In the morning, I wake up groggy and exhausted, but I know damn well if I don’t haul myself in the shower and get ready for church, Mom will make me turn my soul into Demetri before dinner.
I let the water run over my body an inordinate amount of time before toweling off and dressing in a pair of jeans and a sweater. Lucky for me, church on Paragon has about the same dress code as the public library.
“Morning Snowball,” I say it chipper as I rake the comb through my wet spaghetti-like hair.
Snowball rotates her head and promptly ignores me. I should probably let the thing go. After all, it hates daylight hours almost as much as Ethan does. Trying to make it acclimate to a normal schedule has only made it twice as ornery as the day it arrived—again, much like Ethan.
I bounce downstairs and gasp when I see my sisters at the bar.
Shit! I completely forgot they were getting down and dirty with a couple of junior division playboys. Just fuck. And I pray to God they didn’t.
They’re shouldering up next to Emily, who, sadly, I’m not surprised to see. Suspiciously both Mia and Melissa have each donned a scarf that matches their outfit.
Ethan belches, and I look over at him. It’s how I know he’s getting ready to communicate.
“So,” he squawks, “I looked into that donut shit.”
Mom and Tad exchange glances as if this is trouble, and I’m sure it is. Ethan and a deep fryer big enough to fit a full-grown man are a lethal combination.
“It’s doable,” he surmises with that stupid Landon look on his face. “But I’ll need another ten grand.”
Shit. There goes that.
“Ten grand?” Tad hops in his seat as if his hemorrhoids were misfiring. “You think money just magically appears? Where in Hades are we supposed to get that kind of cash?”
“Hock your car.” He bounces his head into the idea, and I’m betting right about now Mom and Tad are wishing it would bounce right off and save everyone the trouble of having to witness its malfunction. “You and the old lady only need one ride. I mean, we’re on an island. You can never go that far. Go green and shit like that.”
He’s got him there.
“Oh, hon”—Mom shakes her head while sifting through a stack of newspapers with scissors in one hand and the baby in the other—“no one’s going to give your father ten thousand dollars for that glorified rickshaw. We’ll have to put our thinking caps on.” Baby Beau grabs onto the scissors and tries to suckle off the tip. Mom whips out her boob so fast and jams it in his face—and, for once, I don’t object to the fake milkshake.
“And how do you suppose we do that, Lizbeth?” Tad grumbles.
“If it’s life or death for the restaurant, we’ll simply have to get creative.” Mom gets that look in her eye, and I can practically see the cartoon bubble over her head with my least favorite Fem in it.
I’d hate to break it to her, but gas and instant coffee does not a restaurant make. And I hate that Demetri is her go-to guy when the going gets financially rough. Being married to Tad practically sets her up for financial catastrophe. But thankfully, soon, Demetri and Darla will get hitched, and Mom will be forced to face the fact that she and the wicked warlock were never meant to be.
“You know”—she taps her finger to her cheek—“I have an entire box of leftover decorations I’ll be dropping by Demetri’s later this afternoon—” That no good dreamy look in her eye proliferates like an STD in the making.
“I’ll do it.” I cut her off at the pass. “I’m logging a few hours after church. I’ll gladly drop it off, so you can spend more quality time with Tad and the baby.”
“Well, OK.” Mom twists her lips in disappointment. “And speaking of babies”—she strums her fingers over the table—“I’ve already felt our new peanut give a little kick. I think we’ve got a soccer player.”
Mia and Melissa break out in a choir of oohs and ahhs.
Tad jerks his seat back. “And you didn’t tell me?”
This is really happening. Mom and Tad are multiplying. I suppose it’s better than the alternative, Mom and Demetri.
Tad dives in under the table, and Mom starts in on a series of inappropriate giggles as she bumps back in her chair.
What the…?
Tad’s head bobs over Mom’s belly in an embarrassing display that I’d suggest they save for the bedroom, but I might just vomit instead.
“Come on,” he urges. “Let me have it right in the face.”
