“Skyla,” he says, sweeping over me with a look of anguish, “certainly there’s something we can do.” He protests to my mother.
“Rumor has it you’ve taken to appeasing the petitioners.” She says it low, almost as if she were holding back a laugh. “Have you figured out how to make them happy?” She’s talking about Morley and Arson. Considering I’ve yet to invoke their mercy, I’d say that rumors fly quicker than greased pigs in the nethersphere.
“If the rumor you received was via my grey matter, then yes, you’re correct,” I say. It’s like I can’t turn off the bitchy attitude with her. It’s weird. “I just have to figure out what makes Arson Kragger tick.” Preferably something I can feasibly achieve without a resurrection.
“His study is off in the back,” she offers. “Most men keep their prized possessions front and center.”
“Perfect!” I snatch Marshall up the elbow. Of course I’m not going to dig around the Kragger estate by my lonesome. “Where will I find the two of you?”
“Here and there.” She glosses over the crowd with an assertion of venom. Something about my mother scares the hell out of me on every level. “I’m sure we’ll bump into you again.”
I wave as Marshall presses me back into the house and down a corridor to the left.
“This is so freaking surreal!” I squeal into him as he wraps an arm around my waist like we’re a couple. Although, according to Marshall, and the future prognostication of Delphinius, we sort of are.
“Your beauty is surreal.” He says it low and sultry.
Carly Foster strolls out of a vacant room with a lanky boy I may or may not have beat up while I was hallucinating from the effects of the holy rose of terror. I duck my face into Marshall’s chest as we walk on by.
“Here it is.” He opens the door to a dimly lit study the size of the entire Landon living space.
I do a quick inventory of the neatly laid out frames on his desk, the oil paintings lining the walls, and realize just where Arson Kraggers tiny, cold heart lies.
Just as I thought—all four walls are filled with picture after picture of a black haired beauty, eyes the color of a crystal sea—Emerson.
“So I guess we know what we have to do,” I say, turning to Marshall.
“We?” He buzzes with surprise. “If the we in question is you and Ezrina, I believe you’re on the right track.”
“I’ll need you to supervise. You know, get her into the right body.”
“I always get into the body I desire.” He smears it with his signature sexual leer. “I gather no one is rushing to fill her void. You’ll be fine on your own.”
“Why aren’t you willing to help?” I’m stunned by this. “This is totally easy for you.”
“And completely forbidden.”
“You helped with Logan.”
“I gave you the dress.” He pulls me in and my chest conforms to his. The only thing that feels forbidden is Marshall holding me so brazenly while everything in me quivers for more. “Body assignments are strictly forbidden. The Counts are breaking a myriad of dogmatic principles and I won’t take part in their destructive behavior. They will be judged.”
Obviously, there isn’t a soul in any dimension able to get me out of this mess. I pull back and sigh into the dismal reality.
“Fine, I’ll go to Ezrina myself.” I take Marshall in with all of his physical perfection while interlacing our fingers. I can feel his glorious, vibrant love pulsate through me and wonder how I ever got so lucky that a celestial king such as himself should ever pay me any attention. How I long for those burning nights laden with Marshall’s bare flesh pressed against mine. Of course, that’s after I chain him neatly to the bedpost and chastise him with my body. The punishments I have in store for him are rife with blistering passion. Marshall is an Adonis that I plan on worshiping nightly.
“My, my—pouring it on a little thick, are we?” he purrs, lapping up the stroke to his ego.
“Did it work?”
“Perhaps.” He steals a quick kiss before pulling away. “What the hell—let’s get this party started.” He snaps his fingers and we disappear.
Chapter 90
Blue Light Special
The pale alabaster walls of the Transfer elongate in front of us as Marshall and I stride toward the Count marine exhibit.
We enter the expansive wing of Ezrina’s lair and find the queen of the underworld clicking away at an illuminated clipboard similar to the one Ingram clings to in the tunnels—her Ingram. Creepy.
