Wicked Page 3

  Marshall strides over and picks Logan up by the back of the neck and stands him up awkwardly as though he were made of rags. He wastes no time in pummeling Logan’s face—powerful punches that split open his newly sewn incision. His eyes and lips swell almost instantly.

  “Enough.” Gage struggles to pluck Marshall off Logan before putting an end to the brawl.

  “God!” My hands clamp over my lips. “You could have killed him!”

  Well then, you could have replicated your voodoo magic and resurrected him from the dead, Marshall sneers in my direction.

  “Very funny,” I say out loud.

  Just when it looks as if Logan and Gage are making their way out the door, Marshall’s feet are knocked out from under him, and he lands hard on the floor.

  “Shit,” Marshall seethes.

  I’ve never heard an expletive fly out of Marshall’s mouth before, like ever, so I know this isn’t going to be good. I almost feel sorry for Logan—almost.

  Marshall bounces to his feet in one quick move. He picks Logan up and holds him by the stomach high up over his head.

  “Shall I give him a ride?” Marshall looks to me for approval before spinning Logan like a basketball—like a propeller on a freaking beanie. “Do you like amusement parks Mr. Oliver?”

  “He’s gonna puke!” I warn. Logan is limp as a corpse. “That’s enough Marshall!” I scream in disbelief.

  Marshall flexes on his knees before tossing Logan up in one powerhouse move launching him with his back flat against the vaulted ceiling. “Oh dear, it looks as if you’ve adhered yourself.” Marshall feigns concern as Logan hangs like a fixture, writhing in pain. “The grommets on the back of your jeans must have latched onto the magnetic studs I had the builders use. Magnets are excellent for your overall wellbeing. The therapeutic benefits are innumerous. An hour or two up there, and you’ll be thanking me for the next solid year.” Are you amused Skyla? And in the event you’re wondering, the only magnetic stud in the room is me. He gives a sly smile.

  “Get him down,” Gage demands.

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that.” Marshall walks over to where Logan dangles from the ceiling. “I won’t hold your erratic behavior against you. I’m aware puppy love has its fair share of undesirable side effects. However, do refrain from attempting to injure me in the future. You may not come off so lucky. I can remove three of your limbs before you realized what’s happened.” I’ve done that twice before. It’s a skill I don’t want to get too rusty at. Somehow I believe I’ll have opportunity to practice again in the very near future.

  “How do I get down?” Logan shouts. His face turns a violent shade of red as the blood rushes unnaturally, pooling in the veins around his temple.

  “You’ll have to crawl.” Like a roach. “Do be careful. I’d hate for my insurance premium to rise.”

  Well, Ms. Messenger, now that I’ve had my testosterone riled up, I’ll be glad to let you reap the benefits.

  Perfect.

  I’ll need a suit of armor to keep him off me tonight.

  Chapter Six

  Stranger Danger

  Surprisingly there wasn’t a whole lot of blood trailing from the ceiling. Logan jumped down the last ten feet, and then they left.

  “I’m going upstairs to shower, you care to join me?” Marshall is intent as though this were a real possibility.

  “No thanks.” I plop down on the couch and stare at the splatter of blood dotting the bone colored floor. Count blood. Count and Celestra—a hybrid.

  Marshall ditches upstairs at supersonic speeds, creating a suction with his overeager sprint. God only knows what he expects to happen tonight. He’s had some seriously disturbing Sector-Celestra fantasies ever since we’ve met. Now that Chloe is here, I wonder if she’ll be interested in him like I hoped. She’s so emotionally tethered to Gage—my Gage—she can’t see straight. I mean the way she leeched onto him right after giving Logan the attaboy, you would have thought she spent the last year pinning after him in her grave. Speaking of which, I’ll have to ask Marshall where exactly was it that Chloe spent the last twelve months. Was she in some holding tank in hell like Gage was, Halloween night? In Sectorville—pissing off every angel in the celestial sphere? I bet they were glad to give her the boot back down to earth.

