Vex (40 page)

Chapter Sixty-Nine

Dress to Impress

I’m more than surprised by Drake and Holden’s reaction to the two-week incarceration. First, they should be glad it’s house arrest. As someone who just experienced a significant brush with the law and almost spent three days and three nights in the belly of the jail, I consider Mom and Tad’s anemic form of discipline a joke.

Holden lets out a moan and tips over the dining room table in an uncalled for fit of rage. He growls like a bear as he seizes a chair, knocking the back legs into the china cabinet until it shatters as he continues to bash and thrash the place. The rest of us are smart enough to take cover in the hall and yet stupid enough to linger and watch the train-wreck unfold. Thank God Melissa and Mia are safely tucked away at Marshall’s while this fury unleashes.

Holden laughs up a storm while enticing Tad with twitching fingers just before he spins the chandelier at supersonic speeds.

“Come on, Pops,” Holden shouts it like a battle cry. “Whatcha gonna do?”

Tad circles him like a wrestler before jumping him from behind. They roll around the shattered glass until their skin is pricked with glittery shards, and long striations of blood drizzle down their flesh.

Mom calls 911in a panic.

“He’s insane!” She bellows between spouting off her name and address. “Skyla,” she covers the receiver with her hand, “pick up the girls and take them to a movie once their lessons are over. There’s no way in hell I want them to see this mess.” Her entire body sags, “What are we going to do about him?”

“I don’t know.” But I have a feeling it’s nothing a little strychnine won’t cure.

***

I find Marshall behind his house shooting arrows at a target hundreds of yards away with stunning accuracy. An icy wind cuts through my jacket, mocking me for trying to stave off its efforts to begin with.

“Fantastic,” I say. It comes out laced with sarcasm.

He lifts his bow into the air and shoots one off, barely missing Nevermore.

“You!” I slap his arm. “Don’t even joke like that.” I watch as Nev circles the two of us, challenging Marshall and his expert marksmanship.

“The justice alliance delayed my punishment,” I say, placing my backpack on the damp field.

“So they have. Consider yourself warned, they have a fondness for animals. I’ve put in a request to have you transferred into an equine—waterfowl for the pretty Oliver. Does that sound just to you? I could house you right here on the property. You’d hardly lack company. We’d be inseparable. I’ll ride you every day. Oh, how I’ll ride you,” he winks before letting an arrow sail across the field.

“Not funny.” I circle over to his side and watch as an army of charcoal clouds etch themselves into the sky. “So did you hear? Logan lost his Celestra abilities because I requested it.”

He pauses before discharging another arrow. “I’ll kiss you full on the mouth for that later.” He rockets one off to the extreme end of the property, striking a rabbit bolting across the path. We watch as it jumps and fidgets to its death.

“That’s horrible!”

“That’s not horrible, Love, that’s dinner.”

“That’s sick.”

“Would a squirrel better suit your appetite?”

“No. Speaking of vermin, I found out Chloe poisoned Emerson with strychnine.”

“Good work,” Marshall pants a smile. “I suspect a detective agency is in your future. You and the Olivers can bumble around the island masquerading as full time sleuths.”

“I’d rather be a Fem fighter.”

 “You already are.” Marshall dips into me and lands a kiss on my cheek.

“I know Demetri’s a Fem,” I put it out there to see what he does with it.

“Heavens—graduating the junior detective league so soon. Gone pro already, have we?”

“So, I’m right?” I jump a little.

“Do try to contain your enthusiasm.”

He positions the bow in my hands and helps me draw the string until it’s taut near my cheek. I can feel the heft, the tension as strong as life and death—fighting one another for a convicted soul, as powerful as my love-hate for Logan—and we release. It feels so, good, so easy to let go. I watch as the arrow streamlines its way through the fog, cutting a clean line into the already crowded bull’s eye.

“Well done.” Marshall pats my back. “Who was the victim of your rage?”

“I don’t have any rage.”

“Nonsense, I could feel it pulsating out of you.” He whips another arrow from over his shoulder and helps me string the bow, only this time he makes me hold it myself. “You must become the master of your enemy. The faction war hinges on such details.”

“How do I master the enemy?” My muscles shake as I stretch the bow taut, waiting for his response.

“You kill them.”

