Burn

by Addison Moore

  OK, so Logan is not against the idea of flirting in front of Gage. I face forward trying to ignore him, watching the scenery bleed by.

  Gage places his hand over my thigh and shakes it as if letting me know it’s not a big deal.

  “Please take your hand off her,” Logan says with a restrained anger, his eyes never leaving the road.

  We drive another five minutes to the bowling alley.

  Gage doesn’t listen.

  ***

  “OK, close your eyes.” Logan’s enthusiasm has returned. He takes me by the hand and leads me through the parking lot. I keep my lids cracked so I don’t feel like I’m about to fall off a cliff with each step and let him take me around the building.

  “Open,” he whispers.

  The air is frosted with a milky layer of fog, coupled with the fact I’m creating a steady stream of smoke from my nostrils with each breath of anticipation.

  “Where is it?” There’s nothing but a dumpster back here, a fractured bucket rolling around in the dirt, and some old car.

  “This is it.” He glides into a huge grin, pulling me towards a dilapidated piece of junk. “Surprise.” He gives my shoulders a squeeze as he leans in and kisses me just above the ear.

  “Surprise?” It’s a dull faded orange and as old as like Tad and my Mom combined. Wow, Logan’s lousy at surprises. I totally won’t hold it against him though. “What are you going to do with it? And why would I be surprised to see it?” Maybe it’s a monument, and it belongs in a museum somewhere? Obviously it must have some historic value that I’m not aware of.

  “It’s for you. An early birthday present.” He wraps his arm around my waist.

  “Oh no—that’s OK, you don’t have to do this. I don’t even have my license.” Dear God, just being seen in that thing could socially isolate me. Maybe that’s the point?

  “Well, you’ll get it eventually.” There’s a mixture of hurt and hope in his eyes. “I can teach you. Besides, with a car of your own, you won’t need to rely on Gage to take you everywhere.” He leans in almost pleading.

  “Oh, I get it.” It’s the keep-away-from-Gage-mobile. “I’m not sure,” I say, opening the door. It’s heavy—feels solid, not all light and plastic like new cars. It smells like cigarettes and bunch of illegal stuff I’m not even aware of. Who knows what people have done in this car—it was probably known as the sex-mobile.

  I back up a notch.

  “I sort of envisioned my first car as something…” I scratch at the back of my head searching for answers.

  “Something more this century?” Gage interjects as he walks around the vehicle. “Nice ride, but it’s not you Skyla. And if you’re not ready to drive, don’t let this idiot bully you into doing something you don’t want.”

  I’m not so sure we’re talking about cars and driving anymore, and, for sure, I’ve never heard Gage refer to Logan as an idiot before.

  I look from Logan to Gage. There’s so much anger locked up in their eyes, so much newfound hate filling the gap between them. I feel horrible knowing it’s all because of me.

  “So where did it come from?” I’m almost afraid to ask. Judging by the rust spots around the wheel well, it’s safe to say it could have been abandoned for years somewhere on the island.

  “It was my dad’s,” Logan says rubbing the top of the car as though it were flesh.

  “This belonged to your dad?” I step forward and pull him back gently by the shoulder. My insides melt at the thought he wants to give me something so special.

  He pinches a smile and nods with glimmering eyes.

  “I love it.” I pull him in. “Can I paint it pink?”

  “No.” Both Logan and Gage answer in unison.

  At least they agree on something.

  Chapter Four

  Oh Baby

  We leave Logan at the bowling alley and Gage drives me home. By the time we slide in at the bottom of my driveway, I’m pretty psyched about having my own set of wheels. Gage said it’s a 1966 Mustang with original paint and body, so I guess that was his nice way of letting me know why it wouldn’t really be a good idea for me to paint it pink or even reupholster the inside to that cool patent purple with glitter that my bicycle seat used to have. Evidently after Logan’s father died, it sat around collecting dust in the Oliver’s side yard, and Logan is more than happy to gift it to me. That, and it cuts down on my interaction time with Gage, which I know for a fact I don’t want to do.

