Crown of Ashes Read online

  I give a brisk knock over the slimy Sector’s door before letting myself in. I take that back. Dudley isn’t slimy. His intentions toward Skyla may not be chaste, but his deformed heart seems to be in the right place.

  The spacious interior to his home is dimly lit. The fireplace lets out a muted roar as the flames fill the room with their glow. A murmur of voices stems from the dining room, and I head over to find Laken and Coop, Ezrina and Nev staunchly seated with Dudley at the helm.

  “I guess I’m late to the party.” I head in with a smile and slap Cooper five, but the expressions of just about everyone else remain cold as stone.

  The entire lot of them rises to their feet at once.

  “We’ll discuss this in length at another time.” Dudley gives a slight bow like a stage actor coming to the end of this performance. “Mr. Flanders, I assume you understand what is expected of you.”

  “Expected of you?” I look to Coop for a clue, but he merely grunts at Dudley as he heads to the exit. “What’s going on?” I try to slow both him and Laken down, but they seem determined to get to the other side of that door—can’t say I blame them.

  “Nothing.” He takes a deep breath and pats me on the back. “Looking forward to the big party you’re throwing this weekend.” His forced grin melts into a pained look of pity. “Are you really okay with this?”

  “Decimating my youth?” I grimace at the thought. The bowling alley will be destroyed soon after the big bash I’m hosting, and a part of me is dying all over again. “I’m petrified. But hey, do something that scares you every day, right? Isn’t that how the saying goes?”

  Laken offers a sorrowful laugh. “I’m pretty sure Eleanor Roosevelt’s esoteric quote was suggesting something a little more positive.” She leans in and gives my cheek a pinch as if I were a child. “You really do look like Coop. You should bring your girlfriend around sometime and the four of us can double date.” Her entire countenance brightens at the idea.

  “My what?” I’m momentarily perplexed, and before I can piece it together Coop laughs it off.

  “Logan and Lexy aren’t really together.”

  “What?” she squawks so loud Ezrina shouts bless you from the next room. “But I thought—she said—”

  “No, it’s my fault.” I grind my fist into my eye, trying to get both the fatigue and the regret out. “Lexy has this thing for me, and I can’t seem to get rid of her. I’m a one-woman man, and that woman happens to be Skyla.” The words grind down to a whisper, but I think they get the gist.

  “I’m sorry.” Laken clutches at her chest. “I just thought—oh, never mind what I thought. How is she, anyway?” Her lips curl into a scowl. “We haven’t exactly been on speaking terms. I mean—outside of bumping into her, I’m not really calling or heading over to see her.”

  “Why not?” My heart thumps so loud it rattles me. I’m not sure why it kick-starts on occasion, but I’m always up for anything that makes me feel genuinely alive again, and usually I can trace that rare thump right back to Skyla.

  “Because she eschewed my advice and insists on latching onto that rat with angel wings. Chloe is a menace, and as long as Skyla is buddying up with her, I can’t see our friendship moving forward.”

  “Ouch.” Coop wraps an arm around his wife’s waist. “On that note, I think we’ll head out.”

  “I’ll catch you later.” I don’t stop them as they head out the door, but Coop has to know I’ll be grilling him on whatever the hell was happening here tonight.

  Nev passes me by with a wave while Ezrina lays her hand tenderly over her swollen belly. A few weeks back Dudley let me know the cat was out of the bag—or the baby as it were. I’ve always suspected Ezrina had a nurturing bone in her body, and now here she is making it come to fruition.

  “Whoa.” I step in front of them blocking their path. “What’s going on?” They’re pretty loyal to Dudley, but hey, I let them live rent-free and eat all the pizza from the bowling alley they want, so it’s worth a shot.

  “Frightful.” Ezrina shudders.

  Nev leans in, towering over her from behind. “She means what you’ve done. How you think dragging the dead into this will play out in your favor is beyond me,” he says it sternly like a father to a child, and I can’t help but shed a tiny smile. Nevermore is going to make a damn good father. “We’ll see you back at the house.”

