Wicked (13 page)

A huge square box sits upon a lonely hill covered with uneven paneling and a crooked smokestack chimney. A hint of apricot light glows through the oversized paned windows—half of them are broken on the second story.

“Did you forget to mention something? Like the fact Emily lives in a haunted house?” I watch as a scarf of fog trails along the periphery, dancing in and out of the crevices in long rippling waves.

“Looks like it, right?”

Tons of cars are parked cockeyed all over the front lawn and zigzag up and down the street.

“You know,” he reaches over and takes up my hand as we get out of the car, “we still haven’t had our birthday date.”

“Birthday date?” I like where this is going.

“Snorkeling.” He rattles my hand. “You up for it tomorrow?”

“Yeah, right after the typhoon we’re scheduled to have, or better yet, let’s go during. Who knows what sea creatures are lurking in those twenty foot swells?” I pull him into a sweet kiss. “Besides, I had something far more intimate in mind.”

“I’m thinking I like your idea better.” He breaks out into a killer grin. Nobody smiles like Gage.

Of course Chloe wants him—any girl would have to be insane not to.

“You’re gorgeous. You know that?” It comes out breathless. “In fact, why wait until tomorrow? I say we start this party tonight.”

He pushes a kiss into me with a grin, and his teeth graze lightly against mine.

“OK, we can start tonight.” His hand slips up my shirt and warms my back.

“Are you?” I bite down on my lip before I can finish the sentence. “Are you sending me an invitation?”

“Oh, I’m definitely sending you an invitation.” His lids sink low over his cobalt spheres.

“I accept,” I say dreamily.

He leads me up the creaky steps to Emily’s house of horrors.

I’m so dazed it feels like I’m floating on air. I can’t believe Gage sent me the invitation.

I can’t believe I’m going to have sex with Gage tonight!

***

Logan stands by the door like a bouncer and manages to completely suck the feeling of euphoria right out of me. It’s like I can practically see his doppelganger children drifting in and out of the shadows like a bunch of mini poltergeists. It’s bad enough to have one dislodged spirit asking for a body, let alone two hundred. Besides, I’m never going to have Logan’s babies, ever.

A pang of sorrow spears through me and suddenly I’m pulled down by longing and sadness. I find myself more pissed off at Logan than I was to begin with.

“Gage?” I spin into him. His eyes shine like indigo floodlights in this dark environment. A riotous thump of music streams from somewhere deep in the house. “Maybe we should just go home. You know, start our own party.” I twirl my hair into him.

A hand clamps over my shoulder, digs into my flesh with its razor like fingernails.

“I thought you’d never get here,” Chloe says, stepping into Gage.

Her hair falls in dark waves midway to her back. She looks polished and holds the scent of new clothes mixed with expensive perfume that tries too hard.

“We’re here.” Gage doesn’t bother hiding the fact he’s more than slightly perturbed.

I’m glad he shows it.

“Brody’s here, floating around somewhere,” she practically sings the words.

Gage shrugs as though it means nothing to him.

“Come,” she pulls him over by the hand. “I’ll take you to him.”

Gage takes his hand back and leans into my ear.

“I’ll go say hi and come back,” he whispers.

She whisks him off into the crowd, right through a darkened corridor until I can’t see them anymore.

“Can you believe that?” I take a few steps deeper into the house with Logan following close behind.

A soft glow illuminates the entire downstairs with bodies filling in every free space.

A glass cupboard greets us dead ahead filled with nothing but metal and ceramic dragons—every shape and size. I pause to take them in—weird glowing eyes, long split tongues lashing out, wild.

Freaky.

I head into a huge cavernous room divided with couches and tables. Right above the fireplace, glowing in silver glints are two crossed swords speared through a giant coat of arms. The face of a menacing dragon is etched in gold with inlaid ruby eyes that sparkle a deep crimson.

“Creepy,” I whisper.

“Tell me about it.” Logan leans in until our shoulders are touching. “You should meet her parents. They’ve got some serious issues.”

“Let me guess, you dated her, too?” Logan seems to have made the rounds when it comes to Paragon Island girls. It really makes me feel less like his one true love and more like I took a turn.

“Nope.” His hands flex in defense. He points up behind me, and I turn around.

