Crown of Ashes

by Addison Moore

  “Messenger’s right.” Emily huffs in the wicked witch’s direction, “You’d better wipe that smirk off your face, Bishop. I’ve got one for you, too.”

  My eyes round out just as wide as Chloe’s.

  “Me,” Chloe says it like fact more than a question. “I haven’t had one since—”

  “Since word was sent you were about to be hacked to death in the forest.” Emily Morgan bleeds a silent smile. “That’s right, Chloe. There is something urgent inside of me that I’m just dying to divulge. I’ll see the two of you later.” She starts to take off, then backtracks. “And don’t think you can avoid it. Whether or not you bitches show up makes no difference.” Em looks right at me with those dark unknowable eyes. “Your fate is sealed.” She snaps up Ember and takes off down the hall.

  Chloe fans herself a moment. “Well, she’s a breath of fresh air. I think I’ll go find Ethan and see if he’d like to play a round of hide-and-go-seek-the-penis like we did in the old days.” She offers a seductive wink my way, and I’m sick straight to my stomach.

  “Don’t you dare. You know Em and Ethan are practically married. They’re raising Ember together. Ethan loves that baby as if it were his own. Don’t go screwing up someone else’s life just because you don’t have one.”

  Chloe’s gaze hardens over mine. “I can and I will.” She steps in close. “Don’t think just because you tell me to jump I’m going to ask how high. Yes, I am in line with our agreement. But it was just that, ours.”

  I lean in until we’re nose to nose, clutching the boys to my chest with a vise grip. “Yes—Chloe, we very much have an agreement. Don’t you forget it.”

  “You don’t hold all the cards, Skyla,” she seethes and her chest palpitates dramatically. Here she is, the living, breathing bitch I always knew her to be. Gone is the Pollyanna routine. Yes, Skyla—no, Skyla will soon be replaced with death threats and very real follow-ups. I knew I was playing with fire, but it’s her fire I’m after. “You never hold all the cards,” she spits the words right over my mouth, and I half-expect a kiss in the process. “Don’t you forget that.”

  Chloe takes off, and I hear the door to Ethan and Emily’s room open and close. There’s that. Give Chloe a solid piece of advice, and the first thing she does is go out of her way not to listen to it. I hope Tobie grows up to be a firecracker of a teenager so Chloe can get a taste of her own poisonous medicine. On second thought, I’d rather Tobie grow up to be a respectable, sweet, young woman, not another thorn in my side. I doubt Chloe would care either way. She’s a python of a mother. I’m shocked she hasn’t eaten the poor thing by now.

  Brielle, my oldest and sweetest bestie, pops up and her features harden with concern—a look I’ve virtually never seen on her before. She plucks a sleeping Barron out of my arms and cradles him.

  “Why is Chloe here?” Her voice is low and tempered, and for the first time in a long while, it feels as if I have my best friend back from a long bubble-headed hiatus. “You need her for something, don’t you?”

  “The Savior needed Judas to accomplish his goals, and I need Chloe to accomplish mine.”

  Bree tosses back her strawberry blonde hair as if I’ve struck her. “Who do you think you’re going to save?”

  “Gage.”

  New Year’s Eve has always represented more than just the touchdown of a new year. It’s the promise of a better tomorrow, a better year, and an overall better you. I nurse the boys for over an hour just sitting in the comfortable glider my mother—the one who makes her home in the heavenlies—squeezed in here while I wasn’t looking, loving on my boys, counting their delicate fingers and adorable toes over and over. Wondering all the while what these little angels will do in life. Where will these precious feet take them? These beautiful hands, what will they build? What will they destroy?

  I settle them both in Nathan’s bassinet and yank outfit after outfit from my closet wondering how the hell my waist was ever the size that my ankle is now. I finally settle on the white dress I squeezed myself into for that demonic renewing of the vows in the Transfer—a maternity dress no less. It hangs baggy and sickly, making me look all together dumpy, so I cinch it in the back with a safety pin I dig out of my jewelry box. The protective hedge winks at me, so over my neck it goes, but Logan’s mirrored heart—I run my finger over it. Not tonight. I feel just as betrayed by Logan as I do Gage. But that ring Chloe gifted me—that little bit of heaven—I pop it right onto my finger. Lapis Lazuli—or sapphire as it were, from the very throne of God? I kiss it for good luck, and a current travels from my lips all the way to my toes. I marvel at the tiny wonder for a moment. Yes, this ring is special, and I cannot wait to find out all of the amazing things it’s capable of.

