Burn

  Chapter Eighteen

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  Second period Algebra Two.

  Outside, it’s heaving water like vomit from heaven. It’s as though the clouds have malfunctioned and somehow harnessed the power to suction water from the ocean in large, inconsiderate vats.

  The entire class sits around talking and shouting while we wait for Dudley the no-show. Oddly, Marshall strolling in late has increasingly become the norm.

  “So,” I lean into Ellis and Gage, “it didn’t go over very well with Tad, that a freak of nature completely destroyed my window.”

  Gage looks great save for the stray maroon lines dotting his face, and the fact his arm is in a sling.

  “So lightning struck your window after you got into a major collision?” Ellis ticks his head at me. “I’m officially revoking your invite to the party.”

  “Yeah, right. Just having me in the vicinity increases the percentile of Fems that will show up.” What’s sad about that is it’s actually proven to be factual.

  Marshall strides in, slams his briefcase on the desk and claps his hands. The entire room falls silent. Something about Marshall today—he looks irritated, maudlin, not his usual annoyingly chipper self.

  “Sit quiet for an hour.” He gives a dry smile. “Do whatever the hell you like.” He snatches up his briefcase before bolting out the door.

  “What the heck?” Ellis looks dazed.

  The room booms with a mix of laughter and voices. I don’t bother saying anything. I just get up and speed down the hall after Marshall, catching up with him as he taps down the stairs.

  “Wait, what’s going on?”

  “This doesn’t involve you, Skyla.” He bursts through the double doors, popping open his umbrella, cutting through the storm at superhuman speeds.

  “Oh, something is definitely happening. And if it’s crappy, it usually involves me,” I shout, running in an effort to keep up with him.

  “Don’t flatter yourself. There’s plenty of misery in this world that has nothing to do with, Skyla Messenger.”

  Before I know it, we’re in the teacher’s parking lot, and Marshall is getting into his car. I sit down on the passenger’s side before he has a chance to protest, and we speed away.

  ***

  Marshall is flying—we’re air born—hydroplaning, all of the above. We pass three police cars and not one of them cares to stop us.

  “You drive like a bat out of hell,” I say, watching the windshield wipers fight a losing battle as I twist and turn with Marshall’s erratic driving.

  “Really, Skyla? That’s so cliché. Sometimes I wonder why I bother with people.”

  “Cliché? Try accurate.” I brace myself against the dash like Gage did yesterday and start pumping the air brakes with my foot.

  “Try something a little more original. How about, you drive like an atomic collision?” He grits his teeth as we take a sharp turn. “Or you drive like a sound wave that reaches its destination before the first vibration is felt by the human ear, or…” He drives down the dirt path below Devil’s Peak and slows to a crawl as we approach the sheer cliff side. “Hang on.” He backs the car up violently before throwing it into drive again and races towards the granite wall as fast as the pedal with allow.

  “No!” I scream covering my head with my arms. Turn left is my last paralyzing thought before the sheer slate wall approaches. The car starts vibrating in that strange tuning fork manner that Marshall is capable of emitting. We drive right through the granite and land somewhere dark as night, on a forest floor with a low hung moon that gives off a lavender glow.

  Marshall gets out in haste. I unbuckle and follow him.

  “Where are we?” Looks like Paragon—feels like Paragon, until I see him lift a latch out of the dirt. A brightly lit stairwell blinds me from beneath the ground. It leads straight down into the earth and looks more than vaguely familiar. “Oh no.” I try to pull him away from it. “I remember this place. It’s that freaky white labyrinth Ezrina took me to. She had me strapped to a metal bathtub and was going to suck all of the blood out of me with a big fat needle.”

  “You’re with me.” He continues down the stairs.

  “I won’t go,” I shout after him. My adrenaline picks up, as a spike of perspiration erupts all over me at once.

  “Well, I doubt you’ll be safe up there,” he shouts, disappearing from my line of vision.

  Shit!

  I run down the stairs, and catch up with Marshall speeding down the hall. I clutch at his waist with both hands. “This is Ezrina’s freaking layer,” I say in a panic.

