I do as I’m told—giddy at the thought of what it might be. Gage gives the best gifts. He gave me his class ring, which I still wear faithfully on a chain, never, ever taking it off. He gave me the sweetest bracelet for Christmas. I love it so much I don’t even care that I’ve snagged just about every sweater I own with it. I’d gladly trade my entire wardrobe for any token of Gage’s affection.
“OK, open.” He exudes a serene grin as he holds his hand out.
A simple silver band sits nestled in his palm. There’s a blue heart set in the middle of the ring the exact same hue as his eyes, and I’m instantly in love.
“Gage,” I gasp. “It’s beautiful!”
“Skyla,” he breathes my name in a broken whisper.
Oh my, God.
I think Gage is about to propose. This is huge, monumental even. I should totally get my phone out and record this or something.
A gust of wind kicks up the sand, slapping it against our flesh like a thousand pressing pins.
Gage nudges the blanket out from underneath us and hooks it onto a pair of adjacent tree limbs, building a cozy fort for the two of us. Just enough light filters in, creating the perfect romantic environment. Mother nature may have wanted us to abdicate the throne of our love, but we overcame the obstacle just the way we always do.
“I love this ring,” I say, crawling into his lap.
“I had it engraved.” He glints it into the light.
“What does it say?” I’m dying to snatch it from him and squeeze it with all my affection, but he holds it between the two of us like an offering.
“It says,” he whispers, pulling me in by the waist, “Gage loves Skyla, Forever.”
My heart melts when he says it.
He slips it over the ring finger of my left hand, smiles down at me with heartfelt affection—a poem written on his lips.
“Is this a promise ring?” I pet it soft with my fingers. It’s so beautiful it glows, just like Gage and his love for me.
“It’s, an, I’m-going-to-love-you-forever ring.” He bears into me intently, lets me know he means it from the deepest part of him.
I take in a breath and hold it.
Gage is going to love me forever. Tears filter to the surface, and I blink them away, unaware of their origin, not wanting to delve too far into my emotions to figure it out.
“I’m going to love you, forever, Gage,” I say it like a promise. I pull him in and offer a kiss that resonates my feelings exactly. This is one commitment I never intend on breaking.
Gage lies me down in the sand, lands over me gently without crushing me with his full weight. I giggle into him, happy to be here, be anywhere with Gage—our tongues intertwine in one lusty exchange. I reach up under his shirt and run my hands over his firm body. I can feel his heart race as his love pulsates in and out of his chest for me.
It’s going to be like this always—unfettered emotions, unbridled, passion. Something in this moment solidifies us, magically transforms the two of us into one spiritual entity. I can feel the bonding of our souls, our destinies converging onto the same narrow path. We have our entire lives to look forward to.
We linger in soft easy kisses that go on—forever.
Chapter 25
The Psycho and Me
That evening, long after Gage drops me off at home, Tad cages me in the family room and paces the floors like an expectant father, waiting for Dr. Booth to arrive.
“Relax, will you?” My mother scolds, losing herself in her knitting. She circles yarn around her finger aggressively, plucking miles off the skein as she observes his odd behavior from the couch.
Melissa postures herself in defiance. “He’s just excited that the shrink is on his way over to finally figure out what the hell’s wrong with Skyla,” she scoffs, bypassing us on the way to the kitchen.
Mia openly glares at me as if I represented everything that was defective with this family when we both know damn well it’s Melissa she’s pissed off at.
“Melissa,” my mother tries to disguise the disdain in her voice. I can tell Mom has just about had it with the entire Landon lot. Although, if the alternative is having us shack up with Demetri and trying to make me call him daddy, I’ll cling to the Philistines of this household like a life raft.
A bold knock explodes over the door, and moments later, Tad shepherds Dr. Booth into the room.
“Skyla!” He comes over and shakes my hand. This will be interesting, he nods into me as he says it.
