The Serpentine Butterfly

by Addison Moore

  “Power and darkness. That about sums it up.”

  Gage was powerful, and now he’s gone. Skyla and I are the ones left in darkness.

  I pull her in just enough to create a bubble for the two of us.

  “How are you holding up?”

  “I’m great.” She shakes her head as if contradicting herself. “Now that I’m with you I don’t feel quite so lost. Do you think we’ll find Demetri?”

  “I know we will.”

  “How do you know?” Her pink lips knot up as she holds back tears.

  “Because after we leave the Transfer, I’m going to speak with your mother.”

  A dull smile comes and goes on her lips. “We’re going to speak with my mother.”

  “Can I stop you?”

  “No.”

  “I didn’t think so.” I lean my head over hers as we head for the exit. “Let’s get out of here.”

  * * *

  Skyla and I head straight over to the Paragon Estates. The rain has let up, and the sky is still set with a thick layer of steel-colored clouds. I bypass Barron’s home and head for Demetri’s, only because I have to see this travesty for myself, and sure as hell there’s nothing but a gaping hole, as the Paragon hillside where the Fem’s house once sat offers a toothless smile.

  “What the hell is he thinking? What’s the logic behind this?” I muse out loud.

  “It’s to prove a point. He’s powerful. He can and will get what he wants. And when he does, he is free to do whatever the hell he pleases. I don’t know what I was thinking serving Gage up to him like an offering.” Skyla buries her face in her shoulder as if ashamed by her actions.

  “Hey”—I take up her hand—“you were desperate with grief, we all were—still are. If Demetri brings back Gage—and I’m hoping he will without any fucked-up strings—it was for the best.”

  We drive over to Barron’s, and I help Skyla out of the truck. Giselle is inside, curled up in a ball on the sofa with Emma wrapped around her, the two of them raw from endless tears.

  I offer my brother a strong hug. “How are you doing?”

  “Considering the circumstances”—Barron pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose—“I’m devastated. Come sit with us.” He pulls Skyla into a long hug and whispers something into her ear, eliciting a nod from her.

  Emma and I exchange an embrace, and I sit on the other side of Giselle, far from Skyla. I don’t want Barron or Emma to think I’m stepping in and taking their son’s place with his wife. Last night wafts through my mind like a rancid piece of meat, and I wave it away.

  Skyla and Emma exchange an awkward embrace before they both land hard on the couch.

  “Logan and I are going to do everything we can to find him,” Skyla assures both Emma and Barron. I know she feels responsible for the sudden disappearance of her husband, but the fact of the matter is that he’s dead—was dead in the least. I’m sure everyone here understands that she was just doing her best at the moment. In all honesty, Demetri is Gage Oliver’s only blessed hope. You know you’re in deep shit when the only hope of rescue comes from the king of the wicked.

  “Doing everything you can?” Emma’s voice rises with a mock amusement.

  Okay, perhaps not everyone here understands that Skyla was simply trying to make things better. I’m pretty sure I was next in line to beg Demetri to breathe life back into his son. And as much as I hate to admit it, Skyla is right. Emma is not in her fan club. I’m not in Lizbeth’s fan club, but I’m positive that I don’t mind as much as Skyla does in this case.

  Emma gives a dry laugh, and Giselle slowly sits up straight as if readying to bolt. “I don’t think we’d be sitting here wondering where my son’s corpse is if you didn’t hand him off to a madman yesterday.”

  Shit.

  Skyla’s mouth opens and then closes abruptly. Wise move. Less is more in a situation like this. Emma is blind with grief. She has no clue what she’s saying.

  “You know”—Skyla shakes her head, incredulous—“I don’t believe any of us would be sitting here if you didn’t sleep with that madman in the first place.”

  “Skyla! That was a very low blow!” Giselle gives a sharp clap. Her face is lit up with glee as if she’s enjoying the start to this verbal sparing match. Giselle doesn’t quite have a grasp on appropriate social etiquette. I’m pleading the fifth on whether Skyla or Emma does.

  “It is a low blow.” Emma pulls a tight smile. “But I’d expect nothing less from the snake that sold my son to the devil.”

  “Emma!” Both Barron and I bark at the same time.

