I bubble with laughter. “Forever the clown. You were one from the beginning you know.” Literally. But that’s anotherstory.
Those crimson cauldrons of his narrow in on me. “Your mother is here to seeyou.”
“The one flirting shamelessly with Demetri while trying to hustle a room in this dungeon of depravity? Or the celestial thorn in my side that offered me a child and dissolved her to nothing more than amemory?”
Marshall wrinkles his forehead as if he were in pain. “My love. The latter. And do refrain from calling her anything butYour Graceupon your meeting. There is a season for all things, Skyla, and this is a season to humble yourself before the celestial great. She’s brought her cohorts along for theride.”
“The entire Decision Council?” I give the room a quick once-over, but with those blue floodlights Demetri insists on pummeling us with and the sea of luxurious dresses whirling and twirling, the Transfer transplants partying like it was 1699—it’s sort of hard to determine who’swho.
“That’s right, Skyla.” His chest bucks with his next breath, and I can tell even Marshall is impressed as hell over this. “The crème de la crème of celestial society has descended on Paragon for thenight.”
“Really? My God. This is bigger than the boys’ christening. Who knew a year in the life of two little earthlings was cause for such a celestialuproar?”
Marshall’s eyes flit to the exit. “There are others.” His tone drops down to its lower, far more threatening register, and every hormone in my body riots all atonce.
“Others?” I make a face in the general direction of where Demetri and my mother argue over which bedroom they’ll copulate in next. “Yes, well, this is the demon’s dance. No poltergeist prom is worth its salt if the dark side isn’t represented. I’m sure it’s all for show. Demetri is eager to parade the boys around to just about anybody—and, well, the Fems and all their dark glory are just aboutanybody.”
Marshall growls, his gaze still fixed on the exit. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that.” His eyes narrow as if he were threatening somebody. “I’m sure whatever it is he’s doing here doesn’t concerndeath.”
“Who ishe?” A chill runs up my spine because I’m not so sure I want toknow.
“The Grim Reaper.” Marshall sheds a stunning grin my way as if the concept in general were laughable. “He and your father-in-law have always been thick as celestial thieves. You’re right. Not to worry. This is a night for grand displays, and Demetri is making the grandest of themall.”
“Grim Reaper?” I bite down so hard on my bottom lip I swear I taste blood. “God, what if the gift he’s about to give the boys isdeath!”
Marshall growls, “Open your mouth so I can bite your pretty little tongue off.” His cheek rises on one side, and I can practically smell the lewd intent. “Something tells me your boys will survive much more than just thisnight.”
Marshall dances us to the exit, then straight out of the grand room and down through the hall that leads to the back exit. We head outside, and the sight of Demetri’s park-like yard takes my breath away. A spray of stars hovers unnaturally low over the entire circumference of the party, offering a pale lavender glow. Rows and rows of trees adorn the outline of the festivities with ornate globes on them in shapes and colors I have never seen before. A man dressed in a white robe plucks a blue pear-shaped fruit off a branch and takes a bite right out ofit.
“What is this?” I whisper as Marshall leads us down thestairs.
“It seems the heavenlies brought a little bit of home along for the ride. Creature comforts if you will.” He reaches up and plucks a red star-shaped bulb from a tree and hands it tome.
“So they brought the starsandtheir own farmers’ market. Interesting. That won’t arouse suspicion at all. Thank God those Spectators filled a much-needed paranormalvoid.”
“Did they?” Marshall frowns into the crowd. “Or did they simply whet their appetite for the many variety of beings they can imprison andtorment.”
A horrible dark feeling clamps over me because I’ve never celebrated the fact the Spectators were taken. I hate what Wes had done to them, and now I hate whatI’vedone tothem.
A tall raven-haired girl in a silver gown comes up with her hair pulled back, her blue eyes outlined heavily in black kohl, and her lips setscarlet.
“Emerson Kragger.” I make a face as she lunges for me. She’s unmasked because, well, it’s obvious Emerson doesn’t playgames.
“I can’t go back, Skyla. Your mom’s here, and she’s wigging out—herding us all together so she can give us the old heave ho, and you can’t let her take me. I don’t want to be a stupid owl, and for damn sure I don’t want to bedead. Can’t you just tell her to chillout?”
Giselle comes up breathless behind her, equally stunning, but that look of sheer panic on her face distracts momentarily from her beauty. Unlike her counterpart, Giselle is sporting a rather adorable pink feathered mask that sits neatly over hernose.
“Don’t you dare let her stay!” Giselle smacks Emerson until she takes a few steps back. “She’s after myEllis. She’s been trying to stick her tongue down his pants ever since the day she arrived, and just now I caught her trying to kisshim!”
I groan at the thought of either scenario. “I think the euphemism you were going for is tongue down his throat. And Emerson? Really?” I turn to her indisappointment.
“What?” she growls. “Ellis is hot. Plus, he’s been my supplier for years. We sort of bonded over the many ways Chloe screwed us over. Him literally and me, well, she’s the reason I’m bound to featherdom to begin with. Where is the little slut?” She cuts a dead lookaround.
“Never mind,” I scold. “I can’t control who my mother plucks into the great beyond. Trust me, I’d have a couple more children if I could.” Just the thought of Sage and Angel rips my heart out all overagain.
Marshall lands a warm hand over my back. “Perhaps you have not because you ask not. It seems the woman of the hour is upon us.” He nods straight ahead as my mother lights up the night like a firebrand. Her glowing hair, her luminescent face and body defuse the darkness in a soft halogen haze. She lifts the brilliant white mask from her face a moment as if to assure me of herpresence.
Emerson grips me by the arm. “Don’t let her do it, Skyla.” Her speech is pressured. Her nails dig into my flesh. “Beg for my life. You won’t regret it. Ipromise!”