A giant canvas stretches across the entire breadth of the room just behind the dining room table. In this dim light I can make out a field—horses and warriors in the heat of battle. I walk over to it and hold onto the back of a chair as I examine the piece in detail.

“The horses,” Logan begins to narrate, “behind them there’s a row of men with assault rifles. In the far corner, there’s an angel with his arms stretched out, supervising the event.”

My mouth falls open as I walk over to the far end of the picture—that face, those eyes.

“Oh my, God,” I breathe the words. “It’s him.”

“Him?” Logan struggles to see what I’m looking at.

“Marshall.” His name hisses out in a breathless whisper.

“Holy shit.” Logan stares at the image spellbound.

“I’ve seen this war,” I say, speeding across the room trying to take in as much as I can.

“What do mean, you’ve seen this war?”

I dart a quick look at him. I don’t recall ever telling Logan and Gage about me kissing Marshall to glimpse into the future. As much as I’d love to tell Logan just to watch his stomach churn, I don’t dare say a word. I’d never forgive myself if I hurt Gage that way.

I point over to the background figures and the bodies running near the horses. They look soaked, fatigued, some of them carrying large overgrown guns. “I saw us. You and Gage were with me. I think I had on wings.” I circle the painting for clues—for more faces I might recognize. “What do you think it means?”

“It means whoever painted this saw the same thing you did.”

“It’s our war.” Something in me ignites when I say it. I turn to face him fully, gaze into those glowing amber eyes that watch me with animated suspense. “We’re going to fight. We’re going to live that picture, you and me and Gage.”

“How did you see this war, Skyla?” His features sharpen with concern.

I shake my head.

“Can you find out more about this? That might be the upper hand we’ll need.”

I take a deep breath and imagine Marshall lashing around my mouth, hot with desire.

“I can, but I don’t want to.”

“You have to, Skyla. It might be the only way we’ll win.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

The Budding Artist

“Hey,” Ellis pops up next to me. His hair is slightly tousled, and his eyes glow an eerie wash of pink. “What’s up with you and Gage?”

I walk him away from the painting as though my vision might accidentally rub off on him—or in the event he looks up and suddenly recognizes Marshall. Even though Ellis was in the ethereal plane when we watched Gage wrestling a lion, as far as I know, Marshall was only visible to me. I’ve almost hung myself more than once by blowing his Sector-based cover, the last thing I need is Ellis cinching the noose.

“Nothing’s the matter with Gage. We’re perfectly fine. In fact, I think we’re going to leave now and have a little party of our own.” I scan the crowd. I’ll put off scratching Chloe’s eyes out for another time. I can’t believe Gage sent me the invitation. This is going to be epic, it’s going to be write-a-poem worthy or—

“Did you hear me? She’s all over him.” Ellis looks confused by the situation.

“Where are they?” It sounds like Chloe just bumped herself back up on my to-do list.

Ellis leads me by the hand through a thicket of bodies, entire tangles of flesh create one large mass of humanity, laughing and yelling. A thin veil of smoke fills a covered patio out back, and I pause when I see them. Gage looks stern as though he’s telling her something. Chloe sloshes around him with one hand holding up a red plastic cup and the other riding up and down his chest like a serpent. And to add insult to injury, she’s feeling up my boyfriend with my freaking hand.

“Wait,” Logan appears. He holds me back by the shoulder just as I’m about to bolt. “Gage said he had a very good reason for going along with this. I swear to you, Skyla, he would never do anything to hurt you.”

Michelle drifts behind Logan, pecking at something on the floor, jutting her neck out in odd thrusts as though she were poultry. Something about her looks different—something about her hair. It’s either the world’s sloppiest ponytail with short wisps sticking out in every direction or—

She turns around and exposes a bald spot just above her left temple.

My mouth falls open.

It’s freaking short. It’s scalp hugging. She’s freaking bald in like ten different places!

Michelle moves in a slow circle mumbling into thin air, to anyone who happens to pass by while sporting the world’s most horrific home haircut. Choppy and jagged on every side, cut way up high by her ears.

“Who do you think did that to her?” Logan marvels.

“There’s a good chance she did.”