  A knock erupts on the glass slider that leads towards the backyard, inspiring me to pull my feet up on the couch and curl into a ball of fear.

  “Marshall?” I call out.

  More intense knocking.

  Shit!

  Why am I always alone when crap like this happens? I can tell a million miles away this is going to be bad, bad, bad, so I bury my head in my knees and sit there like a turtle hoping it all goes away.

  The knocking picks up to a frenetic pace, so I cock my head sideways and take a quick peek.

  It’s girl about my age with jet-black hair and a cadaverously pale face. She’s smiling and waving like crazy as if she knows me or something. She does look kind of friendly. I unfurl myself a little bit.

  She motions me over, rubbing at her bare arms to keep warm.

  It is freezing out there. I should at least let her in. She’s probably Marshall’s eleven-thirty. For all I know he has them arriving at regular intervals all night long. I’ll have to put a do not disturb sign all around the property if I plan on getting any sleep.

  I head to the door and slide it open. A harsh wind whips in a few stray leaves as she jumps into the house, and I shut the door behind her.

  “You mind if I give you a hug?” She says it sweet enough, but there’s something strange about her that sparks in me the urge to run.

  “Yeah sure,” I’m so stupid. This is probably the part where she sticks a spirit sword in my back. I’m going to die getting a hug of all things. But she doesn’t stab me or do anything weird like feel me up. She gives a quick non-lethal embrace and pulls away. She smells sweet and clean, like strong aloe vera.

  “So, you’re here for Marshall, right?” I head back over to the couch and take a seat.

  “Nope.” She lands next to me and scoots up on her thigh, taking me in like she’s never seen another person before. “Was I any good?” Her eyes sparkle a familiar shade of deep sea blue.

  “At what?” She’s super pretty and very strange—a totally dangerous combination.

  “You know, the hug. I’ve never done that with a human before.”

  “Shit!” I leap off the couch backwards and head for the stairs. “Marshall!”

  “Oh no!” She yells over to me and pats her hands in a panic. “Please stop. You don’t know me, but you know my brother.”

  Holy crap, it’s Emerson.

  I open the front door and shout into the night for Nev.

  It takes less than three seconds for Nevermore to fly through the door in all of his midnight splendor. He makes three revolutions around the room before attacking something in the far corner.

  She starts in on a giggle. I’ll give her one thing—she’s a happy little spook.

  “What do you want?” I head back over feeling a bit more protected now that Nevermore is here. A lot of help Marshall is. I can still hear the water running upstairs. He’s probably busy scrubbing down every orifice of his body in the event I wish to further myself into this newfound insanity.

  She points just shy of the piano. “That’s Holden Kragger,” she whispers almost secretively, so Holden won’t hear. “Oh look, the bird’s got him by the hair.” She laughs.

  “Sorry I killed your brother. He was sort of a jerk though.” I slide onto the couch just opposite her.

  “I’m not too concerned over who you kill, Skyla.” A dimple depresses itself on her right side without the effort of a smile. “I’m here because your mother sent me.”

  “My mother? As in my mother the Countess or another mother?” I seem to be collecting them these days.

  “The mother who birthed you.”

  I scoot in quick as a cheetah and snatch up her wrist. “Who’s my mother?”

  “It’s not my place to tell.” She takes back her arm. “Ask your father.”

  “My father?” Yes! I totally will. “What does my mother want? Does she have a message for me?”

  “You’re quick,” she says, massaging her wrist.

  There’s more than a familiar quality about her. I swear I’ve seen her before, those eyes, those lips.

  “She wants to let you know there is a very real threat of losing something that is rightfully yours. Danger has fallen upon you like a shadow. It’s close. It’s time for you to be the person you were born to be. Run fast and hard, the race is yours to win. You’ll need much endurance, but if you educate yourself you can outwit your enemies.”

  There’s a lengthy gap of silence.