“What?” She doesn’t bother to look up from her endeavor.
“Follow us,” Marshall instructs and she’s quick to obey.
I lead her over toward the back row of suspended corpses where I once saw Emerson’s body, and sure enough, she’s still there, floating in sea of blue syrup. Her long, dark hair is sprayed out like a bad case of static electricity—her eyes are closed partway. I wonder what having Emerson back on the island will be like? I bet the Kraggers will say she ran away and they buried some poor, unidentifiable creature, because they’re original like that.
“I want this one,” I say, tapping the tank and setting off a spiral of approval from the soon-to-be-resurrected princess herself.
Ezrina cocks her head at Marshall and he motions for the hocus pocus to begin.
I watch as Ezrina drains the tank, wheels her next door to the lab and performs some sort of carwash detail over Emerson’s body and a thought comes to me. When I worked shoulder to shoulder with Ezrina, during my involuntary internment, I was taught the simple procedure of loading a Count in the suspension fluid and the Count in question was named…
I take in a sharp breath.
Laken Stewart! That’s where I know her from. Gah! She’s a Count!
Laken Stewart is the girl Wesley has his penis compass set to—the one that makes Cooper smile with a patina of lust-driven hope in his eyes—the very same one with a mother and sister locked in the tunnels. But how? I guess my own family tree could answer that question.
Laken Stewart is a Count.
I shake my head at the idea. And now there were more questions I’d like answers to. I look over at Marshall and Ezrina the not-so-good witch as they bubble and brew over Emerson’s body and decide to shelf the conversation for later.
“Leave,” Ezrina demands.
Both Marshall and I head back to the vial sarcophagus and hang out with a bunch of dead Counts while she performs her secret magic.
I walk row after row of the watery Count coffins until I get to the place where I set Laken’s body myself. I remember that day distinctly.
“What are you doing?” Marshall seems slightly amused.
“Looking for Laken Stewart. I put her in this tube.” I knock on the glass of an empty overgrown vial and glance at Marshall.
“You were traveling, dear. She’s long since been resurrected.”
“Do you know what happened to her?”
“Not my dealings, neither are they Ezrina’s. She does what she’s told and nothing more is added to the conversation.”
“I tried to breathe life into her. I touched her dead lips to mine, but it didn’t work. I thought I could save her.” I shake my head, impotent. “I can’t save anybody.” Least of all the people in the tunnels.
“Hey”—I lean in with concern—“you never did tell me what had you so worked up over Logan.”
He takes breath and withholds a laugh.
“Everything has its price.” He pulls me in by the waist and mesmerizes me with those rich henna eyes.
“If you tell me”—I bat my lashes—“I might just share a vision with you.”
He straightens at the thought. “The Pretty One saw fit to submit a trial with the Justice Alliance, leaving yours truly in the defensive hot seat.” He leans in and puckers.
“Whoa.” I press a hand into his chest. “Why would he do that?” Throwing Marshall in front of a celestial jury makes no sense.
He gives a long blink of dis
may. “Why worry yourself with details, love?” He says it sweetly as he slips a kiss into my hair.
“Did you do something wrong?”
“Sometimes,” he says, picking up my hand and pressing his lips to my finger, “there is no other way.”
My heart thumps erratic at the implications of it all. I very well know that all roads to anything wrong usually lead to me.
A loud pop explodes in the other room and Ezrina appears in the doorway. She moves over a step and reveals a breathtakingly beautiful, very much living, Emerson Kragger.
***
The party rages on as we arrive back at the scene of the soon-to-be “Countastrophe.” Things usually fall to shit pretty quickly once the dead saunter back onto the island, so I surmise tonight will be no different.
I swallow hard as we walk through the front doors of the massive Kragger estate with a newly animated Emerson in tow. She’s gorgeous, if I do say so myself—long black hair, eyes like the evening sky, and she’s even donned a velvet dress from Marshall’s haunted-frock collection. She’s a stunning creature and I’m hoping to God she doesn’t accidently stun Arson Kragger to death from the shock of it all.
