Barron’s eyes bug out like a pair of golf balls. “Holy shit.” He does a quick spin into the crowd as the bodies fall to the ground and pant for water.
I’ve heard Barron shed an expletive or two in my day, but they are rare and few between, and usually signify a shitload of trouble—case in point.
He leans in to inspect the moaning crowd. “My God, these are people I’ve buried! The legal ramifications of unearthing the dead are innumerous. Are you insane?” He stops short as he spots his son nestled among the gravestones. “Gage Oliver! Get back here right this minute!”
Gage does a double take before tossing down his equipment and doing as he’s told.
“I have a very good explanation,” Skyla starts, but Barron holds up a hand, unable to look her way. The brunt of his rage is very much pinned on Gage at the moment.
“Did you give the green light to this circus?” His voice pitches as white plumes burst from his mouth.
“Shit,” Gage says it under his breath as he makes his way over. His face is covered in a thin layer of dirt, and it makes his eyes siren out ten times brighter than before. “Look, I’ve got everything under control.”
“You must be kidding me,” Barron barks so loud half the newly awakened dead stagger on over. “Do you see the unfortunate state of these people? They belong in caskets. They belong under Paragon soil, not on it! If word gets out that I’ve dug up half the bodies in my possession, I’ll lose my license, my house, and never mind my sanity.” He growls over toward Skyla, “I’ve already lost that.” Barron stalks over to the side of the morgue and starts the hose running.
“Great minds,” I muse. “I was just about to do the same thing. I’d better go help out.”
“No, wait.” Gage stops me. “I’d better do it.” He looks to Skyla with that forlorn expression he wears whenever she’s around. “A few more trips and everyone will be settled at the house. As soon as I clean this place up, I’ll help you get the boys.”
She offers a silent nod, and Gage jogs off to clean up the mess.
“He’s good at that,” I muse.
“At what?” Skyla doesn’t take her eyes off him. I know this separation is killing her just the same.
“At cleaning up messes. That’s all he was doing, Skyla—cleaning up a mess.”
“I know,” she says it quiet, with a touch of defeat in her voice.
“So, are you ready to hear him out?” Here it is, the moment Gage has been waiting months for. All Skyla needs to do is understand his motives and she’ll see he never betrayed her—not in the way she thinks he did.
“Not tonight.” She heads over to Drake and Ethan, and they cuss up a storm at the prospect of vomit-covered passengers. They’re still knee-deep in transports, and it looks as if they’re ready to throw in the vomit-covered towel.
“Dude.” Drake gets in my face. “I don’t see you offering these assholes a ride. Do you know the last few trips they puked their guts up in the back of the van? Brielle is going to shit a brick when she sees I need to recarpet the ceiling.”
“Tell you what.” I fish the keys to my truck out and hand them over. “Pile as many as you like in the back. No pukers in the cab. And why don’t you buy Brielle a new car for the hell of it? Trust me, you’ll be thanking me when you see how happy it makes her.” If I know one thing about Bree, it’s that she loves new things. And if I know one thing about Drake, it’s that he likes to get laid by his wife. It sounds like a win-win to me. Besides, Drake and Bree are rolling in it. Drake has amassed more wealth in the last year alone to qualify him for the Forbes 500. Bree isn’t doing so bad either with that nail polish line Ezrina helped her hone. If someone would have told me that two people who I graduated high school with would strike it rich right off the bat, I would never have pegged it to be this particular dynamic duo.
“Good thinking.” He stalks off, and I help him and Ethan load up the last of the formerly dead.
Ethan nods over to Skyla, and she heads on over. “What’s the deal?” He waves a hand at the truck full of dead men and women anxious to get this next, most likely disastrous, part of their new lives underway. “You throw a party and don’t bother inviting Em and me?” He shakes his head in disgust.
“Be thankful.” Skyla averts her eyes with measured drama. “It looks like a bad case of food poisoning.”
I’m almost amused that Ethan bought the excuse. Gage told both Drake and Ethan we were having a graveyard bash and needed help transporting the guests. He said our valet took off. If by valet he meant hearse, then yes, those took off years ago.