“I kill them. What if I don’t want to kill them?” My muscles ache as I try to steady my aim.

“They kill you.” Even the warmth of his breath sends a pleasure-filled sensation throughout my being. “But this one,” he taps a finger towards the target, “this one’s personal. Look at him there, he’s sneering over at you. He’s fooled you into loving him, and now you’re going to kill him. Who is he?”

Marshall wants to hear his name fumble from my lips, so I launch the arrow and give him the pleasure.

“Logan.” My chest rises and falls in spasms as I anticipate the accuracy of my aim. The arrow misses the tree entirely and lands somewhere in the bushes off to the right. “I could never kill, Logan,” I whisper. Not even if I wanted to.

“That might be your downfall.” He pulls me in, offering a tender kiss that is neither intrusive nor greedy. A vision appears, it’s Logan and me. He tells me he loves me more than the heavens love the sun and the moon and pulls me into a kiss much like the one Marshall has delivered.

I pull away and wipe my lips with the back of my hand.

“That will never happen,” I spit out the words.

“In a way, it already has.”

Marshall and I head inside, me with the newfound sore shoulder and he with his dinner.

“So I’ve been thinking,” I say, jumping up on his kitchen counter and taking a seat, “was Ethan Landon ordained to die?”

“I should say not.” Marshall begins to do things to the poor rabbit that I never want to see, so I turn around and face the other way. “Stabbed years before his time.”

“That’s horrible.” I try not to wretch from the stench of the bloody carcass. “So, I was thinking—”

“No, Sklya,” he cuts me off.

“But Holden’s a disaster, and he’s been drinking strychnine-tainted blood, tragedy is bound to unfold. Besides, poor Melissa is heartbroken over what an ass her brother’s become. Certainly, you have a heart.”

“Of course I have a heart. I’m holding it in my hand. Would you like to see it?”

“
No
.”

The faucet twists on and off at regular intervals.

“I suppose,” Marshall starts in slow, “if Holden upsets the physical framework he’s confined in, he won’t be able to stay much longer,” he says matter-of-factly while bolting around the kitchen.

I turn to find him armed with a frying pan and a stick of butter. Marshall has gone Iron Chef on poor Thumper.

“So, if Holden does accidentally off himself, you can put Ethan back where he belongs?” I’m not sure if I’ll be getting a better deal, but, for sure Melissa will.

“Precisely. I’ll do this for you under one condition.”

“Yes?”

“Don the angel wings.” He swirls the pan into a sizzle. “Consider it an addendum to our carnal commitment.” 

“Not a problem.”

“Great,” he pauses to turn up the heat on the stove, “Your gown for the formal is tucked safe in my closet. I don’t trust it anywhere but here. Understand this, and listen to me well, Skyla—I’m to be the first person you lay those saccharin lips on while wearing the charmed sheath.” He stares into me with great intensity until I give in with a nod. “I expect you’ll arrive in a timely manner. I plan on soaking in the evening before we retire to my suite. I’ll have the wings ready.”

I swallow hard.

I have a feeling I’ll be wearing the wings and very little else.

If I don’t find another means to get Chloe off my back by then—I don’t see any other way.

“Don’t look so despondent. We’ve somewhere to go.”

“Now? Where?”

“Your mother requests your presence.”

***

“Skyla!” My mother radiates, bright as the sun, she steals the glory from the foliage around her, makes the unnaturally gorgeous landscape of Ahava look two dimensional, flat and stale as a black and white portrait.

I wrap my arms around her, and she strums a wonderful tuning feeling through me, so pure and lovely it makes Marshall’s vibrations feel like a lewd encounter with a downed power line.

“Rules of engagement, Skyla.” She drops a kiss on the top of my head. “That’s why I’ve called you. Marshall has made you aware of the fact there will be twelve regions to cross before advancing to Ahava?”

“Yes, before I get here,” I nod, “and, I remember what you said about the sword of the Master.” I’m secretly hoping she’ll give me some special key that will unlock a backdoor to this place. And one for the chest that holds the, oh-so-special sword, wouldn’t be a bad idea either.

“No, I have no key,” she whispers knowingly. “I want to make it clear to you, that it is I, along with the justice alliance, who selects when you appear in the ethereal plane.”

