A flash of lightning fills the sky, testing the limits on how brilliant fission can be. Paradise trembles, and an incredible rush of love fills me as the entire realm expends one more sigh.
“What’s happening?” I look to Demetri and fight the overwhelming urge to wrap my arms around my father, weep tears of joy for him being here with me.
“You are happening, son.” Demetri doesn’t fight the urge. He wraps his arms around me tight and rocks me for a moment. His lips dot a kiss to my temple. “It’s time to claim your body. I’ll meet you at the mountaintop.” He takes off as Logan steps in.
Logan Oliver is and has always been the other side of me. He grips me with a quick embrace. “I’ve always known you were special.” He pulls back, tears glittering in his sunburst-colored eyes. “A body fit for a king.” He gives my arm a squeeze, and I marvel how I can feel everything in this place as if I had never left my cellular structure behind. “You get to go back. To Skyla, the boys. I’m happy for you, man.”
“Thanks.” That knot starts up again in the pit of my nonexistent stomach.
“What was Demetri filling your ear with?” He knocks on the stone table, devoid of the scroll that my father took with him.
“Just giving me a little advice.”
Logan barks out a laugh. “Since you’re listening, can I offer up a little advice of my own?”
“Anytime, man. What have you got?” I sling an arm over his shoulder as we start the slow climb up the mountainside.
“Whatever the heck he just told you—do the opposite.”
And there it is. The cincher. The truth. What I should most assuredly do.
But I can never fully follow through with it.
Can I?
The throne room is a sight to behold—the very definition of fierce beauty—but at the moment it is downright electrifying. Elegant music spears through me with its otherworldly vibrations, loud, yet not overwhelming. It’s a pleasant hum that reverberates through your existence, and you feel the rhythm, become one with it in worship. A lavender glow fills the cavernous space with jags of cobalt blue lightning going off on a loop surrounding the trio of thrones that sit high up on a bed of sheer sapphire. The thrones themselves are sapphire as well, the richest blue, the color of a navy night. Twenty-four glassy thrones line the entry, each filled with a peaceable occupant—and on their heads sit a crown of gold, at least a foot high with a mirrored shine.
The Almighty Himself is seated up high, shining like crystal, like a thousand cut diamonds. A rainbow of emerald surrounds all three of the majestic thrones at the head of the room. The Son Himself glows in all of His brilliance, seated at the right hand of the Father just the way it is written. The Holy Ghost has a seemingly empty seat. But He is there. He is permeating this place, paradise, the earth, every marked victor with His glory. And then there are the beasts. Lying at the base of the trio of thrones are a bevy of oversized creatures, half-breeds of lions, of bears, of beings my mind cannot comprehend, covered with eyes from top to bottom, an unnerving look altogether.
A small hand falls into mine and breaks my focus for a moment as I smile down at my daughter’s sweet face.
“You made it.” I bow down to press a kiss to the top of her head.
“I wouldn’t miss it. And neither would they.”
I follow her gaze to the rear, and there they are—everyone. Candace, Demetri, Dudley, my grandparents—both sides, all of the countless relatives stemming back from before the Mayflower and beyond have come to witness this blessed event. Pierce Kragger, sweet Kate who had her head sewn back to her neck more times than I can count. I suppose that’s something we have in common now. The beheading. I look to Logan and nod. As do we.
“Dude”—Logan nods forward—“pay attention.”
And that I do. The colors of the throne room can only be described as vivid. In a word, intense. Every color isn’t simply seen. It’s felt, enjoyed, received deliciously to the very depths of your being. The scent of sweet aloe grows with intensity the deeper we stride into the room. The elders bow their heads as we pass, and four of the beasts at the foot of the throne rise as if to greet us. Each beast is majestic in its own right. One with the face of a lion, an eagle, an ox, and a man. For so long Skyla said I was the eagle in her world—Logan the lion and here we are, at the foot of the blessed Lamb of God.
The Lord sits high and exalted. The train of his robe fills the room with splendor and light. To the right sits an altar, the Ark of the Covenant resting on its clear stone base. The one lost on Earth is but a copy of the true.
