Toxic Part Two, Page 2

  The dull night lingers like a song you can’t get out of your head—one you never want to hear again. It drones on forever, amplifying my pain as I bury my face in the pillow.

  I try to light drive to earlier this evening, but keep bouncing back, a sure sign of a binding spirit. Figures. Of course he’d suggest I go back. He probably knew he was safe.

  His effigy burns behind my eyelids, pleading his innocence.

  It couldn’t have been Gage, could it? Gage loves me, not Chloe. Gage saved his kisses for me. He’s saving every part of himself for me. Chloe landed me right in the pit of the fire. Chloe was the hunter and I was the game, the prey. She shot me night after night. I was the fox burrowed in a tiny well of earth that could neither cover nor protect me from her wicked ways. Chloe always wins.

  I’m going to lose the faction war, and Gage—and quite possibly Logan to “Paradise,” all because my mother just might be the biggest bitch in the universe.

  Maybe I was switched at birth.

  Maybe Chloe Bishop is really Skyla Messenger.

  Now that would make a whole hell of a lot of sense.

  ***

  Dreams come to me in the throes of my distress.

  A scene opens. I twirl, taking in the all too familiar landscape, lavender skies and a low-hanging moon graced by the same hue of purple. An entire arsenal of weaponry is being unleashed at my feet.

  A familiar boy with dark hair runs in my direction. He’s so alarmingly handsome, his face a close second to that of Gage, I want to bow in his presence. I recognize him from the Celestra tunnels. It’s the one who sucks the marrow right out of my bones, the one and only, Wesley.

  “Take this.” He sets a molded black gun in my hand. It’s heavy, ice cold to the touch. “Bastardized Ruger.” He smiles. “You can stop anyone you want, Skyla. It’s all up to you. The bullets never end.”

  I fire a shot in his stomach without putting too much thought into it and he looks down with morbid surprise. His lips part as a tiny arrow presses into his shirt, a dark stain blooms like a necrotic rose from the point of incision.

  “I have to go.” He staggers backward. “Laken needs me.” He runs off into the forest in his quest for love, and deep down inside I admire him for that.

  A crowd emerges from over the hillside. Chloe—Nat with Pierce by her side. Ellis appears and takes Chloe by the hand, sees me aim in their direction and covers her body like a shield.

  “Move!” I scream at him. My voice sizzles like an electrical current through this strange dreamscape.

  “Don’t do it, Skyla,” he pleads—so I shoot him first.

  I fire at Nat while Ellis falls to his knees. I shoot Chloe in the eye for sport. I’m a good shot because I hit her in the Noster eye that Marshall saw fit to gift her with. Her face pinches, her beautiful features writhe as she struggles to pluck it out.

  I hit Holden in both kneecaps.

  It feels good like this, powerful and dangerous. I wish I could bottle this feeling. I’d call it Killing Chloe for Kicks.

  “Skyla!” A deep voice rumbles from the right. Gage trots up the hillside with his hands held out. “Don’t kill Chloe.” I find it strange that he has no regard for the others. He could give a rats ass that Ellis is vomiting in pain while trying to suck in his last lungful of air.

  My hand shakes as I raise the svelte, black pistol and close one eye to improve my marksmanship. I squint into his beautiful face and shoot Gage straight through the heart. He bucks backward a good five feet, stagers but doesn’t fall. I shoot him over and over, filling his chest with the arrows of my discontent like an overdrawn bull’s-eye.

  My arrows become drunk with his blood as the world around us claps into darkness.

  I bolt up in bed with adrenaline racing through my veins, my heartbeat resonating in my ears. The blank of night envelops me. It shifts under the weight of that horrible dream.

  The walls press in with an eerie silence. An anemic light streams in from the blinds. I’m still here, safe on Paragon, in my own bed.

  The alarm on the nightstand reads three thirty-three.

  I pull the covers up to my neck and try to shake the images of that nightmare out of my mind.

  Gage.

  Chloe was pitting me against him in every realm. She was filling me with disbelief, having me kill him in my dreams.

  None of this was real.

  Was it?