I walk over and rattle her by the shoulder to see if I can shake her out of the stupor she’s in.

“Are you drunk?” I ask.

“Naw, I see them, they—” She babbles on about flying—points up to the sky.

“Who cut your hair?” I ask accusingly.

“I cut hair.” She twitches in irritation and shoots off a dirty look before stammering into her shoes.

It’s the rose. Marshall has no idea how insane she’s become.

Of course, I can’t really stand Michelle. I don’t mind too much that she cut her hair to look like she was attacked by a flock of angry bats, especially since I let her get away with all that torment she inflicted upon me a few weeks back when I thought she was with child. But a part of me feels sorry for her.

Without putting too much thought into it I reach up and unhitch the clasp. I’m surprised with what ease it slides into my hands as though the necklace itself were far too willing.

Michelle slaps the back of her neck as if a mosquito had landed before shuffling off into the house. I let the blackened rose slip off the chain and into my palm—examine it in a platinum beam of moonlight. It’s like holding a little piece of hell, a hotbed of evil Fems ready to unleash their most horrific endeavors on whoever it comes in contact with, and at this particular moment it’s coming in contact with me.

“What’s that?” Logan leans in to inspect it.

For a moment I consider my options.

“It’s my welcome back gift for Chloe.”

“If it’s from you, she’ll never put it on.”

“I’m not expecting her to.” Now ingesting it is a whole different story.

I push my way through the crowd, over to where Chloe clings to Gage like a skintight sweater.

“Hey? You mind if I spend some time with my new BFF?” I try to sound light as I lean into Gage. It doesn’t take much for him to gently push her in my direction.

“Hi Sky!” She cackles. “You mind if I call you, Sky?” Her tan skin looks smooth, hard as bronze in this disorienting light. Her lips shine as she draws out a pink cellophane smile, and for a second, I consider shoving the rose deep inside her throat right here in front of a thousand people.

I hear Logan’s voice rumble behind me, and I turn to see him talking to Carly Foster. Next to her, stands a tall brick house of a guy with dark hair and a face that happens to be the male version of Chloe—must be Brody. I look at him for a moment, he’s menacing in size. If I attack his sister he might tackle me, or worse, eat me as a snack.

“Let’s go inside.” I tick my head towards the door and see if she’ll take the bait.

Gage circles around, and just as I think he’s about to wrap an arm around my waist or stand shoulder to shoulder with me, he goes over to Logan and Ellis instead.

An unexpected warm breeze picks up as an explosion of lightning electrifies the night. A series of seizure like flashes go off as though someone up in space were flicking on and off the lights. Just speaking to Chloe inspires a power surge of celestial proportions.

“Follow me.” She takes me by the wrist, and we head down a stairwell that leads to the yard below. A roar of thunder detonates overhead, shakes the earth as she pulls me into a hazy room full of people smoking and playing pool. We dart through a slim door near the back, into a dark corridor. She kneels down and takes me with her. I can feel her patting around in the dark. Smells like mold in here, a combination of air that hasn’t been circulated in months and old mothballs. She lifts a latch, and light comes from out of the floor. It’s a cellar. A stairwell leads deep underground, and I’m not really too fond of these kinds of places.

“Follow me,” she whispers, carefully holding onto the wall as she makes it down the steep flight of stairs.

Behind my shoulder, the game room illuminates a thin seam of light from beneath the door. No sign of Logan or Gage, but I sense them nearby and this makes me feel safe.

“Are you coming?” She shouts from the bottom.

I clutch the rose in my hand and head on down. Chloe may have her intentions, but I certainly have mine.

A series of exposed light bulbs run across the ceiling of the cavernous space that seems to run the entire length and width of the house. Then I see them—racks and racks of canvasses that take up most of the space in the interim. Running against one wall is a cluttered counter filled with tubes of paint, plastic cups with brushes sprouting from the tops. The thick scent of linseed oil clots up the air.

“So who’s the artist?” I ask, examining the vast display.

“Em.” She looks at me with a dare in her eyes, as if she’s already in on the fact that these aren’t just paintings. “Aren’t they amazing?” She doesn’t take her eyes off me. It’s like she’s trying to hypnotize me, sway me to do her bidding with her enveloping magnetic stare.