The Serpentine Butterfly

by Addison Moore

  “Right,” I quip. “Don’t you love how he turned his lousy dead roses right back on us?” I jump on my tiptoes to get eye level with Gage. Now that I have this huge belly driving a literal wedge between us, I feel like I have to work harder to get close to him. Everything is a feat now no thanks to Ellis and his procreative advice. I still can’t believe that my children’s existence will forever be tied to both Ellis and failed anal sex. The thought alone makes me cry a little on the inside. Perhaps those bits of information are best long forgotten. In fact, I’m already thanking Ellis for gifting me—in a roundabout way—two of the most precious treasures on the planet.

  “Come now.” Demetri leads us to the haunted mansion, the OG one with the crooked doors and windows, the dusty musty halls, the pounding of the endless player piano. I’ll have a headache until December, and I can already feel it coming on.

  The Transfer transplants glide around us, through us, barreling ahead with their horrible warbling laughter. There’s nothing more I’m wary of than disembodied spirits with a sense of humor.

  Ichabod comes to mind. God, I cannot believe I killed him, killed him, as in dead, dead, dead. It weighs so heavy on my heart that it hurts to even think about.

  We step onto the creaky porch of the mansion proper, and an entire fleet of gossamer waves in our presence.

  Gage leans in. “You ready to do this?” He presses a heated kiss to my cheek.

  “You two are adorable!” Mom sings, and I turn to find her arm interlinked with Demetri’s. Usually I’d frown over this, but considering the circumstances, I’m sure it’s partially safety related.

  We hit the entrance to the cursed piece of architecture, and Demetri instructs Mom and me to wait until we hear the “Wedding March” before proceeding. The doors swing open to the flickering of malfunctioning dusty chandeliers. Endless rows of candelabras are strewn about with their wax piled knee high over the floor, with their long finger-like drippings. It’s so murky inside you can hardly see your hand in front of your face, but every now and again the candles flicker in unison, and an entire thicket of frightened faces stare back at me.

  This is such a horror—it’s more than a horror, it’s a bona fide nightmare—so much so that I’m half-tempted to call off my second wedding to Gage. No offense to the groom, but his father sure knows how to scare the living hell out of me.

  “There will be another joining you soon.” Demetri winces at me. “Try not to think too deeply on it.” He gives a slight bow. “Thank you for agreeing to do this, Skyla. You’ve no idea how much this means to Lizbeth and me.”

  I smirk as he and Gage walk through the opened doors. Gage gives a disparaging look back and nods as if to assure me that everything will be all right. It won’t, but that’s beside the point.

  The fresh scent of apples wafts from inside, and Mom takes in a deep breath, her smile widening with delight.

  “Isn’t that just heaven?”

  Actually, it’s hell, but I refuse to travel down that thorny road again.

  “It always smells like that,” I say. “Most likely to cover the scent of rotting corpses.”

  “Oh, Skyla, you always have to be so negative.” She waves me off with the flick of her wrist. “There are no rotting corpses here. The Transfer is simply one of the many realms belonging to the Countenance—this being the principal locale, of course.”

  I tick my head back at my mother’s sudden Wikipedia-like knowledge on the house of horrors.

  “Have you been here before?” I rack my brain, trying to remember when I could have lugged my mother down here on accident, or heaven forbid, on purpose.

  “Tons of times. Demetri has given me the tour, and I’ve tagged along while he took care of business a few times.”

  Business? She looks deep into the haunted mansion as if this were simply another jaunt to the nether world with her personal Prince of Darkness.

  “Are you freaking kidding me?” I don’t even know where to begin with this. Demetri has been dragging my mother to the Transfer God knows how many times like some demented tour guide? Does he honestly expect me to believe they were simply here under the guise of party planning? I’m onto that rat bastard. It’s clear he’s grooming her to be his Mistress of the Dark. Soon, she’ll grow her hair long, dye it black, and parade around in slinky dresses—taping her boobs together just to get cleavage because God knows it ain’t happening otherwise.

  “Boo!” an ultra-cheery female voice sings from behind, and for a happy second, I’m convinced it’s Bree.

