Crown of Ashes

by Addison Moore

  “I’m Logan.”

  “Logan Oliver.” Her eyes brighten a peculiar shade of lavender. “Once dead and now you’re alive in a Treble gifted from your highness Candace Messenger—mother of Skyla, our great warrior princess who is destined to secure a rightful place of leadership with Celestra through her marital bond with Sector Marshall. I’m all up on my Warring Angels 101.”

  Skyla looks up from the spastic notes eating up the table and offers a quiet laugh. Her eyes connect with mine, and we share an intimate moment right here in the madness, the eye of the hurricane we’ve seated ourselves in once again.

  “Nice to meet you, Casey.” I offer her a quick shake. “And yes, Skyla is our great warrior princess.”

  That wide-eyed stare of hers never dissipates. “You’re sexy.” Her fingers cover her mouth as she giggles.

  “I second that,” Skyla calls out, and Chloe grunts from above as if she’s been supernaturally muted. And judging by the fact she’s no longer cursing up a storm, I’d say that might very well be the case. “Giselle says it’s okay to use that word.” She nods into the idea as if she’s been eager to use that word for centuries. “You are sexy. We all think so.” She motions back to a small crowd of girls gathered in a bunch near the sofa leering at me with perky little grins. I give a quick wave, and the entire lot of them breaks out into titters. Casey glides her hand up over my shoulder, taking a step in with a look in her eye that suddenly screams anything but innocence. “It’s so lonely in here. How about you give a girl a ride in that big white truck of yours?” She gives a little wink.

  Skyla clears her throat as if to say something, but her mouth opens and she’s suddenly as mute as Chloe and she shrugs up at me instead.

  “Pardon me.” A tall dapper man, the oldest of the bunch as far as time goes, steps up. “I’m afraid young Casey is needed in the next room.” He shakes his head at her ever so slightly as if it were a reprimand and escorts her quickly in that direction. I know the dude, David Copeland. He looks like an Abe Lincoln caricature if you ask me. He died in his late thirties—in 1898. I know Casey, too. Casey Fields was just fifteen the day she met her demise in 1948 by way of a tractor plow. It’s safe to say, I’ve made it a point to commit each newly reanimated corpse and the nature of their demise to memory. I shake my head at the thought of being hit on by a girl who is technically slightly older than my mother. And speaking of my mother—and my father. I’ll admit, I was holding out hope that they, too, would have been a part of this heroic assignment. But, as it stands, they were cremated by the Counts far before they ever were by the morgue, and it appears Candace is only allowing us to utilize those with bodies available to reanimate. Barron had their ashes scattered partially throughout the farm back in Oregon and here on the island—the bowling alley, the beach, they both loved Pike’s Reef where I spend my birthday each year. And each year I celebrate at that locale, I feel close to my mother and father.

  “Wow, Logan”—Skyla marvels with that sarcastic look in her beautiful blue eyes that I’ve grown to love—“you really know how to bring the dead girls to the yard—graveyard.” She gives a little wink. “Oh, who am I kidding? There’s not a girl, dead or alive, who doesn’t want a piece of you.”

  Chloe grunts from above and struggles to move her limbs.

  “Yes, Chloe”—Skyla glares at the demon who’s found an unwanted home on the ceiling—“everybody knows how you feel about Logan Oliver. Now, get the hell off the ceiling. You’re causing a scene.”

  Chloe falls face-first into the table below, and Skyla rolls her off and gets back to work without giving it another thought.

  “I hate this old house,” Chloe grumbles as she scrambles to her feet and dusts herself off. “And what are you staring at?” she hisses my way. “Get that deconstruction crew you hired to build that Shangri-la-la land you gifted your ex-wife and fix up this haunted hovel or bulldoze the damn thing. It’s a wreck, and the décor leaves a hell of a lot to be desired.” She scowls at the table as if it personally offended her. And judging by that bloodied nose of hers, it did. “You’ll have to get Lex out here.” She snarls over at Skyla. “Just pray she can wield her magic.”

  “I don’t need Lexy Bakova or her magic arts.” Skyla lifts her gaze to me a moment and scoffs. It’s clear Skyla thinks there’s something going on between Lex and me. There’s not. There never will be, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that having her around didn’t kill the sting of silence in the air. Ezrina and Nev are mostly subterranean at this point.

