Wicked (28 page)

I lean my head onto his chest and take in his clean scent, feel the bionic force of his affection.

“My love for you,” I say.

It’s more than true.

***

By the time second period rolls around, I’m tired of people gaping at me like I’m some kind of freak show. I’m not sure if it has to do with the fact I accidentally slit open Chloe’s throat, or this costume Marshall is having me wear, which is really starting to itch. Nevertheless it’s a small price to pay for keeping my lips to myself, Holden and et al.

“So what’s up with you and Chloe?” I ask Ellis as I take a seat behind him.

Marshall is filtering through his briefcase with his back turned to the class, so he hasn’t seen me sporting the celestial special.

“I hear she’s in the market for a new chauffeur,” Gage says as he reclaims the seat behind me.

“Me and the ice queen? Don’t think so.” His eyes look decidedly glossy, and a tangled network of crimson wires spread over them thick as spider webs.

“You replenished your stash,” I say as my head magnetizes in Chloe’s direction.

Her hair is stark as night—black-in-a-box—freshly died.

“You went on a light drive, didn’t you?” I can’t believe Ellis would go anywhere with her after the way she treated him.

“Maybe—maybe not,” he says.

I glance back at Chloe. She pulls a lock of hair through her fingers over and over as though she were patiently waiting for me to put the puzzle together.

“What did Chloe do while you were getting your stuff?” The words filter out my mouth, numb like pulling cotton.

“Who knows? What did you do when we went?” He turns back around as the bell goes off—drills into my bones with the prospects.

I trashed Carly’s car. I kissed Gage, met up with Holden’s ghost—killed Chloe. The possibilities are innumerous.

You look ravishing. Marshall beams unapologetically at me.

“Everybody—pop quiz.” He claps his hands together and motions for the desk clutter to disappear.

Be here at four-thirty. I have plans for the two of us.

I knew it. It’s some freaky wedding dress. Just putting on the gown was probably a seal of our unity, and now he’s going to try and consummate the union right here in his room at four-thirty.

I’m so stupid. I should have settled for the kiss.

Don’t look so enthused. He gives a bleak smile. It has to do with your mother.

My mouth falls open at the thought. I flicker a private smile at him as he hands out papers.

“I’m going to meet my mother!” I whisper in excitement over to Gage.

“What?” He leans in. “Not without me. Swear to me you won’t go without me, Skyla.”

I spin back around in my seat.

I’m going to meet my mother. The idea alone feels like a sun-drenched dream. God, I miss her, and I never even knew her. How wild is that?

I can’t stop surging with happiness. First, the prospect of sex with Gage, and now meeting my real flesh and blood mother? Well, probably not flesh and blood, but nevertheless this more than makes up for my crappy morning with the Counts.

I’m going to ask Marshall about Emily and her deathly diagrams, see if he’ll confirm it’s the same war he showed me in a vision several weeks ago—that, and about the lion, the ox, and the eagle. It must mean something if there are statues of them in churches, if Emily Morgan felt the need to etch it onto Drake’s back.

Chloe raises her hand. Her back straightens, and she audibly taps her foot against the floor in an effort to gain Marshall’s attention.

I look back at Gage and frown.

Chloe is such a kiss ass. I wouldn’t be surprised if she volunteered to lick his shoes after school.

“Yes, Ms. Bishop.” Marshall returns to the front of the class and ticks his chin up a notch.

“I was just wondering,” Chloe cuts her gaze across the room at me, slitting the air with her hateful vengeance. She returns her attention to Marshall, “What exactly is a Sector?”

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Killing Time

Marshall pulls his hands out in front of him with great effort as though he were stretching out a rubber band.

The room grows still. A hollow noise fills the void—not a soul moves or breathes. Chloe is locked in an obnoxious fixated gaze, her hand still frozen in the air.

I turn around to find Gage with his eyes opened in horror in Chloe’s direction, motionless as a statue.

Shit.

Marshall’s face brims with color and not in any good way. He grits his teeth and penetrates me with a menacing stare.

“Gather your things, Ms. Messenger. You’ll be coming with me.”

