Toxic Part One (Celestra Series Book 7) Page 9

“What the hell are you talking about?” Tad snatches her by the elbow before she has a chance to open a human manufacturing plant right here in Landon central.

  Mom frowns at him. “Folic acid is necessary to a young girl’s body to keep the follicles in prime condition. You need to start years in advance to avoid any reproductive difficulties that might crop up later. And no,” she says, turning to the three of us, “I don’t want any new grandbabies in the near future.” She reaches over and tousles my hair. “You and Gage are still on the five year plan, right? Of course, that’s just for marriage. You could always wait to have kids.”

  Every pair of eyes in the room settles over me and suddenly I don’t have the heart to burst Mom’s matrimonial bubble.

  “Yeah, that’s what we’re thinking.” It comes out weak, deceptive.

  “You know, it’s never too early to start wedding planning. Some of the best locales are booked years in advance.” She leans in with excitement. “We have tons of things to discuss. We’ll do lunch.”

  Oh, do we ever have things to discuss. Like the fact her boy toy is the sole proprietor of my newfound misery. I plan on telling Lizbeth Landon every single detail of Demetri’s blood-sucking arrangement. Then I’ll regale her with Gage’s newly demoted status in our lives—break her heart just like he broke mine.

  Something tells me this is going to be the worst summer of our lives—if I live long enough to see it.

  Chapter 15

  The Estate

  The sun rides high overhead, hovering like some alien vessel intent on devouring us. The glare provides its own distinct haze, clouds up my vision with the gloss of happiness it so arrogantly displays.

  I’m late—two hours to be exact, to the summer kickoff hosted by the monster who killed my father.

  My father. I miss him with an indescribable ache.

  I park and head over toward Demetri’s estate. This is the summer I’m supposed to close out my community service by rummaging through his dead grandfather’s belongings as an “I’m sorry for hoarding a boatload of pot that was never mine to begin with.” I wonder what my mother will think once I clue her in on Demetri’s illegal deviant behavior. Maybe she’ll lose it—lop off his privates and throw them in a ditch. Or maybe she’ll tap into her inner psychotic and marry him—revenge ala Ethan. Honest to God, whatever happened to a little street justice by way of a sawed-off shotgun?

  I follow the walkway to the backyard and find the who’s who of Paragon proper. A ton of people from school litter the landscape, along with a bunch of girls from East.

  Carson Armistead is already drooling at Logan’s feet with that over-processed haystack that sits on top of her head, paired not so well with her orange tie-die tan from a can. God, it looks like she spread Cheese Whiz all over her skin.

  I start heading over and freeze in my tracks.

  Chloe has Gage tucked under the gazebo, and she’s yapping into him, spastic like a wind up Chihuahua. His dark head is lowered. He looks bored, angry, and actively looking for an out.

  I try to turn away, to force myself to look at the row of swaying willows just behind the gazebo or the rose garden with each bloom turning its face toward the sun, but I can’t move. A train wreck is unfolding, and I’m already very much a part of the wreckage.

  I loved him once. He seared himself over my soul, and a part of me still belongs to his wicked heart.

  Gage walks past Chloe. She tries to spin him by the elbow, but he keeps on moving until he joins Logan and a motley crew of girls from East, who are busy openly engaging in public worship.

  I can’t blame them. Logan is a god.

  Marshall materializes in a brilliant burst of sunshine, first as a shadow, then his exceptionally gorgeous self. “He stomped off rather angry. Was that the resolution you were looking for?” He’s wearing a T-shirt and shorts. His arms are immaculately cut as if he spends all his spare time pumping some serious iron.

  “I don’t really care how Gage and Chloe end their conversations.” With a shotgun blast would be nice or maybe a butcher knife.

  “You could have fooled half a dozen of your cohorts, who stood around and gawked while you froze solid, drooling over his eminence. Really, he’s removed himself from the picture. Don’t you think you should extricate him from your emotional radar?”

  “Easier said than done,” I say, following Marshall over to a shade tree where we watch the festivities unfold without risk of skin cancer and equally deadly ex-boyfriends.

