“He’s a mortician for crying out loud,” Tad yelps. “What the hell is he going to do? Embalm her?” He whips the cell from his pocket and has me stand still while he snaps away at my swollen features. “I’ll just take these pictures down to the Pacific West Boat Lines main office tomorrow and see how fast they pull out their checkbook. They hate lawsuits. It’s cheaper to do a payout right there in the office. I’m betting on at least ten grand.”
“Tad!” Mom looks mortified by his get-rich-quick scheme.
“We can remodel the kitchen, Lizbeth.” It comes out more of a threat than a tantalizing proposition.
The idea of new cabinetry silences my mother into submission.
“I’m fine, really.” God—Tad is going to cause all kinds of trouble over something that never even happened. “It was slippery. Ten different people took a tumble.” That’s right. I sigh. Nothing like another lie to try and rectify the first. That always works.
“Perfect!” He beams. “We just need to contact those passengers, and we’ll threaten ‘em with a civil action suit. They’ll throw the entire safe in our direction.”
“You mean class action.” Gage makes the egregious error of trying to correct Tad in his moronic state of agitation.
“No, I mean civil action.” Tad asserts the fact his legal knowledge is a force to be reckoned with. God knows he’s logged enough hours to earn his YouTube degree. He’s forever goofing off at his laptop—amusing himself with talking cats and crazy people who read their freshly-penned manifestos. “Say”—Tad’s eyes pop with an epiphany—“why don’t you come down with me as an eye witness. I’ll give you kids a portion of the take. A nice crisp twenty so you can go out to dinner and a movie.”
Shit. Tad is going to get Gage inadvertently thrown in jail for perjury. I can see it coming a mile away. Gage has more than served enough time thanks to me and my light driving debacles. There’s no way I’m going to let him rot in a cell in this dimension, too.
“OK,” I shout, slicing my arms through the air like a referee. “That’s not exactly how it went down.”
“Knew it.” Tad grimaces like he just got a bad taste in his mouth. “The linebacker knocked her around.”
“Actually…” I look to Gage. I’m certainly not going to let them think he beats me. “We were locked in one of the luggage compartments, and I tripped over a bag—head first.” And this is what I opt for as a more realistic fabrication? Do they even have a luggage compartment?
“Luggage?” Mom narrows her gaze on me. “What were you two doing in a dark service closet?”
“Brushing up on their math skills,” Tad says, while deleting the pictures off his phone in haste. “What do you think, Lizbeth? They were playing a game of vertical skin tag. That, Lizbeth,” he says, pointing at my face, “is nothing more than the end result of rough sex.”
I gasp. First, Gage would never be rough with me and second, there’s a spirit in the sky that ensured the aforementioned activity did not take place.
“There was no vertical skin tag.” I can’t even bring myself to say the word “sex” around Mom and Tad—possibly not even Gage.
“OK, then,” he barks, “vertical fiesta, vertical body planking, call it what you like. You’re not leaving this house the rest of this summer.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I balk. “Drake and Brielle practically made that baby under this roof, and Ethan has a bona fide sex slave hostage in his bedroom.” Gah—I just said sex! Run and hide! Run and hide!
“Drake and Brielle are off limits, too,” Tad seethes. “No more of this spending the night baloney. One invisible grandchild is enough. And, as for Ethan, he’s made a very shrewd business decision and brought in a boarder.” He stalks off before I can shoot down any of his claims.
I shake my head in disbelief.
“Sorry,” Mom whispers. “Gage you’re welcome to stay for dinner.”
The only thing she should be sorry about is the vertical funeral she dared to commit twice. In fact, I’m pretty sure being married to Tad is enough to drive someone to a funeral of their own.
“Actually,” Gage starts, “my parents invited Skyla to dinner. We’re going over plans for Logan’s birthday—it’s two weeks away.”
“Of course.” Mom leans in and pats the skin below my eye. “Don’t stay out late.” She gives a distressed look from me to Gage before stepping in close. “I hope to God the two of you are using protection.”