If he insists, I have a shoe that can do the trick.
“It’s sensory integration.” Mom nods over to me. “It assures the baby everything is all right.”
Everything is most definitely not all right.
Drake walks into the room, and I smirk.
Little do Mom and Tad know that Drake is multiplying, too, and soon a plague of Landon’s will overrun the island. Hey, speaking of plagues. That dress Marlena lent me didn’t have any mind-numbing superpowers. Huh. Truth be told, I’m actually a little disappointed. I might bring this up to Marshall the next time I see him.
“Well, I’d hate to be late for service.” I snatch my keys off the counter and head toward the door.
“We’re coming with.” Mia screams as the two of them scuttle to collect their purses. I can’t blame them for wanting to escape the insanity, what with all the sexual integration and by the parental units no less.
Em strides up to me slow and impossibly bored, her curls completely crushed in the back, her eyeliner down to her cheeks.
“This came out this morning.” She hands me a folded piece of paper.
“Came out?” I balk as I open it. It’s one of her haunted scribbles.
“It’s your future, Skyla.”
“Nice to know you reference my future in the same way you would a bodily function,” I say, turning the paper right side up.
Em doesn’t crack a smile. “The analogy fits,” she gruffs and takes off upstairs.
I take a good look at the demented doodle and take in a sharp breath.
A simple pencil sketch lies in the center of the page.
It’s a close up of my face, my eyes squeezed tight in pain, my mouth wide open while emitting a silent scream.
It’s heart wrenching just to look at.
Mia and Melissa bound out of the house, and a blast of fresh morning air hits me as if trying to shake me from my newfound stupor.
I stare into the picture, straining for clues. Just what in the hell has me so damned upset?
I could guess, but I’d rather not.
***
Mia and Melissa go on and on about how cool I am for letting them “hang out” with their boyfriends all night long.
Crap. I totally forgot to bust them for sneaking boys into the house on account of the fact I had a contraband male on the property myself.
“Let’s see your necklace.” Mia leans in from the backseat.
I touch my neck, but it’s noticeably bare. I’m pretty sure I didn’t put on any bling this morning.
Melissa plucks off her scarf and exposes a collar of dark blotches all across her neck.
“Holy shit!” I jump in my seat.
“Let’s see yours,” she chides to Mia.
“Fuck,” I hiss.
Neither Mia nor Melissa flinch at my verbal indiscretion, and on the way to church no less. They’re too involved in gawking at one another’s icky hickeys to even notice I’m in the car.
“Is that what you’re accessorizing with these days?” I smart. “Glorified bruises?”
“Oh, Skyla,” Mia scoffs. “They’re not bruises, they’re kisses that linger.”
Kisses that linger.
I give a long blink and accidentally drift into oncoming traffic.
“Technically they’re broken blood vessels,” Melissa chimes in.
“You’d better not tell Mom and Dad,” Mia spits out the threat while hiding her vascular injuries with her scarf.
“Oh, so now you just expect me to start keeping se
crets from our parents.” I can hardly keep a straight face when I say it. Mia can rest assured this is one secret I’m very much eager to share with our mother.
“There’s nothing wrong with keeping secrets, Skyla,” Melissa chokes out the words as if I were the last to be clued in on this moronic fact. “My mom had a secret.” She stares out the window in a daze. “Took it to her grave.”
Stella had a secret! God knows I’m not going to let a little thing like a casket stand in the way of finding out exactly what it was.
“What was it?” Mia pokes her head to the front in the event major gossip is about to ensue. As if.
“I think she was seeing some guy.” Melissa shakes her head as if the entire incident were unfortunate.
A guy? As in an affair? Oh, this is getting good.
“Who was he?” Mia probes.
Yeah, right. Like Melissa is really going to know the dirty deets.
Melissa shrugs. “Some dude named, Nathan.”
“That was my dad’s name.” Mia leans back in her seat and sighs as if point A didn’t just magically connect to point B.