  Chapter 58

  The War and the Whore

  The morning greets us with a slate-grey sky as rain falls like axes. It has the power to etch the glass with its hellish fury. I wish it would. A storm like this should have the knowledge to inscribe my destiny on my bedroom window, tell me what the future holds for Gage and me—let me in on why he’s so damn insistent on cutting out my heart and gifting it to Chloe. She is the witch who desires nothing more than to devour my existence. Gage is the hunter eager to please.

  I gaze out into the murky world. How did I ever end up starring in such a demonic fairytale?

  A dark stain appears and pecks at the glass. Nevermore. He’s tucked neatly under the eaves, the rain afflicting him with its psychotic sizzle. I open the window to let him in.

  Nev shakes out his feathers like a dog after a bath and hops along the floor before landing beside me.

  “Hello, you.” I’ve don’t ever recall Nev coming out in such inclement weather. “Everything OK?” I place my hand over his back. His moist plumes cool me—offer respite from my anger regarding Gage if only for a moment.

  Everything OK? Nevermore mocks with a light croak. Dear child, rid yourself of the blinders. What’s become of the war?

  “We’re losing. But that’s all going to change. A principality named Delphinius will be here any day and my father and mother are both coming to Paragon to help me train. Things are going to turn around for us, Nev.”

  How are you fairing with the Counts? Rumor has it you’ve had the displeasure of meeting Ingram.

  “Ingram? The guy that walks around with the glow in the dark clipboard? He’s nobody.”

  I’ve been convinced of that for centuries.

  “What do you mean for centuries? How do you know Ingram?”

  That’s my bride’s story to tell, not mine. Be apprised he is an insolent sloth that has, as proven by time, never amounted to anything. Good breeding does not equate prosperity and success. He is a lowlife, a scoundrel that has amassed a just punishment even if he does bend the truth and insist he voluntarily took on the position. He’s nothing more than a coward.

  “Well, now that I know how much you like him, yeah, I’ll tell him you said hi.”

  Nev cries out and stretches his wings before shuddering. Do no such thing. No point in creating more misery for yourself. Speaking of misery, your mother is intent on augmenting our punishment should the new trial yield the same results. I’ve come to the conclusion death will most certainly come for me.

  “Nev!” I gasp at the thought of my mother trying to off my favorite bird. I can’t even go there so I choose to dispense equal doses of humor and sarcasm to pull us out of the fresh dug grave my mother has us trapped in. “I see you’re on a positivity kick. You’re wrong, by the way—death will not come. If she punishes you and your knife twirling wife, she’ll have to carry out the same punishment for Logan and me—I won’t let that happen.”

  Speaking of my knife twirling better half, she’s a bit twitchy at the moment. Turns out the agreement was to span the reserve of Master Logan’s existence and he’s already abandoned his sleeping duty.

  “She can’t expect him to hang out in the Transfer all day and take a nap. He’s got school, and the bowling alley, and this little thing called reality to tend to.”

  He can and he must. He entered into a binding agreement and there’s no turning back.

  My heart beats erratic. Why would Logan give everything up like that? For me? To alleviate a few moments of my suffering?

  A slow building rage starts to brew in my bones. I’
ve done this to Logan. He’s bound himself to Ezrina because of me. I want to shake him for loving me to the point of losing his freedom. He’s going to get himself killed, or worse, bound and gagged as Ezrina’s personal honeymoon suite.

  “Tell her the deal is off. It’s game over. I’m not going to let Logan lose his life just because she feels the need to ditch her hag wear for shag wear. She was lucky he did her the favor.”

  That’s not how it works. You humans have no idea the demands a binding agreement puts on a soul.

  “It’s not like she can make him do it.”

  True enough, but if that’s the case, the consequences could be carried out rather swiftly.

  “What consequences?”

  You don’t know? Nev jets out his neck in a staccato rhythm doing his best impersonation of chicken, or a highly agitated raven who’s at wits end with doltish human half-breeds. I’d rather not say. Perhaps the one who committed to the sacrifice can explain it best. He hops toward the window and I crank it out for him. Nev lingers on the ledge outside as the world melts around him in shades of brown and grey like a pile of dull old coins.