  “Is that what they’re calling it these days?” He eases my arms off and picks up my hand. He’s still bulleting down the hall, briefly looking in rooms that have their doors open.

  “Here you are,” he says to someone curled over the counter with a bevy of glass bottles lying around.

  It’s her! Shit!

  Ezrina straightens and turns around with that dried blood of a thin-lipped smile. She frowns as she observes me from over her glasses.

  Marshall lets go of my hand and hops up on the counter next to the clutter.

  “I’ve made a mess of things,” he laments. He looks boyish and charming in a humble sort of way.

  Damn right I want to say. Get me the hell out of here is next on my list, but my vocal chords don’t seem to be functioning at the moment.

  “You want me to chop off her other arm?” She asks casually while rolling a vial of blue solution between the palms of her hands.

  “No, she followed me. I can’t shake her—she’s like a pet I’ve come to appreciate.” He winks over at me.

  “I want to go home.” The words stutter out of me as I back into a wall.

  “Relax, nobody is going to hurt you, Skyla.” Marshall steadies himself. “Remember how I told you the world didn’t revolve around you? This is one of those rare moments. I’m the one with the problem.”

  I study Marshall’s face, then look over at Ezrina who doesn’t seemed fazed at all by our strange visit. She continues to pick over samples and play with Petri dishes as though it were standard procedure to have me looking over her shoulder.

  “What did you do this time?” She asks pulling a long white tube out of a metal hole in the sink with tongs. Smoke rises from the pit as though it were coming from a frozen environment.

  “I’ve impregnated a human.” The glass drops from her hand onto the floor and shatters.

  My hand rises up over my mouth, and I find myself choking for air.

  “Michelle’s pregnant?” The words barely escape my lips.

  “I’m not here to start rumors, Skyla.” He looks annoyed with me for the very first time.

  “You’ll have an offspring then.” Ezrina secures her hands at the hips.

  “I will.” He drops his gaze to the floor.

  This is so freaking insane. I step forward towards Marshall for the first time unafraid of Ezrina until I notice that the bathtub of death is filled with a body. I jump back, startled to see a leg sticking out from underneath a black sheet of plastic and let out a scream.

  “Is this the boy?” Marshall asks.

  “There’s Celestra blood involved.” Ezrina plucks the gloves off her fingers. “It’s confirmed.”

  “Well, Skyla,” Marshall’s mood brightens. “Looks like you’ve managed to prove your theory correct. All signs of trouble can be directly linked back to you.” He hops down from the counter. “You’re in more trouble than I am. I feel better already.”

  “Glad I can help,” I whisper.

  “Shall I take her now?” Ezrina’s wild red mane pulsates as her voice hits the slightest echo.

  “Not yet, my love.” Marshall glides over to me. “She’s mine yet a little while more.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Vampire for Sale

  I feel rather catatonic the rest of the afternoon. After school, Gage tries to cheer me up by taking me shopping for Halloween costumes. He seems to have co
mpletely accepted the fact I was taken to Ezrina’s lair as though it were something natural—expected.

  “Look, I can tell you’re pretty shaken up.” He brushes the hair from my face. “Stay away from Dudley. The guy is bad news.”

  Paragon glows a luminescent orange, as a magnificent sunset tries to penetrate the puff of fog lying over us thick as wool. It gives the impression that inside this mist, the island is on fire—a strange fire that envelopes you, forgets to let you burn.

  Gage helps me out of his mother’s two-seat convertible. It feels weird driving so low to the ground after mounting over the road for weeks in his tank of a truck.

  “So is it totaled?” I feel bad for not asking before.

  “Nope. Needs bodywork and some windows. I might get rid of it, though.”

  “I feel terrible,” I say, walking past him as he holds a door laden with fake spider webs open for me.