“Oh, there’s no need.” I shake my head furtively before the conversation lands us in that cringe-worthy place that has my mother espousing uncomfortable sexual adages.
“Making love rarely involves a bandage,” Mom says it as a fact. “This isn’t the football field, Gage.” She glowers at him a second before leaving the room.
I’m so exhausted and mortified from the exchange, I forget to exhale.
“Is it really Logan’s birthday in two weeks?” I had completely forgotten it was coming up.
“July twenty-first.” Gage pushes in with a dark expression. “Will he be around to celebrate?”
I wish I knew the answer to that myself.
Chapter 45
A Stitch in Time
The Oliver’s home holds the heavenly scent of cinnamon and apples, an undeniable feast for the senses.
Turns out we’ve missed dinner, but thanks to Emma’s spontaneous urge to turn the kitchen into a bakery, we’ll more than make up for it with the sugar and carb fest that’s about to commence.
“This is magnificent,” Marshall says, after taking his first bite. He wands the fork in the air as if composing a symphony. “You must share the recipe with me.”
Emma chortles. “I hardly believe a Sector of your stature has the time to play in the kitchen.” She gives a coy smile, and I do believe there is some primitive form of flirting taking place.
Dr. Oliver sits beside me at the breakfast table and threads a large needle that holds the shape of a letter C.
“You should heal by morning,” he assures. “But let’s button you up to ensure infection doesn’t set in. No reason your blood supply should have to work any harder than it already is. How have you been feeling otherwise?” he asks, jabbing the tip into my flesh, causing my skin to rise unnaturally.
I lurch alive with pain.
“Marshall?” I hold out a hand. No reason he shouldn’t spare me from the torment.
“I gather Skyla is feeling vacated of any victories,” Marshall answers for me as he takes up my hand. “Region five was a fail. We’ve just about lost half the war.” His good mood dissipates as soon as the war comes to mind.
“It’s not Skyla’s fault.” Gage folds his arms tight across his chest not bothering to hide the fact he disapproves of having a Sector of his stature in his presence—comforting his girlfriend no less.
“Who shall we blame?” Marshall booms. “You?”
“Blame whoever the hell felt the need to launch a war to begin with,” Gage fires back. “By the way, we’re all out of discs.”
“I wouldn’t give you a disc if you groveled and offered to lick the barn clean in an effort retrieve one. You’ve squandered them, thank you very much—made me look bad.” He pouts a little when he says it and just the mention of the disc has me disconnecting from Marshall’s voyeuristic grip.
I slouch in my seat and tuck the smooth flat disc Demetri gave me deeper into my pocket. There is no way I’m ever going to be without it again.
“So, Logan’s birthday is coming up,” I say, trying to change the subject. It’s not until I open my mouth do I realize I threw us out of the frying pan of one heated conversation and into the furnace of another.
“Have you seen him? Is he all right?” Emma stops kneading the dough in front of her and holds out the rolling pin with concern. The better to clobber me with, I’m sure.
“Oh, he’s fine.” I shoot Gage a look that threatens to slit his throat with my teeth should the truth somehow spew out. “He’s taking a little vacation.” G
od—I’m lying to the Olivers now. Obviously my dishonesty knows no bounds.
Where is he? Marshall insists, picking up my hand once again.
He’s busy.
Busy? Marshall gives a disbelieving huff. Your mother has requested your presence this evening. I suppose when I discover the origins of ‘busy’, it will end the mystery as to her urgency.
“Skyla.” Dr. Oliver snips the thread off and ties a knot close to my skin. “It’s clear you know more than you’re letting on.” He softens. “You’re like a daughter to Emma and me. We expect the truth from you.” He looks at me from over his glasses—makes me feel two inches tall, caught in a hotbed of lies.
Something about the way he said I was like a daughter warms me. The Olivers have felt like family since I met them a year ago. Even Giselle, who really is their daughter and just so happens to be dead, feels very much like family.