Above the three sapphire thrones hover seven angelic beings. They are the Seraphim—the elite, the chosen ones to stand before the Lord and sing His praise, declaring, “Salvation to our God, who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!”
The elders, the beasts, and the angelic beings all fall to the floor, and as if on cue, every knee is bowed, including my own.
The angels rise once again. “Amen! Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanks and honor and power and strength to our God forever and ever! Amen!”
Logan pulls me up, and we start up with the procession again, this time with Demetri rushing out to the lead.
The Son rises from His throne. His face shines with a brilliance so powerful, human eyes could never withstand the weight of His beauty.
“Gage Oliver.” He sheds a smile at the mention of my name. He steps down and takes up my hands, and my entire body jolts into submission. A current of love so deep rides through me that I never need another moment of existence. This right here is perfection. He leads me a few steps from Demetri. “You have a task to fulfill for the Fems. This is your mission.”
“And what about my wife, my boys?”
“Enjoy them. There’s no reason you shouldn’t find pleasure in those around you.”
“And what if I decide I no longer want to fulfill my mission? I don’t ever want the Fems to overturn the Sectors?”
His silence deafens the heavenlies, but those kaleidoscope eyes, warm greens and cinnamon, a speck of blue thrown in here and there, they speak a language all their own. “They may end your mission and find someone else to fulfill it.”
My own silence eats away at what’s left of my sanity. “Then I will proactively be Skyla’s enemy.”
“For a time. For a while. You may not succeed, but you will advocate as best as you know how. Over time, she will realize this is something that must be.” He leads me back to the front of the altar. “May you be ever blessed. Forever in my favor. Though darkness beckons to have you—may you search the recesses of your heart and burst forth with victory from its grasp. You have an earthly mission that has been bestowed upon you from ages past. Your name, your heritage were written in the scrolls prior to your conception. You will adhere to the will of the one who sent you. You will complete the task before you and then return home, along with the chosen swept up in a twinkling of an eye, all of them transformed the way I will transform you now. So be it this hour, so be it forever.” His hand falls heavy on my forehead, and the angelic hosts start in on a sublime hymn that transforms my heart, my mind, and yes, my body. A rich swell of love fills me to the point of elation, to the point of bursting until I cannot contain my gratitude of His indescribable love. A roar expels from me, filled with every emotion that has ever been brought to light, and my cellular structure renews, skin heats over muscle, over bone. And in a moment of unequaled glory, I take in a lungful of heavenly air, God breathed, God blessed, and God issued. I am renewed. I am resurrected, whole and improved in every single way.
The Son blesses my forehead with a kiss, and every last ounce of my being resonates in praise to the king.
“Thank you.” The words strum from me with trembling lips. “When will I return?”
“When it is time.”
Demetri steps up and takes my hand. “Come, my son. Let us strategize. The hour is near.”
“No.” I take my hand back and watch as the Son returns to His thro
ne, the Almighty Himself shimmering like the ocean in the Son’s bright light. “I’m going to do something far better.” I fall prostrate, nose to the floor, arms stretched out in perfect worship, in perfect submission. Yes, this is all I want to do before I return to that spinning blue rock, to Skyla, to my own supposed dominion.
And just like that, a tiny little being falls prostrate next to me, her limbs mimicking mine—Sage.
My heart soars at the sight. Perhaps there is hope, after all. Dudley was right. I must lead by example.
Logan
Paragon weeps as the sky unleashes a torrent of rain, a deluge of water poured right over our heads in vats. The afternoon sky sits gray and abysmal. The evergreens slump their branches toward the ground. The entire damn island looks forlorn at the thought of Gage Oliver no longer gracing its presence. If I had to wager, I’d guess Paragon herself was Team Gage. The thought evokes a dull huff of laughter, but I’m too damn depressed to give it. Earlier today, I drove down to Cooper’s place and nothing. Not a sound, not a freaking mouse, not even a ghost haunting the old Walsh house.
Call me. I’m worried. I shoot him a text.