  “Should you need a salve for that broken heart, look no further. The panacea, which you desire, is right here.” He picks up my hand and places it over his heart.

  I twitch my lips to let some sarcastic remark fly out, then retract. I’m so broken, so utterly humiliated over what I’ve allowed to happen, especially last night, that I might just take Marshall up on the offer.

  “OK, it’s a date,” I say, retracting my hand.

  “What’s a date?” Mom pops up from behind.

  “We were just speaking of an upcoming engagement.” Marshall lays a heavy emphasis on the word engagement and sends Mom into a hyperventilating tizzy.

  “Can you believe it?” she squeals. “I know they’re young, but they’re so perfect for each other! Oh, look, Emma just arrived. Excuse me.” She hops off, shouting for Emma and waving.

  “She’s still propagating rumors of my fake nuptials. I don’t have it in me to break her heart.”

  “Sure you do,” Marshall quips. “The heart you’re trying to protect is your own. The more people who become aware of the fact you no longer have a relationship with Jock Strap, the more real it becomes, and the more real it becomes, the more it sinks in that things are over between the two of you. It’s a quite painful process that could easily lead to depression, hysteria—a felony or two.”

  “Gee—glad I signed up for more of that. Remind me to drink a gallon of gasoline beforehand and to bring a match.”

  “My grievance is duly noted. Come, let’s change the subject.” He nods as a group of girls in bikinis strut by with their boobs bouncing high, their G-string clad bottoms winking with every step. “I did some celestial digging and found out a fascinating fact regarding your people that might interest you.”

  “My people? Celestra?” Although he could mean humans since he fits in neither category himself.

  “Those eighty-nine slaughtered in the faction war by the Pretty One’s hand are nowhere near Paradise.”

  I take in a sharp breath. “Are they in the Transfer?” I’d go down right now and get them myself. And, technically Holden killed them, not Logan.

  Marshall shakes his head. “Close—it starts with a T.”

  “Transport.”

  “No, love, you either go up or down in the Transport, no milling around in hopes to alleviate your soul of its carnal ills as others have been prone to rationalize.”

  “Starts with T…” I cut my gaze across the yard and let the crystalline pool draw me in with its inviting blue sparkle. “Oh my God.” I breathe out in a whisper. It feels like a knife just exploded through my abdomen. “The tunnels.”

  “The tunnels indeed.” Marshall gives a dark look over to Demetri. “Do you realize what this suggests?”

  “They’re alive, and we can get them.” I pant out the words as though we could leave right now. God knows I’d deliver every single Celestra soul from the Counts’ twisted hands if I were able, but I’d rescue Lacey first.

  “It means they’re alive and you can get them.”

  “Why can’t you come with me? Is there some bionic binding spirit down there or something?”

  “Something.” He twists into a frown. “I’m going to try and pull some strings. Your mother is involved, so already you should know where this is headed.”

  “Nowhere fast,” I’m quick to reply. “Look, I want to speak with her myself. Please tell her I said so. I’m getting a little tired of the hurry up and wait routine from someone who professes to be ‘oh so accessible.’”r />
  “She can hear you. Rest assured, if you invoke her name, she’s with you in spirit. Whether or not she responds is another matter entirely.”

  A flash of the brief stay in that den of horror sweeps through me like a rancid memory—that inky, unbearable darkness, the palpable fog. I can still feel it crawling all over me, encasing me in its hopeless languor.

  “Marshall,” I whisper, taking a hold of him by the elbow. “I beg of you, find a way to rescue those people. It’s agonizing, excruciatingly painful, and they’re locked up for good. They’ve been kidnapped—and little kids are down there for God’s sake.”

  “There is a way.” He says it low. A sadness blooms in Marshall’s crimson eyes that I’ve never seen before. Grief clouds his features and tempers the feel good sensations flowing from his being.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s you.”

  Chapter 16

  Confrontation Station

  A slight breeze picks up and rattles the trees lining Demetri’s haunted property like bones in a coffin. The sun sprays out its foreign beams, dousing us with blazing tongues of fire.