  Logan has disintegrated his world for me—laid everything out on the line to buy me a few minutes without pain.

  He said he would rather die than watch me suffer.

  Dear God, I pray that’s the last thing he’s committed to doing.

  ***

  Downstairs, the air is thick with indistinguishable odors. Smells like spinach, old socks, and quite possibly a wet dog, stewing together in one nauseating rolling boil.

  I meander into the kitchen to find Mom and Tad at the table. Mom cradles Beau in her arms as she feeds him a bottle while Tad looks haggard and worn, twenty years his senior.

  “Morning,” I chime.

  “She never came back for him,” Tad whimpers with fatigue.

  Judging by the dark circles under his eyes and his hair sporting the light socket effect, I’m betting he means Brielle.

  “I don’t think she will,” I say, pulling a mug from the cupboard.

  I have a feeling this will be an emotionally challenging day that requires mega doses of caffeine in all of its beautiful incarnations, starting with coffee.

  “What do you mean, you don’t think she will?” Tad stands in an early morning rage. “That’s child abandonment.”

  Suddenly, he’s gunning for position of welfare official.

  “She’s young.” Mom coos into the baby as if she were singing him a lullaby. “Besides, I’ll be happy to watch over this little angel for as long as she needs me to.”

  “You will do no such thing. There’s no way in hell we’re staring down the barrel of an eighteen-year babysitting stint,” Tad gags. “I want the casket, the bag full of questionable paraphernalia, and the kid returned before noon.”

  “You talk about him like he’s a library book,” I scoff. God knows the only safe place in the world for that child is right there in my mother’s arms. Hey? Maybe that’s why my own mother placed me under the parental supervision of Lizbeth Messenger Landon? Little did she know Demetri would slither back into her life. Bet she regrets it now.

  “You’re right, Skyla.” Tad’s voice elevates in pitch. “And going along that ‘library’ line of thinking—we should invoke a late fee for keeping us up all night. Lizbeth, drop him off on their doorstep and make a run for it. I’ll print up a bill and have it notarized—make them think twice before they invoke another hostile takeover of a good night’s sleep.”

  “It’s raining.” Mom says it more as a passive observation rather than a solid argument against Tad’s insane dingdong ditch ramblings. “And again, let me reiterate for those too close-minded to comprehend”—she so means Tad—“this child will remain in my custody until his mother decides otherwise.”

  “Do you hear this?” Tad balks mostly to himself.

  Mia and Melissa walk in with such severe cases of bed-head, I’m half-afraid they’ve once again resorted to their beauty school brand of revenge.

  They pinch their noses in synchronized distress at the foul odor that’s descended among us.

  “You forgot to put away your gross food last night,” Mia snaps at Melissa while lifting the lid off the red-enameled offender on the stove. A strong odor releases into the air. It makes the smell that preceded it seem like a floral bouquet picked fresh from Paradise. I throw the back door open so fast it creates a gale force wind straight through the dining room.

  Melissa growls into my sister. “It’s not my fault. I got kicked out of the kitchen because that overgrown cheerleader showed up.”

  I’m pretty sure she means Isis, Demetri’s so-called relative who is so obviously trying to take down Mom and Tad. Little does she know that a cherub-faced infant has usurped her in that arena in merely one restless night.

  “Skyla?” Mia’s voice softens. “Can we get a ride to the mall?” Melissa appears by her side and they try to sway me with their most distressed puppy faces. Funny how accouterments can bring together the Hatfield and McCoy’s of the Landon brood with even the suggestion of a fashion-based romp.

  “Yes, for the sake of unity. But you two have to promise no fighting.”

  “No fighting.” Their voices meld together as one.

  Perfect. Plus this will give me a chance to inject my own wardrobe with something special for Logan’s getaway birthday extravaganza at the Cape. Although, not even the prospect of new clothes can get my mind off Gage and the fornicating frenzy that most likely occurred last night in the butterfly room.