I head over to Dudley’s and ransack the shit out of his library, taking everything that remotely looks like an ancient text that might offer me a clue, any idea as to what the future might hold, what any of this might really mean. A note glows on the piano, iridescent as if the parchment were lined with a flame and I head that way.
Young Oliver, I kindly request that you consider taking the reins from your beloved at this delicate time. Fate is stirring. The saboteur has roused from his long slumber. I’m afraid I’ll need you to keep this between the two of us. I will do all I can on my end to assure things end amicably for you—whichever way it is you’d like for me to steer them.
Dudley
No sooner do my eyes scan every word than the paper erupts in flames and peters out just as quick, leaving the parchment in ashes.
Dudley wants me to take the reins from Skyla? The Factions? No way. But I do agree with him on one thing. This is a delicate time for her. I’ll do what I can to get her through it. The last thing I’ll do is team up with Dudley to usurp her. It makes me wonder whose side he’s really on. I shake my head because I already know the answer. Dudley is on Dudley’s side, the Sectors.
I take off for Barron’s office at the morgue where he keeps his special angelic files under lock and key and pilfer what I can. He and Emma are in deep mourning, inconsolable to the point of agony. Liam and Giselle have graciously been keeping them company. But then, Giselle is Gage in female skin. I’m not sure how much comfort she can really bring.
And then I head to Demetri’s—load up on the granddaddy of them all—two trunks full of old, dusty, musty manuscripts that look as if they were a part of the sacred scriptures themselves. After that, I more or less kidnap Emily Morgan, steal a stack of crayons and plain paper from Lizbeth’s shocked grandchildren, and barrel my way back to Whitehorse.
I’m out of breath by the time Emily and I hit the subterranean level that I essentially built for Ezrina. I wanted her to have all of the creature comforts the Counts had afforded her in the Transfer during those hundreds of years she worked as a captive under their rule. The subterranean level of Whitehorse spans miles in either direction, and I’ve given both Ezrina and her husband, Nevermore—Heathcliff, if his proper moniker is required, and now their sweet baby daughter, Alice, run of the place. They also have the Gas Lab, a café that serves everything from donuts to deep-dish pizzas. They bought Skyla out of her share of it a while ago, and she used the money as a down payment on the old Walsh place. Skyla and Gage only spent a single night there before he was murdered.
“Ezrina!” I bark as Emily struggles to keep up.
“It’s cool down here,” Emily says while taking in the sheer white walls and matching floor. Ezrina insisted we adhere to the sterile décor she had grown accustomed to. “Michelle and Lex keep talking about how creepy it is, but I like it.” Emily Morgan has just spewed more words per capita than I’ve heard her say in all the years I’ve known her. “I think they called it the Wonderground.”
“That about says it all.” It’s true. Michelle and Lex hang out down here often enough. Hell, they might be living here for all I know.
We find Ezrina, Nev—and Ezrina’s startlingly white tit staring at us like a pudgy saucer while little Alice suckles happily away, all seated at an enormous glass table just shy of the body farm—the room with rows and rows of upright glass caskets that Ezrina is hoping to fill with Spectators one day soon. At present they’re filled to the brim with blue keeping solution should the need arise to shove a body inside. It’s essentially a preservative that prevents the cellular structure from decomposition. In truth, I like the look of the glowing blue liquid. It offers an incandescent, serene appeal to the entire area. Ezrina’s specialty back in the Transfer was resurrecting Counts, but now she’s focused on expending all her energy in profiting Celestra in any way possible.
I slam the dozens of manuals I’m holding onto the glass surface and stop cold. Situated in the center of the table sits a glass box filled with the aforementioned blue keeping solution. And spinning around in a slow, dizzying circle inside of that box is Gage Oliver’s severed head.
“Creepy,” Em says as she unloads the books I burdened her to carry.
Ezrina harrumphs over our stunned expressions. “I rather like it.” She glares at me a moment. “Oliver? You judge me?”