“Did you cook?” Ethan looks affronted at the idea, and Skyla gives a sorrowful nod. “Damn straight they got sick. You need to get this shit catered. This is too many people to be slaving over a stove for. You got kids now. You’re not Wonder Woman.” He takes off, and we watch as their taillights wash the cemetery in a bloodbath of red.
“You are Wonder Woman.” I wrap an arm around her shoulders as Barron and Gage come up.
“I want you all off the property.” Barron’s eyes widen as he observers something from over my shoulder. “Good God and take it with you!”
We turn to find Kate staggering over, her head dangling by her waist as she grips it by the hair. Her mouth is moving, her eyes blinking frenetically—it’s enough to make a grown man vomit, and Barron heads over to the bushes and does just that.
Chloe comes up from behind and tosses Kate’s scarf over her disembodied head. “I’m taking off. Don’t worry about a thing. This reanimation-fest will be our little secret.” She offers a dark smile to Skyla that reeks of wickedness. Skyla has to see through this bullshit. “Wes is too busy with that little brat to notice anything anyway. He says he’s hired some hot little nanny to replace Ezrina, now that she’s down for the count.” She glances at her fingernails as if the thought of her own child reminded her of the fact she’s in need of a manicure. And what’s with calling your own kid a brat? I’m pretty sure that moniker is reserved for non-relations, or at least it should be. “I’ll catch you losers later,” she says it with a wink and a smile before looking to me. “Can’t wait to don my legwarmers and neon heels for that party you’re throwing.” She spots Gage, and her arms stretch wide as if gunning for a hug. “I’ll be sure to save the sexiest dance for you.”
Skyla reaches over and knocks her in the forehead with the palm of her hand. “Good night, Chloe.”
And just like that, Chloe Bishop blinks out of this plane and into the Transfer.
“I wondered how you did that.” Gage smiles down at her, and they share a quick laugh, but Skyla stops short as if startling back to reality—a reality where laughing with Gage simply isn’t permitted.
Barron offers us a curt nod. “I’ll be staying the remainder of the day.” He looks out at the cemetery as the sun comes up over the hillside. “Fielding phone calls, undoubtedly. I’ll be closing the grounds for repairs for the rest of the week.” He stalks off inside.
Ethan brings my truck back and takes off in his own car before I can thank him.
“That’s my ride.” I help navigate Kate over to the passenger’s side.
“I’ll help get her head on,” Skyla offers and I get out of the way.
Gage comes over with those tired bloodshot eyes. “Thanks, man. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Same.” I give him a quick fist to the shoulder. I glance over to find that Skyla has Kate’s head in the right spot and that scarf of hers tight as a noose. She’s scouring the glove compartment for what I’m assuming is a pen, and she holds one up to the light victoriously before handing it to Kate.
Gage leans in. “What do you think Kate has to say about my mom?” He folds his arms over his chest and offers a disappointed look in the direction of the family home as if he senses the news isn’t favorable.
“I don’t know. Did she even know your mom? Maybe she went to the preschool? Emma runs the largest preschool on the island. I think at some point everyone under
twenty-five passed through those doors. I bet that’s what it is. She probably has some long suppressed memory of how wonderful she is and she wants to thank her. Don’t underestimate your mother.” I hate that I’m essentially echoing Dudley’s words. “She leaves a damn good impression.” I offer a mock sock to his shoulder.
“That’s probably it.” He offers a quick pat to my back. “I’ll catch you later.” We head over to Skyla, and she quickly crumbles the note in her hand and buries it in her pocket. Her face looks unreasonably pale, despite the fact she’s dusted with fresh Paragon soil like the rest of us. Whatever Kate jotted down, Skyla isn’t up for show and tell.
“Go ahead and get the boys, get a shower, and some sleep.” I offer her a quick embrace. “I’ll make sure Kate is comfortable.” As comfortable as you can be without your head formally attached. “I’ll have Ezrina look at her come morning.”
She gives a frantic nod. “That’s great.” She looks to Gage. “Why don’t you call your mom and ask her to get the boys ready? I’ll meet you in the truck. I just want to say good night to Kate.”