  “That’s it? That’s your basic pep talk like before a history test or a sample sale in the fashion district. There’s got to be something more.”

  She pulls a face at my oversimplified analysis.

  “That’s it,” she adds, rather bored. “One more thing, and this is just from me.”

  I nod in anticipation.

  “You and my brother,” she sighs. “I really like you. Be extra nice to him. Trying times have come, but he really does love you.”

  “He loves me?” I examine her fully—smooth pale skin, translucent as rice paper. I can see her veins ever so slightly along her jaw, around the hollow of her eyes, an entire track of green and blue threads race across her eyelids. “What’s your name?”

  “Giselle.” Something in her flares when she says it.

  “Giselle? Did they used to call you Emerson? Is it Pierce that loves me?” I’ve clearly dislodged myself from any kind of reality I was loosely holding onto.

  “My name is very much Giselle. I was hit by a car when I was three.” She spreads her hands out and sticks her tongue out the side of her mouth as an added effect causing me to shrink back a little.

  She gets up and heads to the door. “That’s not my brother.” She flicks a finger over to where Nevermore sits mid air. She steps outside, leaning in to look at me one last time. “My brother is Gage.”

  Chapter Seven

  Love Me Tender

  Marshall speeds down the stairs, still patting cologne on his neck. He’s wearing a t-shirt and sweats and looks about ten years younger, this never ceases to freak me out.

  “You—” He snaps his fingers in Nevermore’s direction. “Be gone.”

  “No,” I shout. “Let him stay.”

  “I’m not talking to the bird.” Marshall slides the backdoor open and motions towards Nev. “Come now, you too.”

  Nev glides over with his wingspan as wide as a baseball bat and flies out the door.

  “So, you see ghosts like I see people? What do they look like?”

  “They retain the impression of their former selves. Rotten ghosts,” he says in a mocking tone, “like that one, are tagged with a fowl spiritual odor—sort of a universal calling card, like excrement or urine.”

  “Lovely.”

  Giselle’s face looked pretty darn human. What if it was just some stupid prank from Chloe?

  “I think I saw a ghost myself while you were upstairs. This girl came to the door and—”

  “You let her in?” He narrows in on me.

  “She was cold.”

  “Ghosts neither need to be let in, or have their body temperature adjusted. Who did she claim to be?”

  “A dead Oliver—Gage’s sister. She said she died when she was three.”

  “Giselle,” he says it as fact. “And what did she want?”

  “It’s true?” The hairs on my arms prickle to life.

  “That’s true. However it doesn’t quantify what you saw as being true.”

  “She said my birth mother sent her. So I guess that’s pretty quantifying, right? Anyway, she wants me to run a race and win what’s rightfully mine. Then she told me to be nice to her brother and took off.”

  “Excellent.” Marshall lands hard on the couch next to me and wraps an arm around my shoulder. “Can we drop the subject now? I think I’ve had about enough of the living and the dead for one night.”

  “I happen to fall into one of those categories.” I lean into him and let Marshall hold me. I love the steady intense rhythm that surges from him. He has a way of scrubbing away the grit of reality and replacing it with something simpler, far more relevant to the joy of my soul. “I can fall asleep like this.” I close my eyes and nestle my head into his shoulder.

  “Then let’s.” He produces a white-cabled blanket from beside him and covers the two of us.

  Really I thought Marshall would put up a sexual struggle. I thought for sure he’d slip the glibbery member that lurks in his mouth down my throat and give me a glimpse into another unwanted future event. But this? This is a nice change of pace.

  ***

  Logan waits for me in my dreams.

  It’s dark save for his countenance. His body is entombed in an otherworldly glow, provided by something much brighter than the sun, something that would make a fire jealous with its captivating reflection.

  I should have figured he would be here. I should have asked Marshall to penetrate my mind with a shield of some kind to prevent this very thing from happening, although now that I’m here, under a sad frosted moon and full night sky of pink glittering stars, I don’t seem to mind so much.