  I peer in on the boys with their eyes sealed shut, their dark lashes so long and lovely. Two miniature versions of Gage. My boys are so beautiful it makes my heart weep. I turn on the nanny cam Logan gifted me for Christmas and make sure the app is synced to my phone. Enabling me to see and hear almost the entirety of my bedroom while anywhere on this planet is a stroke of genius. I might be angry with Logan, but this gift makes me very, very happy. I press a barely there kiss to each of their warm heads and leave the room with a silent click of the door.

  Downstairs the house is lit up bright. Drake painted a hasty coat of whitewash over the blackened wall where Tad ignited like a Roman candle so it looks mostly presentable again. Mom has the tree lit, sans a single candle in the vicinity, and to my surprise there are a handful of guests already milling around, laughing, swinging their hips to the music Mom has pumping from the speakers in the family room. Mom and Tad don’t have many friends, so I don’t expect things to get out of control, but it’s nice seeing them expanding their social wings a bit.

  “Skyla. You look fantastic!” Mom beams while fluffing my hair with her fingers. “Gage is going to drop dead when he sees you!”

  Oddly I feel rather ambivalent at the thought of Gage dropping dead, and a dull smile comes to me. Of course, I myself would die if he died. It would be a parental disaster for the boys, but in theory I wouldn’t mind stopping Gage Oliver’s heart for once. Honestly, I think it’s in need of a reboot.

  “Now”—she adjusts my dress around the hips, her affect growing quickly serious—“it’s time to let go of the past and dive into a brand new future—together. Emma and I both agree this cold shoulder nonsense needs to end right this minute. You hear me, young lady?” Her eyes needle into mine as if a ripe punishment waited for me at the other end of this threat.

  “Well, if you and Emma insist.” I glance down at my phone and check on the boys. “Where is the wicked witch, anyway?”

  “Skyla!”

  Tad waltzes in with his arm extended because obviously Dr. Frankenstein isn’t quite through with him just yet.

  “How are you feeling?” I ask, hopeful that his fleshly torment is over. “I don’t know what the hell Marshall was thinking,” I say under my breath. God knows I understand completely where Demetri’s evil head was.

  “Don’t be too hard on Mr. Dudley.” Mom waves off the quite literal gas lighting of her husband. “His heart was in the right place.”

  “What are you talking about? He lit him up like a birthday candle.”

  Mom inches back as if I just backhanded her. “What are you talking about? He donated the suit. It was his idea we have Santa show up for the boys. He said it was his gift to you.”

  “Oh.” Now I’m the one inching back. So, Marshall’s gift wasn’t the Tad-based bonfire? Oh! It was the suit! Of course, it was. Marshall would never set a human ablaze in front of their family on Christmas of all days. What kind of monster would ever do that?

  “Demetri’s here.” Tad gruffs, and just like that, I have my answer. “And he’s brought a date.” Tad jumps as if this somehow pleases him. It should totally please him because we both know damn well my mother has the hots for the flame-wielding demon.

  “A date?” Mom forces a laugh. “You mean his
niece. He mentioned something about her traveling to Greece soon.” She narrows in on Tad with a look of smug satisfaction. “Unfortunately, you won’t see the likes of her for a while now. Althorpe is shipping her off to help with its European branch.”

  “Oh dear God.” I suck in a quick breath and look to Tad in horror. “You don’t think they’re going to ship you off to the European branch, do you?” Please, God, anything but that. Demetri and my mother will be coiled around one another before Tad’s ferry ever gets to Seattle.

