The haunted speculum itself is just that, a terrifying mirror that acts as a portal to your most twisted fantasy. I believe Marshall gifted it to Demetri originally once the Sectors came out on top after their last spiritual scrimmage, but since then it’s made its way back. In other words, it was nothing but a big FU to the head Fem in charge. He was told to find a fantasy world where he could be king, that it would never happen on earth or in heaven—and yet, here we are today where the roles have horrifically reversed.
I make my way to the grand piano and am startled to find a dapper Dan from yesteryear actually at the helm. Usually it’s an invisible entity, and I’m betting it’s still this guy sans his long, evaporated body. I’m about to pull out my phone to text Marshall about the carnage taking place just as I realize I left it back in my bedroom when Demetri picked me up for the wedding.
My God, how far I fell, how spectacularly blinded I was by love—a fickleemotionof all things. The boys come to mind and my heart is grieved. No, I can never quantify love as a fickle emotion ever again. What I feel for my children supersedes something as basic as feelings, as emotions. What I feel for my boys is true love. God Himself is love—thus love must be His goodness embedded in our spirits that we are able to impart on those we choose and I choose my boys. My entire being radiates with the love I have for them.
No sooner do I turn to leave than a brunette with a wicked smile catches my eye and my feet transport me to her before my mind can fully process the demon in front of me. Ensconcing her like giggling bookends are Melody and Dominique Winters, creating a perfect trifecta of absolute hate.
“Holy hell,” I riot at the all too familiar girl with the deep chocolate waves flowing down her back, her eyes lit with a glint of wickedness. “Chloe,” I seethe her name. My hatred for her is a furnace, a tornado of fire that burns to the sky. “I’m going to kill you.” It streams from me like a sublime song as my fingers twitch to throw her into the raging flames of the fireplace.
“Ms. Messenger,” a deep voice booms from the side.
I look to my left and a breath hitches in my throat, completely caught off guard to the fact that Marshall Dudley is actually here in the midst of the revelry during this, my darkest hour. My feet stumble backward as I take in the scene. Gorgeous Marshall, my dirty blond god with his devilish grin, those precision-cut features, those boiling cauldrons he calls eyes. Here he stands with the demon of all demons by his side, a host to this debauchery, and it is most certainly high treason.
He bows my way as if accepting his fate. “Marlena? Might I have a word alone with Ms. Messenger?”
“Marlena. Of course.” It comes from me breathless as my rage mingles with panic. There is a touch of relief, as well as a touch of disappointment, to learn this woman isn’t in fact Chloe but some ancient piece of her genealogy.
Marshall wants a word with me. Could I trust Marshall? If I couldn’t trust Gage, then every single person in my life is on the table. Gage was a knife to the heart. Marshall would be a spear.
Marlena’s lips are moving. She is looking right at me, laughing, carrying on as if I were simply a guest at the party. Marshall leans in, his own lips speaking—lips that have loved me intimately before, lips that I had craved and still do. Life as I knew it has withered away and here we are, the evidence of the disintegration materializing before me. My life, I never knew you.
I snatch Marlena by the shoulders and pin her to the stone fireplace with bionic force. Her lips move frenetically and her eyes widen with a hint of terror, but not enough to satisfy me. Marlena isn’t really afraid of me or what I can do. I can’t kill her, but I can bring her pain. And pain is very, very beautiful when inflicted upon your enemies.
My fingers dig into her flesh as I thrust her head against the granite over and over, one magnificent burst after the next until a satisfying crunch can be heard. A skull fracture at its finest, then a splatter of crimson, a fat splat of blood staining Marshall’s pristine limestone walls.
“I hate you,” I seethe. The sound of my voice vibrates off the walls of my soul like a benediction. “You will die. Every last incarnation of you will die and be no more.” The glint of the fireplace catches my attention and I’m ready to throw away the trash and burn it.
A pair of strong arms plucks me off her and the room spins at dizzying speeds until my feet land back on the floor.
“Ms. Messenger,” Marshall riots over the din of the piano—and both the music and the chaotic laughter cease for a moment. “You may not come into my home and destroy my guests.” His lips twitch as if he didn’t mean it. Either he’s rousing me to unknowable heights of insanity or he’s approving of the blood sport I just engaged in.
I glance over to find a bevy of scantily clad beauties tending to Marlena, the sickly moan of a dove coming from her throat. But she pushes their well-meaning hands off of her and zips her bloody self on over to me as if that’s where she belongs.
“Skyla”—her eyes widen a notch as she taunts me with my own name—“I will forgive your grievance. It must be impossible to fathom that your husband has eschewed both you and your people in favor of far more glorious pastures. My great relation is quite fortunate to have such a strapping young steed to contend with both in and out of her chambers.”
An audible grunt emits from me as if she had just produced an axe and chopped off my arm—the one that once belonged to Chloe. And, my God, that is the next order of fucking business.
“Chloe Bishop”—her fingers fly to her lips and she chortles, an unnerving sight considering the left side of her face is striated with blood—“I suppose that’s not her name at all anymore, is it? It’s ChloeOlivernow.” She cocks her head with the slight and it feels as if the floor was just cut out from under me once again. “It has such a nice ring to it. It will take some getting used to, of course, for the both of you. Can you imagine? The girl you hated for so long now shares a name and a husband with you. But I suppose he’s not your husband anymore, is he? Pity.” She gives a slight wink, enjoying every moment of her cruel taunt.
“Marshall”—his name hums from me, tight with tension—“I will destroy all of your guests and every last inch of your home if you do not remove this wicked witch from my presence.”
Marshall leans her way. “I bid you, Marlena, to mingle and leave my beloved alone for the rest of the night.”
Marlena lifts a shoulder at us, her unmistakable Bishop features set to a scowl. “Some people simply can’t handle the truth.” She heads back to the bawdy broads glaring at us from the fireplace.
I groan as I watch her. “I’m going to travel back in time and watch you swan dive off that cliff. I’ll be the one cheering you on,” I shout after her and the entire gaggle of ghoulish girls shudder and scream.
Marshall chuckles. “You do realize she’s not yet apprised of her fate.”
“Then perhaps I’ll influence her final and only rational decision.” I happened to know that’s exactly how Marlena meets her end—taking a plunge off the white cliffs of Dover. “Good riddance,” I say, my rage still percolating for her. “On second thought, those flames look as if they’re dwindling. I think I should feed the fire and be done with it.” I take a step in that direction and Marshall reels me in, his lips quickly landing over my cheek.
“No such thing shall transpire. You can prosper without dealing carnal blows to those who offend you.”
“Offend? You have no idea how far off base you are. I am far more than offended by Chloe and Gage.” I double over momentarily at the mention of their names strung together in such an intimate way. This entire nightmare is like giving birth to a beast with twelve horns.
A thought comes to me as my gaze flits back to the stunning Sector before me, the one who I once believed in emphatically, and now I’m not so sure I should so much as hang my hat on his words.
“So help me God, Marshall Dudley, thy name will be wicked forevermore if you so much as attempt to lie to me. Why are you celebrating this horror that has manifested in my life?” My voice breaks and I hate that I can no more control my hurt, my pain than I can the circumstances around me.