  It’s dark in the store. Odd noises emit from the speakers in the form of creaking doors, wild cackles that more than remotely sound like Michelle, and a woman expertly screaming. A strobe light goes off in spasms to our left as a layer of artificial fog drifts around our feet. Gage points up as an entire row of corpses greets us hanging from the ceiling. Probably employees. I’d consider hanging myself if I had to be subjected to this for more than five minutes—seems reasonable.

  “You sure you want to do this?” I ask, as Gage speeds us down aisle after aisle.

  “I’m sure.” He plucks a vampire costume off the rack and holds it up against himself. “I’ll let you dress me,” He examines the cape at arms length. “Maybe just this once.”

  “I’m a sucker for a hot vampire. Thank you for being so nice.” I circle my arms around his waist. “That’s exactly why I love you.” I bite down on my bottom lip hard. Crap! I may have accidentally told Gage that I love him while sandwiched between a witch and a scarecrow.

  “You love me?” His lips curl as his dimples depress themselves an inch on either side.

  Of course I love Gage in the loose sense of the word, but I’m not ready to love, love Gage, am I?

  “I do.” My lips feel as though they’re on fire as I give way to a huge grin. I do love Gage. There’s a certain relief in hearing myself say it. It feels right.

  The air dissipates around us, suffocates us in the reality of our words. Gage stares back at me with wide-eyed anticipation of what it all means.

  He pulls me in, rubs his cheek up against mine. “I’m glad you’re OK. I’m glad you weren’t hurt in the accident,” he punctuates it with a quick kiss.

  “Me? I’m glad you weren’t hurt. I’m glad you’re alive.”

  “I’m glad you’re alive.” He pecks another kiss. “And I’m alive.” He pushes in another quick one. “And that you and I are alive together standing in this tiny space, right here, right now.”

  My stomach bottoms out, and my heart races for Gage. He presses in with a heartfelt kiss.

  It must be real if he can make me feel this way—if I don’t want to stop his kisses from lingering.

  ***

  Gage drops me off at home and I find Brielle lying on my bed helping herself to Chloe’s diary.

  I snatch it out from underneath her. “What the hell are you doing?”

  The window to my bedroom has been boarded up, and it looks like Mom has washed and replaced my bedding.

  “Relax. I already knew half that stuff.” She rolls over and stretches out her limbs like a lazy cat.

  I open it to where I left off and see that the pages thereafter are still sealed shut.

  “What are you doing here?” I try to stifle my insane annoyance with Brielle at the moment.

  “Drake is getting ready to take me to dinner. I thought I’d come and hang out. Got his new car today, you see it?”

  “No.” I feel like I’ve just been bitch slapped. For sure it’s starting to feel like Drake is the golden child of the family. If the car was in the driveway, I didn’t notice, but then it was dark and I’m still mental from seeing Ezrina.

  “Well good for him.” I bury Chloe’s diary in my underwear drawer before plopping on the bed. “Guess what I heard today?”

  “What?” Her eyes widen with expectation.

  “Michelle is gonna have a baby.”

  “Are you freaking serious?” There’s a burst of excitement in her voice.

  “I shit thee not. And I suppose you know about Carly now.” I tick my head back to the underwear drawer.

  “I knew about Carly, but Michelle?” Her hands and feet pound the bed with excitement.

  “Wait, does everyone know about Carly?” I’m stunned by this.

  “I don’t think so. I heard Chloe threatening her once in the gym about a baby carriage, plus when she started to sport tents day after day, I got suspicious,” she pauses. “So when she left school early, I figured she was going to lay her egg.”

  “Egg?”

  “Yeah, you’re full of them. You didn’t know that?” Brielle rolls her eyes then burst into laughter.

  “Michelle is going to have Dudley’s baby. Is that freaking wild?”

  “Yeah, that’s wild.” Brielle gets up on her elbows and gazes out at the wall in front of us. “So,” her tone softens, “what are you wearing tomorrow night?”

  “Gage picked out a French maid costume for me. Only I won’t have to wear that choker thing.” I yank down my scarf.

  She winces at the sight of my neck.

  “That’s beyond disgusting.” She sticks out her tongue.

  “How about you guys?”

