But what gripped me and stayed with me long after I showered this morning as I walked through the rain to the tacky barn that withstood my nightmare was the fact that I knew things would only get worse for us. Something bad had already happened, and I accepted the fact that more shit news was on the way. That feeling right there has left me unsettled the better half of the morning. I’ve never felt so helpless in my life. A dream has never felt more real. What could upturn our world so completely? What was that dream trying to tell me? And, my God, can it be stopped? I know one thing for certain—I will never accept that level of chaos. I will never allow our world to get any worse. If anything good came out of it, a sense of resolve was born within me. A fire lit in the pit of my soul for my people, for the fractured Factions, for Skyla and the boys, for all of humanity. The world is already rolling round in spiritual lava. I’ll move heaven and earth to make sure it doesn’t get any worse.
June melted away quickly like fog getting swallowed down at Silent Cove. July came and went with a whimper, my birthday celebrated with an afternoon at Pike’s Reef with all of my friends. Skyla and Gage masterminded the effort and I appreciated it. Something about it felt normal, healthy, like something all of our sick souls needed to heal from the tension plaguing the island like a disease. August sprang up like a gravestone, cold and gray, something you’d much rather step around and avoid altogether. But here we are, in the thick of it.
The bowling alley is slow this monsoon-like afternoon. Dismal and dreary, dark and damp. There is not a positive adjective left on this island this afternoon.
A figure darkens the entry, tall, long wool coat, wide brimmed hat with a waterfall cascading off it as he plucks it off.
“Marshall Dudley,” I grunt as I cast a quick glance to Bree and Lexy who are pulling a shift in the kitchen for me. Bree came back to work at the bowling alley last week. Said the feds were after her mattress account, seizing assets for unpaid back taxes, something about orange prison uniforms hanging in the balance. I have no problem with Bree working for me. In fact, I’ll give her any shift she wants. As much as I’m sorry about Drake and Bree’s sudden reversal of fortune, I gladly welcome the buffer she provides between Lexy and me. “What can I do for you?” I flip the rag off my shoulder and buff out the fingerprints over the granite counter. The church’s youth group is busy enjoying the lanes, and every now and again a congratulatory cheer comes from that direction.
“Nothing, apparently,” Dudley mutters mostly to himself as he settles his elbow on the other side of the counter. Dudley closes his eyes a moment. “Twelve Noster were killed at a company picnic in Duwalt, Indiana.” His cheeks pucker with a dash of an ironic smile. “It’s all over the news. Every talking head is gleefully going over each gory detail. An armed man made his way to the field and shot them all as they huddled. Pumped them with bullets, then fled the scene. Still at large.” He shakes his head just enough. “He won’t be found.”
“Crap.” I inch back in disbelief. “You think it’s a coincidence?”
He smacks his lips, that perennial look of disappointment draws out in his eyes. “If you consider it so, you’re a bigger fool than I’ve pegged you. You certainly are no relation of mine. In the least your gray matter has been drastically deluded.”
I think on it a moment. “Twelve dead Noster. An act of utter violence.” I slap my hand over the counter hard enough to break every bone. “Shit.”
“Shit is right.” He glares at me with those fiery eyes, and I’m caught off guard a moment, unsure whether or not I just heard Dudley curse for the very first time or if he was simply parroting me. Probably both.
Another thought lurches at me, far more alarming than Dudley unleashing a few blatant expletives. My blood runs cold at the thought. We’ve known it was coming, but in no way are we anywhere near prepared.
“It’s an act of war,” I say it low as if to deny the words their right to exist.
“Not yet. But it’s a step in the right direction. The drums are getting louder, Young Oliver. My people are unsettled. Your people are going to die. And thanks to that ex mother-in-law of yours, you will have a front row seat to the destruction.” He leans in hard. “She has gifted you the power to take this into your hands, Logan.” His voice shakes with rage, his eyes so completely focused on mine it raises the hairs on the back of my neck. “Surely you can use what brain cells you do have and come up with a way to bring much-needed salvation to your people and mine. There are souls in the bound. Your ex-wife has put us all in great peril. She will no more listen to me than she will that moron of a stepfather she lives with. Logan, I implore you to take the reins. You and I must usurp her majesty. Her heart has already usurped her people.”
