The rushing water of the Harrisons’ massive fountain from across the street draws me back to the present. I take a few steps to the left and glare at my in-laws’ house. I should have known purchasing a home directly next door to my mother-in-law, who cannot stand me, was a very bad omen.
I squint over at their home and note that Emma and Barron’s downstairs lights are on and I wonder why at this hour, and then I remember that Kresley is staying with them. Her baby boy, Eli, is just about four months old now. Wesley spent all of last year spraying his seed over any and everyone. Both Laken and Kres had his children on the same day. Poor Laken whose memory came back as reliable as dial-up. She didn’t have Wesley’s kid. I’m not convinced of it.
I shake all of the drama of the past few months out of my head and my feet begin to move once again. Back down the road laden with beautiful tract homes and mega mansions interspersed. I’m headed to the one person who can help me most, Marshall Dudley.
He will indeed help me.
And he will do as I say.
Marshall’s estate is vast and spacious, an acreage spread over a pie-shaped lot complete with a corral full of horses and llamas. Just beyond that lies a thicket of woodlands—the infamous forest where Gage revealed his true nature to me by declaring war.
Just as my feet set out in that direction, the caw of a bird stops me cold in my tracks. I glance up toward the stalwart evergreen with its verdant arms spread wide as if it were ready to endow this island with a haunting benediction. I lift my arm and a dark, winged bird darts out of its branches, circling the sky above me, wide as a refrigerator. Downward the enormous bird circles until the heft of his feathered being lands on my forearm and I initiate my Celestra strength just to maintain him there.
“Holden.” I can’t help but frown at him—this beautiful raven, the size of a toddler, my God, the size of my boys. Holden wasn’t the first to occupy this lucky or unlucky bird, depending how you view this enchanted lifespan it’s been gifted. First, it was Nev, Nevermore—also known by his proper name, Heathcliff O’Hare. A gentle soul trapped in the cage of this magnificent beast by my mother no less, gifted to me by Gage. My heart wrenches just thinking about it. And then at the end of the last Faction war, Nev was liberated and in went wicked Holden Kragger who once tried to forcibly have his way with me. But I’ve forgiven him and we are well past that nightmare.
Holden lets out an ear-piercing cry. He witnessed the carnage that took place on Halloween, the massacre of my people, the upending of the Factions and all we thought we knew.
“Gage married Chloe tonight,” I whisper it like a secret, a horrible one that I never want anyone to know about.
Another violent caw escapes him. His talons dance spastically over my arm, biting into my flesh.
Shit, Messenger.
“I know. It is exactly that.” I swallow back the emotion begging to erupt from me once again. “You have a task. You and Serena—your entire brood if you like.” Holden met his feathered match, a downy white raven who stole his thorny heart—another spirit ensnared between plumed wings called Serena Taylor. She was a mid-century Deorsum. She’s as beautiful, svelte, and pale as her feathered cage would have you believe. “Stake out the old Walsh house. As soon as they arrive, I want to know. I want to know their every move on Paragon.”
He cocks his head my way. Chloe Bishop vomits at the sight of me.
Not necessarily at the sight, but certainly in close proximity. It was my mother’s brilliant curse, which only endears me to her at the moment.
“Yes. But that is not our burden to bear. In fact, she can consider it a wedding gift from me to her. Go.” I toss him back into the night sky and watch as his magnificent dark wings shine silver against the stars peering at us from behind pockets of fog.
My legs carry me with far less vigor and I slow down entirely as I come upon Marshall’s palace fit for a king.
Marshall and his people, the Sectors, are created beings, something akin to angels but in charge of far more than your average celestial messenger. And I’ve let every single Sector in the universe down. Not only did Gage topple Celestra from its coveted position, but he toppled the Sectors from their position in the heavenlies—demoting them beneath the Fems for the first time since the Dark Ages.
The din of music playing softly in the background catches my attention as I make my way towards Marshall’s mansion, only to find every light inside illuminating the place, and my mouth falls open at what this might mean. The music increases in volume as I step in close to the oversized matching mahogany doors. It’s so disturbingly loud, the windows vibrate with a soft hum.