“Please, sit,” Tad pulls a chair from the dining room table and speeds it over. Obviously he has his hopes pinned on a speedy incarceration. Bastard.
“Thank you,” Dr. Booth takes a seat across from me while Tad lingers by his side like his own personal caddy.
“Can I get you a drink?” Tad bows slightly. “Some warm tea, perhaps?”
God, I hate it when Tad gets all overly nice. It oozes of fake affection. Dr. Booth should incarcerate him for the sole purpose of trying to impersonate a human.
“No, no, thank you.” Dr. Booth gives an uncomfortable smile before redirecting his gaze. “Skyla, your family requested we have an informal meeting to discuss the direction of your treatment.”
“Direction?” As in game over, I want to add, but don’t.
Mia and Melissa cower next to the refrigerator in hopes Mom and Tad will forget they’re in the vicinity, thereby eavesdropping with greater efficiency. I don’t care. I don’t have a single thing to hide.
“It’s been brought to my attention, via your parents,” his gaze cuts over to Tad, totally ratting out the parent in question. Ha! I love Dr. Booth. He’s so on my side. “That you have been blurting things out that don’t necessarily lend themselves to the conversation.” He nods as though I should acknowledge this on some level.
“Only because, sometimes it’s necessary,” I give a curt nod back, knowing full well he can decode the meaning. As a Celestra, part of the deal is having lopsided conversations. It’s practically an occupational hazard.
Dr. Booth frowns. “I’m afraid in this society, it’s inevitable. We all have a mishap or two.”
“Mishap or two?” Tad balks. He repositions himself to better fit in Dr. Booth’s visual field. “She has outright lost her mind. The girl speaks and answers people without the proper initiation. She’s fried her brains out on all those illegal substances she’s been peddling. And, don’t deny it, Lizbeth. You can’t deny the fact she was the center of a drug bust a few weeks back and you and I are both lucky all they wanted was a little community service. We could have lost our shirts if that gravy train of hers didn’t step up and offer to post bail.”
I huff a laugh at the thought of Logan as my gravy train. And it so wasn’t my pot, well, technically it was on my person, but still.
“This is not a laughing matter, young lady,” Mom’s voice is sharp as an arrow.
An angry growl of thunder goes off overhead and the lights blink on and off.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize. “I wasn’t trying to laugh. I’m nervous—and I thought of something funny that happened at school today.” I don’t know why I didn’t just tell them the truth—that I was laughing at Logan as my gravy train. I suppose because it’s my kneejerk reaction to run away from the truth whenever my mother is involved. Unfortunately, I think I’ve rewired my brain into believing it’s OK to feed her a steady stream of bullshit whenever possible. “I’m sorry that I spoke out of turn,” I glare at Tad when I say it. “And I’m sorry about the pot bust.” The only thing I’m really sorry about is my mother’s serious misfortune of hooking up with Tad.
Another crackle of thunder rattles the house, shakes the windows within an inch of their fortitude.
Tad waves off my apology. “It’s getting late. Perhaps this would be a good time to introduce the new avenue of treatment.”
Good God they’re going to strap me to a metal gurney and blitz me with electrodes. I’ll be set on fire from the inside. I bet this has been Tad’s evil pl
an all along.
“We would like to introduce a low dose of medication,” Dr. Booth intercedes. “Something to take the edge off of everyday life—something that might help you relax.”
“Like how relaxed?” I envision myself as a zombie, complete with fried hair and missing teeth.
Dr. Booth shakes his head with a defeated look on his face as though Tad strong-armed him into this.
“It’s a tranquilizer, Skyla,” Tad bellows. “It’ll make you feel high as a kite. I’m sure you’ll be clamoring for more the minute you feel the fabulous side effects. And don’t get any big ideas like pushing the stuff for profit. I’m picking up the ticket on this one with my own cold hard cash.”
Funny how fast his wallet flies open when it comes to doping me with antipsychotics.