“What’s this?” a cheery voice calls from the entry, and we look over to find Gage Oliver bounding this way with a slight spring in his step. I can’t help but scowl at him. It seems to be my go-to response whenever my nephew is around these days. Nothing has been the same between us for months. I’d like to think one day soon things will snap back into place for us, but I don’t see that happening at the moment or any foreseeable moment after that. Not to mention the fact he keeps prodding at Skyla with that golden club tucked between his legs. I’ve kissed her more than I would have imagined post our brief marriage but for all the wrong reasons. “A meeting of the minds?”
Dudley straightens, his chest out like a baboon’s. “A bit soon to be giddy after the slaughter, don’t you think?”
Gage gives a slow blink as that grin glides right off his face. He looks to me, and a moment of silence bounces between us. My God, he did it. Dudley is right. We are walking straight into a war. This is going to be hell. Brother against brother. Gage against me. How will we ever survive this?
Gage steps in close, his head tilted to the side the way he does when he’s trying desperately to convince me of something. His dark hair, those stormy blue eyes, the scent of his thick cologne, everything about him is so unsettlingly familiar, but he’s become a stranger to me and I hate it. “I’m assuming you’ve heard the good news by now. Skyla talked to Candace. We can marry again. It’s settled. Things will go back to normal. The covenant will act as an umbrella of peace for the Factions as well. Seven years she’s given me. I know it will evaporate like water, but once Candace sees that I’ve held up my end of the deal, we’re sure she’ll extend it. It’s brilliant and it’s beautiful and it keeps Skyla and me where we like it best—together.”
His eyes oscillate slightly the way they’re prone to do when he’s not telling the truth. “You don’t believe it.” I don’t hesitate calling him out on the lie.
He glances to Dudley. “It’s what I want.”
But nothing you can do, I want to say. It’s not necessary, though. We can smell the despair on him. It’s sickening. And yet a pinhole of hope spears through my dark soul, and for a second I believe I can make it happen for him. Maybe I can, but I sure as hell won’t.
Dudley takes a deep breath as if girding himself for more bad news. “When is the event? I’ll make sure to keep my calendar clear.”
Gage twitches his lips. “I don’t remember throwing out the invite.”
“I don’t need one.” He doesn’t hesitate with the reply. “Skyla is family.”
“Fair enough. My birthday.” He looks to me and nods. “Skyla’s deadline is now her new wedding date. Midnight to be exact. It’s a sacred time for us, so it made sense.”
Deadline. Yes. Skyla mentioned that Candace wants all of her fornicating efforts to cease and desist or she’ll lose all her powers by her birthday. Candace knows how to wield a celestial threat with the best of them. Hell, she is the best of them.
“The twins were born hours apart just like you and Skyla.” I frown without meaning to. As much as I love Gage—and I do love him—I cannot let this farce take place. Sorry, buddy, but I will do everything in my power to stop it. And God, if I fuck this up, Skyla might lose either way. She loses Gage, or she loses her powers—be
cause she’ll be too stubborn to leave him. I’ll have to speak with Candace. The only real way I’m guessing Skyla can forgo her powers is if she doesn’t marry the one she’s physically with by then. Marrying Gage would fit the bill, but it would also kill her people. Skyla is just too blindsided by her devotion to see it for the death warrant it really is. I’m not getting Candace’s intentions either. She abhors the idea of Skyla marrying Gage. But, maybe the truth is that she abhors a fornicating daughter just a little bit more.
“What can I do for you, man?” My heart gives a couple quickened thumps. “Anything. Name it.” It’s almost true.
He sharpens those dark brows over at me. “Good. I need you to get Kresley out of Raven’s Eye.” His dimples dig in as his features harden. Both Gage and I know that rescuing Kresley will be no easy feat.