I’d break down the door if I had to, but it falls open, unlocked and unmanned. Inside, it’s wall-to-wall bodies, and I let out a harrowing groan upon further inspection.
“Holy mother of God,” I bleat at top volume and nary a living soul—and that is debatable at this point—turns my way. The player piano rattles away at demonic speeds, at horrific volumes, and each of the bodies crammed into this place rollicks about as if it were their last night on earth. And I’m going to make sure it is exactly that—at least in this century.
I recognize these skanks who have come out en masse. Each one of them belongs imprisoned back in the seventeenth century and just the sight of them has me spinning the blue-eyed stone sitting on my forefinger with my thumb. Chloe gave me this peculiar ring, this questionable treasure. It turns out, it belonged to Marshall to begin with, but a few of the trashy hags at this soiree might recognize it—such as Marlena, Chloe’s long-lost whore of a relation. The ring eventually made its way to Cassandra Graham’s twisted old fingers and she made some sort of a pact with Demetri to end up in poor Melody Winters’ dead body. And well, I despise the new Melody Winters. I hate her mother, Dominique Winters, the old whore who is rivaling my mother for Demetri’s affections, even more. It was Dominique who sliced off Gage Oliver’s head the night of the masquerade in exchange for cash and prizes for the hit put out on him by his own demonic father—Fem, technically, but at this point there doesn’t seem to be a real difference.
The music hikes up a few octaves. The keys are played so quickly it’s as if they’re going off all at once and blaring through a horrifically loud megaphone. I can’t help but give a sour expression at the glorified prostitutes from yesteryear in their jewel-toned frocks with the business in the back, crotch party in the front. Those can-can outfits belong in a museum, a cemetery—or an incinerator for that matter.
How dare they frolic like there’s no tomorrow. Once Marshall finds out they’ve taken over his estate, I’m sure he’ll shatter that haunted speculum from which they crawled out of once and for all. God knows it’s high time he’s done it. It was something that should have happened years ago after the very first malfeasance.
The haunted speculum itself is just that, a terrifying mirror that acts as a portal to your most twisted fantasy. I believe Marshall gifted it to Demetri originally once the Sectors came out on top after their last spiritual scrimmage, but since then it’s made its way back. In other words, it was nothing but a big FU to the head Fem in charge. He was told to find a fantasy world where he could be king, that it would never happen on earth or in heaven—and yet, here we are today where the roles have horrifically reversed.
I make my way to the grand piano and am startled to find a dapper Dan from yesteryear actually at the helm. Usually it’s an invisible entity, and I’m betting it’s still this guy sans his long, evaporated body. I’m about to pull out my phone to text Marshall about the carnage taking place just as I realize I left it back in my bedroom when Demetri picked me up for the wedding.
My God, how far I fell, how spectacularly blinded I was by love—a fickle emotion of all things. The boys come to mind and my heart is grieved. No, I can never quantify love as a fickle emotion ever again. What I feel for my children supersedes something as basic as feelings, as emotions. What I feel for my boys is true love. God Himself is love—thus love must b
e His goodness embedded in our spirits that we are able to impart on those we choose and I choose my boys. My entire being radiates with the love I have for them.
No sooner do I turn to leave than a brunette with a wicked smile catches my eye and my feet transport me to her before my mind can fully process the demon in front of me. Ensconcing her like giggling bookends are Melody and Dominique Winters, creating a perfect trifecta of absolute hate.
“Holy hell,” I riot at the all too familiar girl with the deep chocolate waves flowing down her back, her eyes lit with a glint of wickedness. “Chloe,” I seethe her name. My hatred for her is a furnace, a tornado of fire that burns to the sky. “I’m going to kill you.” It streams from me like a sublime song as my fingers twitch to throw her into the raging flames of the fireplace.
“Ms. Messenger,” a deep voice booms from the side.