  Gage hops around and helps me out of his truck. My knee is still pissed off about that fall I took a few days ago out of a two story window trying to get Ellis and Gage back into the right year. That whole time travel thing has definitely bit me in the ass, knee, and quite a few other places—I’m not so hot on cruising around the time continuum anymore.

  Gage takes my backpack and secures it over his shoulder. He tilts his head into me, his features lost in shadows. It’s only five-thirty and already it’s pitch black outside. I love autumn nights on Paragon. A dense layer of fog lies across the island like a thick blanket of sorrow. I love to let my emotions bleed into the weather here. It leaves room in my heart for the joy of having someone as spectacular as Gage around.

  He wraps his arms around my waist and rubs his cheek softly against mine. I want to tell him to stop, not to get so close, but I can’t find the words or actions to go along with that rationale.

  He brushes along my face until his lips find mine and offers a deep, luxurious kiss. My stomach bottoms out over and over until he gently pulls away.

  I want to say it’s wrong, but my tongue is tied up in knots at the moment.

  “I know,” he whispers. “I’m going to talk to Logan and tell him how I feel.”

  “I think he’s got a pretty good idea.” This is going to end up in a pile of crap. I can feel it.

  “I need to do it.” He chews the inside of his cheek and gets lost staring into the forest behind me. His black hair blends into the shadows. The deep blue of his eyes, glow in the night like luminaries. “I’m not trying to put you in any kind of weird position, but I need for Logan to hear what I’ve got to say.”

  “OK.” I tighten my arms around him and sigh into his chest.

  He leans in and offers me another kiss, slow at first as though he were asking permission this time, waiting for me to shove him away, tell him it isn’t right. Then comes the strength, the wave—an entire ocean of kisses, a circle that never ends, a seamless loop that could easily slide us across eternity.

  Something’s got to give. I already know this.

  ***

  The house glows an eerie orange. I race inside and toss my backpack on the floor. Everyone is seated at the dining room table, which is suspiciously complete with pressed linens, my mother’s wedding china from her marriage to my father, and my grandmother’s good silverware—never a good sign.

  “Just in time for dinner!” My mother takes me by the shoulders and guides me to an empty seat at the end of the table.

  “What’s going on?” I examine the gourmet offerings. Looks great. “You make this?” I marvel at the Mexican food buffet sprawled before us.

  “I went downtown to that cute restaurant we went to for Melissa’s birthday and picked it up.” She scoops some rice onto my plate before taking a seat.

  It’s quiet as we eat. The strange gaps of silence are filled in with the clank of our forks butting up against the dishes, the ice sloshing around in our glasses. I look over at Drake, and he shrugs as though he suspects something as well.

  “Let’s get to this, shall we?” Tad wipes his face while addressing my mother. His hair is fluffed out a good three inches longer than usual, and he’s starting to look a bit more portly than when he first married Mom six months ago. I still don’t see what drew my mother in. It’s like he’s got her under some sort of a spell. Now that I know I’m an angel from the Celestra faction, nothing seems outside of the realm of possibility.

  “First, huge announcement,” Mom taps her h
ands on the table doing her version of a budding drum roll. “Mia has decided to legally change her last name to Landon.” She annunciates her point with an open-mouth smile.

  “What?” I can’t believe this. “You can’t change your last name,” I say examining her up and down. Mia has slowly morphed into the mirror image of me with wavy blond hair, grey eyes as clear as velum.

  “Yes I can.” She picks up a glass of water and starts chugging without elaborating.

  “No, you can’t.” I leave off the part about our last name being the final connection to our deceased father. “You’re a Messenger.”

  “And soon-to-be Landon.” She shoots over a curt look. “Look, it’s not a big deal, I’m tired of explaining to everyone why Melissa and me have different last names, and this way we can be real sisters. It’s not like I’m keeping it forever, I’ll change it again when I’m married. Relax, Skyla.” She sets her glass back on the table hard. “You make a big deal out of everything,” she adds, “drama queen.”

