She lays the head over the neck and pushes in as if she expects it to snap into place, and bizarrely enough, it sort of melds together.
My mother begins to whisper and chant in a language I don’t recognize. The syllables all speed together then stop abruptly before she switches to a singsong cadence.
Marshall kneels and grabs Emerson by the shoulders. He joins in on the frightful chorus and Emerson’s corpse ignites a brilliant cerulean blue, the exact color of the spirit sword.
The seam of skin around her neck folds in on itself at the infliction—melts until it’s smooth, unblemished as a newborn.
“There.” My mother pulls back and gives an approving nod.
Emerson glows an odd shade of teal, her face still holds two dark caves in place of eyes, and well, I’m pretty sure that’s the deal breaker.
“Can you…” I point over to the ocular region. “You know.”
“Oh heavens, yes.” She bats me away as if the idea of leaving her so deformed were absurd. “Gage, lend me your eyes.” My mother lifts her chin at my sweet innocent boyfriend.
“No!” I bark.
Gage leans in reluctantly and she nods as if memorizing them.
“Stunning.” She blinks a quick smile. A loud pop explodes over Emerson’s head and the entire corpse twitches. “She’s warming up.”
“Just like an engine.” My father nods as if he’s seen this before.
The unearthly glow dies down in an instant, revealing rosy skin—more alive and healthier than Emerson ever was, I’m sure.
“Here we go.” My mother claps over at Giselle and she vanishes into thin air.
Emerson—I mean, Giselle gives a series of blinks before sitting up and sneezing seven times in a row. She gives a gentle laugh and opens her mouth with surprise as she takes us all in with eyes the exact cobalt blue as her brother’s.
“Is it you?” Gage leans in and treads his fingers soft over her cheek.
“It’s me!” She says, far too jubilant to be Emerson Kragger on her best day. We’ll have to teach her to be cold and calculating when Chloe is around. I have a feeling dinner tonight at the Landon house is going to be amazing. “I’m really here!” She hugs Gage with all her might.
“You look so much like yourself,” I say, diving down to get a hug myself. “Hey.” I turn to my mother. “Do you think you can…” I tap my face where Giselle’s dimples once resided.
“Come.” She calls Giselle to turn around and digs her fingers into either side of her cheeks. “And we’re finished.”
Giselle test-drives a smile and her killer dimples dig in, deep and precious.
“How long can I stay?” She pulls her knees in with excitement. Her newfound divots make her look severely cute.
“I’m gifting you a full lifespan for your sacrifice.” My mother matches her enthusiasm. “I dare say grey hair is in your future.”
“That’s terrific.” Gage exhales through a smile. “Looks like we have a new member of the family,” he says it directly to me, and my heart melts at the thought of Gage as family. Already it feels as if we’re years into a marriage built on love. All of the madness of this summer dissolves in this one beautiful moment.
I pick up Giselle’s hand. Her dimples explode in unison with her brother’s and it all becomes real.
“Family,” I whisper.
Dad comes over and lays his hand over my shoulder. “You’re very lucky, all of you.”
“Go on.” My mother gives a curt nod. “Strategize on how to get to Ahava. Make me proud, Skyla. Retrieve the sword of the Master and give your celestial family something to cheer about.”
“I will,” I say. “Thank you! Thank you for giving Emerson back her life—I mean Giselle. I’ll make you proud. I swear it.”
My mother’s features sharpen. Her smile dissipates.
“You had better.” She explodes in a tower of flames and evaporates to nothing.
Chapter 105
Family Reunion
To say Emerson Kragger has undergone a drastic improvement, what with the recently renovated features, eyes to die for—eyes in general, and to top it all off a bubbly personality, would be an understatement, but right on the money nonetheless. Only it’s not Emerson. It’s Giselle. This entire situation is made of win.
We spent the whole afternoon coaching her on all things human, which basically translated into discouraging her from smiling like a loon and hugging people every three seconds. She made Emerson look psychotic and the hugs were bordering on assault.