  I take it that’s a hard no as far as letting me in on their little powwow. “Will do.”

  “Logan”—Ezrina pauses before they hit the door—“the girl’s head has been stitched on proper.” Her jowls harden as she glares my way. I know she’s talking about Kate. I asked her to help out with that entire headless mess.

  “And the corpse you resurrected, Ezrina? How is she doing?”

  The two of them suck in a fresh lungful of air, shocked as shit that I went there.

  Nev ushers his bride out the door in haste as if I had threatened them. “We’ll see you at the house.”

  “What’s chasing them out the door?” Dudley springs up from behind just as the two of them rocket through the fog.

  “None of your business.”

  “It’s all my business. There isn’t a move you make that doesn’t concern me.”

  “It’s not my moves you need to worry about.”

  “I beg to differ.”

  Skyla appears through the mist as if she had materialized right here on the porch, her face glowing, her cheeks piqued with color. “I just nursed the boys and put them to bed.” She flashes a megawatt smile as she strides through the door. Skyla is fierce and beautiful, and the thought of her nurturing those precious boys with her own body melts me to the core. If I were Gage, I’d grovel on my knees day in and day out until I wore her down and she forgave me, if for nothing else but to shut me the hell up. “I’m exhausted. Can we make this quick?”

  Dudley jets past me and takes up her hand. “Anything for you, my love. Let’s get down to business.” He ushers us into his dining room, the seats still warm from his previous questionable meeting. “Are the two of you aware of the ramifications of what you’ve done?”

  “It’s wartime,” Skyla says it soft, her eyes quickly glossing over with fatigue. “It may not be official, but when you sic the feds on the asses of my people, you can bet that’s an act of vitriolic aggression.”

  “Agreed.” Dudley’s brows rise slowly as if he were waiting for the last second to spring this bit of news on us.

  “Good.” Skyla straightens in her seat, but I can tell by that deep sigh that just expelled from her she’s as relieved as I am. Dudley is a good barometer as far as how the Decision Council will weigh. “I’ve got this under control, Marshall. I don’t want to drag you into this.”

  “Nor will you.” He slices those disapproving lenses from Skyla to me. “The time of the dragon is near.”

  “Gage is the dragon?” Skyla groans at the idea, which in my opinion is a good sign. It means she still sees the good in him. She should. He’s still good right down to the marrow. “I don’t want to discuss him.”

  Dudley’s gaze lingers over hers. “Then perhaps we should start with his father. Demetri is all too aware that his time is short.”

  “Demetri is indestructible,” I counter. “His time is far too long if you ask me.”

  Dudley blinks a smile. “His earthly time to secure an eternal post for the Fems. The Sectors have staked their rightful claim ages ago. He’s been anxious ever since the Fems lost their footing. The great and dreadful day of the Lord is at hand, and once it arrives, our destinies are forever carved in stone, if you will.”

  “The great and dreadful day of the Lord,” I whisper. “And when will this be?”

  His eyes dart to mine, sharp as knives. “Not even the Son is apprised of the hour. And besides, that’s neither here nor there. It is imminent. The Fems are desperate. Demetri is quickly becoming a joke in all the important celestial circles. This does not bode well with him or his troops. His people loathe hum
iliation above just about anything else. It’s a culture of pride they foster—one which brought their demise to begin with. It’s not a matter of if but of when he decides to strike back. He’s simply building his forces, working the enemy into a fervor—rolling out the smoke, holding up the mirrors.” He looks at the two of us as if we should be filling in the blanks.

  Skyla clicks her tongue. “You think the feds are a ruse? For what?”

  “A double-edged sword.” I lean in. “Our people are hauled off, and in the meantime, whatever he and Wes are cooking up, front burner, we won’t know about until it blows up in our face.”

  “Precisely.” Dudley folds his hands together and knocks them over the table like a gavel. “Have you delved into Revelation?”