“Your mother and I will be dispensing the medication ourselves.” Tad folds his arms across his chest.
Perfect. I foresee an accidental overdose in my near future.
“Mom, are you OK with this?” I’m shocked that she’s just sitting there maneuvering those knitting needles as though she were training to place for speed and agility in the knitting Olympics. I’d like to pluck one of those slender spikes from her hands and impale Tad in the eye.
“You gave us no choice.” She ceases all movement abruptly, scowling when she loses her place. She loops yarn around her finger in swift hostile movements before continuing with the knitting offensive taking place in her lap. If she keeps this up, she’ll disembowel herself without the aid of Paragon’s own corpse practitioner—Chloe.
Dr. Booth hands Tad a prescription before rising to his feet.
“Can I have a word with you in private?” I ask, ushering the good doctor to the entry.
I open the door and we step out into the icy night air, the awning just barely covering us from the downpour that’s unleashed itself over the island.
“I’m sorry, Skyla. He left me no choice. He threatened to have my practice overrun with state regulators. It was the least I could do to get him off my back.”
“What about the zombie pills?” I bounce on my toes in a panic.
“I’ll call tomorrow and ask your mother to bring the bottle down to my office for inspection. I’m a stickler for accuracy.” He winks. “I’ll replace the medication with a placebo, they’ll be none the wiser.”
“You’re a genius!” I jump up and hug him.
“No more one-sided conversations young lady. And stay away from illegal substances.” He flicks his wrist and his umbrella blooms in one giant burst.
“I have a perfectly good explanation for that,” I say.
“You always do,” he gives a sly smile before disappearing behind a curtain of water.
Thank God I’ve got Dr. Booth on my side. If he were really the staunch asshole Tad wishes he were, zombie state or not—I’d be locked up for good.
Skyla.
A voice echoes through the rain, carries unnaturally like the long chord of cymbal with its perpetual steady sizzle.
I don’t need a face, an effigy or even a shadow to place the voice. I know exactly who that is.
I jump into the house and lock the door.
It’s the last person in the world I want to see tonight—Ezrina.
Chapter 26
Hells Bells
Who knew Tad would run out to an all night pharmacy and get the prescription filled? Who knew that he and my mother would stand guard and watch as I ingest the tiny white disaster?
The next morning, I sit in Marshall class nodding off intermittently. I stare off into space while batting away the army of bugs crawling over my skin, which come to think of it, may not actually exist.
The bell finally rings, dismissing me from my misery. Marshall calls me to the front with his voice reverberating in an unnatural echo. I assure Gage it’s fine, and he kindly waits outside the door.
“What?” The word pulls like cotton from my lips.
“I have a bone to pick with you.” He tosses the stack of homework he’s just collected onto his desk and half of the papers fall into the hungry mouth of the trashcan below. I want to giggle at his impotent effort, but all I can afford is a moan that gets stuck in my throat.
“What?” I ask lazily. It seems to be the only word left in my lexicon thanks to Tad and his eat-your-brain-cells-for-breakfast stupid idea of a pill.
“I ran into a certain someone at the Transfer who gave me the most curious bit of news.” He folds his arms in disappointment.
“Ezrina?” Normally I wouldn’t accommodate him with the truth.
God! What if one of the side effects of this horse tranquilizer is losing the ability to bend the truth? Bending the truth is my specialty. This pill is like Kryptonite to me.
He gives a curt nod. “She informed me that you entered into a—”
“Covenant,” I cut him off.
“And you gave your—”
“Word,” it comes out lethargic, and I give a slow and refractive nod like all those stoners at Ellis’ parties.
“And now you’re going to have to—” he generously motions for me to finish.
“Learn my lesson,” I say, rather proud of my spontaneous confessional.
“You haven’t learned a thing from dealing with Holden the first time. You don’t make promises to just any creature that happens to be the vicinity. Remember, Skyla, you are a little higher than a human, nothing more. You certainly lack the ability to gift Ezrina with what you’ve promised.”
