Throne of Fire: Celestra Forever After 5

by Addison Moore

  Michelle and Liam step up, forever conjoined at the hand—I guess we’re lucky that’s all they’re letting us see.

  “What’s up, witches?” Michelle bumps her feline-clad hip into Chloe’s, and Liam ditches the kitty coven for Logan and Coop across the way.

  Chloe slings an arm around my shoulder. “Mess just found out her wedding night is going to be a real disaster.” She tries to snatch the picture out of my hands, and I yank it back before crumbling it into a tight little ball just the right size to provide a little kindling for that fire Marshall has going.

  “Is not. It’s going to be perfectly fine—and downright heated.” I smirk at Michelle. “Just the way your wedding night was with Liam.”

  “Are you kidding?” Michelle waves her hand at us—as of late Michelle punctuates every sentence with a flash of that bling Liam gifted her. “I was so tanked, I passed out cold that night. Liam didn’t get any for a week.”

  The entire lot of them cackle into the night as if it were a riot. Poor Liam. He finally makes it official, and Miller makes him regret it. I guess, technically, she’s not Miller anymore, but if they can call me Messenger—or Mess—then every old surname is on the table.

  I swat Chloe over the stomach. “I believe you have a mission to accomplish. You were going to prove yourself useless, remember?”

  She straightens a moment, her affect crashing to a scowl. “Useful,” she snickers. “I was going to prove myself useful.” She takes off toward Demetri, and I can’t help but roll my eyes. As if he’s really going to vomit up the secret to the riddle of the headless Sphinx just because she asked. I’ve been a stark raving mad lunatic trying to squeeze the answer out of anyone who’ll listen for the last eleven months. There’s no way this mystery is unraveling on a whim for Chloe.

  The deep baritone of what sounds like church bells goes off overhead, and a bunch of grizzly looking teenagers disguised as werewolves herd the masses toward the gazebo at the south end of the property.

  “Here it goes.” I give a quick look around for the mutant cat I inadvertently fell into a covenant with last year. Oh, all right, it wasn’t inadvertent, but she’s not exactly earning her keep either. I gave Chloe specific instructions to do what was in her twisted power to make sure Mia didn’t two-step down the aisle. I can’t be the bad guy in this scenario. Mia will hate me. Chloe is the designated bad guy in every scenario. The world already hates her, so in that respect not much will change.

  I meet up with Gage as we follow the mass hemorrhaging toward the stream that snakes through Marshall’s estate. There’s no clearing, so half of the people will have to stand in the woods to see a thing. It’s probably best. Most natural disasters are not something to be ogled. The forest swallows us in its dark, waiting arms, and the scent of fresh earth mixed with an odd combination of perfume, cologne, and sugar fills our nostrils. The fog is so dense the gazebo looks as if it’s erasing itself from existence every few seconds. It’s creepy. And with everyone looking as if they just stepped out of a bad thrift store, Mia should be mortified at the thought of embossing this night as one of the most sacred of her life.

  “I can’t believe this is happening.” I wrap an arm around Gage and note that he’s traded his plastic muscles for a dress shirt, a corduroy blazer, and jeans. “What are you dressed as, anyway?”

  “Your favorite accountant.” He tucks a kiss under my ear before bearing into my eyes with his. “I love you, Skyla Messenger. I love you with my whole heart.”

  “Aw, for a moment I almost forgot that my objective in the next few minutes is to trip the groom and maybe break a clavicle.”

  He winces. “Go big or go home. Make it a femur.”

  “You’re so right.”

  He winces out into the woods behind me. “I think I spot my parents. I’ll be right back.”

  “Take your time.” Don’t hesitate to come back alone, I want to add but don’t. Instead, I navigate through the crowd trying to reach Marshall, Mom, and Demetri who are all standing at the foot of the makeshift altar.

  Gabrielle Armistead is busy chatting away with his waif of a sister, Carson. Carly Foster is next to her, and she happens to be standing next to a young boy who looks about twelve. I bet that’s Brody’s son, Lucas. Just beyond them I spot Dominique Winters with that giant hairy mole on her upper lip. Okay, so it’s not hairy. It’s actually kind of hot even if she is as old as dirt. Demetri is all up in her business, while my poor mother mewls for crumbs of his affection like an orphaned kitten. Disgusting.