  “Yes,” Skyla and I answer simultaneously. We share a brief look before returning our gaze to Dudley because we seem to have stumped ourselves at our sudden thirst for Biblical revelation as it were.

  “The time is at hand to leave your mark, your legacy, to lead the way to freedom for your people.” Marshall’s voice rolls like thunder. “Never before have they faced such an enemy, never before has the enemy felt the blade against his neck as painfully as he does this hour. It is pertinent we walk the line together.” His eyes skirt to mine before returning to Skyla’s. “There was once a man in the early fourteen hundreds who engineered the slaughter of hundreds of thousands of your Nephilim brothers and sisters. It was ethnic cleansing at its best, and it was commandeered in the short span of a year by the temperament of a beguiling character, someone so charismatic, comely, and magnetic. Every word he spoke was twisted, and yet do you know who he had carry out the atrocities?”

  “His son?” Skyla tilts her head with a touch of sarcasm.

  “His enemy.” Dudley grins as if this were the best news. And just as easily as that grin came, his wicked scowls returns to its rightful post. “He masterminded a play of action that in context was indeed brilliant. What better way to slaughter your adversary than by their own hand?”

  “My people”—Skyla stumbles over the words—“the Nephilim were manipulated into near eradication.”

  “That they were.” His eyes sear over hers. “Let me ask you this. Would it have been moral for someone with that foreknowledge to travel back in time, locate him as a babe in a pram, and snuff the life out of his infant nostrils?”

  Skyla’s chest hiccups at the thought. Her eyes bounce to mine a moment before she closes them in consideration. “Yes,” she whispers so low it comes out a hiss.

  My heart seizes with pain at the thought of Skyla processing that horrific what-if scenario.

  “Dudley”—I bark—“in light of the fact that Skyla is a new mother, I think it’s particularly tasteless of you to play this twisted game with her. You and I both know it’s impossible to go back and change someone’s destiny.”

  Dudley leans against his seat, the muscles in his jaw jumping as he sets that look of near-hatred upon me. “You and I both know this—do we? Tell me this, young Oliver. Was it time for those poor souls to perish in what is now referred to as the Celestra killing season? Do you recall a little trial that involved the two of you? I believe it resulted in a war and a beheading—yours to be exact.”

  “He’s got you there,” Skyla muses.

  “To answer your question, I don’t know. Perhaps it was their time to die.” By way of the spirit sword—by my hand. The war and the damn beheading bounce through my mind. I lean in and rest my chin on my fist. “We had power—we just wielded it poorly.”

  “We reversed the death of Ichabod Travers, so technically we disjointed destiny a bit—although briefly.” Skyla shudders. “That was a disaster that thankfully got mopped up quickly.”

  “Because of your mother,” Dudley notes. “The trial was thrown out because of your mother.” He looks to me with those bloodlets he calls eyes. “You sit among us because of her mother.”

  Skyla reaches over and takes up my hand. It feels like a peace offering, and I’ll take it. “I may not always show it, but I’m so thankful for that Treble.”

  “Not the Treble.” Dudley gives a disparaging sigh as if disappointed we’re not able to follow him down the dimly lit—crooked as hell path he’s leading us down. “The time before that.”

  “My first reentry?” It’s true. Candace sponsored that little visit as well.

  “Precisely.” He leans in. “How old were you when Gage was born?”

  The first alarming detail is the fact that he just used Gage’s proper name, a loaded gun of a moment if you ask me. The second fucking alarming detail is the fact he wants me to cannonball into the numbers end of the swimming pool—details I myself have spent my new lifetime trying to forget. For whatever reason, placing the microscope over the past makes me feel less real, less than genuine in this new reality. I hate this, and suddenly I want to be anywhere but here.

  “Logan?” Skyla gives my hand a squeeze. “I guess you were alive, weren’t you?”

  “I was. I don’t remember exactly. I might have been twelve.”