  Marshall declares he has business with Barron and excuses himself, so I meander over to the buffet that Demetri’s drones set out. A small army of waitresses hustle and bustle in tiny black skirts, carrying out dish after exotic dish, fussing over the ornate fruit arrangements in this magical culinary display. I wish my mother would note that both edible and beautiful can get along on the dinner plate.

  I head to a table with a row of miniature palm trees set upon it with overgrown strawberries speared into their trunks by way of colorful toothpicks. A giant chocolate fountain rains dark sheets of heaven down at the other end. It’s calling me, luring me over with its glossy perfection. Usually, I’d think twice before loading up on carbs, but without Gage in my life, it all seems rather pointless. In fact, I plan on dunking my head under that chocolate river before the day is through and drinking down its offerings as a part of my huge kiss off to both Gage and my skinny jeans. I’ll eat a freaking carb when I want to. Gage may have taken my heart, but I’ll be damned if he’s taking my calories.

  Mia catches my eye wearing a barely there swimsuit. Her hair is almost to her waist, and she looks far hotter than she’s allowed. I couldn’t wear a two-piece until like the tenth grade.

  Maybe my mother really is hoping all female Landon slash Messengers will take over the maternity ward in the very near future. Weird.

  A pair of prepubescent boys sits on either side of Mia like pimpled bookends. They laugh every time she opens her mouth like a pair of barking seals. I recognize the beady-eyed one on the left as Gabriel Armistead, the dolt she and Melissa keep fighting over. She shakes out her flowing hair, and he rakes over her with his eyes when he thinks she’s not looking—pig.

  “Hey.” A low husky voice emanates from over my shoulder. Speaking of pigs…

  “Hello, Gage.” I pluck three giant strawberries off the miniature tree in front of me and violently jab the toothpicks back into the trunk.

  “About last night.” His hot breath warms my bare shoulder. I’m suddenly regretting wearing anything but a tank top and cutoffs. I wish I could wrap myself in a blanket while I’m near Gage. The last thing I want are his eyes feasting over my flesh. He’s the last person on Earth who deserves said feast, and unfortunately I was too weak to prove that point last night.

  A part of me wants to tell him that I would have done that with any boy that happened to be in my room—that he wasn’t special, that he never was—but that’s one lie I don’t think I could pull off. When all is said and done, and I look back on my life, Gage Oliver will be the most devastating heartache I have ever known.

  “It won’t happen again,” I whisper.

  He presses up from behind and warms me with his body. His cologne enwreathes me, creates an ache in me to touch him as deep as the ocean.

  “I was sort of hoping it would happen again.” He blows it hot in my ear.

  I reach over and run my finger under the warm chocolate fountain before glancing back at him with a look of mischief. I push the chocolate covered digit into my mouth and extract it slowly.

  “Need help?” His lips part at the sight.

  “Who’s going to help, Gage? You?” I dot his nose with the moist pad of my finger.

  “Yes,” he says in a hypnotic voice, “let me help you, Skyla.” His breathing becomes erratic. It’s nice to know his penis is in working order even if his brain and heart are clearly defunct.

  I turn to face him fully. “Why are you continuing to waste my time?” I spear him with all of the hatred I can muster, but it comes out weak, just this side of tears.

  “Skyla.” He presses it out in a broken whisper. “Let’s go somewhere and talk.” His entire being radiates an apology.

  “So what happened? Did you have to force yourself to kiss me? I bet pretending to be my boyfriend felt like a prison sentence. Did you and Chloe have a good laugh every night at what an idiot I was?”

  “No, I swear to you it was never like that.” He gives a long, tortured blink. “I beg of you, let’s get out of here.” He picks up my hand and massages it with his warm fingers. “I’ll take you to Paris.” The curve of a smile plays on his lips.

  “Skyla.” A male voice booms to my left. Demetri heads in this direction at a quickened clip.

  “Looks like I just found someone I’d rather hang out with,” I say, abandoning the strawberries and walking away.