  “I’m a nun, and he’s a priest.”

  “Oh, I get it—Mr. and Mrs. Blasphemy.” I roll over onto my stomach. “So what do you think is gonna to happen to Michelle?”

  “Let’s see, she’ll be wishing she were dead in about nine months when she’s trying to squeeze a watermelon out of her ass, then after that, Dudley will wish that he was.” She gives a big toothy grin.

  It’s comfortable lying here with Brielle. Strange how she knew that stuff about Carly and didn’t mention it.

  I look at her chestnut brown hair falling over her shoulders, her perfect features, that porcelain white skin.

  Hanging out with Brielle feels natural, like if she ever did lose her mind and marry Drake one day, I could totally see her as my sister. I sort of already do. There’s no way she knows she’s a Count or understands the fact she’s supposed to oppress me simply because of my lineage. I don’t know how I could have ever suspected Brielle of slitting my throat.

  She dips her hand down onto the floor and reemerges with a sickle shape piece of glass.

  Brielle locks eyes with me, lost in a cold isolated stare. The light refracts off the shard, spraying pale blue dots and shadows all across the room.

  “Are you afraid of me, Skyla?” She asks with a slow whisper. There’s not a hint of laughter in her eyes, nothing that suggests she might be teasing.

  “No.” I lie, rubbing my fingers across my stitches. “Should I be?”

  “I think you should fear just about everybody.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Boo

  Halloween morning on Paragon is dark, damp, and blustery. No game tonight, but I decide to wear my cheer uniform to school anyway, minus the scarf I’ve been wrapping around my neck like a second skin.

  Mom gasps as I enter the kitchen.

  “What is that?” She makes her way over and taps my stitches with the pads of her fingers. “Looks so real.”

  “Like it? Gage and me went and got a bunch of cool stuff at the Halloween store yesterday.” I turn around towards the fridge so she won’t see my face light up like a flame.

  Shit! What was I thinking? For sure I wasn’t thinking she was going to touch it. Hell, I didn’t even think she’d notice.

  “So what are you?” Mia comes around the corner and ogles at my neck. Her face contorts in a repulsive manner, and she backs off as though it might be contagious.

  “I’m a cheerlea
der who got her throat slit.” I walk over and pull a banana off the counter while considering the irony.

  “So how’s the baby making going?” Mia asks as she picks her backpack off the floor.

  I hold my hand up and shield my face from Mom so I can retch freely in Mia’s direction.

  Why would she ask that? That’s totally disgusting. I’d rather have my throat slashed a thousand times than ever bring up the subject of baby making with Mom.

  “You know. It just seems like it was a whole lot less work when you were born.” She starts slicing into a grapefruit.

  I can’t breathe. This is sick.

  “Excuse me,” I sigh into my words. “It’s neither normal nor healthy to be discussing this at breakfast, or quite frankly at any meal with your children.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Skyla,” Mom’s voice is laden with sarcasm. “Has my desire to produce a beautiful baby brother or sister ruined the digestive process for you?”

  “Completely.” I push a box of Drake’s cereal away to prove a point. “You know, maybe it’s just not meant to be.”

  Her mouth gapes open, and she stands there staring at me in disbelief.

  She stops cutting her fruit and walks over at an uneven clip with the knife still in her hand.

  “Just because you’re rooting for this not to happen, doesn’t mean I’m willing take whatever you feel like dishing. I’ve got time and money working against me. The last thing I need is your attitude.”

  “What the hell is going on?” Tad scampers over at a brisk pace. “Is she upsetting you again?”

  “What do you mean again? I haven’t been upsetting her,” I say taking a giant step back. It’s too late, I’ve lit the fuse—I can feel it.

  “I’m fine,” my mother whispers, shuddering in his arms. The drama is so thick, for a moment I think I missed something.

  Tad’s eyes hook onto Dr. Oliver’s handy work braided across my neck and his face explodes in a crimson ball of anger.

  “I thought I told you not to expose this family to the graffiti you’ve inflicted upon yourself.” There’s a renewed calm in him.