  Dominique is sporting a rather revealing ball gown, her bustier glittering gold as if to annunciate the two pale orbs jettisoning out from it. Her auburn hair is swept up into a French knot, and she looks downright elegant and gorgeous compared to my hillbilly mama. I can’t help but feel sorry for my mother just a little bit. I’m sure having to watch your boyfriend flirt mercilessly with the town slut must be difficult. Next to her stands Melody Winters. Her own crimson locks are fanned out above her face a good foot. And judging by all the neon and rubber bracelets, she’s reliving yet another era she had no part in, the eighties.

  The entire Winters clan died centuries ago, but they keep stealing bodies to further their demonic agendas. Hey? How is that not spiritually illegal? Why would my mother allow such space and time shenanigans? Unless a certain quasi-deity were offering them an extension in exchange for dark favors.

  A breath hitches in my throat as I glance to Demetri. Holy hell. They’re his minions. And I bet Demetri used his minions to kill Gage. It was one of those nitwitted Winters! The two Winters brothers huddle amongst themselves. Asbury, the freakishly elongated basketball star from Host, the one Melissa tried her hand at, looks alarmingly pale and gaunt as if he sleeps in a casket during the day. Next to him is Cash, Carly’s cutie. Actually, he’s far more caustic than he ever is cute. Face it, not one member of the Winters clan needed to wear a costume tonight. They’re all freakishly scary in their own right.

  I make a beeline over to my mother at the same time a Huck Finn lookalike arrives and accosts her by way of taking a bite out of her face.

  “Oh God, it’s a Spectator!” I cry as I give the oaf a shove, and Mom chortles up a storm.

  “That’s just Tad, Skyla.” She offers a smug look of satisfaction over to Demetri. “He’s practically naughty on All Hallows’ Eve. There’s just something about dressing up that sets his fantasies running wild—and mine.”

  My stomach lurches at the thought. Tad ambles over, barefoot—dirt up to his ankles, a ratty pair of jeans cut off just below the knee, and every other tooth blackened out. He has an entire litany of moles dotting his face, and he’s donned some ridiculous straw hat that looks as if every rat on Paragon has tried to gnaw its way through it. Bleh. The only fantasy any sane person would want to entertain with him is pushing him down a well.

  Tad gives Demetri a country-fried donkey kick to the knee. “So you’re finally out from under my roof, aye, buddy? Next time there’s a slaughterhouse in your living room, you know where to come. The little lady and I miss seeing your bedhead in the morning.”

  I bet. I glower at my mother a moment. That was a disgusting period of our lives, and it’s best we all put it far, far behind us.

  “All out and missing you fiercely already.” Demetri mock socks Tad on the arm, and my poor stepfather lets out a horrific oof. I’m betting Demetri backed that left hook with a little supernatural surprise. It’s just like him to skirt above the rules. Thank God Almighty Gage didn’t inherit one wayward gene from the monster. It looks like the joke is on Demetri. The son he singled out to put a hex on the world is nothing short of a Celestra loving saint. And I’m going to reward every last inch of that saintly body of his in just a few hours, rehearsing for our own upcoming wedding night. And even though one more wild romp with my betrothed will most certainly drain me completely of my powers, I say it’s worth it. Hell, as of this morning, my Celestra strength was already zapped. I’m all but human. Useless really.
It feels terrible as if I’ve just been in a car wreck and had the flu at the very same time. I’m sore, weak, and can’t seem to keep my mind straight as I amble my way through the day. I can’t help but feel sorry for people who don’t have a drop of Nephilim in them.

  Dominique continues to regale Demetri with her perky pale breasts—which are way past their expiration date—but nonetheless Demetri is happily drowning in them, diving between the girls as if he lost a contact in that pillowy mess.

  “Tad and I are thrilled to have our bed to ourselves again. Such a sacred time to commune as a couple,” Mom shouts so loud half of Mia’s friends actually turn green. Trust me, I’m right there with them. “It’s such a relief to run wild and uninhibited beneath the sheets. You know, a long drought like that can really put a few kinks in the system that needs to be kinked right out.”

  Dear God, help us all. It is truly getting kinky out here.