  Skyla taps her pencil in front of the resident stoner in order to garner his attention. “Ellis—why don’t you take Chloe to the restroom and help her clean up?”

  “I’m fine.” Chloe cradles her nose in her hand for a few seconds, and the mess disappears right along with the swelling. She struts over to Skyla and peers over her shoulder at the plans she’s working on. “What do we have here—more bullshit to sidestep Wesley?” She lets out a huge sigh as if sidestepping that idiot husband of hers were impossible. And it might be. For starters, Wesley Edinger is unfortunately no idiot.

  “Ellis thinks we need bona fide employment for them all.” Skyla shakes her head at the thought. “But the unemployment rate on the island stands at thirty percent. I say they can work for Logan and Dr. Oliver.”

  “You need to mix it up.” Ellis jabs his finger at the paper in front of Skyla. “You need a few entrepreneurs in the mix. I’ve got a handful of recruits willing to break their back at the weed farm.”

  “No reefer farmers.” I take a seat next to Skyla just as Giselle comes bubbling in with excitement.

  “This is so fantastic, Skyla!” She beams as she hugs Ellis from behind. “It’s like old home week. I never thought I’d see these people again—at least not until I bite the big one again. Speaking of which, can you put in a good word for me with your mother? I’d rather not land under a tire again. I was thinking of having a house fall on me this time. That’s terribly romantic.”

  “Giselle!” Skyla’s eyes expand with a flash of fire. Skyla has the most beautiful eyes known to man. If there were a color to describe them, it would be stardust. “Having a house fall on you is about as far away from romantic as you can get.”

  “Oh, Skyla.” Giselle brushes her off with a flick of her wrist. “I saw it in a movie. It’s totally romantic. A cyclone will hit the island, and it’ll pick up all sorts of things, men in boats and cute little dogs—and Chloe, you can be the mean old crotchety woman on her bicycle!” Chloe growls over at her, and Giselle cowers behind Ellis a moment. “And finally, the wind will pick up the rattiest old house on the island—most likely this one—and it’ll fall right on top of me! Then some nice soul will come along and steal my shiny red slippers and have a grand adventure of her own!”

  Ellis nods into this ludicrous theory. “G loves The Wizard of Oz. We watch it every night before we get to bed.” His mouth falls open as he catches himself, and I shake my head at him.

  The urge to kick some Harrison ass sets in strong. “Get out of here, Ellis, before I throw you out.”

  “Cool.” He jumps to his feet and stretches his arms to the ceiling. “Dudley wanted to see me about something anyway. I’ll go hang out where I’m wanted.”

  “I’m not going with you!” Giselle is quick to protest as he heads for the door. “Darnell Woodley was just about to tell us what happened when a steam engine was coming his way and his shoe caught on the track!”

  Chloe burps a short-lived laugh. “Spoiler alert! He dies!”

  “Chloe,” Giselle whines as the crowd swallows both Ellis and her.

  “You are a killjoy,” Skyla muses, still keeping her eyes peeled to the map of resurrected humanity before her.

  I wrap my hands over her shoulders and offer up an impromptu massage. “She’s a killer, Skyla,” I say as Chloe takes Ellis’ seat, and I fall in next to Skyla. “Chloe, why don’t you go ahead and play in Dudley’s supernatural sandbox, too? I’m sure there’s another d
imension he’d be happy to shove you in.” That ring on Skyla’s finger catches my attention. Its deep blue stone set in that old-world filigree reminds me a lot of the protective hedge. Speaking of which, Skyla has the Eye of Refuge tucked safely around her neck. She had taken it off for a time, but I’m glad to see it where it rightfully belongs. But that ring—something about it—the way it catches the light. It seems more of a magical treasure, something far more superior than a simple piece of jewelry. I hate to say it, but it makes the protective hedge look like something out of a cheap coin machine. I run my finger over the peacock blue ring just to quell the urge to fondle it, and the stone lights up bright as lightning.

  “Whoa.” Skyla holds her hand out. “Did you see that?” she asks Chloe without missing a beat.

  I tap my knuckles in front of her. “Yes, I saw that.” It frustrates me that she just put Chloe before me. I’m not sure what the hell is going on between the two of them, but I want answers, dammit. “Skyla”—I give a quick glance around—“this is Chloe Bishop you’ve befriended. She’s a fucking nut in the event you need reminding.”

