I believed our love was tangible, a boulder that not even God could move turned out to be soluble, a vapor in the wind.
My face, chest, and legs are drenched with my heated tears by the time I crest Paragon Estates. I take the back entry and pass by Nicolas Haver’s house—Nicolas who Gage himself put a bullet through, ending his life so abruptly. Demetri’s haunted mansion stands proud and firm, each window lit up with a peachy glow in this early hour of the morning as if it were mocking me.
I want to stop. I want to climb up that hill and tear the place down board by board. It is the last place I saw the version of Gage I knew. It’s the exact venue where the boys’ first birthday was held—the masquerade ball Demetri saw fit to throw. Gage was decapitated there that night. I’d like to think that was the real version of him, but after everything that’s transpired, I don’t know what to believe.
Had he been in on this from the start? Had he been a stumbling block in my path at every turn? His end game was getting the boys and stealing my seat in the heavenlies. A Fem can never be trusted. Perhaps that’s why he masqueraded as a Levatio?
But my feet refuse me the pleasure of tearing my way through Demetri’s oversized home. Instead, they carry me right through the winding roads of the estates until I find myself on an all too familiar street, my own. I bypass my true destination and come to a stumbling finish once I hit the old Walsh house. That’s all it will ever be to me. It will never be my true home. Technically, it was purchased with my inheritance money, but that’s simply a legal tangle at this juncture that Gage and I will have to work out.
The structure itself refuses any of the moon’s light. It’s unbearably dark. The white paneling looks destitute and run-down in this dim light. The red door holds an unfriendly hue of bloodied crimson. That’s his home now. It’s where Gage has been residing since Halloween. Less than four hours ago, I believed this would be my official home today. I believed Gage and I would pull into the driveway with the boys and make all of my happy homemaker dreams come true. I had already lost so much and I was willing to sacrifice the rest for him.
The rushing water of the Harrisons’ massive fountain from across the street draws me back to the present. I take a few steps to the left and glare at my in-laws’ house. I should have known purchasing a home directly next door to my mother-in-law, who cannot stand me, was a very bad omen.
I squint over at their home and note that Emma and Barron’s downstairs lights are on and I wonder why at this hour, and then I remember that Kresley is staying with them. Her baby boy, Eli, is just about four months old now. Wesley spent all of last year spraying his seed over any and everyone. Both Laken and Kres had his children on the same day. Poor Laken whose memory came back as reliable as dial-up. She didn’t have Wesley’s kid. I’m not convinced of it.
I shake all of the drama of the past few months out of my head and my feet begin to move once again. Back down the road laden with beautiful tract homes and mega mansions interspersed. I’m headed to the one person who can help me most, Marshall Dudley.
He will indeed help me.
And he will do as I say.
Marshall’s estate is vast and spacious, an acreage spread over a pie-shaped lot complete with a corral full of horses and llamas. Just beyond that lies a thicket of woodlands—the infamous forest where Gage revealed his true nature to me by declaring war.
Just as my feet set out in that direction, the caw of a bird stops me cold in my tracks. I glance up toward the stalwart evergreen with its verdant arms spread wide as if it were ready to endow this island with a haunting benediction. I lift my arm and a dark, winged bird darts out of its branches, circling the sky above me, wide as a refrigerator. Downward the enormous bird circles until the heft of his feathered being lands on my forearm and I initiate my Celestra strength just to maintain him there.
“Holden.” I can’t help but frown at him—this beautiful raven, the size of a toddler, my God, the size of my boys. Holden wasn’t the first to occupy this lucky or unlucky bird, depending how you view this enchanted lifespan it’s been gifted. First, it was Nev, Nevermore—also known by his proper name, Heathcliff O’Hare. A gentle soul trapped in the cage of this magnificent beast by my mother no less, gifted to me by Gage. My heart wrenches just thinking about it. And then at the end of the last Faction war, Nev was liberated and in went wicked Holden Kragger who once tried to forcibly have his way with me. But I’ve forgiven him and we are well past that nightmare.