  Demetri’s perennial smile drips right off his mask-like face, and his eyes slit to nothing as he looks to Tad with a vengeance. And here we go. It appears a genuine murder will take place, thus stealing Mia’s wedding thunder. I almost approve.

  I clear my throat as I ready to stoke the flames of Demetri’s deadly brand of jealousy. “Well, why wouldn’t you get wild with your husband?” I shout to my mother as if we were lousy actors doing summer stock. Oh, how very, very fun it is to throw some Landon love acid in Demetri Edinger’s demented eyes. Ogle other women’s breasts in my mother’s presence, will you? You’ll have visions of Tad’s hairy ass to pay. “How else will you crank out your next love child?” My God, did those words actually leave my lips? And it’s technically not a love child if they’re married, right? Oh hell. This is too much fun to get bogged down in all the legal details. “You just keep knocking that headboard,” I chide. “Even if you don’t get a preemie prize package out of the deal, you’ll have one heck of a time trying!”

  Demetri inhales quick and sharp as if he just sucked a hardboiled egg down the wrong pipe. Then just as quick as his terror came, that creepy smile emerges once again. “I see.” He nods my way as if he were onto me. Believe you me, judging by that ever-expanding demented grin, there will be hell to pay. He turns to my mother. “If there is anything I can do to assist you in the effort, please don’t hesitate to ask. I’m all yours, Lizbeth.”

  My mother sighs into him dreamily as if the cute boy at school just asked her to the dance, when in reality her ogre of a part-time boy toy just assured her his baby-making services are still available.

  Gage heads back with Emma and Dr. Oliver in tow, and I try my hardest not to frown.

  Emma tugs at her nurse’s uniform—which is actually just a nurse's uniform, nothing even remotely sexed up about it. Poor Dr. O.

  “Sorry we’re late. My heels kept getting stuck in the mud.” She lifts a shiny red shoe. Color me impressed. Maybe Emma has a little vixen left in her after all.

  “You’re right on time.” Demetri takes up her hand and kisses the back, sending my mother into silent histrionics once again. He nods to her better half. “You are the luckiest man here, Barron. It’s good to see you again.”

  Dr. O kindly keeps his thoughts to himself because he’s a gentleman that way. But my mother is fuming. I’m not sure what’s going on between her and Demetri, but it’s starting to remind me a lot of dueling banjos, only in this case it’s dueling egos. Clearly, it’s a lovers’ spat in which both parties have no business being lovers.

  Marshall appears at the foot of the gazebo as someone cranks up a bad rendition of the wedding march on their phone. The music gets glitchy before a rap song takes over, and half the crowd whoops it up as if we were at a club. Gabriel turns around, and it’s only then I note he’s wearing one of those tuxedo T-shirts. And in honor of this frightening night, he’s got a tire track smeared across it, and his left cheek is soaked in fake blood. Honestly, it looks as if someone slapped him with a Slurpee. Keeping it classy I see.

  A couple of Mia’s friends hold their phones up over their heads in an effort to record the event for posterity and every social media venue you can think of so they can poke fun of it for years to come.

  I glance back and spot a beautiful blonde princess giggling her way over. Mia has donned a short white summer dress—the one she bought online from Hollister for the blessed event. I can see the tag hanging from her armpit, and I’d bet good money she did that on purpose so her friends can see how much money she spent. She’s got one of those mini veils that spikes into her hair with a comb attached. The exact kind we put on Michelle the night of her bachelorette party. And I wouldn’t be shocked to learn it was the very same one. She’s wearing flip-flops, and not until she moves ahead of me do I see they read Bride and To-Be! on the left and right respectively. Her entire outfit looks like a gag. And Gabriel really does make me want to gag. Hey? Maybe they’re not taking this seriously? I bet they have no idea that Marshall really has the power vested in him to turn this into one of their worst legal nightmares.

  Someone taps me on the shoulder, and I turn to find a clean-cut boy in a suit, a purple pocket square glowing on his lapel. For a minute I think it’s the minister arriving at the scene, but then I remember there is no minister. Marshall is doing the disservice.

  His face comes into focus, and I gasp.

  “My God, Rev, you get me every time with that spit-shined routine,” I whisper. “Now get up there and stop this wedding!” I give him a healthy shove, but that wall of muscles doesn’t move.