I look to my left and a breath hitches in my throat, completely caught off guard to the fact that Marshall Dudley is actually here in the midst of the revelry during this, my darkest hour. My feet stumble backward as I take in the scene. Gorgeous Marshall, my dirty blond god with his devilish grin, those precision-cut features, those boiling cauldrons he calls eyes. Here he stands with the demon of all demons by his side, a host to this debauchery, and it is most certainly high treason.
He bows my way as if accepting his fate. “Marlena? Might I have a word alone with Ms. Messenger?”
“Marlena. Of course.” It comes from me breathless as my rage mingles with panic. There is a touch of relief, as well as a touch of disappointment, to learn this woman isn’t in fact Chloe but some ancient piece of her genealogy.
Marshall wants a word with me. Could I trust Marshall? If I couldn’t trust Gage, then every single person in my life is on the table. Gage was a knife to the heart. Marshall would be a spear.
Marlena’s lips are moving. She is looking right at me, laughing, carrying on as if I were simply a guest at the party. Marshall leans in, his own lips speaking—lips that have loved me intimately before, lips that I had craved and still do. Life as I knew it has withered away and here we are, the evidence of the disintegration materializing before me. My life, I never knew you.
I snatch Marlena by the shoulders and pin her to the stone fireplace with bionic force. Her lips move frenetically and her eyes widen with a hint of terror, but not enough to satisfy me. Marlena isn’t really afraid of me or what I can do. I can’t kill her, but I can bring her pain. And pain is very, very beautiful when inflicted upon your enemies.
My fingers dig into her flesh as I thrust her head against the granite over and over, one magnificent burst after the next until a satisfying crunch can be heard. A skull fracture at its finest, then a splatter of crimson, a fat splat of blood staining Marshall’s pristine limestone walls.
“I hate you,” I seethe. The sound of my voice vibrates off the walls of my soul like a benediction. “You will die. Every last incarnation of you will die and be no more.” The glint of the fireplace catches my attention and I’m ready to throw away the trash and burn it.
A pair of strong arms plucks me off her and the room spins at dizzying speeds until my feet land back on the floor.
“Ms. Messenger,” Marshall riots over the din of the piano—and both the music and the chaotic laughter cease for a moment. “You may not come into my home and destroy my guests.” His lips twitch as if he didn’t mean it. Either he’s rousing me to unknowable heights of insanity or he’s approving of the blood sport I just engaged in.
I glance over to find a bevy of scantily clad beauties tending to Marlena, the sickly moan of a dove coming from her throat. But she pushes their well-meaning hands off of her and zips her bloody self on over to me as if that’s where she belongs.
“Skyla”—her eyes widen a notch as she taunts me with my own name—“I will forgive your grievance. It must be impossible to fathom that your husband has eschewed both you and your people in favor of far more glorious pastures. My great relation is quite fortunate to have such a strapping young steed to contend with both in and out of her chambers.”
An audible grunt emits from me as if she had just produced an axe and chopped off my arm—the one that once belonged to Chloe. And, my God, that is the next order of fucking business.
“Chloe Bishop”—her fingers fly to her lips and she chortles, an unnerving sight considering the left side of her face is striated with blood—“I suppose that’s not her name at all anymore, is it? It’s Chloe Oliver now.” She cocks her head with the slight and it feels as if the floor was just cut out from under me once again. “It has such a nice ring to it. It will take some getting used to, of course, for the both of you. Can you imagine? The girl you hated for so long now shares a name and a husband with you. But I suppose he’s not your husband anymore, is he? Pity.” She gives a slight wink, enjoying every moment of her cruel taunt.
“Marshall”—his name hums from me, tight with tension—“I will destroy all of your guests and every last inch of your home if you do not remove this wicked witch from my presence.”
Marshall leans her way. “I bid you, Marlena, to mingle and leave my beloved alone for the rest of the night.”
Marlena lifts a shoulder at us, her unmistakable Bishop features set to a scowl. “Some people simply can’t handle the truth.” She heads back to the bawdy broads glaring at us from the fireplace.