Holden lets out an ear-piercing cry. He witnessed the carnage that took place on Halloween, the massacre of my people, the upending of the Factions and all we thought we knew.
“Gage married Chloe tonight,” I whisper it like a secret, a horrible one that I never want anyone to know about.
Another violent caw escapes him. His talons dance spastically over my arm, biting into my flesh.
Shit, Messenger.
“I know. It is exactly that.” I swallow back the emotion begging to erupt from me once again. “You have a task. You and Serena—your entire brood if you like.” Holden met his feathered match, a downy white raven who stole his thorny heart—another spirit ensnared between plumed wings called Serena Taylor. She was a mid-century Deorsum. She’s as beautiful, svelte, and pale as her feathered cage would have you believe. “Stake out the old Walsh house. As soon as they arrive, I want to know. I want to know their every move on Paragon.”
He cocks his head my way.Chloe Bishop vomits at the sight of me.
Not necessarily at the sight, but certainly in close proximity. It was my mother’s brilliant curse, which only endears me to her at the moment.
“Yes. But that is not our burden to bear. In fact, she can consider it a wedding gift from me to her.Go.” I toss him back into the night sky and watch as his magnificent dark wings shine silver against the stars peering at us from behind pockets of fog.
My legs carry me with far less vigor and I slow down entirely as I come upon Marshall’s palace fit for a king.
Marshall and his people, the Sectors, are created beings, something akin to angels but in charge of far more than your average celestial messenger. And I’ve let every single Sector in the universe down. Not only did Gage topple Celestra from its coveted position, but he toppled the Sectors from their position in the heavenlies—demoting them beneath the Fems for the first time since the Dark Ages.
The din of music playing softly in the background catches my attention as I make my way towards Marshall’s mansion, only to find every light inside illuminating the place, and my mouth falls open at what this might mean. The music increases in volume as I step in close to the oversized matching mahogany doors. It’s so disturbingly loud, the windows vibrate with a soft hum.
I’d break down the door if I had to, but it falls open, unlocked and unmanned. Inside, it’s wall-to-wall bodies, and I let out a harrowing groan upon further inspection.
“Holy mother of God,” I bleat at top volume and nary a living soul—and that is debatable at this point—turns my way. The player piano rattles away at demonic speeds, at horrific volumes, and each of the bodies crammed into this place rollicks about as if it were their last night on earth. And I’m going to make sure it is exactly that—at least in this century.
I recognize these skanks who have come out en masse. Each one of them belongs imprisoned back in the seventeenth century and just the sight of them has me spinning the blue-eyed stone sitting on my forefinger with my thumb. Chloe gave me this peculiar ring, this questionable treasure. It turns out, it belonged to Marshall to begin with, but a few of the trashy hags at this soiree might recognize it—such as Marlena, Chloe’s long-lost whore of a relation. The ring eventually made its way to Cassandra Graham’s twisted old fingers and she made some sort of a pact with Demetri to end up in poor Melody Winters’ dead body. And well, I despise the new Melody Winters. I hate her mother, Dominique Winters, the old whore who is rivaling my mother for Demetri’s affections, even more. It was Dominique who sliced off Gage Oliver’s head the night of the masquerade in exchange for cash and prizes for the hit put out on him by his own demonic father—Fem, technically, but at this point there doesn’t seem to be a real difference.
The music hikes up a few octaves. The keys are played so quickly it’s as if they’re going off all at once and blaring through a horrifically loud megaphone. I can’t help but give a sour expression at the glorified prostitutes from yesteryear in their jewel-toned frocks with the business in the back, crotch party in the front. Those can-can outfits belong in a museum, a cemetery—or an incinerator for that matter.
How dare they frolic like there’s no tomorrow. Once Marshall finds out they’ve taken over his estate, I’m sure he’ll shatter that haunted speculum from which they crawled out of once and for all. God knows it’s high time he’s done it. It was something that should have happened years ago after the very first malfeasance.