  “Aha!” Tad flicks a finger at a piece of paper. “I just added up the expenses, and this little critter is going to run us an extra four hundred bucks a month—not to mention shots and exams. Get another dog, Lizbeth. Kids are an extravagance we cannot afford.”

  “A dog?” Mom’s eyes lodge out of her skull. “You do not replace people with pets. There is no dollar amount in the world that would keep me from raising another child.”

  “Replacing people with pets is all the rage,” Tad insists. “What do you think all these dog lovers are doing dressing up their pets in sweaters and shoes? They take them to daycare and on vacation. You can get as carried away as you like. It’s because times are tough, Lizbeth. People simply cannot afford pint-sized plebeians who gradually eat away your bank account and sanity, then go on to repopulate your household with yet more ingrates who wind up costing you a good night’s rest.”

  Mom’s entire body buzzes with rage. I can tell she wants to yank the bottle out the baby’s mouth and beat Tad over the head with the rubber nipple.

  Chloe walks in and zeros her hostility my way with a kind, courteous good morning.

  “Good morning?” I seethe, following her to the fridge. “I bet it’s a good morning,” I hiss. “Heard you had them lined all the way up to my bedroom last night.”

  “Just one,” she whispers with her lips dipped in a devious smile. “But he’s not the type to kiss and tell.”

  “He didn’t have to. As soon as you slithered out, I went up and found him sitting there.”

  Chloe cuts me a sharp look, examines me like I might be lying. “I guess we can’t pull anything over on you.”

  “I guess you can’t.” She might as well have plunged a blade in my heart when she said the word we.

  She tries to circle around me but I block her at the pass.

  “I need to wash my hair, Skyla, or I’ll be late for work,” she says it low as not to clue Mom and Tad in on our awkward exchange.

  “Let me help you with that.” In one swift move, I snatch her by the wrists and dunk her head in the smelly stew Melissa left fermenting overnight. Chloe bucks and writhes as I employ all of my Celestra strength to hold her under just another moment.

  “Skyla!” Tad leaps out of his chair and jumps in front of me like an impotent ninja, afraid to come too close lest he be baptized as well.

  The girls breakout in a choir of disgust.

  Mom rises and shields the baby as i
f I might target him next.

  Chloe knocks me back and gasps for air, retching and gagging in the process. It’s the exact same reaction Gage should have for ever laying a hand on her.

  “Stay the hell away from the rest of my life.” I push her hard in the chest. “Or I’ll make sure it’s the end of yours.”

  “Skyla,” Tad barks, “you are not welcome to treat a guest in my house that way.”

  “She’s a guest?” It drills out of me. “And you’d like to trade your own grandchild in for a dog? If that’s how your house operates, it’s the last place I want to be.”

  “Fine!” His face inflames like a cherry. “Pack up and see if you can get a better deal elsewhere.” He glances at the demon to his right. “Chloe, it looks like a bedroom just freed up.”

  “You do not touch one of your things, Skyla.” Mom shelters Beau’s tiny head with the palm of her hand. “You are not going anywhere.”

  “Oh, I’m going—and if you were smart, you’d hightail it out of here yourself.” I pivot and head for the stairs.

  “Will you still take us to the mall?” Mia pleads. Her face is upturned and I can see a patina of hurt in her eyes. How can I leave my sisters with this brood of vipers?

  “Be ready in fifteen.” I have no clue where I’m going to stay, but wherever it is, I’m sure Mom and Tad will drag me back before I can properly appreciate the metric distance that I’m about to put between us. I’ll have to look at it as a temporary vacay from the hotbed of insanity my mother has leashed us to.

  In the meantime, I’ll have to come up with a solid plan for the future, one that includes ditching Landon manner once I get that hot little diploma in my hands next spring.

  My future plans used to involve Gage, his body, a hotel room and an entire tribe of gorgeous children. I’m pretty sure that pipe dream, much like my mother’s marriage, is over for good.

  Chapter 59

  Playing House

  The rain gives one sultry cry of aggression, falling slantways from the angry sky before stopping just long enough for me to toss three garbage bags full of my randomly collected belongings into the trunk of the Mustang.