Gage gives a quick wave and heads to his truck.
“What did the note say, Skyla?” I glance to Kate who looks morbidly exhausted and, in truth, I’m paranoid she might keel over again on the ride back to the house.
“It said”—the words pull from Skyla’s lips in slow motion as she looks to our old undead friend—“Emma is trouble.”
“Trouble? How?” I glance to Kate. Her eyes are glazed over, fatigued beyond reason. That just goes to show, some dirt naps are never long enough.
Skyla shakes her head just barely. “She wouldn’t say. She clammed up and just kept mumbling Emma’s name over and over again as if it were some chant.” Skyla gently combs Kate’s hair to the side of her face. “Good night. Sleep tight,” she whispers before taking a step back, and I shut the door for her. “Logan.” Skyla closes her eyes a moment too long as if her body were begging for respite any way it can get it. “What could she have meant? Is there something about Emma that you’re keeping from me?” Her voice is soft, but that accusatory look in her eyes is sharp as a lion’s claw. Skyla is lacerating me with a simple glance.
“No. I swear it.”
Gage revs up the engine before pulling alongside of us. He teleported back to Whitehorse before Ethan and Drake came over and retrieved it but refused to teleport the masses—not with the feds lying in wait for some paranormal phenomenon, and it would have been just that.
“There’s my ride.” Skyla’s brows pitch as if offering me one last chance to pony up the confession, but there isn’t one. A deafening silence fills the void instead.
I watch as they take off. Skyla and Gage, together again if only for a moment. That’s the way it should be, I try to tell myself, but that knot in the pit of my stomach rejects it every single time.
I hop in and drive Kate home in silence. Lexy is there when we arrive to gift her the enthusiastic greeting she deserves. It sounds like a party in the house, and that’s just Lex bubbling with excitement. But I’m quick to ditch the reunion and get to bed.
I dream of Skyla all night long, of the two of us swimming through corpses, blood rising over us in waves, washing us red as a reminder of the new catastrophe I’m afraid we’ve pulled ourselves into.
Oh, Skyla. What have we done?
How do we always manage to slip in the shit of our own making?
The next few days are spent cataloging the formerly dead, manically emptying all the thrift stores on the island of their casual ware and shoes, and turning the bowling alley kitchen into a bona fide pizza delivery service. It turns out newly reanimated bodies like to eat. Scratch that—they are ravenous to put things other than earthworms into their pie holes. In light of the fact, I’ve been syphoning food from the bowling alley and sending a steady stream of pizza delivery to Skyla’s home behind the gates—the old Walsh residence where we stand now with the dilapidated kitchen serving as crisis central.
Dudley steps up beside me as we watch Skyla and Ellis try to work out a plan of attack on paper as far as how to best utilize our newfound army of volunteers.
“Nothing like the stench of death in the afternoon to enliven the senses.” His crimson eyes glance my way before nodding to the disheveled masses.
“That, my friend, is the scent of pepperoni and sausage. It turns out that death can really enliven your carnivore tendencies.” I glance to Skyla hard at work trying to figure out where the undead puzzle pieces fit best. “What do you think we should do?”
Dudley leans in and redirects my line of vision back to his ugly mug. “As your supervising spirit, I’d suggest you back away slowly from the puddle of blood seeping your way, but it’s too late for that. You’re covered in it, sealed with its iniquity—its stench branded upon your very soul.” The look of discontent crosses his face. It’s an expression I’ve grown familiar with coming from him. Unfortunately, Dudley is right more than he is ever wrong, and once again, unfortunately, he is never, ever wrong.
“So, you’re staying out of it.” I figured as much. Dudley has made it clear that the graveyard grovel was something he’d rather keep his sooted wings far away from.
He frowns over at me—a look I’ve grown accustomed to. “Have you ever heard the saying measure twice cut once?”
“Yes.” My insides tense because I can feel the barb before he ever lets it fly from his mouth.
“Formulating a plan and executing it should be two distinct actions, preferably the former followed by the latter. Do you see something contradictory with this picture?” He glares over at Skyla for a moment.