Marshall huffs a dull laugh. “Relegating the dirty work to Celestra. You’re a man after your father’s heart. And what reason do you have for passing along the task? Is scheduling out of sorts these days due to the upcoming wedding? Or are you simply interested in eliminating the competition? Logan, take note.”
Gage snarls at him a moment. “I wanted to go. I’ve spent months trying to find a better way.” He bears into me with a desperation that assures me the sentiment is true. “But Demetri brought up a few good points, and I can’t argue with him. Logan, I swear to you, in no way am I trying to put you in danger or eliminate the competition. That’s not what we’re about, nor will we ever be. You’re my brother. I want and need you safe. If I thought there was someone else who could pull it off, I’d ask them. You’re the best and the brightest. And right now, you’re Kresley’s only hope.”
The air thickens with silence as I try to hold up the ten-thousand pound bowling ball Gage just hurled my way. I don’t have any ties to Kresley, no real reason to risk my life for her, but she’s a person, a member of the Factions, and I know for certain she’s going through hell.
“She’s having my brother’s baby.” Gage lifts a brow. “Wes wants her brought to the Transfer. Once you do your thing, I’ll get her where she needs to be.”
Marshall closes his eyes a moment. “The audacity to bark out orders at your elder as if he were a subordinate.” He looks to me and glowers. “Surely you will consider the ramifications such a mission would provide. I’ll leave you be to square away the details.” He steps in close. “Do not believe the rumors of peace. They are greatly exaggerated.” He plants his hat back on his head and stalks out into the rain.
I take a deep breath and look sorrowfully at the shell of the boy I once knew. So much has shifted in our worlds we hardly recognize ourselves.
“I’m in.” I hold out my hand, and that look of regret on his face magnifies before he shakes it.
“Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”
Gage let me know Demetri pointed out that his face is running around on Paragon in too many forms—Wes and the boys. And as much as I couldn’t care less what happened to Wes, in no way would I want to endanger Nathan or Barron. As far as my ragtag army goes for this special ops mission, there’s no way I’m bringing anyone else into the actual compound with me, but I thought it would be helpful to have Brody and Ellis on the island. When and if I get out with Kres, they’re to text Gage and let him know to pick us up—and God forbid if I need help they’ll provide that, too. There are too many variables, too many what-ifs to guarantee if I’ll be coming back out of that government hellhole at all. This way, if I don’t come out, Gage won’t be popping over to the island every few minutes endangering himself or his children any more than necessary just to see if I’m ready for a ride home. Not that I could stop him from rescuing me if need be. And for that reason alone, I’m determined not to get caught. I need both Kres and me to get the hell out of there.
Gage mentioned that Candace charged him with freeing Kresley. Maybe if I do it myself, it’ll give both me and the Factions a leg up. I scratch your celestial back. You scratch mine. And God knows I’m itching for Skyla. Ever since I realized it was to her detriment to be with Gage, it was as if a chain snapped and the tension I’ve been hauling around all these years evaporated into thin air. Deep down, I’ve always felt it should have been Skyla and me. The good guy in me didn’t want to believe it, but that stubborn asshole who is alive and well has always demanded that she’s mine. Turns out, he was right.
The first stop on this crazy train is Whitehorse. Ezrina’s lair to be exact, where it takes her less than ten seconds to inject that security chip she extracted from Tad into my arm. Nev hands me a uniform he and Ezrina whipped up that looks identical to the one Tad wears, right down to the security badge sewn onto the chest. Ezrina spends a painstaking amount of time gifting me new latex features, a larger nose, bright blue eyes, moles, and pocked skin. She all but shaved off my eyebrows. My once blonde hair has gone cherry red for the day. I’m no longer recognizable, least of all to myself.
Gage assists in transporting me, and the motley crew I’ve put together, to Raven’s Eye, dropping Brody and me off in the dark woods. It’s a moonless evening, fog thick as pea soup, so in that respect Mother Nature is in our corner. Gage transports Ellis to the back to cut the power, and in less than thirty seconds, the lights flicker around the building before going out. Nev gave Ellis explicit directions for cutting both the power and screwing up the generator for a short time without electrocuting himself. Gage is whisking him back to Paragon after. His face is masked, as is Brody’s, but mine is in the open, for all to see and memorize—altered as it might be.