“Cool.” Melissa replaces her scarf, equally unimpressed—as if the final revelation didn’t have a thing to do with my father.
Dad would never cheat on Mom, but I bet every ounce of my Celestra blood that he and Stella were in on something. Wait, Stella must have been a Count, right? This doesn’t make sense.
Dad and Stella died the very same day in the same horrific way…their spouses have married. It’s all a little too coincidental for my liking.
But then again there are no coincidences, are there. I’m guessing my least favorite Fem was extra busy that day. But why would he kill a Count?
Curious.
***
Paragon Presbyterian is unusually jam-packed.
The bitch squad, sans Em, sits one pew up ahead, and I keep getting distracted by the dark force field of Chloe’s hair. God, I hate her. Is that emotion even allowed in a place like this?
Gage and Logan keep taking turns accidentally picking up my hand and dropping it. I’m beginning to think maybe we really are entering into an open relationship. I won’t deny it. A part of me wants to. And, of course, Marshall sits right up front like a good little steward. He’s secured for himself the best seat in the house, completely confident in both his heavenly and earthly standing where I’m concerned. And if those perverse visions he showed me are correct, then he very much has the right to feel that way.
Everyone rises to greet their neighbors, and I’m quick to shake both Logan and Gage’s hands. Ellis high fives me with Giselle by his side. Lex and Michelle all but stab my eyes out with their stilettos, but Chloe, my favorite nemesis extends me a limb. It’s her left hand, my hand to be precise, so I offer her my Chloe arm, and we exchange the awkward shake.
Nobody humiliates me, Skyla. Chloe’s eyes implode into fireballs of revenge.
I did. I give a little smile.
I pluck my hand free and take a seat. But Chloe lingers with a dangerous gaze that lets me know there was a line in the sand, and I crossed it so proficiently there is no turning back.
Logan picks up my hand, low behind my thigh, and Gage eyes us dismissively as if he expected nothing less.
What was that about? Logan’s brows twitch with concern.
She congratulated me on making her look like an idiot. She highly encouraged me to do it again.
Excellent. Logan frowns. And the truth?
She said nobody humiliates her. I give a tiny remorseful smile.
You should thank her. Logan gives a slight nod.
For what?
For exposing her weakness.
If humiliating Chloe is her weakness, how can I use it against her?
Walk her to the brink of humiliation then save the day. Logan rubs his thumb along my palm as if to cheer me on.
Who in the hell knows dirt on Chloe? And if they did, why would they want to share it with me?
Giselle leans into Ellis with those gigantic doe eyes like she’s in love, and I hold my breath.
Crap. Giselle is falling for Ellis. But, on the bright side, she’s still holding Emerson’s brain hostage. I’m not sure if whatever Emerson was privy to was cringe worthy, but I’m betting there’s a Fem who sports a double D boulder holder that can help me find out.
Chloe turns around and pins me with a look.
The hint of a smile hedges on my lips.
Chloe Bishop is going to die of humiliation.
I’m going to make sure of it myself.
***
It always seems like when you’re in a real hurry to get somewhere, you meet up with congested traffic, or the weather pulls out all the punches, or the roads stretch before you like a never-ending highway to hell. In my case, it’s all of the above.
I convinced Ellis to take Giselle over to Demetri’s. I think it’s high time we cash in on that hot stone massage of his twisted niece’s.
Logan insisted on coming with me, and Gage seemed OK with the idea, so I didn’t fight it.
We pull in behind Ellis’s monster truck and make a mad dash for the palatial parasite palace as the rain drives over us in sheets.
Logan pulls me away from the shelter of Demetri’s entry with a dirty smile.
“What are you doing? We’re getting soaked!” I hold out my hands, shrieking with laugher.
“I wanted to kiss you in the rain.” His horizontal dimple inverts. “Every great love story has a kiss in the rain.”
Logan. His amazingly bright light shines through on this dismal afternoon. It’s as if Paragon were already grieving him. The sky had covered its face in ashes while the clouds wept bitter tears in the wake of his passing.