  But it’s not. It’s the real Mistress of the Dark. The girl without a heart and soul—Chloe.

  There she stands in a white ensemble that loosely resembles a cocoon.

  “You’re not Brielle.” Any hope of a smile glides off my face as I examine the strange white webbing she’s ensconced herself in. “Shedding your skin?” I muse before turning back around and awaiting my cue. The sooner I’m reunited with Gage the better. The sooner we say I do, the sooner Gage gets his feel-good vibes as a door prize, and the sooner I can bed my human vibrator of a husband. Ha! Gage Oliver is about to turn into a real live human vibrator! God, I really am the luckiest girl alive.

  “All I’m shedding are my bachelorette days.” She muscles her way to my side. “It’s my wedding day, too, Messenger.”

  “What? I thought you and Wesley already did the white wedding misdeed. Demetri introduced you as Chloe Edinger at his stupid summer shindig!”

  “He was stretching the truth.” She turns to my mother. “Why, hello, Lizbeth. You look stunning in that color. You should always, always wear fuchsia.”

  Figures. Demetri is the father of lies. Of course, he was lying that day. And to think poor Laken got worked up over nothing, well, until today. Not that she really cares. Coop is the real prize, and she has him. Wes is nothing but a boobie prize, and, well, Chloe deserves him. And fuchsia? Chloe is right up there with Demetri as far as distorting the truth. My mother should never wear fuchsia. The only reason I approved that outfit, once she modeled it as an option, was to A, get this debacle over with—and B, to ensure I can spot her a mile away in this haunted hovel if need be. I was honest in telling her how I felt about that shade of pink working against her hair color, and if Chloe really cared, she would agree.

  “Really?” Mom’s cheeks flush to match her dress. “Skyla just hates this shade on me. Are you sure?”

  Chloe chortles out a laugh about as fake as her existence. “Well, Skyla must be color-blind!”

  I snarl at her. “Or maybe Skyla doesn’t want her mother looking as if she’s strayed from the circus? Stick to cool hues,” I say to my mother. “They compliment your eyes. Take it from someone who really cares.”

  Mom rubs her hands over Chloe’s belly bump, and to my horror, Chloe actually looks smaller than me. It irks me to no end, partially because I know she’s due way sooner than I am. But I get it. I’m getting a twofer. Double the Olivers, double the fun—that has always been my motto. Wait, did I just take a swipe at myself?

  “Would you look at this?” Mom coos. “You’re beautifully firm. I know it’s soon yet, but keep an eye out for your plug. Once it dislodges, you’ll notice bucketfuls of cervical mucus. It could be anywhere, your panties, the toilet—I was in the shower when I lost my plug with Mystery. I was pulling out mucus for days!” She and Chloe titter into one another as the music cues up. It sounds like a cross between a warped record and a year-one violinist trying to make the neighbors cringe.

  “I’d hate to break up your bonding sesh over vaginal fluids, but I believe that’s our cue to trot to the finish line.”

  “Isn’t this exciting, Skyla?” Chloe leans her shoulder to mine as if she’s getting chummy with me. “I’m marrying Gage.”

  Not happening—not even on accident, but secretly, I’m thankful for her heads-up in the event she’s plotting a mix-up.

  I choose to ignore fake, chummy, soon-to-be-plucking-mucus-from-her-vagina Chloe and start down the long,
dark hall lined with its horrific cast of characters. The sound of warbling voices carries up over the music, loud like rushing waters. I lean in, inspecting a few of the faces up close and holy hell! There are real flesh and blood people mixed in with the poltergeist posse! People in the Transfer? Shit! What kind of people?

  “Where do you hail from?” I ask a younger girl with wide eyes, green as a streetlight, but Chloe pulls me back into formation before the girl can answer as we continue to plod our way through the darkness.

  “Where do you hail from?” Chloe scoffs. “Really, Skyla? Is this 1692? Anyway, what I’m really psyched about is the fact we’re going to share a wedding date. Isn’t that something? Each day our lives become more and more intertwined.”