  Tad staggers forward with his arm swinging wildly. “You bet your sweet patootie they won’t! It looks like Mee-Maw here didn’t give you the memo. I’ve been canned! I’m done. I’m toast. Stick a fork in me. I’m deader than a Thanksgiving Day turkey basted in formaldehyde. I’m eating gravel. Sucking up exhaust. Taking a dirt nap. Becoming a root inspector. Living challenged—”

  “Enough already.” Mom tosses both hands in the air as the demon of darkness enters the room with a lady friend by his side who is neither his breasty niece, Isis, nor is it Brielle’s mother, Darla Johnson. Nope, this new and slightly improved slut-alicious skank is six feet of redheaded glory with a face that can set sail to a thousand European ships, high cheekbones cut in marble, perfectly pouty blood red lips, and a distinguished, sexy as all hell mole between her lip and left cheek—and hair, oh dear God, that glorious hair, how even I crave to touch it. My mother had better hope this is a new relation of his or else some serious competition just swooped into town.

  And an unemployed Tad? Gah! Althorpe has clearly gone off the government watch-list rails. Who else are they going to pin all their otherworldly shenanigans on?

  Come to think of it—most likely me.

  “Why, who is this?” Mom walks past Tad, clipping his limb extension and sending him moaning with agony. I’d offer to soothe him, but I can’t seem to look away from this redheaded train wreck about to crash right through my mother’s rockin’ New Year’s Eve.

  Demetri sheds his signature hellish grin and nods with a slight bow. Dear God, it’s as if he’s constantly performing. Figures. Demetri’s entire existence is one, long, wicked performance piece.

  “Let me introduce to you the lovely, most beautiful Mrs. Dominique Winters.” Most beautiful? My mother is seeing red—and most likely black and blue from the offensive she’s ready to divvy up. “Dom and I are old acquaintances. Dominique, this is my first true love, Lizbeth.” He set the record straight pretty quick. Figures. “And her darling daughter, Skyla.” He preens my way with that demonic grin. “Skyla is married to my most treasured son.” Wow, I bet Wes would love to have heard that. “They’ve just gifted me two of the world’s best grandchildren a man could ever ask for. Twins.” Poor Tobie.

  “Children?” She smacks her crimson stained lips when she says it. Either she likens them to a late-night snack or she’s truly repulsed by the idea. Her gaze sharpens over me, revealing pools of lavender, an eye color not anywhere in nature, and already I’m doubting her human standing. And back up the train. There were so many things wrong with Demetri’s intro. For one, he has more than one son, but per usual, Wesley gets the shaft. And secondly, I didn’t pump out two beautiful babies just to give Demetri a gift, and third—hello, hot mama. What grave did he dig this stunner out of? And what kind of a spell did he cast to make her pretend to like him?

  My mother’s jaw roots to the floor as she examines her potential replacement.

  “Lizbeth.” Demetri nods to her with a smug smile of satisfaction, but before he has a chance to rub in his redheaded hussy, Tad grunts and hops his way over. He maneuvers his extended splint wide to the left and whacks my mother on the side of the head with an audible thump.

  “Shit!” I hiss under my breath as Mom blinks back the stars in her eyes.

  “Tad Landon.” My bumbling stepfather offers an awkward handshake to Demetri’s femme fetale, and this time nearly takes out the king of pain himself, but Demetri wisely ducks. Darn. Tad will just have to try harder next time. “Welcome to my estate! Me casa you casa. I’ve got a butt roast heating just for you and enough beer over at the refreshment table to make this a night to remember. Please feel free to help yourself to whatever I might have to offer. Anything for a beautiful woman.”

  As if the thought of Tad offering up the questionable hindquarters of a pig’s behind and warm beer weren’t appetizing enough, I think he’s just thrown himself into the unappetizing mix.

  Tad offers up an awkward bow and manages to poke her in the chest with his petrified arm. Oh my dear God. Tad just stole second base in front of God and Demetri—not that my mother cares. But, wow. Copping a feel of Demetri’s date? I’m guessing that butt roast isn’t the only thing that will be burning tonight. If Tad and his wandering fingers aren’t careful Demetri will finish him off before midnight.

  I glance to my poor mother who is presently nursing both a bruised heart and a shattered skull—from two different men.

  “So, what are you doing in town, Dom?” I offer my own smug smile at the use of the flirty little nickname Demetri gifted her.

  Her hair flickers like a flame as she ticks her head slightly my way. It’s as if she’s a wind-up doll and swift staccato movements are all she’s capable of, and knowing Demetri, this might actually be the case. Her skin is smoother than porcelain, and her face has a mannequin-esque quality that I can’t quite put my finger on. Something about her—I’ve seen that look before—but not on a mannequin.