  “Enough.” Barron swipes off his glasses and massages his eyes for a moment. “Tensions are high. Let’s not resort to name-calling. Skyla, please, accept my apology on behalf of my wife.”

  “Don’t you dare apologize for me.” Emma’s voice shakes as she says the words.

  Giselle leans toward me, hard. “What’s happening?” She’s gone from gleefully amused to confused as hell. “Aren’t we all worried for my brother?”

  “I’ll answer that!” Emma cracks through the silence with her voice like a whip. “My son is missing, my son is dead, and it’s all because of this cheerleading barracuda.”

  Skyla rises to her feet, her mouth wide open as she gags on a million fresh comebacks all aimed at her mother-in-law.

  “Gage is my husband.” Her breathing becomes erratic, and I head over to steady her. “He loves me, and I love him.”

  Emma jumps to her feet and gets nose-to-nose with her daughter-in-law. “You tricked him into an ambush marriage! Gage would never have agreed to such a foolish arrangement if you didn’t somehow finagle your way into it. As soon as Logan died, you pinned yourself to my son’s side. You’re one of those weak girls who always needs a man around.”

  Skyla sucks in a lungful of air. “Says the one who slept with a Fem behind her boyfriend’s back!” Her body shakes so hard, I wrap myself around her arms in the event she decides to make this physical. “My husband loves me. I forgive your erratic behavior, Emma, because I understand that you are grieving. But if Gage were here, he would march me the hell away from this living room because he would never want you to speak to me this way.”

  Emma’s eyes boil with rage. I’ve never seen her lose her sanity quite like this. “Logan, why don’t you march Little Miss Oliver out of here because I’m about to speak to her again that way.”

  A thick silence clogs up the room.

  “That’s right,” Emma seethes. “I not only blame you for my son’s death, but for the quality of his life just prior to his unfortunate demise. You’re the worst thing that has ever happened to that boy, Skyla!” She lurches forward, and Barron jumps up to hold her back.

  Holy shit. Never would I have dreamed that it would be Emma looking for a fistfight.

  Skyla bucks like a wild bull in an effort to escape my grasp, but I hustle her to the door, employing my Celestra powers to ensure we get there.

  “Take that back!” Skyla screams. “Gage would have your head for that!”

  “Once Gage is cremated, he won’t have a head because of you! Isn’t that right, Logan?” Emma screams from the living room. “None of Skyla’s suitors survive with their heads intact! You love people to death, Skyla! And then you arrange to have their heads removed!”

  Crap. I may have lost my head in the war, but it was Chloe who sliced it off at the finish line. It’s not a memory I care to relive, but Skyla had nothing to do with my decapitation.

  “You witch!” Skyla wriggles out of my grasp and bullets back to the living room. “How dare you!” The veins in her neck bulge with fury. “And how dare you even suggest we burn Gage up as if he were trash. That body, those bones, my precious, precious husband is mine!” She digs her finger into her chest. “You do not have a say in anything that happens to him ever again.”

  “I wish he never met you.” Emma’s eyes all but close with grief. “I wish he met a nice girl, a sweet cherry of a girl who would have treated
him better than you ever could. Oh, I know, Skyla. He was your everything, and so was Logan, and that math professor of yours is your everything, too! Who knows how many other special men mean so very much to you? My son deserved someone whose whole heart was devoted to him, and as soon as I got wind of your perverse behavior, I knew it wouldn’t be you.”

  Skyla’s face cinches back as if she were slapped.

  “Gage Oliver is my world. He has my whole heart, Emma, and if you never believe that, I’m okay with it because Gage knows it.”

  She stalks out of the room, and I pause for a moment. Skyla’s words burn a hole right through me.

  Of course, I know that Skyla loves Gage.

  It just makes what I let happen last night that much more tragic.

  * * *

  A crown of storm clouds circles just above Barron’s home as we head back out. Skyla speeds for my truck, and I block her before she can jump into the passenger’s side.

  “That was pretty brutal.” I gently touch her cheek with my thumb. Skyla’s skin has always felt like silk to me—something too soft to ever be true like water. “Emma’s not herself today.”