  “What?” I’m stupefied by this.

  “Enough you two,” my mother scolds, clapping her hands together once.

  I haven’t argued with Mia since before Tad and my mother started dating. It’s like having Melissa in her life demoted me to a distant family member you don’t really care about and pretty much ignore. I rather like that status.

  “Next big announcement.” My mother lets a lazy grin linger as she gazes over at Tad like a lovesick teenager. “You wanna?”

  “No you.” He motions.

  They banter back and forth until Drake knocks his knife up against the rim of his glass.

  “OK,” my mother starts. “Your father and I have decided to conceive a child.”

  “You’re going to have a kid?” Drake’s face explodes with shock.

  “Yes.” She giggles into Tad like a schoolgirl. “What better way to bring this family together in a circle of unity than the two of us having a child together?”

  “So when are you having the baby?” Mia is clearly overjoyed with the idea.

  “Oh Honey, we’re not having the baby yet, we’re in the planning stages. As soon as it happens we’ll let you know.”

  “So you’re telling us,” Drake cuts a look over to me briefly before continuing, “you’ll be actively participating in the necessary relations in order to procure an offspring.” Drake’s features disintegrate into a clear look of disgust.

  “Yes.” My mother beams as she takes Tad’s hand up in the air and waves it victoriously.

  Oh gross.

  “I’ll have a brief ovulation window each month, and—”

  I start hitting the air brakes with my hands.

  “I’m going to go vomit now, thanks for dinner,” I say, speeding down the hallway faster than my mother can react. Truth is, I wanted to bolt after Mia’s big news, and now that my mom and Tad are trying to have a baby, it’s sort of the last nail in the coffin of our old family—the one we had with my dad. I’d rather be alone in my room than celebrating, or pretending to smile while we discuss ovulation windows.

  Drake comes up alongside me as we bolt up the stairs.

  “You hear them rocking, don’t come a knocking,” he ditches into his room and shuts the door.

  “Thanks for the visual,” I shout as I pass his room.

  Chapter Five

  Off with Her Head

  I wake up to a dull, silent Saturday. In a few hours I’ll be at Marshall’s with Brielle. The only bright spot in my day, will be going over to the bowling alley afterwards to visit Logan and Gage, although if Gage had his little talk with Logan that might not prove to be such a bright spot after all.

  I roll over in bed and pluck Chloe’s diary from under the mattress. I must have read the last entry wrong. How could Gage be the love of her life when she was so into Logan? Sleeping with Logan?

  I open it up again—nope still says Gage. I turn the page.

  Days and days of boring shit. And this is something everyone was so worried about me reading?

  July 4th,

  The fireworks were beyond awesome! There was a bonfire tonight out by East so naturally there were too many people clustered in one tiny space. I can’t wait to get off this island. As soon as I hit 18, I’m taking a boat to the mainland and never coming back.

  So Lexy and Michelle got in a near fistfight over Logan—so stupid. I had to threaten Michelle to keep her claws to herself. I swear that girl is insane. I’m going to have to tell Lex I can’t help her anymore. I know I had an “arrangement with her”, that I’d keep Michelle as far away forever, but oh well. It’s not like she delivered fully on her end of the deal. I’m still having HUGE problems with the brat pack.

  I’m going to beg Gage for help. His dad’s way more active with the faction meetings. My parents could give a shit less if I end up in a body bag dumped off at the side of the road. Anyway, didn’t kiss Gage like I planned. Going over to his house tomorrow, see how it goes. Wish me better luck tomorrow!

  With less than ten minutes to meet Brielle downstairs, I shut the book and hit the shower. The thought of Chloe kissing Gage turns my stomach. It’s bad enough she was with Logan.

  ***

  Before we head to Marshall’s, I ask Brielle to drive me over to the mortuary where I give another pint of blood for project resurrect Chloe. It seemed like a good idea at the time, bringing Chloe back to throw her in Marshall’s tank to see if he’ll bite, but something about the whole thing is starting to make me uneasy. By the time we pull into Mr. Studley’s palatial estate, I’m feeling completely drained and weak.