  “What?” I hiss at Demetri while watching Gage twist and writhe from my peripheral vision.

  “I believe this belongs to you.” He holds up a large metal disc with a filigree edge, the one I had tucked in my garter belt at prom just before I was taken.

  I snatch it back from him.

  God—I almost lost this. And to think it was in the wrong hands entirely. These discs were a precious gift from Marshall. Each one had the ability to stop the faction war cold, and too bad for me, this is the last get-out-of-the-ethereal-plane-free card.

  “Aren’t you going to thank me?” He ticks his head. His almond eyes reduce to slits.

  “Most definitely not.”

  “You have plenty to be thankful for.”

  “I assume you’re talking about the treble.” Like he’s capable of kindness.

  “It’s a limited offer for the sake of the war. Of course, when the time comes I’ll allow you to say good-bye to your mother—tell her you’re leaving the country and never coming back. I’m sure you won’t have a problem bending the truth a little.”

  “I don’t plan on bending anything.” I seethe. “In fact, I’m sure she’d be very interested in knowing the whole truth and nothing but the truth.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” He lifts his head and sucks all the residual pride out of the air. “And even if you were to tell her the truth, who’s to say she’d believe you?”

  “Me—I say she’d believe me.” I’m totally lying. Lizbeth Landon doesn’t believe good morning when it sails from my lips.

  “I’m betting otherwise.”

  I guess he’s done pretending that she’s a part of the scheme team.

  Mom drifts over with Tad, lingering helpless by her side. He carries an overloaded plate of food with at least a dozen hot dogs that I’m guessing are all reserved to take down his colon.

  “Lizbeth, we were just talking about you.” Demetri collapses an arm around her shoulders. “I was just telling Skyla how stunning you look in a bathing suit. You haven’t aged a day in twenty years.”

  Tad lifts a brow and observes his bride while stuffing a sausage in his mouth.

  I needle him with a look.

  That’s right, Taddy dearest, he’s checking out your wife in her next-to-nothings. Well, actually, it’s a rather involved bathing suit that can double as a dress, but still, way more skin is exposed than this idiot deserves to see.

  “Isis!” Demetri beckons a beautiful blonde with over-processed hair t
hat shags out around her face. She’s wearing a low cut V-neck, ten sizes too small, and her chest balloons out like she’s hiding a pair of basketballs under her skin-tight attire. There’s something odd about her. Her chest is completely disproportionate to the rest of her waifish body, much like the mutated doll version put out by toy manufacturers the world over. Barbie aside, there’s something decidedly not human about her.

  “Tad Landon.” Tad sticks his hand out without waiting for the proper introduction and shakes her into a jiggle fest.

  Dear God. He’s openly ogling her. If ever a woman could say the words “my eyes are up here,” she can.

  “Isis Edinger, you can call me Izzy.” A high-pitched squeal pinches past her lips. She leans into him and nearly spills the girls onto his hot dog-laden tray, inspiring Tad’s tongue to lap out of his mouth.

  “Isis, this is Lizbeth.” Demetri pans his hand over my mother like a prize.

  “Dr. Edinger.” She holds out a rigid hand and offers a fake shake to Mom. Funny how she went from Izzy to cold as Isis in zero to five.

  “Doctor?” Mom is tantalized by yet another lying Fem.

  “Isis here is a psychiatrist.” Demetri acts as liaison to the deceit. “She’s just returned from a rather lengthy trip—studying overseas.” He extends his false grin in my direction.

  Isis? Overseas? She so is the worm from the water globe! It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if Demetri had her locked up for centuries on some minor blood-related offense.

  “A psychiatrist—that’s fascinating.” Tad leans in and dips his gaze back to her bosom and stays there.

  “Marriage counseling is my specialty—”

  Tad is quick to cut her off. “We were just talking about counseling this morning.” The hot dogs on his plate almost topple as he enthusiastically enlightens the crowd with his marital discord.

  “The counseling we were talking about was between Skyla and Dr. Booth,” Mom corrects slightly mortified by his awkward declaration. “Skyla, we’re thinking about reducing your visits.”