  “Bullshit.” She frowns back at the house a moment. “She’s exactly herself today. Those were her real feelings, Logan. That woman has hated me ever since Gage even hinted that he might want me as his own. I used to think Emma wouldn’t approve of Gage being with anyone—that no one was good enough for her baby, but then, along came Kresley. She sort of destroyed that theory singlehandedly.”

  Kresley Fisher is Emma’s old classmate’s daughter. Back in high school, Kresley was obsessed with Wes, Gage’s long lost half-brother. I wish he were still lost. I know for a fact the hardest part of today will be seeing Wesley Edinger’s face. It just so happens to be identical to my nephew’s.

  “Forget about Kresley. Forget about Emma,” I encourage, pulling her close. Skyla rests her head onto my chest, her body rising and falling with her deep sighs. She looks up and lays that baby blue gaze over mine, and the two of us sit there despondent beyond measure, just breathing God.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whisper into her hair—too much of a coward to ever look her in the eye and say it because I could never really lie to Skyla’s face.

  “Don’t be. We’re going to find him.”

  “I’m sorry about last night.” It needs to be said. I am sorry. I’m sorry for everything. Emma was wrong; everything that’s happened can be directly traced to me. I started a war the day I thought it was a good idea to globe trot killing Counts. I enraged Chloe a long time ago, and that’s why she killed me. I was dead, and so Skyla married Gage.

  I pause a moment because I know deep down Gage was never a conciliatory prize to Skyla, and that’s the deepest knife. It’s only fair—after all, I was the deepest knife to Gage.

  “Logan.” A heavy sigh expels from her as she cradles my face in her hands. “Don’t apologize. That’s what I wanted. It’s what I needed. I hope you understand.” Her arms thrust around me as I bury my face in her beautiful hair. My breath warms her neck, her beautiful face, those lips I swallowed down all night long, and a seizure of guilt hooks me in the gut. Skyla doesn’t want me to feel bad. Last night is what she needed. It still guts me to think that way, but I get it. Grief brings out strange things in people, even stranger needs, and I happen to feed into one of them.

  I take Skyla to the Burger Shack, and we hit the drive-thru before heading out toward Devil’s Peak, to the nexus of all this misery. It’s almost time to meet up with Laken and Coop. God knows I’m not summoning Marshall until the very last moment.

  “What’s on your mind?” she asks between bites. When Skyla ordered three cheeseburgers, I was sure she meant the two additional ones were for Laken and Coop, but she’s proven me wrong by wolfing them down, one right after the other. It’s a rather impressive feat I’ve only seen Harrison accomplish, and that was after a fresh high. It’s true. Grief affects us all in different ways.

  “I’m just admiring you.” I flex a dull smile, and it comes and goes. “You’re a rock, you know that?”

  “Are you kidding?” She flashes a glance to the sky. “I’m a mess. I can’t wait for the Transfer part of the day to be over, because that supervising spirit of yours is going to land us straight into the presence of my mother,” she seethes those last few words out. I know Skyla doesn’t get along with Candace. Not that I can blame her. She’s not exactly the coddling type. Skyla is pretty much left to her own devices.

  “You’re all about getting things done,” I say without thinking. She’s fighting for her dead husband. Of course, she’s going to get shit done.

  “That’s right.” She crumples the wrapper to the last burger and tosses the bag to her feet. “I’m kicking ass and taking names.” She nods behind me. “Here they are. Call Marshall, and let’s get this party started. I’ve got a husband to find.”

  Laken and Coop wait by the cliff while I text Dudley. No sooner do Skyla and I get out of the truck than our pet Sector appears with a nefarious grin on his face.

  “Shall we jump to the Kingdom of Darkness?” he asks politely as if inviting us to afternoon tea. “A mass suicide of sorts?”

  “Marshall!” Skyla’s voice shrills out, curling up to the clouds. “That is in very poor taste.”

  He narrows his gaze in on hers. “You don’t think—” He tilts his head, further, silently examining.

  “You don’t think!” I shout in his face. “We’re not jumping.” I hold my hands out, and we form a circle. “Why don’t you lead us in prayer, Dudley?”