  The fresh morning air cuts sharp into my lungs. It’s heavily scented with the sweet smell of moist earth, the juniper bushes with their fragrant star shaped flowers expelling their sweetness.

  We circle around back to the barn where Marshall instructs Brielle on how to shovel through hay and filter out all the horse crap. He pulls a giant waste bin between the stalls and lets her know there’s another one out back when that one gets full.

  “Looks like fun.” I give a dry smile in her direction. It was her big idea to work here. She could have easily gotten a job at the bowling alley. I’m sure Logan would have been thrilled to have her—but no.

  “And you, Ms. Messenger.” His eyes twinkle when he says my name—for a brief moment I remember the dark reality that I’ll soon be the only remaining Ms. Messenger in our leg of the family. “Follow me.”

  Marshall’s not hard to follow anywhere. He’s tall, impossibly gorgeous, and carries himself with an unreasonable amount of self-confidence that adds to his majestic flair.

  He leads me out of the barn and over to the house. Marshall’s home looks a little more like a bachelor pad today than during any of my previous visits, what with the discarded pizza boxes stacked on top of one another creating an unsteady tower, endless empty grocery bags floating around, and an assortment of drinks from fast food places springing up all over.

  “You want me to clean the pigpen?” I’m not really offering. “Sorry, but I’m just here to support Brielle. I think a small part of her is actually afraid to be alone with you,” I say, making my way into the den and flipping on the TV.

  “Nonsense. You’re here because you miss our alone time.” He pins me against the wall and gives a quick peck behind my ear. An intense rush of pleasure only Marshall is capable of dispensing rushes through me.

  “No, really I don’t.” I circle around just outside of his grasp.

  “You haven’t let me woo you yet.”

  “I’m not into wooing. Need I remind you I have a boyfriend? More than one—I’ve caught my limit.”

  Marshall moves forward with lightning precision and wraps his arms around my waist. Before I can react, I catch a blur racing past the window with my peripheral vision.

  Carefully, I remove his hands from my hips. It feels so amazing to touch him—a relaxing, fibrillating sensation.

  “Stop. Brielle’s going to see,” I hiss.

  “Ver
y well.” He flattens his palms in the air. “But I’m going to win. You’ll be spending time with me. I won’t take no for an answer. Be sure to pencil me in for the downtime between the dolts. It’ll be my pleasure to show up the both of them. I’m going to expose you to something so spectacular that they wouldn’t be able to give you in twelve lifetimes.” He presses into me an intense smoldering stare.

  A loud clanging noise erupts outside, startling the both of us to attention.

  “I didn’t think she could hurt anything,” he says, craning his neck in the direction of the barn. “Looks like Brielle is quite capable of defying the odds.”

  Marshall heads out towards the back.

  She’s probably writhing around on the floor due to a self-inflicted pitchfork injury. I know for a fact she had no intention of filling waste bins with horse crap while she was here.

  Outside the front window I see a figure move into the bushes.

  What the…

  I head over to the front door and step outside. It’s icy out today. A nasty wind is unleashing its fury on Paragon, ushering in a cover of storm clouds that have been lingering over the island for hours—dark clouds spreading like a slow malignant tumor.

  “Brielle?” I ask, taking a cautious step out onto the porch. I crush a pile of fat maple leaves—they disintegrate under my feet in a series of dry satisfying crackles. The wind whips around my ankles as though it were alive, as though it were frantically trying to warn me of whatever it is I sense out here.

  “Brielle?” I try and sing her name out as though I wasn’t afraid of whatever that thing was ducking into the bushes, as though there were no possibility it could have been a Fem, or—

  A hand plasters itself up over my mouth, muffling my cries as I’m knocked backwards. The cold feel of metal pressing against my neck, ignites a whole new level of panic in me. I try to pluck it off me, and my finger slips through something sharp. I bring it up over my eyes to see the tip of my finger covered in blood. Then, the very distinct feeling of a clean slash runs from ear to ear.