  Chloe offers up a swift kick to my shin from underneath the table. “A fucking nut that’s sitting right here.”

  “See? She’s not afraid to admit it.” I shake my head pleadingly to Skyla as I latch onto her hand. “Come to your senses. I promise you, this will not end well.”

  “That’s because it won’t end.” She extracts her fingers from mine. “Chloe belongs to me. She’s mine. What I choose to do with her is my business. How many times do we need to go over this? Honestly, it’s getting old.”

  A moment of silence thumps by, and I cast a quick glance to Chloe to size up how much she might appreciate being touted as one of Skyla’s possessions, and oddly enough, she doesn’t seem fazed by this. Amusing.

  “Skyla owns you, Chloe?” I tip my head to the living demon.

  Skyla slaps her hand down over her notebook and tips her head back with a reserved level of boredom only Dudley seemed to have mastered until now. “That’s right, Logan.” Her gaze digs into mine as her budding annoyance with me shines right through. “Do you have a problem with this? Because if you do, I suggest you keep it to yourself. Neither Chloe nor I owe you or anyone else an explanation of our true intentions.” She leans in with those eyes of hers glowing like ice. “Do you hear me, Logan Oliver?” Pure wrath exudes from her—spelling out the fact it’s none of my damn business.

  Like a reflex, my own hand slams over the table just a hair away from hers. “It is my damn business, Skyla. You are my damn business. Everything concerning you concerns me.” Our eyes hook into one another, and I can feel her anger, her ripe discontent roaring like an invisible fire between us. For a moment, it feels as if she might pull a knife to my throat. “So, pardon me if I don’t apologize for scrutinizing this false friendship the two of you are touting. Which by the way, not a soul alive or dead is buying. The only two lost in this delusion would be her and you—and sadly, I’m afraid it’s just really you.”

  Her pretty pink lips part as her anger gives way to hurt. But deep in her eyes, that rage she has for me still simmers. I don’t need for her to outline the reasons why. I get it. I betrayed her by keeping Gage’s secrets safe. She thinks I chose Gage over her, and in a sad reality I think I did, too. Protecting her is how I love her. Shielding her from the truth is ironically how I’ve disrespected her most. It’s how Skyla believes I may have even hated her.

  “You’re right, Logan.” Her words are lower than a whisper. “I am delusional and have been in a lot of ways, and not one of them concerns Chloe Backstabbing Bishop.” She sighs down at those feverish lists she’s been compiling the greater part of the afternoon.

  “Forget the list.” Chloe lands her claws over Skyla’s arm before raking her nails across her flesh, leaving a trail of white lines that quickly turn pink. “You look great. Have you finally cut the burgers from your diet? I hear those saturated fat Frisbees are murder on your arteries.”

  As if Chloe cares about the hardening of Skyla’s heart. I’m sure she’s much more interested in knifing open her flesh like she’s currently doing.

  “Not really. I just had to get out of the habit of eating for three, and, of course, trying not to snack around the clock or eat anything after dinner. But it’s really tough, so most of the time I’m munching on pickles between meals. You know, the ones I like.”

  “The sweet bread and butter ones with a kick of heat.” Chloe doesn’t miss a beat. And why the hell don’t I know what kind of pickles Skyla likes? “Wesley loves those, too. Speaking of which, he made me promise I’d do a grocery run before I go home. He’s picking me up in a few minutes at his dad’s. I’d better head over. I’ve got fuck detail tonight.”

  “Oh, come on.” Skyla laughs at Chloe’s sexual quip. “You know it’s the highlight of your week. He does look just like your favorite Oliver.”

  Chloe reaches over and slaps Skyla five. “You know what they say, fake it till you make it.”

  They share a disconcerting laugh, and I’m suddenly sick to my stomach just watching the exchange.

  Chloe stands and leans toward Skyla. “I’ll keep an ear out and see if he makes that noise when he hits a homer. Maybe they are more alike than we think.”

  That noise? Is Skyla actually dishing out private details of her love life to this witch? On second thought, I don’t want to know. It feels strange sitting here listening to them gab about having sex with their lookalike husbands—and whatever the hell that noise might be.

  “Oh, hey, you want a ride?” Skyla offers. “I’m sure Logan won’t mind.”