“OK.” I close my eyes a moment. “There may have been a little hiccup in an agreement he made with a certain somebody in an effort to keep me safe.” There. Telling the truth isn’t so bad.
“Who was this somebody, and what was the agreement?” Marshall sharpens his tone. There’s a fire smoldering in his eyes like he already knows where this might be headed.
“Ezrina,” I say in the smallest voice possible.
The three of them sag at once.
I make my way over to Gage, mostly for protection.
“What’s the agreement?” Dr. Oliver persists.
“It may have had something to do with his dreams.” I’m afraid to go on.
“Has Logan been utilizing his dream capabilities?” Emma looks astounded. “He can hardly function the next day. It zaps all his energy.”
“He’s letting that hag toy with the bird, isn’t he?” Marshall picks up a chair, only to smash it against the floor. It splinters into a dozen angry pieces and the entire lot of us just stand there, gaping at him.
“It may have happened a couple of times,” I whisper.
“Once was enough to seal his fate.” Marshall zeros in on me with his steely gaze. “Say you had no part in this, Skyla.”
I open my mouth to parrot back the words but they won’t come. Technically, I was present the first time, and Nev did insist I declare them legally joined in matrimonial bliss so I may have played some tiny part.
“Skyla,” Emma says my name in broken disappointment.
“What does this mean?” Dr. Oliver asks.
Gage secures his arms around my waist and pulls me in, and yet, it still feels like things are moving way too fast—as if I’m about to burst through the windshield of life and come out bloodied and bruised on the flesh deficient side of existence.
“It means,” Marshall growls, “Skyla here has just committed a breach of faith with the Justice Alliance.” Marshall pushes out a hard breath. “It makes perfect sense why they’ve called her to court.”
“Because they’re going to scold me?” Best case scenario.
“No, love,” Marshall simmers, “because they’re going to punish you.”
“I’m going with her.” Gage declares like he’s not taking no for an answer.
“Very well,” Marshall concedes, “we’ll see you there.”
He damn well knows Gage can’t get there on his own.
Marshall takes up my hand, and the two of us disappear.
Chapter 46
Petition for Mercy
The scenery changes. I tense up, half expecting to see my mother and the other celestial lunatics hurling brimstone in my direction, but I don’t. I see Marshall’s cavernous living room, and I let out a deep breath.
“Thank you,” I say. I need to get on Marshall’s good side and fast.
“For?” He flattens his palms against the heavily lacquered piano and stares into his rather pissed off reflection.
“You know—not taking me to my mother’s. It’s not like she can force me to show up.”
“She can and she will.”
“What’s she going to do, send a clown Fem after me? A pack of wild wolves?”
“No, Skyla. She sent me. I’m to bring you. We have less than five minutes, so let’s roll some ideas around before the only thing rolling is your newly severed head.”
An image of Chloe and her jaunt in the forest resurrects itself in my mind. That would be the ultimate punishment, hacking off my head and giving it to Chloe to use as field practice.
“You’re to tell her you knew nothing about the Pretty One’s actions until it was too late,” he instructs.
“Done.” And true, might I add.
“Tell her you’re adverse to the Transfer, and the thought of that sea hag makes your skin crawl.”
“Perfectly worded.” I placate him with a smile.
“Let her know you approve of whatever punishment she deems fit to give the perpetrator who dared revoke their retribution to society.” He jabs his finger hard in the air. “And you demand she ban the Oliver in question from your life forever.”
I shoot Marshall a look. He knows damn well I’d never say those things about Logan.
“I thought so.” He breathes his discontent.
“I heard a rumor you broke a rule for me.” I bite down on my lip as Marshall perks to attention. “You told Gage how to get to the tunnels.”
“It was a one way ticket—one time use. He’s lucky he came back alive.”
The thought of Gage giving his life to rescue me lends a powerful attraction to him, but then Marshall broke a rule. That’s a pearl of great price.