“You can’t just walk in there,” I tell her. “I’m going to find your dad and bring him to you first.” After I have a rather strange conversation with him loosely based on reality.
“OK,” she says before darting inside and swirling through the crowd.
“Crap,” I hiss. Typical Kragger behavior. It’s like they’ve all got the asshole gene. I quickly plow through the wall of bodies and snatch her back by the elbow. “There may have been something I forgot to tell you,” I pause, while I try to manufacture something to tell her. “You have to live with me.” Shit. Tad is going to be less than thrilled about having an extra mouth to feed. “Just for a while, and if you don’t, then I hope you enjoy the view from your water-filled condo because back in the aquarium you go.”
She flinches in horror.
“Fine.”
Emerson succumbs to my command with nothing more than a threat. This is going to be easier than I thought.
I pan the crowd and spot a tall bleached-out creature headed in this direction. Shit! There he is and I don’t have a proper plan in order.
“Wait here.” I push her behind a giant potted plant. “Mr. Kragger?” I shout as he turns to go outside. He pauses with a malevolent smile before making his way over. His long, thin fingers sport nails sharpened to triangular points. His tall, foreboding frame dictates the world must look up at him—he’s evil incarnate right here in the flesh. No wonder he breeds demons—he is one.
I step into him, shaking with a surge of adrenaline. I’m so damn sick of the Kraggers trying to use me, touch me, and commit bodily felonies with me at their leisure.
“I need the ruling for the treble overturned,” I demand.
“No.” He scratches at his eyelid bored with my effort.
“I have something you want and the power to take it away. Revoke my treble and you lose her twice.” I yank Emerson from the indoor shrubbery and shove her in his direction.
You can feel time stop, his face, his body freeze as he takes her in.
I half expect him to start in on an inquisition, pull at her hair to see if she’s a lookalike in a cheap wig, an apparition, or a hologram, but he doesn’t. Instead, Arson Kragger drops to his knees and starts in on an all-out wail.
I tremble at the sight of a grown man weeping at his not-so-dead daughter’s feet.
Something tells me I’ve just won my treble back for good.
Chapter 91
Freak Out
I wish I could find some way to blame this all on Ethan and his so-called special lemonade. I wish I could stop the crowd from amassing around a heaving, sobbing Arson Kragger in order for Emerson and I to get our resurrection stories straight but I can’t.
An entire mob of people bear witness to the grown Count lost in mortal sorrow.
“Chloe.” Emerson steps over her grieving father as if he were a stone in her path. “So nice to see you again.” She gives a stealth look of hatred as she circles around her least favorite casket dweller. “Skyla here tells me things are going great for you.” She jets her chin out with a marked aggression, and for a second, I’m about a thousand percent sure claws are going to fly.
Gage appears next to me with his strangely sexy patchwork face.
“The hell is going on?” he whispers.
“I found a way to get my treble.” I slip my hand down low and he slaps me some skin.
Logan crops up on the other side and gives a little laugh as Emerson goes on about how she’s been studying abroad, never once bringing up the funeral.
“Excellent work.” Logan breathes it over my shoulder, sultry as if my power to procure the dead for my bidding was a complete turn on to him. Probably is. “How long does she stay?”
“Forever, if I’m lucky.” I have no idea what the expiration date is on the Kragger in question.
The crowd breaks into an unbearable murmur as Arson recomposes himself and stands to his feet. He stagers over to Emerson with his arms stretched out like a zombie and she recoils from his touch.
I take in a quick breath.
Who knew I’d have to program her to be nice to her own father? Speaking of which…
“Did you guys happen to see my parents?” I crane my neck past Gage, into the dwindling crowd. I guess once you bring back the dead, people hit the exit pretty quick.