***

I don’t remember the walk to Marshall’s car, only vaguely do I recall him taking my backpack and tossing it into the dumpster before locking me in on the passenger’s side. He confiscated my cell just before we took off.

I sit and watch the road stretch before us at dizzying speeds. Cars stall on the highway in silent, stale configurations. The people inside them unaware of the fact they’re suspended in motion, unable to progress with their lives until Marshall releases them from this comatose state.

We weave in and out of the inert traffic at speeds that defy the automotive technology that the four-wheel beast we sit in is capable of—gravity—we’re defying gravity.

“When will it start up again? You know, time?” I listen to the strange naked sound of my breathing. Important things were happening somewhere, babies being born, planes, cars, trains, a pop quiz in math class—and now they’ll have to wait until Marshall hands me over to the Counts—until they’re sucking the life out of me by way of Pierce’s fangs.

“Ms. Richards will take over my class. Your seat will remain empty. I’ve given the illusion we’ve stepped out together. A Fem will take your place momentarily and walk out the door with the Fem that looks like me. Does this amuse you?”

“Yes.” I hardly have the energy to digest this all, let alone dispute it.

They say fear is mitigated by your perception of reality, that what you fear is no bigger than life and death rolled into one. That seems pretty damn big if you ask me, and I’m sure as hell afraid of being locked up in Ezrina’s lair for good.

“Will you visit me?”

“Perhaps.”

Gage might be able to as long as he doesn’t get caught, as long as there isn’t a binding spirit to prevent him from doing so. But I already know Marshall will.

A lone tear makes its way down my cheek and gets caught in the scar Chloe gave me in honor of Logan. It trails down with the finality of a gutter ball.

We pull off onto a dirt road just north of the Falls of Virtue. I recognize the brush, remember the night Logan saw me here dripping wet and naked. The same night I killed Holden.

I wipe my face clean and straighten in my seat.

Marshall accelerates up the side of the mountain until we hit a clearing full of lush green grass—blades as tall as a man.

“Get out,” he says making his way around to the trunk.

I follow orders and extricate myself from the vehicle. Circling around back, I peer into his opened trunk. A bow—thick with glossy varnish, comprised of layered espresso colored wood. Marshall whips out a quiver full of arrows and straps it to his back. He reaches over his shoulder in one swift motion and plucks one loose. He sets it on the string before pointing skyward.

Marshall grunts as he draws back the bow, and launches the arrow straight into the clouds.

Moments later a large black crow spirals down to earth, landing just shy of his fender.

“I’m a good shot,” he shakes his head with pride before reloading. He sends the next one straight into the heart of a pine fifty feet away. “I could slice a fly in half if I wanted.”

Somehow I believe this to be true.

“Chloe never did ask if I was a Sector, now did she?” He gives a calculating smile. “What’s a Sector, Skyla?” He shoots off another arrow, partially disinterested in my answer.

“It’s the highest order of angels.” Actually I don’t know how many orders there are. All I want is to get away from him right now.

“Incorrect.” He draws another arrow from over his shoulder. “A sector is the distance between two radiuses. Does a pie slice within a circle, ring a bell?” He shoots at something moving on the ground in the distance.

“Oh,” I pant with a huge sense of relief. “That’s right.”

“But that’s not what she meant. Is it?” He doesn’t bother to look at me, just keeps shooting in the forest over and over. “The Counts have a bounty on the both of us, Skyla. I made a deal. It was my price for coming down to earth. It always costs to stray from the ethereal plane.”

“Is that what happened to my mother? Can I meet her? If you let me go, I’ll be your wife,” I hold out my wrists in front of him. “I’ll do anything not to be handed over to the Counts,” I plead.

“Skyla,” he lets his bow slip under his arm. “I’m bound by my word.”

“That’s it? Some stupid promise? People break promises all the time.”

He tugs me in by the dress.

“Humans break promises. All of creation seems to understand the heft of breaking away from a covenant with God other than yourselves. Why he chooses to entertain himself with the lot of you is staggering. You should feel honored and stupefied at the privilege bestowed upon you.” His features soften. He cups his hands over my shoulders and pulls me in until his face nuzzles into mine. “I’m going to offer you one last chance at freedom.” He gives the same peaceable smile he did the night I met him in my dream.