“No. Never.” I take a seat next to Em and divvy up the texts amongst Nev, Ezrina, and myself. “Here.” I shove a pile of blank paper and crayons toward Em. “You sit there and draw the ever-living shit out of the future. You got that?” It comes out curt and, for the love of God, I have no idea if I meant for it to. My head feels just as disconnected as my poor nephew’s these days. “I want to know if there’s an end to this story. The dragon, the angels—all of the crap that falls in between.” I begin riffling through the book in front of me like a madman. “Surely there has to be something prophetic lying dormant between these pages.”
Em begins to doodle, and my insides feel as if they’d like to bring up my lunch. Suffice it to say, Emily has never delivered good news. At least not to me.
Nev pulls a new book forward. “Any word on Master Gage?”
“None. I suspect Demetri will insist he makes a reprisal—and believe me, I want that, too. I just don’t know what that entails or what it’ll mean for Celestra.”
“Death.” Ezrina doesn’t miss a beat, licking her fingers before casually turning another page.
I scowl at her a moment. “You’re always a ball of sunshine, Ezrina.”
Nev shakes his head. The expression on his face lets me know he thinks she’s right. “She’s sure of it. Trouble is brewing, and I’m afraid with Demetri commandeering this runaway wagon, we’ve got plenty of chaos about to unleash.”
Em slides a paper my way, cluttered with red markings. “The bowling alley.” Her tone is lackluster, as it usually is, and I spin the page until I can see it for what it truly is, a cartoon caricature of what it once was. My father built a classic ode to the sport, but with Ellis Harrison’s assistance—and let’s not forget Giselle’s precarious influence—this cartoon caricature looks about right as far as the new version goes. I glance up at Gage’s floating head as he stares blankly my way, mouth agape, and I feel bad for thinking such ridiculous thoughts. Gage would be thrilled to be in my shoes, with a brand new business ready to open its doors, a body to call his own, arms to hold Skyla with. Technically, I don’t have a body. I have a Treble. A shit ride that reduces me to a looky-loo here on Earth. A moment of time that I’m savoring and it just so happens to enable me to be a part of this crazy thing called life.
I continue streaming through the books, reading up on powers, principalities, the covenant between man and God, the Fems, the Sectors.
“What do any of you know about the rivalry between the Fems and the Secto
rs?” I look around at the stony faces while they promptly ignore me and continue at the tasks at hand.
Baby Alice, with her moppet of red hair, pulls away from Ezrina’s left tit with a riotous gasp before offering me a milky smile.
“Huh.” Ezrina shoves the girl’s face back where it was. “She seems to have taken a liking to you.”
Em grunts, “Most girls do. If I have to listen to Michelle and Lexy duke it out one more time, I’m going to break an arm.” She slides another picture my way—that of a beautiful girl. Red crayon once again. “Skyla’s mom.” She gets right back to work.
I grimace at the image a moment before sliding the picture of the bowling alley over it. No offense to Candace, but she’s been a curse as much as she’s been a blessing.
“Here’s something.” Nev clears his throat. “The devised hosts of the most high include the curious Fems and their counterparts, the Sectors. The Fems and Sectors are a supernatural created breed that have garnered favor to rule throughout the millennial reign along with the saints. However, a pall was cast upon their kind as a dark leader emerged who believed his kind could carry out the duties without the aid of the Sectors and asked the Holy Father to remove them from their post. Upon further inspection, it was brought to light that Sectors, too, were secretly looking to oust the Fems from their dual position. In His infinite mercy and wisdom, the Holy Father set forth a decree allowing the Fems and the Sectors to battle it out through the ages, and the one left in a superior position upon the start of the millennial reign shall grab hold of the honorary post. To the other shall befall a less than savory fate—one designed and designated after the fall. It has thus been delineated that the Fems should cleave to the earthbound Countenance and the Sectors to the Celestra Faction. Theirs should not be considered a war between brothers—the Fems, the Sectors—yet should be revered a battle between the dark and the light, those with intentions that revolve solely around their own might and power and those for the good of all mankind. It shall be so, the Holy One has spoken this decree.”
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