“Um, OK, but I have school and cheer, and I’m sort of shy in the shower, so maybe don’t choose then either.”

She gives a bubbling laugh. “Whatever you’re doing on earth ceases. You could spend months in the ethereal plane and not a millisecond would go by on earth.”

“Each region is going to take months?” I’m horrified by this.

“Heaven’s no. Some will only take minutes. It’s entirely up to you.”

“Or me,” Marshall pipes up. I gasp when I see him. Marshall is beyond resplendent.

“Is this what you really look like?” Young and gorgeous, so absolutely godlike I fight the urge to bow down to him. I don’t remember him looking this way in Sectorville—the Soulennium.

“Ahava is radiating through me,” he confesses. “You’re a sight to behold, yourself.” He digs into his pocket and retrieves three metal discs. I recognize them from the ski trip when I was riffling through his bag.

“Yes, these are one in the same. I gift them to you. Keep one with you at all times. If you should find yourself in the ethereal plane and you need to get out for whatever reason, toss one in the air and let it hit the ground.”

“It forfeits the round to the enemy,” my mother frowns, “those are three gifts to the Countenance in your possession.”

“Those are three gifts for your protection,” Marshall counters. “Use them wisely. You get three escapes from death’s clutches and no more.”

“Death’s clutches,” I whisper, grabbing a hold of my neck.

“It’s highly dangerous out there,” my mother says intently. “Good luck.” She sounds far too glib before disappearing.

“Good luck?” I turn to Marshall, and we blink back into his kitchen. “What the hell does good luck mean?” I ask.

“It means,” he clasps the discs in my hands, “for all practical purposes, you, my love—are on your own.”

Chapter Seventy

Strychnine Surprise

Turns out Tad and Holden are both spending the night at the hospital. Mia and Melissa beg me to take them over for a visit. The long, sterile corridors hold the sharp stench of ammonia, and large stacks of dinner trays sit unsupervised in the halls.

“Skyla,” Mom gives a soft kiss on my forehead while Melissa sobs into a scraped up Tad.

“Where’s Holden?” I ask.

“Two rooms down,” her eyes glitter with despair.

“I’m going to go see him.”

I walk over briskly to find him channel surfing, heavily peppered with dark brown scabs all over his face and arms.

“What’s up, Sis?” He says it with no affect, doesn’t bother to break his gaze from the television.

I shut the door and speed over.

“You can’t keep acting like this. They’re not going to put up with your bullshit.”

“I’m moving back with my dad. I’ve finally convinced him it’s me.”

“You can’t do that, you’ll kill Melissa. She worships you.”

“Who?” he looks genuinely confused. “Anyway, I left something behind, and I need to get it, so let’s go back.”

“Back where?”

“You know where,” he barks, snatching me up by wrist. “Right now.” He picks up a glass vase and cracks it in half, pressing the splintered edge against my neck.

“OK, I’ll take you,” I puff out the words. But it’s questionable whether or not I’ll be bringing him back.

***

This time I manage to land us more accurately near Emerson’s appointment with death and watch as Holden bolts across the street to his father’s café.

I have about ten dollars in my back pocket, so I head over and buy myself a mocha-iced coffee. I find a seat in the back behind some fake foliage and try to imagine what my life would be like if my father never died, if Paragon remained some dot on the map I’d never heard of.

Emerson walks in, causing me to crouch further into the corner. She shares a laugh with a boy at the counter before taking a seat at a booth just over from mine.

I watch as she takes a few careful sips of her drink, lounges over the table as though she were about to indulge in a nap.

Chloe strides in.

Shit.

I pan the vicinity for an exit, but there isn’t one. I might have to leave Holden here out of necessity.

She swoops in and sits across from Emerson.

“Are you sure you want to do this? I’ve never given you so much before.” Chloe sounds fake, per usual.

“Are you kidding? I’m dying to light drive. A friend of mine told me about this treble where I could keep renewing my stash.”

Freaking Ellis.

“Who needs a car when I can time travel wherever I want?” Emerson continues. “I could even try and fix a few things for you,” she offers as an incentive.

“You can’t fix anything—nothing significant changes.” Chloe sounds disappointed with her revelation. “Anyway, I do this for you, and you do something for me, right?”

“I never tell.”