I could try to be happy with Marshall. I could try to be happy in his world, as long as I was safe. My fingers reach up and carefully caress the side of his face.

“I know something.” It speeds out of me in desperation.

“What’s that?”

“Brielle’s not having your baby. It’s Drake’s. You don’t have to tell the faculty.”

His face contorts. “I was warming to the idea.”

“I’ll give you a child.” God, what am I saying?

“Now you bring it up,” he says it curt as though the offer offends him.

“Then show me something,” the words crackle out of the baseball size knot in my throat.

I lean in and kiss Marshall. A pure unadulterated kiss that tries to convince him I’d be the best bride, that our children could have dominion if only he’d keep me, let me love him in exchange for refuge from the Counts.

It’s the vision I wait for, the clue into the window of my world. I want to see that I’m marrying Gage to affirm his fantasy, Logan, hell I’d take Ellis right about now—just show me something, anything. But there’s no vision for me.

The wind picks up, it floats the skirt of my gown in the air like a kite, and I wonder what we must look like kissing on this grassy hillside, a girl in a white flowing dress, a man so tall and handsome.

Marshall pulls back and examines me with an ice-cold expression.

“I’m going to teach you a lesson, Skyla,” he pauses, “if you run I may not catch you. Now go.” He spins me around and gives a swift push. “Run.”

The rain starts in as I begin to move.

“Run!” His voice thunders past me, swift as a bullet.

The arrows come. They come in pairs, in groups of ten, manically fast, precariously close. An entire shroud of darting black flames slice through the wind as they whistle by. They call out victory over me—taunt me, as I drift through the pouring rain.

They whisper the word, run, over and over.

And I run like hell.

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Count on Me

It is a season of hopelessness, of being lost, of wishing I could turn to dust and melt with the rain. Dreams and nightmares swell into my world, blur my vision with the broken boundaries of reality.

The storm passes. I wake up cold, sopping wet with my arms wrapped around my knees, tucked in a thicket of trees. I had covered myself in branches like a hunter stalking his prey. Only, I was the hunted—the hunter’s eyes were fixed on me.

A never-ending quiver—Marshall is a damn good shot. He killed that bird midflight with minimal visibility, but me he couldn’t touch with the tip of a thousand arrows.

He let me get away. Perhaps that was the plan all along—perhaps he truly loves me. Or maybe he’s out there, stalking me still.

I close my eyes and try my best to light drive back to the time of my father, the beginning of time, anywhere but Paragon. I open my lids carefully. Still here—in my wet dress, the thick scent of nature filling my skull.

“Binding spirit,” I whisper. Marshall wants me here. I won’t be leaving, ever.

I shake the dirt off the back of my legs and stretch out my limbs. The hard rain of the afternoon has given way to a lavender sky, a beautiful dusk, with the remnants of light dipping over the ridge. A bright moon crests behind the hill. I’ll need it to illuminate my path if I ever hope to get home.

I could live in the hills, stalk the Falls of Virtue and wait for Logan or Gage to find me. Nevermore will heal soon and let Gage know where I am.

I set out on the muddy path, filled with arrogant hope.

“Hope never dies,” I whisper. Ironic because it comes out rather hopeless, diluted.

I walk near the spines of the trees, lose myself in the murky shadows afraid of the slightest movement, every creak of nature that buzzes through the air, rattles my jangled nerves.

Then I hear them—a stark laugh, the distinct sound of a woman. Voices—elevated, humming—many.

I follow along the outskirts of the woods until the sounds pick up intensity, until I can almost see them, feel them, touch them.

Maybe it’s a search party? But why such uproarious laughter—the sifting of footsteps in one small location? If they were really looking for me they’d call out my name.

I creep in as close as possible, cut through a clearing and crawl through passages of open brush to be near them, hopeful to catch a glimpse of someone I might know—see if I can borrow someone’s cell phone to call Gage.

Legs move in the distance, quickening, stopping, more laughter. I adjust myself in the bushes until I’m leaning against the warped trunk of a centennial evergreen.

It’s an entire group of people wandering around an enormous round stone the size of dinner table.