  “Same wedding date,” I whisper because no coincidence with Chloe is ever a good one. Oh crap. What if we really are about to share the same groom? “Swear to God, Wesley had better be there ready to pooper scoop you back into his life because I refuse to include you as a part of my holy matrimony.”

  She belts out a laugh that gets drowned out by the ever-increasing furor surrounding us. It’s as if we were approaching a very large, exceptionally dangerous beehive. Let’s hope we don’t get stung to death, although it would serve me right for being stupid enough to agree to this. The only reason I did comply with the circus at hand was to help Gage procure those feel-good vibes that Marshall has. Even though most of my nausea has dissipated and kindly relegated itself to the proper time of day—e.g., the morning—I still can’t wait to see how amazing it’ll be to bed him with his good vibrations turned up all the way.

  “Dear sweet Jesus!” the wail of a frightened woman emanates from somewhere deep in the crowd. Sobbing ensues. “Please! Forgive me of my sins!” Violent sobs, downright hysteria takes over the poor woman.

  I glance around at the worried looking crowd. The Transfer transplants are oblivious, of course—all having a gay old time, whirling and twirling, and only half-cognizant of what’s going on. In other words, they are totally themselves, but the people, those still nicely tucked in their coats of flesh, look petrified to be here.

  “Jesus, forgive me! Save me, Jesus! Save me!” More violent sobs and wails.

  Dear Lord! Yes, please save us all—that woman specifically.

  Mom’s eyes bug out as she leans toward Chloe, and the three of us all but cower along hoping to see a few familiar faces coming up soon, but it’s so dark you can only see a few feet out at a time. Who knows how long I’ll have to walk through hell with Chloe by my side? This place is as deep and wide as a football field.

  “Skyla, Chloe,” Gage calls out, and I step forward until he comes into focus. “Oh, thank God.” I lunge forward and wrap my arms tight around him, my lips magnetize to his, and suddenly, I’m pulled away abruptly.

  “Hey!” I’m about to deck my assailant, but it, too, is Gage. “Oh! Sorry,” I say, stepping away from his annoyingly good-looking brother who, apparently, I just made out with. Not an ideal way to begin our wedding.

  Both Demetri and Wes offer an understanding nod as I take my proper place next to Gage, and Chloe does the same with Wes.

  Demetri clears his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen of the underworld and those visiting from the planet proper, welcome!”

  A dull cheer erupts around us.

  “Who are these people?” I whisper to Gage.

  “Videns.” He gives a little shrug. “I had no idea. Sorry.”

  “Not a problem.” I’m sure this evening will be laced with interesting surprises. “By the way”—I lean into Demetri—“our wedding guests are very fucking afraid.” I’m not amused by his constant usury and trickery, and now real live people are being subjected to his lunacy.

  “Don’t be silly.” Demetri waves me off with his hand. “Everyone is delighted to be here.” He clears his throat. “Today we are gathered in the presence of God and man alike to commit into a divine holy union of both my sons and their brides. It is a father’s great pleasure to see his children enter into holy matrimony, so you can imagine my sheer delight to be able to not just witness this blessed event but to officiate it as holy council.”

  I grimace a moment. Demetri is far from holy.

  A dark-haired girl springs up next to Chloe and gives a non-smiling wave.

  “Emily?” Of course, she’s a Viden.

  “I’m here to stand up for Bishop,” she grunts.

  “Oh, nice.” Did I just say nice?

  Mom scoots in close to me. “I’m here for Skyla.”

  Demetri starts in on some cultish chant that sounds like a hellish version of hallelujah, and the rest of the crowd joins in. Just what I’ve always wanted— a singing demon in the armpit of hell. It’s every little girl’s dream—more like warped dream.

  Gage smiles at me. His fingers hook to mine as he draws me near. The only barrier between us is my belly.

  He cocks his head to the side, an amused smile playing on his lips.

  “I love you,” he mouths as Demetri calls the great haunted hall to order.

  Chloe stands stoically by Wesley’s side, and I can’t help but give him the stink eye before Demetri gets underway. If he’s so hot and bothered over Laken—like he wants everyone to believe—then why is he making it quasi-official with Bishop? Chloe is a monster. She doesn’t deserve a wedding day, a devoted husband, or a child.