I groan as I watch her. “I’m going to travel back in time and watch you swan dive off that cliff. I’ll be the one cheering you on,” I shout after her and the entire gaggle of ghoulish girls shudder and scream.
Marshall chuckles. “You do realize she’s not yet apprised of her fate.”
“Then perhaps I’ll influence her final and only rational decision.” I happened to know that’s exactly how Marlena meets her end—taking a plunge off the white cliffs of Dover. “Good riddance,” I say, my rage still percolating for her. “On second thought, those flames look as if they’re dwindling. I think I should feed the fire and be done with it.” I take a step in that direction and Marshall reels me in, his lips quickly landing over my cheek.
“No such thing shall transpire. You can prosper without dealing carnal blows to those who offend you.”
“Offend? You have no idea how far off base you are. I am far more than offended by Chloe and Gage.” I double over momentarily at the mention of their names strung together in such an intimate way. This entire nightmare is like giving birth to a beast with twelve horns.
A thought comes to me as my gaze flits back to the stunning Sector before me, the one who I once believed in emphatically, and now I’m not so sure I should so much as hang my hat on his words.
“So help me God, Marshall Dudley, thy name will be wicked forevermore if you so much as attempt to lie to me. Why are you celebrating this horror that has manifested in my life?” My voice breaks and I hate that I can no more control my hurt, my pain than I can the circumstances around me.
The music picks up to psychotic levels and the chattering voices around us increase in velocity. Their incessant laughter is all too much to bear.
Gone is his friendly demeanor, replaced with something far more bone-cutting, a soberness akin to anger.
“Skyla, I find not one morsel of elation regarding the disaster that has overcome you. This is a grievance that far outweighs mortality. This is an eternal betrayal, one without excuse—one which sought out a barrier of love.” He lifts a brow and waits in anticipation as if he were quizzing me.
“True love has no barriers, Marshall. You and I both know that.”
He offers a solemn nod. “And that, my love, is what you must remember in the nexus of your darkest day.” His eyes slit to nothing. “It is the only kindness I will lend him.”
My heart flinches because by him he means Gage. But I’m too worn out to untangle that necklace of a riddle. I’m too tired to play Marshall’s reindeer head games.
“Why is Marlena here? Why are they all here?” My voice is back to raging.
Something in me loosens as I try to absorb his words. “You brought Marlena here for me to toss around like a ragdoll?” The words strum from me numb. “Because it was the closest thing you could give me next to Chloe?” My body relaxes a notch. “Now that’s true love.”
“Make note of it. Also, make note of the fact anger is not the emotion you want when plotting to land Celestra back in its coveted position. Anger is simply a sheet draped over grief. You can, and you must, find a way to operate around it.”
It’s as if his words had formed the sharpest blade and he slipped it into my chest, cutting my heart out then forcing me to eat it.
A whimper comes from me as I try to digest what he’s asked me. “I can’t, Marshall. I need it. I need the anger to protect me from the grief. You call it a sheet. I call it a shield. Everything else has been taken from me this night. Don’t take the one thing I’ve earned.” I swallow down the grief that’s vomited up in the back of my throat like bile. My cherished anger is raising its hand, saying look at me, taste how bitter I can be. It’s me you really need. “And as much as I know you love me, Marlena isn’t here simply for me to torment—although that was a damn good touch. What’s the real reason?” I don’t bother to blink while waiting for a response. I don’t want to miss a nuance of his facial expressions.
“There is more work to be done, Skyla. There are people we can utilize. And, in order to do so, we must first fall into their good graces.”
I glance to the fireplace, where Marlena seems to have made a remarkable recovery, her face still encrusted in crimson, but she wears her wounds with pride just like Chloe. The rotten apple didn’t fall too far from the ancestral tree. Marlena looks so much like Chloe it knots me up in a tirade just being in the same room with her. Gage, of course, is in the same room with Chloe, and I wonder if he’s losing himself exploring her body? Are they on the floor making paper butterflies just like the old days? Is he glad to be done with Project Skyla and glad to be back where he feels he belonged all along?
All Hail the King (Celestra Forever After Book 6) Page 3