  “Twelve?” Dudley plays the part of being amused, poorly at that. He’s no thespian, but then he’s bent on turning my life into a circus so I give him the floor. “You were about eighteen years younger than Barron. Is that correct?” I give a slight nod. “Jock Strap came bumbling into the world when Barron was in his thirties. And when did Your Grace come to the facility to visit your twisted, deformed body?” His head tilts with curiosity. I was disfigured from the burns. My body never healed from the fire that took my parents’ life.

  “In my thirties? I can’t remember.” It comes out low, like a threat, and I’m pretty sure it is one. I don’t know where Dudley is going with this, but I’m one hundred percent sure I don’t like it.

  “How old was Gage at that time?” Skyla asks it for him.

  Dudley grins on cue. “Early twenties—that would bring us to date, wouldn’t it?” He turns to Skyla. “Gage and you alone on Paragon. Can you imagine that? You and Jock Strap running around on the island with no one else to muck up the love-struck waters.”

  Skyla leans in with her lips curving at the corners. “Did that reality ever exist?”

  “Of course, it did.” Dudley glances back at me. “For a time.”

  “Then”—Skyla looks right through the wall as she pieces it all together—“my mother changed our destinies. All of them.”

  “Why would she do such a thing, Skyla?” He’s probing her, jabbing her in a corner with his imaginary blade of truth until she comes to the conclusion herself.

  “This is old news.” I give Skyla’s hand a quick rattle, trying my hardest to pull her out from his spell.

  “Old news in a new light.” She leans back in her seat, her eyes unable to focus on any one object in the room as she tries to force the puzzle pieces together. “My mother changed our destinies at this juncture.” Skyla fastens her eyes on me once again. “She could have done it when you were a baby, but she didn’t. Was there something there she was trying to salvage in that alternate reality—something she needed before you could move on?”

  “What could it be?” Dudley is clearly goading her along, that sarcastic infraction in his voice says it all.

  “I guess that’s for me to find out.” The words leave her lips breathlessly.

  “You look exhausted, dear.” Dudley helps her rise to her feet, and I follow suit.

  Dudley rocks his knuckles over the table. “I’m about to take the two of you on a little field trip.” He scowls my way as if I were the uninvited third wheel. He nods me over, and I land a hand over his arm, with the other wrapped around Skyla’s waist. “Shall we start at the beginning?”

  “Always.” Skyla’s voice vibrates and warbles as the molecules around us shatter and break and a new alien structure surrounds us. “A hospital?” Skyla looks down and gasps. An entire row of infants sits in clear bassinets in the spacious room we’ve landed ourselves. “The newborn nursery!” Her voice is locked in an
excited whisper.

  Here we are in what looks to be the exact place where Skyla gave birth, the words Paragon Hospital are printed on the adjacent wall with a list of nurses on call. Something is different. The mustard-colored walls, the cheap linoleum squares lining the floor, the flimsy looking acrylic bassinets that each stores their own bundle of joy—all of it seems just a little bit off.

  “God, they’re all so adorable!” Skyla muses as she peruses the aisles of infants as if they were puppies. “My God”—she leans in toward a dark-haired boy and extracts him gently from his plastic confinement—“this one looks like my sweet baby Barron!”

  “Skyla.” I glance behind her as a group of nurses share a laugh over something. They might be momentarily distracted, but I’m guessing we’ll have a security issue on our hands before long—the issue being us.

  “We’re undetectable,” Dudley is quick to inform. “Although, I’m sure a floating infant might be cause for alarm.”

  “This is Paragon.” Skyla rubs her cheek against the tiny being.

  Dudley towers over her shoulder as they inspect the precious infant together. “What if I told you this seemingly innocent babe would one day be responsible for the destruction of your people? Should we snuff the life out of his tiny little nostrils? Snuff out the fire, Skyla. You’re living in revisionist history.”

  “Marshall!” She spins the baby away from him before nuzzling into his miniature face. “Maybe he’s more like Nathan? I would swear he was one of mine. You’re not going to tell me I have another son, are you?”

  “Heavens no.” Dudley scoffs at the idea. “But I will tell you they have a father.”