Brody pulls me in as if he’s about to offer up an embrace, his fingers pressing in over my arm just above the wrist. Three things: You have less than seven minutes. The place is filled to the brim with Spectators who will grunt like apes once they spot you. And you cannot fuck this up or all of the Factions will be back on the chopping block once again pronto.
I slap him on the back and give a curt nod before taking off. He’s right on all accounts. I stride out of the protective hedge of the forest and quickly scamper to the block-shaped building as gray as the infernal sky. The fog wafts by like ghosts, thick and ominous. The double-doored entry to the place is reminiscent of a grocery store with iron bars running across the front—an upgrade since my last break-in at his exclusive taxpayer-sponsored resort. A couple of men walk by as I run my wrist over the bright yellow security square just the way Ezrina instructed and nothing. Not that I expected anything. A tall dude with a weapon strapped to his chest that looks like a bazooka over his chest nods to me before opening the door.
“Damn electricity’s out. He pulls out a metal handheld scanner and shoots my left wrist with a red laser. “Going manual today. Sorry, man.” He nods me in, and I take off down the hall. Security has been beefed up, no doubt. I’m guessing the weapon I couldn’t quite identify is the only thing they could find to subdue the Spectators if they get out. And although with the electricity disabled, the risk of them unleashing is probably still pretty low. I’m guessing they’ve got them under good old-fashioned lock and key—as well as under heavy sedation. But with me here, the odds of them running wild have just increased markedly. I’ve brought my Celestra strength to break down any iron bars that might be holding them back—it might help that my strength only magnifies when I’m stressed as shit, and lucky for those Spectators, I’m stressed as shit.
But I’ll need them as a diversion. They are plan A at the moment. The hall is diffused of all light. A couple of disgruntled gentlemen with bright orange shirts that read maintenance cuss up a storm as they stalk on by. An entire small army of men and women in white lab coats stream into the halls with a collective panic. A shorter woman with a mop of dark hair and oversized glasses with bright blue frames grabs ahold of me.
“What’s going on? Why isn’t the generator kicking in? I thought your people guaranteed no more security breaches? Those beasts penned on thirteen won’t need two minutes to flood the island. You’re putting us all in danger!”
I pul
l out my Ruger and flash it at her. “You’re all safe, ma’am. Security’s got this handled. They’re working on the electrical system as we speak. I’ll head to thirteen myself to protect you.”
Her face floods with relief.
I start to take off, then backtrack. “And the girl? The one with the baby? Where is she? I’ll make sure those beasts stay far away from her.”
A horrible thumping emanates from down the hall, and she jolts in a panic. “The girl is in Wing B.” She glances down the hall behind her, and I take note.
A thunderous roar rattles the establishment, and the woman screams bloody murder while bolting for the exit. The end of the hall darkens as it fills with bodies. I give a few hard blinks at what I see. It can’t be.
“Holy shit.” I take a few steps backward. “What in the hell?” Monsters. Eight to ten feet at least. These are not the Spectators of yesteryear. Nope. These are mega zombies on steroids, their bodies hulkish in girth, skin in tatters—a deep purple hue, the demonized looks on their faces are enough to frighten even me. It looks as if they won’t be needing my Celestra strength to free them after all. I take off toward the left as a bright red sign that reads Wing B greets me, but for the life of me I can’t find a single door or window. A group of men all wearing the same uniform I’ve donned walk at a quickened clip in the other direction.
“Code gray”—the sound of a booming voice fills the corridor, and I spot a man at the end of the hall with a megaphone. He shouts those same words over and over until it sounds as if he’s floated off to another planet. I’m shocked to find the building draining of its employees, and then it hits me. They’ve probably instructed them to do just that. Get outside to safety and let the boys with the wannabe bazookas shoot on sight at the beasts they’ve inadvertently created. How in the hell that happened, I do not want to know.
Throne of Fire: Celestra Forever After 5 Page 62