  “Dear Heavenly Father”—Dudley starts, and both Laken and Coop bow their heads—“we are gathered here today to bid you to reconsider this erroneous Treble your maidservant Candace has granted the dolt known as Logan Oliver. He is a petulant ass who believes all the world should bow to his every whim.”

  Skyla and I exchange glances. She rattles his hand, but the bowed-head, closed-eyed talking yak proceeds with his rumblings.

  “Though I might dream of snuffing out the flame of his questionable existence myself, I do implore a higher wisdom to prevail in such matters. May he go the way of all the Earth so as to ease my burden in these few short years I’ve chosen to dwell among humans and Nephilim alike. By the power of your holy name, and in the blood, and in the spirit, we all say.” His voice echoes out those last few words, hollow and sharp, as if we were in a tunnel. “Amen.”

  A cloying darkness robes us, the earth quakes beneath our feet, as the ground fog lifts and suctions us right off the cliff side, right into another dimension entirely as our feet touch down gently onto the hard, cracked soil of the Transfer. This is the dark dimension the Counts were granted, by who and when I have no clue nor do I want to. It’s morbidly creepy, fully equipped with seventeenth century Counts, all of them disembodied. Ezrina’s old laboratory that spans for miles, formerly known as the chop shop, sits in the center of this demonic city. The original haunted mansion where Skyla was held during her entrapment lies just to the north. In truth, I’ve spent time there, too, and last but not by a long shot least, Wesley’s overgrown, new and improved version of the haunted mansion, a replica of Demetri’s home which itself is a cheap replica of the hellish hotel that sits impatiently in front of us.

  “Ah, yes”—Dudley gives a bored, deluded look of practical delight—“here we are again. Where’s the fire, Ms. Messenger?”

  “This way.” Skyla speeds to Wesley’s house of horrors, and we jog along to keep up the pace.

  “Wesley?” Skyla’s voice fills the entry to the douchebag’s playhouse. It’s absolutely huge, and for a second, I make a game of guessing how many versions of White Horse can fit into this place. My guess is twelve, easy.

  Skyla bustles her way into the grand room where a raging blaze fills the enormous fireplace, the size of a one-car garage. I’m betting Wesley has some serious compensation issues. Big ego, little—

  “Skyla.” Wes appears from the elongated corridor along
with Chloe, his wingman woman. She’s trapped in the Transfer, mostly, as per her punishment doled out by the Decision Council after the war. She’s the reason I’m in this Treble. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had something, anything, to do with the fact Gage ended up in eternity yesterday as well.

  “I bet you had a long night.” Chloe grabs on to Skyla’s finger, her face filled with mock remorse. “Do tell, are you exhausted? I bet you can hardly walk.”

  “Shut up.” Skyla extracts her hands and speeds toward Wes, crashing into his chest, her fingers strumming over his features as if she were reading Braille. “Oh God,” she whispers, her knees buckle as Wes holds her up.

  “I’ve got you,” he says it low and husky, sounding eerily like Gage in the process, and for a second, I’m left wondering. “I know this is hard for you.”

  Dudley steps in and gently extracts Skyla from Wesley’s wicked claws. He’s an Edinger, his father’s son through and through. Gage might have Demetri’s DNA as well, but he is nothing like his father. He might have drifted a bit this last year, but we left things off on good terms. That final conversation we had where he asked me to take care of Skyla comes back. Those erotic images of last night’s grief counseling session follow suit. I’m pretty sure Gage didn’t mean for me to jump into bed with her night fucking one. I’m an ass of the highest order. I deserve all the curses Marshall can rain down on me. If the roles were reversed, and Gage did the same the night I died, I wouldn’t be too impressed with his lack of self-control, perhaps not hers either, and this grieves me the most. I know for a fact they waited until their wedding night after I died. Gage didn’t morph into an asshole upon my demise. Nope, the only asshole around here would be me.

  “I need Gage.” Skyla’s voice is weak as she struggles to get close to Wesley. “Please, find your father. His house is gone. It’s just disappeared off that God forsaken rock. Tell him to come back, to bring Gage with him. Or in the least show me where he buried the body. I can’t bear this pain, Wes. I will give you all of my blood. All of my favor if you do this one thing.”