“Well?” I shout up over the noise. “Are you just going to stand there and watch me drown, or are you going to kiss me?” He has my heart pitter-pattering out of control at the thought of him loving me in the rain.
Logan steps in and secures his hands firmly over my hips. He crashes our lips together, and an entire torrent of emotion erupts between us. His tongue lashes over mine, strong and determined, as if it I had become a life raft, and Logan were so desperately trying to hold on. This was a kiss for the record books, the book of wars, the book of life—Guinness. Logan is loving me, wholly, completely, with a touch of impassioned violence that only seems to spur me on. I want Logan to kiss me this way over every square inch of my body in a night of delicious sin that involves hours on end of doing just this. The sky growls and sizzles, but it doesn’t stop our affections. The deluge of rain continues its pellet-like assault. Logan electrifies me in ways that nothing else ever could. To think that he might be stripped off the planet at any given moment is unimaginable, unfathomable. Certainly my mother wouldn’t be that cruel. In a way, she was the one who fell in love with him first.
Logan picks me up and carries me toward the entry, his lips tenderly disconnecting from mine.
“That was incredible!” I shout up over the storm. “I definitely think that should be our thing.” I give a coy smile. “You know, every time it rains on Paragon, we replicate the effort.”
“It rains seven days a week.”
“My point exactly.”
He flashes his million-dollar smile, and my stomach bottoms out. Logan has a way of making me feel like I’m on a roller coaster. Most of the time it’s thrilling, but every now and again we take an unexpected turn, and I’m not sure what the outcome will be.
Demetri swings open the door, and Logan whisks me inside.
“Skyla, you’ve brought a guest.” Demetri presses the words through his perennial smile. “If you don’t mind.” He points over to the two of us and creates a circle with his finger.
A rush of warm air swirls around us like a mini tornado, drying Logan and I off quite proficiently.
“That was quite a show you two put on out there.” He joins the pads of his fingers together. “I would have hosed you down, but not even the heavens seemed capable of ext
inguishing your flame. Young love, what a spectacular sight to behold.”
“Oh, please. You know damn well he’s in a treble.” I land on my feet and scowl at the beast who stole my mother’s husband and ridiculously enough, her heart.
Demetri bears into his grimace. “Yes, well, the treble is your mother’s doing.”
A stone settles in my throat.
Crap. He’s so right.
Demetri leads us to a room on the second floor. Personally, I abhor the second floor, no good has ever come of this place especially since I’ve discovered the Fem cranial museum with twisted artifacts that can both amplify my fears and bring them all to life.
“In here.” Demetri opens a rather benign looking door, and, sure enough, Giselle is already sprawled out on a massage table.
“Nice,” I say as I take in the seemingly innocent scene. Isis levitates her breasts over Giselle while covering her body with what looks to be a colorful rock collection.
The heavy scent of lavender permeates the air as a fogbank hisses out of an oversized bong.
Ellis sits in a chair by the window with his eyes firmly planted over Isis.
“I think she’s hypnotized him,” I whisper to Logan.
“Nah, he always get that dumb look on his face when there’s a pair of—” Logan wisely pauses to consider his words—“a well-endowed woman in the room.”
“Mr. Oliver?” Demetri tips his nefarious head in Logan’s direction. “Perhaps while Skyla keeps watch over the situation, you might like to defer to the viewing room for a moment. I hear there’s an exciting film playing this very hour. Something of personal interest to you in particular.”
Logan shoots him the stink eye.
“Will you be OK up here?” He softens into me.
“I’ve got Ellis.” I make a face because we both know it will be me protecting him.
“I’ll go check out the demented flick and be right back.”
Demetri ushers him out of the room and closes the door behind them.
Ellis never wavers. It’s as if he has no clue I’m even here.
“Anything working?” I whisper to Giselle.
“Oh, yes. I’ve had this horrid kink in my neck since Halloween, and she’s completely healed it.”
Elysian Page 36