Gage phoned his mom and let her know he was brining “company” home for dinner—me, my father, Marshall, and Emerson Kragger. He decided it would be better to surprise his parents with the newest edition of the family.
Gage teleports the two of us high on the ridge of the driveway. I pierce him with a look as Marshall helps Giselle and my father out of his car.
“It’s still not too late to call and warn them,” I say. Quite frankly, I’m a little afraid of what Emma’s reaction might be. If she croaks from the shock of it all, I’ll totally blame Gage. I’m pretty sure I’ve reached capacity as far as reanimation requests go.
“It’ll be fine.” His dimples wink at me as if affirming the fact.
We head over to the house and I can’t help but feel something akin to the walk of shame. Certainly springing a long-dead child on someone, in another human form, feels morally questionable and perverse on some level.
“We’re here,” Gage shouts as we enter the Oliver’s spacious home, which holds the scent of a full-tilt Thanksgiving dinner. Honestly, she could have called for take-out, but Emma seems happy to slice and dice and prepare great tasting, labor-intensive meals from scratch.
“Good evening.” Barron greets us in the dining room. “I put the extension in the table before I set it. It’s been so long since we’ve had guests.” His face brightens at the sight of Marshall and my father. “A Sector and a soul from Paradise no less. I’ve chilled a bottle of my finest wine just for the occasion.” Dr. Oliver and my father exchange hearty handshakes as if they were old friends.
“Splendid,” Marshall says. “I brought an extra bottle should the need to inebriate ourselves arise.”
Logan appears in the room and offers me a quick embrace.
What’s going on? He gives a puzzled look.
Nothing’s going on. I slide his hands off me in the event my brain wants to replay the horrific scene from earlier. I don’t mind letting Logan in on my body swapping secret, but I’m pretty sure Gage should tell his parents first.
“Have you perfected the advanced serum we discussed?” Marshall drills into Barron.
“What serum?” I ask. I don’t like the sound of this. The last time Marshall tried to advance the method of my recovery, he riled up my body with a cosmic blast of pain.
I catch Giselle glancing nervously at her mother.
Besides, this is supposed to be an all-out family reunion of chasm-crossing proportions. This isn’t about me or which poison Marshall prefers to shut down my vital organs with.
“Gage.” I nudge him.
“Mom—Dad?” He pulls Giselle over and wraps an arm around her shoulder. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
Emma and Barron inch forward with platonic amusement. Emma’s hair is pulled back so tight she’s inadvertently taken ten years off her age.
“This…” Gage starts in slow. “Is Giselle.”
They squint into her with a slight look of confusion.
“So nice to meet you.” Emma wears a tired expression that masks a twinge of sadness. She disappears into the kitchen and returns with a giant red casserole dish. “Everyone, take a seat!”
“Pleased to have you with us,” Barron says, with a little less enthusiasm and assembles himself at the table next to his wife.
“That was sort of anti-climatic,” I whisper.
“I don’t think they get it.” Gage blows a breath through his cheeks as everyone fills a chair at the
table.
“It’s me,” Giselle blurts. She holds out her hands at Emma as if to show off a new dress. “I’m back. Skyla needed a soul to fill this body and I got the green light.”
That was one of the euphemisms Gage taught her this afternoon.
I offer her a discreet thumbs-up as if to say, way to utilize her newfound knowledge.
“What’s going on?” Barron freezes with his hand in the breadbasket.
“It’s me, your daughter.” Giselle’s features sag. “I thought you’d run up and hug me and there would be all this joy and laughter.” Her voice trails to nothing.
“Oh my God!” Emma jumps up so fast she knocks her chair back. “Is this true?”
Marshall gives a brief nod.
Barron heads over and the three of them delight in the world’s longest embrace that I’m pretty sure Giselle is going to remember for the rest of her very long life.