  Demetri bellows something out over and over again that sounds suspiciously like the words Magna Carta.

  “Wesley, my son, the one after my heart like no other”—Demetri smiles with those lying eyes, only I’m pretty sure this is the one time he’s telling the truth—“do you take Chloe Jessica Bishop to be your lawfully wedded wife—in sickness and in health, in misery and in joy?”

  I lean to Gage. “Misery being the operative word.”

  Wes takes in a mean breath as if marshaling all of his resolve. “I do,” he says it solemn as shit, not an ounce of joy in his eyes.

  “And, Chloe, do you vow to worship, to fully mind, to adhere to the laws that Wesley puts in place for you?”

  The feminist in me hates this, but the fact those are the vows Chloe needs to abide by while married to Wes makes me want to smile—although Wes, like his twisted bride, is evil incarnate. He might look like Gage, and even come across as a pretty nice guy, but he has a one-track mind, and it’s world domination. Some people will do anything to get their way. In that respect, Chloe and Wes are perfect for each other.

  “I do.” Chloe takes up Wesley’s hands. “In fact, I want to add that I’m willing to sacrifice my time, my talents, and my expertise to help you in any and every endeavor. From this moment on, we are a team—Team Edinger.”

  “What is she talking about?” I whisper to Gage. “She has no talents or expertise.”

  His brows rise as if equally amused.

  And Team Edinger? She’ll always be Bitch-Face Bishop to me. Good thing nothing is truly legally binding in this special hell. Hey? I bet that’s why Wes agreed to this in the first place.

  I catch Em wiping the tears from her eyes. She can’t be serious.

  “And Gage”—Demetri turns his countenance fully to the two of us—“the apple of my eye”—wow, Wes runs around like hot shit on a silver platter, but thanks to Demetri doling out his highest accolades to his little bro, I bet he feels like cold diarrhea on a paper plate right about now—“do you take this lovely vision set before us as your one and only eternal bride?”

  “With all my heart.” He looks lovingly into my eyes, and all of the wickedness surrounding us, the wicked people themselves, disappear.

  Aw, Gage and his expressive eyes know how to dissolve me to water.

  “Skyla, do you promise to love and enjoy the company of my most beloved son from this moment until his last dying breath?”

  First, he didn’t toss in any of that anti-feminist bullshit he flung at Chloe, so for that I’m grateful. But, he did manage to take another swipe at Wes by calling Gage his most beloved son—
oh hell, we all know it’s true. But that last phrase—asking me to love Gage until his last dying breath?

  “I will love you, Gage Oliver, in this life and the next. I look forward to spending each and every moment with you, from waking up in your loving arms to falling asleep in them each night, ending the day the same way it began. I vow to love you through each new decade of our lives together, right through to my last dying breath.”

  Chloe scoffs as if I’ve just spewed a lie. But truer words have never left my lips. I love Gage Oliver, always will, and I want him right by my side until I’m old and gray, my own body in the ground before his ever gets there, so I’ll never have to grieve him.

  Demetri nods, his features at perfect peace with my response. “Wesley, Chloe, Gage, and Skyla, I now lock you in a binding covenant, a treaty of blood and of the bond of love. You are now, and forever more, husbands and wives.”

  The crowd gives a deafening cheer filled with warbling screams and chilling cries. Not your traditional whooping round of applause—more like half the guests are afraid this is the part where we skin them alive and line our closets with them as winter coats.

  Okay—wait, rewind—that last part Demetri espoused sounded a little kinky. He didn’t actually mean Wesley, Chloe, Gage and me, right?

  Gage leans in as if reading my mind. “It’s just you and me, forever.”

  My lips twitch, readying for a kiss, and a warm tingling sensation fills my belly. I pull back slightly, and my hand glides over my quickly heating stomach.

  “Skyla?” Gage gives my shoulder a firm squeeze with worry. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not in any pain. It’s just—”

  “Oh my God!” Mom screams so loud the hall of horrors quiets down to a demonic whisper. “Did your water break? Are you having contractions? Let’s get you off your feet.”