“I get it.” I hold up a hand to cut him off. “We jumped in. But in her defense, it’s a brilliant plan and one approved by the leader of the Decision Council herself.”
His finger bounces off his lips as if deep in thought, an action I’ve been prone to do myself, and the idea amuses me. Somewhere down the lineage line, our ancestry has crossed wires. Dudley here is my not-so-great gramps thanks to his less than stellar, albeit frequents, romps throughout history. His celestial seedlings escaped the one-eyed snake, and here I am, all but a carbon copy of the Sector himself.
“Has Candace approved this?” His voice curls toward the incredulous. “Have you thought through the repercussions, young Oliver? Has it ever occurred to you this might be a master manipulation? A setup as it were?” The lights dim, and Dudley stands at attention, his gaze dialed in straight ahead as if he were half-expecting his superior to strut in front of him.
Chloe strides up before I can answer him. Her cruel dark eyes narrow in over mine as her face curves into a snarl. “What’s this I hear about Logan Oliver becoming a bumpkin farmer?” She spits the words out with a nauseous look.
“Do my future plans offend you?” I’m not amused. And God knows I’m not in the mood to entertain this wench today or any other day.
Her full lips twist in a knot, and a brief memory of the two of us fucking freely back in her old bedroom—Skyla’s new bedroom, before I ever knew Skyla existed, runs through my mind. “Hell yes, they offend me. They—”
“Good,” I cut her off at the pass. “I hope everything about me offends you, Chloe. I hope the sight of me makes your stomach turn the way mine does when I see you. All you have ever done to me or anyone else is caused outrageous levels of misery. I can’t imagine what I would have done if you had only approved. Thanks for solidifying my actions with your discontent. It’s how I know I’m moving in the right direction.”
Ellis scoffs from the end of the table. “Dude, she’s right. This idea sucks big hairy balls. You need to rethink the squash-fest. You and I need to pool our funds and open up a chain of breasteraunts on the island.”
“Breasteraunts?” Chloe chokes on the word as if she were equally offended by his idea, as she was mine. In truth, I happen to agree with her on that one. “Skyla—evict every idea that stoner offers. We can’t trust his judgment.”
“And we can trus
t yours?” Dudley smiles as he delivers the quip.
Chloe straightens, her eyes dim to a disheartening shade of soot. “My, my, isn’t this the pot calling the kettle black? You are quite the charmer, aren’t you, Sector Dudley—flaunting your manhood through the ages as if you were some starry host B list celebrity that has a dick ax to grind with the female population at large. I’ll have you know—”
“Enough.” The words come from him calm as he lifts a finger with ease, and Chloe levitates into the air with her back adhering to the ceiling.
Skyla and I exchange a brief glance before we scan the room for onlookers, as if the dead should find this the least bit bazaar. Truth be told, every last detail of our world has turned into a mindfuck as of late. Not sure why Chloe on the ceiling should jar me in any way.
“Shit!” Chloe squeals. “Please, dear God, don’t spin me! Skyla, don’t you let him spin me!” she screams as a round of oohs and ahhs erupt amongst the crowd gathering at the spectacle.
I’ll give Dudley credit. It is an amusing party trick—one he played on me not too many years ago. Although, I don’t recall any spinning.
Dudley growls up at her as if threatening her with a quick spin before he glowers over at me. “Bring Skyla to my home this evening. I’ve a dead man’s bone to pick with the two of you.”
“What about Gage?” It only seems natural. It’s always been the three of us against the world even if the two of them are at odds at the moment.
“I forbid that menace to cross my property line.” He seethes over at Skyla, “Don’t be tardy, Ms. Messenger.” He butts shoulders with the dearly departed and disintegrates long before he hits the exit, which spurs a spontaneous round of applause from the easily impressed crowd.
“Sectors are the best.” A bubbly blonde shoulders up next to me. She’s tiny and cute, and startlingly young, a pre-teen perhaps. She holds the air of innocence about her with the exception of a gaping wound that glides across her cheek. I can tell it’s been filled in with the mortuary’s finest cosmetics—dried and cracking with age. “I’m Casey.” She offers me a svelte hand, and I shake it, surprised to see how warm it is.
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