  “I tried. I tried for a freaking year, and she won’t have it. I’m here to pay my respects.”

  Gage and I share a quick glance. Paying your respects is what you do for the dead and, well, he’s sort of on the right track.

  “Attention!” a loud, rather bitchy voice calls from somewhere south of where I’m standing, and I hike up on my heels to get a better look.

  “I bet it’s Melissa!” I whisper to Gage.

  He shakes his head. “It’s not.” His dimples depress without a smile the way they do when he’s disappointed. “It’s Chloe.”

  “Even better!” I give a little hop as she comes in on the scene. Chloe sashays over in her tight little cat suit like she owns the place, and Mia’s jaw unhinges.

  “All right, Gabe.” Chloe glides her finger under his chin seductively, and suddenly it feels as if we’re all being treated to a bit of pornographic theater. “It’s time to fess up and let your bride-to-be know where you’ve been spending your nights—curled up in my bed doing unimaginable things to my body.” She looks to Mia and pumps her shoulders. “You didn’t think he learned all those tricks one-handed in the bathroom, did you?”

  “Oh my gosh!” I hiss to Gage. “Chloe is a rock star!”

  He inches back, clearly disgusted with my sudden infatuation with the enemy. I so love the fact Gage and I have at least one shared enemy. Thank God for Chloe in that respect.

  Gabriel Armistead gags on his words. Mia sputters and does an odd little dance with her feet. This is it. This long-standing nightmare is finally coming to a shocking conclusion, no thanks to Chloe and her skanky ways—truth be damned.

  “I swear I didn’t do it!” he squeaks like a thirteen-year-old girl. “I would never sleep with Chloe. She’s like freaking ancient!”

  Ancient? You’ve got to be kidding me.

  “Oh, who the hell cares.” Mia spikes her arm through his. “You can show off all those tricks later in my bedroom.”

  Now it’s Mom and Tad gagging and ready to vomit. I bet it’s too late to line her bedroom walls with carpet before midnight.

  Marshall starts in on the ceremony, only he cuts to the quick, and in less than thirty seconds, he’s announcing them man and wife—and Gabe is gnawing on my sister’s beautiful face. My face by proxy.

  “What the hell?” I cry out, incensed that he left the most crucial part of the ceremony out—because I was clearly going to object.

  Mia and Gabe run off into the woods, and Rev take
s off in the opposite direction looking as if he’s about to kill someone.

  “Marshall,” I hiss as my mother sobs into Tad’s armpit. “How could you deny me the right to put a stop to this circus?”

  “I can assure you it won’t last,” he says knowingly as he gives a curt nod. “If you’ll excuse me, it appears I’ve got a visitor.” His gaze cuts somewhere near the house, and I glance over to find an abnormally tall glowing being.

  “Oh my God? Is that”—I squint over at him—“is that Delphinius?”

  But Marshall is halfway there before I can get the question out.

  Mom tap-dances over. “It looks like we’ve got a new addition to the family!” She offers me a quick embrace. “Tad and I are headed back to the house to get the honeymoon suite ready for the newlyweds.”

  Tad grunts, “It’s like we’re running an underaged brothel.”

  “Oh, Tad”—Mom swats him on their way through the woods—“it’s perfectly legal.”

  “It’s moronic at sixteen!”

  I happen to agree with him. I turn to find Gage with Emma and Barron, his expression stern, pissed even. It’s almost as if they’re having a fight. Emma grabs ahold of Barron and drags him toward the exit, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say Barron was reprimanding Gage sternly in return as he takes off.

  A shrill scream comes from the left just as the music hikes up in volume.

  I spot Coop and Logan pointing to the woods. My eyes snag on Laken and Ezrina, and they look as if they’ve just stepped out of their bodies.

  Gage comes over and wraps his arms around me.

  “What’s going—” Before I can get another word out, he dives a kiss over my lips, sharp and aggressive, his tongue lashing over me as if it were the last kiss on the planet we would ever share.

  I love you, Skyla. I love you so much. I have nothing outside of you and our children. There is no one out there for me but you. Don’t ever forget that. Burn it over your heart. Sear the darkest part of your mind with it. There is only you for me.