“Right there.” Logan nods behind me and I turn, nearly passing out at the sight. To my horror, Mom is proudly displaying her partial frontal nudity with baby Beau happily suckling away at her breast extension.
I gasp at the sight. No wonder people are leaving in droves. If Arson’s howling didn’t freak them out, my mother’s insistence to publicly flaunt her udders, might have did them in.
“I’m taking your mother home.” Tad glares at me like Mom’s boob flashing dress was designed by yours truly. “I’ll bring around the car,” he barks into her. “For God’s sake, Lizbeth”—his arms flail, mixing the air in front of her—“cover up, will you?” He stalks off, and for once, I feel like stalking off with him.
Then it happens.
“Lizbeth?” My mother, the one who gave birth to me, the one who bears my striking resemblance and has long since passed away, approaches the partially clad psychotic I now call Mom. Candace wears her signature “I’ll cut your throat” smile. Honest to God, she might have been better suited as Chloe’s mother than mine.
“Do I know you?” Mom leans in before her eyes saucer out at the sight. “You look so much like.” She turns to face me, stunned.
“It’s her.” I hold my mother up before she collapses and kills the baby she’s attempting to suffocate in her bosom.
“Let’s go somewhere.” Logan takes my celestial mother by the arm and tries to steer her toward the exit but she raises a hand to him like she’s about to smack him and he subdues the effort.
Marshall looks on amused from the sidelines. He seems content to observe from a distance. I suppose outing himself to the Olivers was enough.
“Lizbeth…” My father sweeps in. “It’s me,” he whispers.
“Oh, honey!” She presses a long kiss into Dad’s cheek before pulling away to deal with the squirming infant in her arms. She covers up her girl parts quick as possible and readjusts the baby in his expensive suede sling purchased by none other than my father’s killer. “What’s happening?”
Dad looks across the room and I follow his gaze straight over toward the assassin himself.
“Come with me,” he beckons. “I will tell you everything.”
Chapter 92
Ranch Hand
A vat of fertile clouds settle over the island, thick and cloying with a thousand different faces embedded in the haze. They watch over us with curiosity, with a wickedness that suggests they are very much rooting for our downfall.
Marshall decides to use his Sec
tor status for good and blip both of my mothers, my father, baby Beau and me over to his earthly haunt.
Mom sent Tad home alone—well, she tried—Izzy hopped into the minivan citing she needed a ride and of course Tad was more than happy to oblige. Let’s hope a ride of the four wheeled variety is all he obliges her with.
Mom and Dad sit on Marshall’s sofa while Candy girl bosses my favorite Sector around like her butler monkey. Needless to say, Candace insisted Marshall reintroduce himself to my mother, which of course he did.
“You call this tea?” The celestial queen balks, at the porcelain teacup he carefully set at her side. “The water I wash my feet with would taste better. Try coffee.” She bats him away.
Logan and Gage decided to grant us some privacy and bowed out of the family reunion even after I begged them not to. Logan stayed behind at the Kraggers and offered to give my sisters a ride home, so I gave him the keys to the Mustang. It’s not like I needed it with the supernatural transport. I also made him promise to bring Emerson in tow. Thinly veiled threats aren’t going to work with the Kraggers. I need to make it clear I’m the one holding the life or death reins around here.
My parents sit side by side on the couch, love struck and doe eyed, reminiscing about the good old days—the long walks on hot sandy beaches and late-night candlelit dinners after the girls went to bed.
I clear my throat in the event they forgot one of the girls was seated right here in front of them.
“I think we should cut to the chase,” I say. I think Mom would stay forever if I didn’t prod things along, not that I could blame her. Anyway, Gage and the butterfly room await.
“What is the chase?” Mom looks over at Candace with a discerning look. “Why are you here?” She pins her with an unnecessary level of suspicion.
“I’ll be prepping Skyla for the war as will her father.” Candace openly takes on my mother with a death stare.