  We sit on a grassy knoll with an overgrown willow tree nearby. I listen as her branches whistle in the breeze like a wind-chime made of microscopic seashells.

  Pretty. Logan smiles over at me bashfully.

  Yes, it is, I answer.

  I meant you. He carefully picks up my hand and scoots in closer.

  So I guess everything changes for us now. My voice swirls in the night, encapsulates us with its sad broken whisper.

  Nothing changes. I still love you, and I can feel your love for me, even though…

  Even though I’ve painted it black with anger? I ask.

  Yes, that. Logan pushes into a smile, and the right side of his face depresses into a long comma-like dimple. Even in my dreams, he wears his scar for me.

  I run my fingers over the dent I left by way of a broken bottle. Still not sure how sorry I am, although I suppose it’s not his fault he was born a Count.

  I’m going to visit my dad soon. I shrug. I say it more as a peace offering than anything relevant to the situation.

  I’m planning on paying my parents a visit, too. I’ll go with you, if you come with me. I’d love for you to meet them. He pushes his chin into his chest uncertain of my reaction.

  I don’t know. I’m sure Gage would come with me. You could probably talk him into going with you, too. Or Chloe, or Lexy, or Michelle, whoever the flavor of the month happens to be. I thought it was impossible, but there it is. I’ve managed to drag all of our relational garbage right into a perfectly good dream.

  There’s no one else, Skyla, just you.

  We lie back on the grass and stare at one another, puzzled. There might as well be prison bars between us. Not even in our dreams should we be together. How could I have been so deeply drawn to the wrong person? How could I still have an unrelenting ache deep inside that won’t let him go?

  I love Gage. I’m going to marry him eventually. We both know it’s true. There’s not one ounce of sadness in me when I say it.

  I know. His eyes dip down swallowed up in sorrow. But I know something else that’s true.

  You do?

  He nods.

  Tell me. Even in my dreams I need to pull information from him, like extracting milk from a stone.

  That our love is eternal. That it can never be broken.

  I don’t ask if Gage told him that. I don’t want to know. I’m not sure whether or not I like the illusion of the kind of truth it projects, or the fact it could be a blatant lie.

  He runs his fingers soft across my face, leaning in until our noses touch, and I close my eyes.

  Logan dives in with a deep ocean of kisses. Kisses like a life raft, like a pool of shimmering water in the dry thirsty desert. I can feel the stars wrap their attention around us—peering down from their heavenly perch, riled up with intense jealousy at the purity of our love.

  Wake up! Logan shouts.

  I moan and push deeper into him. This dream—this is the only arena, the only microcosm of time that this eternal love will ever exist in.

  Skyla! Wake up! It’s not me. Open your eyes—please!

  I rouse to a warm body nestled to my side. Deep throaty kisses that linger and… oh crap!

  I start to slide off the couch in a panic only to be pulled into another round of Marshall’s bad intentions.

  Then a vision appears—me in the forest, running in the rain, arrows stream by, missing me by inches.

  I get up on my elbows exhausted, far worse off than before I closed my eyes. I can see the sun coming up over the barn from out the back window.

  “And I suppose that was my immediate future?” I pant into it.

  “You suppose right.” Marshall pushes out a sigh.

  “And do I get speared by these vagrant arrows?”

  “You might. I believe the question you want to ask is, who was shooting them at you.”

  “Who?” Pierce, Chloe, Mom, Tad, the list could go on forever.

  “Me.” He gives a shameless wicked grin.

  Chapter Eight

  There’s No Place Like Home

  Gage picks me up from Marshall’s early in the morning and drives me to Casa Count where I once laid my head secure, not realizing it held the promise of a guillotine.

  “Happy birthday,” I say once again, carefully watching the Landon house as though it were a black widow lingering behind him.

  “Thank you.” He gives a warm kiss that momentarily makes me forget about my harsh new reality.

  “Come on.” He nudges me towards the house.

  “I’m going to confront them,” I tense up as I say it.