“My mother does,” I say, fully aware of the fact I’ve screwed up royally.
“In the event you haven’t noted, your mother isn’t synonymous in any way with mercy. It’s not her specialty. You, my friend, are digging your own grave. The only tragedy being, you won’t have the privilege of curling up and dying. You’ll live forever in the body of a misshapen hag. Does this please you?”
I shake my head.
“And I suppose the Pretty Oliver has already exposed you to the fact you’ll be needing my services to procure a new body.”
“He doesn’t want a new body. He wants the old one.” I gasp at the thought of another metaphysical mix-up.
“You, my love, are in what they like to call, here on earth, a hole,” he reprimands. “I suppose it won’t take you long to make yet another idle promise concerning your flesh.”
“I guess you know me.” My words fall to the floor and crash around my feet in shame.
“There’s only one problem.” He lifts my chin with the tip of his finger.
“What?” It fires off like an echo.
“I’m no longer accepting the offer as payment.” He picks up his coffee and begins to head out of the room. “Enjoy the afternoon, Ms. Messenger.”
***
After another bliss-filled day at school with Gage, my mother informs me we’re headed to Demetri’s to acquaint ourselves with the premises before I officiate my community service.
All of the euphoria I felt hours earlier has dissipated at the thought of exploring the Fem frontier with my mother and the evil pinhead trying to lure her into his lair.
“He’s giving us the grand tour.” My mother beams as we round out the long roads of Paragon Estates that stretch out like a yawn.
This is much farther down in the Estates than I’ve ever been before.
“He must be loaded,” I muse.
As the property lines expand, so do the habitats of the rich and infamous. Giant, sprawling estates that make Marshall’s multilevel expanse feel impossibly humble, the acreage itself altogether restrictive for a horse ranch.
“Here it is,” her voice escalates with glee as she pulls onto a paver stone path that travels through a small forest hedging up on either side.
“Have you been here before?” Really it’s an innocent question. But the fact my mother neither has an address or directions sprawled out in front of her is an alarming indication of what that answer might be.
“Never.” Her eyes cut out the driver’s side window.
“He said it was the second driveway on the left once we passed the crossroads, and this would be it.”
A giant wooden sign arches over the opening of the forest that reads Edinger Estate with an infinity symbol cradled between the words. I glance over to Mom’s arm where the glossy bangle happily hops as she steers us into a circular driveway.
“Oh my, God!” Mom gasps when she sees the enormous structure.
“Holy shit!” I spike up in my seat not nearly as mesmerized as my mother, but equally taken aback.
It’s the freaking Transfer! The haunted mansion Marshall held me hostage in. A replica. An original—who the hell knows?
It takes everything in me not to knock my mother unconscious and speed us back down the driveway.
Demetri steps out, dark and greedy for my mother’s affections. He wears a carnal grin, nothing but lewd intentions written all over him. Mom bolts from the car and into his arms like he was my father incarnate.
Look at her.
She’s not even hiding the fact she’s into him. And what exactly is it she sees in him? He’s like the second coming of Rasputin if not the first.
“Hello, Skyla, welcome,” Demetri greets me as I stretch my legs.
It feels more like some dysfunctional family reunion, definitely not like the beginning of any public restitution that’s supposed to be taking place. I rove my eyes over the structure, the entry, the balcony above. The giant white dwelling is identical to the one in the Transfer, and for a brief moment I’m not entirely convinced we’re on Paragon anymore.
“I am in love with this place!” My mother radiates with pleasure. Demetri’s arm remains slung low around her waist as she twists and turns, drinking it all in.
“It could have been yours,” he offers.
I choke at the thought of him trying to suck my mother in with real estate. Sure, Tad may be currency deficient, but at least he…he’s…oh, crap.
“She’s happily married,” I snipe. “Aren’t you, Mom?”
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