“Good God, this is great news!” Emma shouts. “Who could eat now?” She grabs Giselle by the shoulders. “Tell me all about yourself. What have you been doing? You’re absolutely gorgeous!”
Good thing she missed the headless sneak preview.
Barron lays a hand on Emma’s shoulder. “Let’s take this in the next room and let our guests have dinner before the food gets cold. Would you please excuse us?” He tips his head.
“Congratulations,” Dad says as they disappear into the family room bubbling with chatter.
“I’m not sure what that was about, but,” Logan says, reaching over and clasping my hand, “thank you, Skyla.”
“It turns out it was Emerson’s time.” I briefly fill him in about Chloe and her headhunter ways. “And lucky for me, Giselle agreed to fill her shoes.”
“You’re brilliant.” He leans in and brushes my lips with a brazen kiss.
Technically, it was Gage who thought of the idea, but I take the fire from his lips, greedy for the burn.
Marshall knocks his spoon hard over Logan’s knuckles like tapping a xylophone.
“Shit.” Logan snatches his arm back. “That’s my freaking throwing hand.” A veiled threat lies beneath the agitation.
“I’m willing to wager that’s not all you use it for.” Marshall says it low under his breath. Although the implication is disgusting in nature, it doesn’t stop a flood of heat from infiltrating me head to toe, leaving me unnaturally aroused at the thought. And by the way, I so want to knock Marshall’s teeth out with a spoon because my father is staring right at me.
Gage huffs a tiny laugh.
“What the hell are you laughing at?” Logan wraps his knuckles in a linen napkin like it was a Band-Aid.
“Dude, relax.” Gage holds out a hand, trying to tame Logan’s burgeoning anger. “It’s just that you said, as her Elysian, she had to call you ‘master.’” He grazes my father with a brief glance before lowering his voice. “And we all know, master-bater is a more of an accurate description.”
The muscles along Logan’s jaw redefine themselves. He turns to my father and offers an apologetic nod.
“Quite a bit of tension in the room,” Dad says with a benevolent smile. “How much of this has to do with my daughter?”
Is he trying to start a fire?
“She demands a little tension. Wouldn’t you agree?” Marshall toasts me with his Merlot, causing the smooth red velvet in his glass to swill effortlessly. That’s probably what my blood would look like if the Counts bottled it. I bet they’d ship it out for special occasions, weddings and faux burials.
“Lest we forget what all the bickering is about,” Marshall continues, “at the end of the day, I am the bridegroom of great fortune.” He nods into my father. “I’ve arranged a betrothal banquet that your lovely ex-wife is assisting with. In a few nights, the grand gentry of celestial order shall celebrate this joyous occasion.”
Logan scoffs. “I don’t know what the hell you just said, but I’m damn sure Skyla isn’t going to parade around as your wife anytime soon.” He glares at Marshall, smoldering in his hatred.
“There’s no doubt she’ll be mine.” Marshall taunts with a fire blazing in his eyes. “You, my friend, are already at the curb. Your anger stems from the simple fact the one you sent to keep her safe, swept her from beneath you. Must be unpleasant to know her needs are better met elsewhere.”
Dear God. If this conversation somehow reverts back to Gage’s baseball bat, I am going to freak the hell out. It’s like we’re on a loop or something. And by the way…
I glare at Marshall because he so obviously doesn’t care that my father is in the room.
Masturbation? Celestial wife? Needs? What the hell is wrong with these people?
“I don’t have needs.” I shake my head at Dad while trying to grow a pair of balls to finish my line of thinking. “I’m practically asexual. And in case you’re wondering, I’m still a virgin.” I sort of mouth that last part because I swore I’d never say those words again. However, this situation warranted breaking said vow of sexual silence in order to help restore my dead father’s sanity.
“Sounds like neither Oliver holds the power of persuasion,” Marshall says it mostly to himself. He looks up slowly across the table and glares. “Enough.” He holds a finger out at Gage who sits seemingly innocent while molesting the hell out of a glass of water. “I’ve warned you to abstain from the fornicating frolics. Tell your grey matter to keep it clean. Refrain from the vulgarity until you are no longer in my presence.”