  Chloe smears a greasy grin my way because I’m pretty sure the two of them realize I very much mind. “No, thanks. I prefer the fresh air.”

  “Watch out for falling houses.” I cross my arms over my chest as she makes her way past me. “Word on the golden streets is we’ve really pissed off the grim reaper.”

  “I’m not worried.” She gives a sly wink, those dark lashes of hers collapsing as if a moth were dying right there on her lid. “Word in the Transfer is it’s Oliver blood he’s thirsty for.”

  “I’m not worried either.” Chloe can follow her empty threats straight to hell where she came from.

  “Do the math. You’re already dead, Logan.”

  Chloe dissipates right along with that signature perfume she’s been bathing in ever since Skyla bopped her over the head with a great big bottle for Christmas.

  “Did she just threaten Gage?”

  Skyla’s cheek rises on one side as if she were threatening her husband right along with her, and it sends chills down to my core. “I’d tell that nephew of yours to watch out for falling houses.” She gathers her paperwork and starts to rise.

  “Skyla, wait”—I gently grab ahold of her wrist and pull her toward me—“Dudley wants to see us tonight.”

  Those lucent eyes of hers skirt the room. “Let me finish up here. I’ll need to feed the boys, and then I’ll see if I can squeeze you in.” She takes off for the living room, and the crowd surges toward her like a magnet.

  Squeeze me in. Those words alone make me feel as if I’m nothing more than a bump in the road. That’s about all I’ve become to her, an afterthought, an irritant at best.

  Skyla and I once had something special. We still do. She just can’t see it at the moment.

  And, at the moment, my vision isn’t so great either. I’ve hurt her. Scarred her heart. Maybe it’s time I stopped acting as if I have an all access pass to the girl I love. Maybe there are hard lines—there always have been, and I’ve crossed every single one of them.

  Skyla clears her throat before calling the room to order. “I’d like to appoint each of you with an employment post, and then we’ll go over the rules and regulations on what to do once you’ve been captured by the government.” Groans and cheers break out amongst those ready and willing to lay down their temporary lives for the sake of others.

  But it’s no
t the dead that have my attention. My eyes, my heart can’t seem to stray from that celestial being that glows with love from within for each and every soul in this room. Casey had it right. Skyla is a warrior princess. She is our strong leader, and if she’s proving anything, it’s that she doesn’t need Gage or me by her side to accomplish her goals. We are ephemeral, two dark shadows passing in the night, haphazard objects in her path, unnecessary, and in the end, not needed. Skyla has this handled. I always knew she could do it.

  That sinister smile she shed at the thought of Gage’s untimely demise comes to mind. Gage Oliver is the polarizing figure that has drawn Skyla and Chloe together. There is no doubt in my mind about that. But for what? Their shared loved for him? Doubtful. Their hatred? Nope. Discontent would be more like it. But his death? Now that would be downright alarming. There is no way in hell Skyla would be a cheerleader to her husband’s demise.

  Would she?

  Paragon wraps me in a coat of fog as I walk down the cool lonely street without a single resurrected body from the cemetery to keep me company. After the pomp and circumstance of inputting the information Skyla managed to pull together into a rather ambitious database, I’m heading over to Dudley’s. Skyla went next door to Barron’s to nurse the twins. In that respect, her new home is in the perfect location. Although, I’m not too sure Skyla is thrilled with the idea of being Emma’s new neighbor. I’ll be honest, it alarms me more than a little.

  Kate and her ominous assessment of my sister-in-law come to mind. What in the world would make her think that Emma is trouble? When I left this morning, Lexy was busy showing Kate all of the new social media apps she’s missed out on since the time of her demise. She even sent me a picture of the two of them with overlays of cartooned puppy faces and, of course, Lexy’s exaggeratingly long tongue swooping out at me for a quick lick. It’s strange seeing Kate in pictures taken just minutes prior. It’s odd seeing her anywhere. She’s dead. And considering the fact she doesn’t have a drop of angelic blood in her, she probably should have stayed that way. There’s no way in hell I’m letting Kate leave the house. She’s not one to be taken by the feds. And for damn sure, I don’t want to sponsor some post mortuary family reunion. We cannot tip off her family or else God forbid this blows up and the media gets involved. Things will fall to shit for the people of Paragon faster than you can say Marshall Dudley.