“So what happens? You know, to you.” I lay my hand over his back.
“I’ve but three errors to make, and I’ve generously made my fourth on your behalf. There’s a good chance she’ll end my stay here on the island—or worse.”
“No.” I shake my head vehemently. “I won’t let her. You’re always there for me. You’re better than she is in every way because you care about me infinitely more than she ever could.”
The room swelters. Heat rises in waves, melts the walls—the furniture pulses in and out like fumes penetrating the air.
“You do realize she listens.” Marshall’s voice comes in clear as we begin to disintegrate.
“Good. I plan on giving her an earful,” I say.
“So much for strategy.”
***
The plush violet sky above Ahava is illuminated with a nonstop nest of lightning, slightly reminiscent of the stone of sacrifice the night Chloe arranged for the Counts to take me. The same night Gage walked through an electrical current on my behalf. I should have known then his intentions were to never hurt me.
My mother sits on her invisible throne with Rothello dutifully next to her and the Marshall twins decorating each side like a set of stunning bookends. Rothello wears his dark hair past his shoulders. He’s missing one eye because my favorite Sector yanked it out of his head and gifted it to Chloe in order to impress me. It might have impressed me a little. What impresses me more is that he’s broken his fourth rule for me. What in the hell is he thinking, anyway?
A hard clap of thunder explodes overhead. My mother in all of her ethereal beauty seethes in my direction. Her hair blows back dramatically as if it’s trying to escape its follicular capture and sail right off her head in fright.
God—even the hair on her head is afraid of her. But it’s her eyes, those cold steel lasers that burn through my skull that assure me I really fucked up good this time.
“Marshall,” I whisper, “I’m afraid.”
“Be afraid.”
I give a wry smile. Surely he could use his seductive reasoning skills to harness her estrogen and get her off my back for a while—like a lifetime would be nice.
A bolt of lightning refracts over the sapphire floor and Logan materializes, then Ezrina and Nev in tandem, both in their altered, cursed state of being.
Shit.
This is not going to end well.
My mother looks to the left, inspiring all heads to follow suit,
including mine, which, by the way is still happily attached to my neck.
It’s Gage!
He comes over and takes up my hand. Giselle waves from the side and takes a seat on the grassy knoll behind me.
“Well,” my mother says, picking up her chin and staring down at the lot of us. She inspects us as if a bunch of maggots just sprouted before her, “since there are so many, I don’t see the harm of including one more.” She lifts a finger with little effort, and my father appears from nowhere.
“Daddy,” I shriek as I run out to tackle him.
He lunges into me and gives me a spin, kissing the top of my head like mad.
“Skyla?” He cradles my face in his hands before dotting a kiss on my nose. “How did this happen? Why is she here?” He says it sharp to my mother.
“Calm yourself, Nathan. She’s not dead—yet.” She directs us back to the crowd that anticipates her wrath in acres.
“Are you in court?” My father’s concern blooms like a mushroom cloud. “Skyla, no,” he whispers, shaking his head. His face bleeds out all color, and I’m pretty sure it’s a bad sign considering he’s been dead for a good long while.
My mother sounds a ruby gavel. “Let us refresh ourselves regarding the case of Ezrina MacAtter and Heathcliff O’Hare.” She sorts through a stack of velum papers with glowing letters that crawl along like an army of ants. They shift and rearrange themselves on the page as if to inform her of new things once she reads the old. “Ezrina, you fought against the wishes of the Faction Council and slaughtered two hundred forty-two Countenance soldiers. Is that correct?”
“Is.” Ezrina gives a slight courtesy, as if she were proud.
I wouldn’t go bragging, if I were her.
“Heathcliff.” My mother licks a finger before flipping a page in the illuminated legal documents spread out before her. Nevermore flies up and lands on my shoulder, as if to afford a better view. “You assisted in this vigilante behavior and added the souls of five hundred fifty-two of your own brothers.”
Toxic Part One (Celestra Series Book 7) Page 25