“Does this ever end?” Dad asks, appalled at the bizarre display of carnal indecency.
“Never.” Gage is quick to answer. “It never ends. But it will. I have the gift of knowing, remember?” He guts Marshall with the dig. “And you will be a guest at her wedding.”
The table flips toward the wall. The dishes, the glasses, the food—it all slides to the floor in one horrific crash.
Marshall secures Gage by the throat and lifts him off the ground with just one hand—holds him out like a spectacle for all to see.
“Go ahead—think just one more carnal thought in my presence,” Marshall taunts.
Logan gives Marshall a hard shove, and in one swift move Marshall picks up Logan in the same manner. There they are, in their own home, both Oliver boys with feet dangling off the floor—nothing but choking sounds emitting from the two of them.
“Put them down!” I scream.
Marshall chants something low, whispers it out like a curse.
“There’s no need for this.” Dad holds out his hands as if he understands the gravity of Marshall’s nefarious threat.
Logan and Gage drop like limp rags. They glance at one another before taking him down by the legs. It’s all fists, a tangle of limbs, the occasional expletive, and yes, even Marshall has joined in on the vocal offensive.
“You know what I’m thinking?” Dad holds that twinkle in his eye that I miss so much.
I wrap my arms around him and feel his breath bless my temple.
“What are you thinking, Daddy?”
“That you’re already well loved.”
***
After the almost meal, Marshall was kind enough to restore the dining room to its pre-assault state. Emma served her famous apple pie while the ruffians mostly ate ice to soothe their swollen jaws.
We decide to conclude the evening with something far more American than apple pie, and that just so happens to be war.
Logan, Gage, Marshall, my father, and I, all end up in Logan’s room going over strategy.
“Tell me again why she did this to you?” Dad asks, telescoping a magnifying glass over my heavily inked body from ski week. Logan has a series of these pictures pinned to his wall so I guess, technically, that makes me a pinup girl.
Dad traces his finger over the colorful creation. There I am in all my bare-skinned glory, tattooed from the neck down like a member of the Japanese mafia.
“She’s got this weird gift,” I say. She being, Emily.
I lean in and inspect the body mural she
turned me into.
“Logan’s the lion,” I whisper. “Gage is the vine.”
“They’re everywhere,” Dad marvels.
“Do you understand any of this?”
“Skyla,” he whispers as he takes in the minute details inscribed on the soles of my feet. “The Master abhors any type of sorcery. Although, I’m not sure what this falls under. He will, however, allow it if he’s propagating it through his own will, for his own purposes. This may very well be a reading of great value.”
“We need to analyze these better,” I say, snapping them off the wall and heading over to the round table that Logan has set in his palatial bedroom. “My dad thinks these are far more valuable than we’re giving them credit.” I lay them in front of Marshall and a lewd smile forms on his swollen lips.
“He’s correct.” He peruses them with a gleam in his eye. “I see the lake, the falls.” Marshall points toward the lower torso.
Logan leans over and tracks his finger down the picture. He traces my belly all the way down to my bikini bottom and stops with his finger firmly planted over my vagina.
“That would make this Ahava.” Logan takes a breath as he announces it.
Perfectly perverted.
“That makes sense.” Marshall tips his head thoughtfully. “It’s forbidden, yet is the treasure trove of pleasure and fruit. The future of Celestra depends on it.”
Are they freaking kidding me?
“Nice.” I am so not amused.
Gage darts a quick look in my direction and his dimples invert. The naughty curve to his lip suggests the mental cinematography must be exquisite.
“It’s hidden,” Dad says, hovering over Marshall’s shoulder. “It means it’s holy and reserved for the right person.” He catches my gaze and holds it for a second. “An intimate union requires a covenant with the Master. The one who is allowed to retrieve the sword must comply by his commands.”