, looking over Ethan’s shoulder approvingly.
“We’re going to call it, The Gas Lab,” Chloe informs.
“Planning an expansion of Ethan’s bedroom?” I must admit the name fits the disaster zone to a T.
“The coffee shop,” Chloe sneers. “I thought of the name myself.” She tosses back her molasses mane in Tad’s direction. I swear if I didn’t know better I’d think she were trying to procure some of that seed herself.
“That’s a fantastic name,” Tad bleats.
Mom and I exchange looks.
“Isn’t the primary product you’re trying to market, coffee?” I’m no expert, but I bet cluing the customer in on what you’re pushing is an important part of the equation.
“Anybody can do coffee,” Ethan scoffs.
“Isn’t that what you’re selling?” I’m completely intrigued, especially since Mom and Tad are putting the house in hawk for this foreclosure in the making.
“Air.” Ethan averts his eyes to the ceiling as if I should have known. “Hence the name, The Gas Lab.”
Holy shit. I bet this is all Chloe’s lousy idea. It wasn’t good enough to kill my dad and turn me over to the Counts—she wants to initiate a fiscal take down of my entire family.
“You know,” Chloe says, nodding into me, “flavored air, stuff like that.”
“No, I don’t know.” I go over to inspect the lunacy spread out before them. Apparently the only thing breeding around here is Chloe’s psychosis.
Ethan straightens the papers in front of him. “We’re taking the Kragger brand and expanding it in a new direction. We’ll still serve coffee and crap like that.”
Coffee and crap like that? Air? Obviously expanding in a new direction involves large doses of stupid.
“We’d better get going or we’ll be late.” Mom secures an overgrown diaper bag.
“I’ll grab the rest of our things.” Tad disappears.
“What about Beau?” I ask. Not that I’m volunteering to sit on the baby Count until they get home. He does have real parents, right?
“Oh, he’s coming with.” She touches my hand and marvels like some major coo has taken place.
“Is Brielle OK with this?”
“More than OK.” Mom rolls her eyes while snapping up a fistful of pacifiers. “She’s taking the summer off. She wants to enjoy her vacation.”
“So, is everything OK with you and Tad?” I whisper in the event Chloe decides to listen in. God knows Ethan could care less about the fragile state of his father’s matrimonial standing.
“Well…” She shrugs. “Not one hundred percent, but I really want to finish this trial. It’s my last chance on the planet if I ever want to have another baby.”
Crap. She’s using Tad as some genetic donation station. That’s all kinds of twisted. Little does she know Demetri’s sperm probably has some magical properties to procure a child for her at ninety if the opportunity presents itself.
“I hope you work things out,” I say. “I don’t like seeing you guys fight. Maybe you can use this time to kiss and make up? Every child deserves to be raised by two loving parents and you and Tad certainly qualify.” It takes everything in me not to stick my finger down my throat.
She looks out the window and openly frowns as if my words left a horrible taste in her mouth.
“I guess you’re right.” She dots me with a kiss. “See you in a few days.”
“A few days?”
“I’ll keep an eye on things,” Chloe volunteers.
“Great.” Mom picks up the baby’s limp hand and waves as she heads out the door.
“Selling air?” I speed over to Chloe. “I’ll keep an eye on things? Why are you even hanging around? You do realize you’re the source of all my problems.”
Chloe looks up, cuts me with her heavy gaze. “Wouldn’t it be ironic if I were the solution?”
***
It rains sickles from the sky the afternoon Ellis decides to schedule our very first play “date.”
Ellis called and said his father was in town. Apparently, Harrison senior and his prepubescent girlfriend are going to hang out and watch a movie this afternoon.
Instinctively, I pull into the Oliver’s driveway then back out and force myself to drive across the street and pull in behind Ellis’s aggressively large monster truck. If only a monster of the vehicular variety was all I had to contend with today.
I make a dash for the door with my jacket hiked over my head and still manage to get doused in the process. I’m not sure why an umbrella seems to be against my religion. Maybe it’s the California girl in me rebelling.
Ellis swings the door open before I have the chance to knock.
“You’re late.” He pulls his lips in a line as if I’ve actually managed to botch operation faux-love-honey before it ever got beneath the covers.
“Only by fifteen minutes—and there was an accident congesting traffic. In the event you haven’t noticed this is pretty much a two-lane cow town.” Minus the cows.
Ellis takes up my hand and I flinch before remembering the nature of our arrangement and let our fingers glide over one another as if we did this all the time. He leads me to the family room where Morley, the pervert, is situated with his co-ed girlfriend. She comes fully equip with pigtails and a skin tight T-shirt with Greek lettering across the front—the name of her sorority, no doubt. I bet she belongs to Stupid, Stupid, Stupid, situated safely on the campus of Gold Digger U.
She looks miniaturized while seated next to her elderly counterpart. He’s so tall and gawky, he dwarfs her—makes her look all of twelve in his evil presence.
He strokes the girl’s sable-colored hair as if she were a kitten.
Bleh. I’m not even in the room yet and I’m already insp
ired to hurl.
“Dad”—Ellis interrupts his geriatric show of affection—“you remember Skyla. Skyla this is my dad and Bootsie.”
“Bootsie?” I try to whisper but the pretty brunette bubbles to attention at the call of her name and gives a spastic wave. She’s probably relieved to see some youth in the vicinity for a change.
Morley gravels an impenetrable smile before picking up the remote. “You’ll have to excuse us, Skyla.” He pauses. “We’re stuck watching our feature on the flat screen today. We’re having the viewing room redone thanks to my anal retentive wife.”
I think he means ex-wife. God, I hope he means ex-wife. Olivia is an attorney for Pete’s sake. If she hasn’t spun out a divorce or two for herself, what good is her career? But then again they do insist on sharing a residence. To each his twisted own.
“Oh, I don’t mind. We don’t even have a flat screen at my house.” Tad schlepped his big box TV from the mainland, and although he keeps dreaming of a liquid crystal display, he’s stuck with the picture tube of days gone by.
Morley gawks at me a moment as if I’ve just lugged over a severe case of the black plague. Figures. He probably doesn’t think I’m good enough to date his son because I don’t come from money. He’s a dumbass that way.
“So what movie are we watching?” I ask as I take a seat next to Ellis. Speaking of which, he really cleaned up for the occasion. He’s donned a light blue polo and a pair of brown cords. He even smells good, more cologne and less reefer.
“Some lame flick,” Ellis says, reaching over and picking up the DVD. “Power Position.”
I take it from him and examine the blonde on the cover. She’s a twin to Isis. Figures. Demetri’s probably got an entire slew of bimbo “nieces” lying around.
Ellis stretches and lays his arm over my shoulder, strategically landing his hand over my boob, and I try to buck him off.
“We gotta make it look real,” he whispers it like a sweet nothing in my ear.
“No, we don’t.” No matter how much I try to readjust, Ellis’s hand continues to flop around my chest like a dying fish. Never mind. Ellis Harrison coping a feel is the least of my worries, and knowing Ellis, he only has the “breast” intentions at heart.