  A gasp gets locked in my throat. A corpse! Gah! Yes, that’s it! She’s got that whole I’ve just been embalmed by the best, half-past deceased glow about her. (The best being Barron Senior. Nobody wields embalming fluid like my father-in-law.) My heart sinks because it doesn’t quite feel like he’s my anything anymore.

  “What am I doing?” Dominique squares her gaze over me as if I were a spider than needing to be dealt with by the wrong end of her stiletto. I can tell by her tone I’ve managed to vex her. I’m not too sorry about it either. “I’ve lived on this island longer than you’ve roamed the planet.” Her voice cuts through the air like razor wire, and an odd tension springs up in its wake.

  Demetri clears his throat my way as if he were attempting to manage me, and I almost want to laugh. If anything, he’s the one who needs to be managed. Who does he think he is hauling this hussy over and flaunting her in front of my mother? Not to mention the fact she’s flat out rude.

  “Impressive. I haven’t seen you around. I guess Paragon does like to keep her secrets.” I glance down at my phone to find Mia and Melissa in my bedroom stealing kisses from the boys. And before I can say a single rotten thing about Emma, she pops up on the screen as well and my sisters scatter like birds. Figures. Even they can’t stand her. “I’d better run. My sitter is here and, apparently, there’s a new year to be ushered in.” Truthfully, I’m a little bummed I’ll be missing the rest of The Dominatrix Show. Judging by that clearly pissed expression on my mother’s face, there will be fireworks at the Landons’ first social bash after all.

  “Lizbeth”—Dominique ignores my trivial excuse to ditch the senior center this place is quickly morphing into and steps in toward my mother—“Demetri has told me all about you.” A dull laugh rattles through her chest as she razes my mother with a scathing sweep of the eyes. Dear God, what did that vile villain say? “You are every bit the fragile little bird, aren’t you?”

  My mouth opens, and just as I’m about to tell this redheaded heathen off, a body swoops in behind me—Bree.

  “It’s time to get our groove on, little mama!” Brielle’s hair is a freshly dyed darker version of red tonight. She’s been blonde for so long I’m half-convinced Dom here has duplicated herself for a moment and is doing her best to get rid of me. But it’s clear Bree is determined to start the new year off with a redheaded bang, and I can’t blame her. It’s a good look on her.

  “Just one second.” I stutter on my heels as Tad yanks on his tie, his eyes still very much plastered on the new obj
ect of his affection.

  Tad squints into the queen of evil hearts. “Come to think of it, I’ve seen you around a time or two.”

  “I run the apothecary.” She smirks at him as if he were a rat that just crawled from muddy waters. “But perhaps you know me from the picture the paper ran of my family this morning.”

  “Aha! That’s where I’ve seen you!” Tad slaps his thigh, and a cracking sound echoes throughout the room. Dear God, don’t break a leg over this apothecary dominating demon. And who the hell runs an apothecary? It’s obvious Demetri’s hauled a witch into our midst. If my mother is wise, she’ll tie her to a stake and burn her at midnight. She should hogtie Demetri while she’s at it. Cleansing the island of all its evil sounds like a great way to start the new year.

  I break out of Bree’s grip for a moment and step in close to the wicked witch. “Tad is the only person on the planet who reads the paper. What were you doing in it?” It comes out far more accusatory than I meant it, but hell, I meant it. Besides, I have a feeling the only good that can come from that paper is if this rotten fish was wrapped in it.

  “Skyla!” my mother balks as if it took my brazenness to breathe her back to life. “Excuse my daughter. She suffers from a severe lack of sleep.” She wraps an arm around my shoulders and gives me a rattle. “The things that come out of this girl’s mouth”—she chortles—“it’s sleep deprivation at its finest!”

  Dominique grunts at this measly sleep deprived excuse. “My daughter was killed by a sleep deprived motorist on Christmas Eve, right here on the corner of your very street.” She bares her sharp, glistening fangs at my mother for a moment as if it were her fault this horrible tragedy happened. “But she’s better now.”

  Better? Sounds like Dom isn’t the only reanimated corpse in the family.

  “That’s nice,” Bree interrupts.

  Misty and Beau saunter in with their hair covered in something brown and greasy that smells like shit and—