“Yes, well”—Candace runs her fingers through Sage’s thick, glossy mane—“Grandpa Nathan could no longer utilize nor repair his body. And Rory wasn’t allotted any more time than she had. Much like you, she never made it out of the womb. We are all ordained a number of days by design.”
“And what about Uncle Logan?” Sage tips her head back and blinks her big blue eyes up at my mother. “Why must you favor him so? He’s just as bad as she is.” She points a slender finger my way. “You can’t tell me that you don’t favor those two. I have a half a mind to take this matter up with the Justice Alliance.”
“Sage,” I reprimand her lightly, and Marshall shakes his head my way as if to suggest I shouldn’t interfere. He’s right, but I am her mother. Interfering comes with the territory no matter what side of the great divide you’re on.
She slices a hard glance my way. “Don’t youSageme. You’re the reason Father is plagued with so many new enemies. You might be doing everything in your power to weasel your way back to the planet, but I’ll do everything in mine to make sure you stay put—deadwhere you belong. I wish Father never met you.”
“Sage Oliver”—Dad leans in and snatches up her tiny hand—“I think it’s time we take a walk.”
“Oh, Grandpa, you always ruin my good time with that nitwit.”
Dad scoffs with a laugh buried in his throat. “Well, that nitwit is my daughter and she happens to be the very reason you’re in existence at all. You must learn to be grateful, respectful to the one who brought you life.”
My father leads her off and she glowers at me from over her shoulder as they head toward a field filled with exotic flowers.
“F-fine,” she stammers. “I’ll respect her for giving me life. But she didn’t really do so great at it, did she? I am dead, you know.”
Dad sheds a warm laugh. “Dear Sage. You know as well as I do that Christ swallowed up the grave. For the redeemed, there is only life after life.”
He leads her down a hillside, and soon they’re out of sight.
Marshall nods to my mother. “I can see you’re rearing her exceptionally, Your Grace.”
“Marshall,” I snip. “That’s a load of crock, and you know it. Sage is every mother’s nightmare, and it’s all Gage Oliver’s fault. Everything is Gage Oliver’s fault. The fact I’m standing here sans a corporal frame is especially Gage Oliver’s fault. And so help me, if I don’t get back to the land of the living, I’m going to find a way to make him miserable. He will wish he never met me. He will wishhewas never born.”
“Bravo!” My mother gives a riotous applause. “Bravissimo, Skyla! I’ve craved to hear those words from you. How I’ve longed for you to remove the veil from your eyes. He’s been a nuisance since the time of his inception.”
I squint over at her. “Conception or inception?” There’s a world of difference, and I suck in a quick breath because I’m pretty sure I don’t need her to clear up the meaning.
“You heard me.”
My mouth falls open as I look to Marshall. “Holy heck.” The skies rumble and I sag with momentary defeat. “Sorry!” I shout up over the noise before turning back to the woman whoconceivedand delivered me. “Gage was an idea, a blueprint.” I shake my head. “That’s right. Demetri said he was hopping from my brain to Chloe’s, juxtaposing what our perfect mate might look like.” I cock my head at my glowing twin before me. “Why not Logan?”
A dark laugh brews from her. “Dear Skyla”—she wraps an arm around my shoulders as we walk through ankle deep water, and those same feel-good vibes that Marshall exudes strum from her—“there are some toys that are simply not meant to be shared.”
Marshall belts out a laugh. “Do you hear that, Skyla? The Pretty One is merely a toy.”
“He is not.” I take a moment to swat him, and he catches my hand and takes it up. It’s an amazing feeling, calming and soothing to have both of their vibratornics coursing through me at once. With Marshall it’s always been sexual, but here in Ahava, with my mother in on it, thankfully it’s no such thing. It’s simply heavenly. It feels right. As if all of existence down on Earth is out of tune and this is how things really should be.
“Logan is special.” I lean my head onto her shoulder a moment. “You never meant for Chloe to have him.”
“Indeed.” She sighs. “But, of course, the enemy knew that he was the chosen one for you.” She glances to Marshall. “For a season, Sector. I keep my promises.”
A hard groan comes from me. “One thing at a time.” I glower at the both of them without meaning to. Okay, fine. I meant to. “So Demetri could have created Gage to look like Logan, but I’m guessing Logan Oliver and his good looks were essentially off-limits.”
“That they were,” she hums. “I shielded your mind from thinking of anyone even close to him. He is unique and wholly yours, Skyla. The enemy couldn’t duplicate him. I wouldn’t allow it.”
“And thus, Demetri played a game of mix and match until Chloe and I came up with Gage.” That’s exactly what happened. Someone admitted it to me long ago, somewhere—all details I don’t really care to think about right now. “And Gage is beautiful, gorgeous, damningly so.” I wait for the thunder, but it doesn’t come—most likely because damnation is just a sad fact more than it is an expletive. I look to Marshall and take a breath. “Logan is all mine. And because there are so many generations between you and him—you, Marshall Dudley, are all mine as well.” I don’t know whether to smile or frown as I glance to my mother. “Why all the celestial whoring around?” A clap of violent thunder shakes the soil, and it draws a silent chuckle from me. “Please, I’m nothing but a breeding mare. Is that my destiny, Mother? Come on, you could do better than that. You came all the way to Earth to sire me, and for what? So I can pump out kids to each head of the Nephilim delegations? And I’m including you in that equation, Marshall. I’m sorry, Mother, but that’s—sick.
“If I were to design my own daughter’s destiny, I sure as heck wouldn’t reduce her to a baby-making factory. I’d create in her a new thing, something so wonderful that future generations would look back and call her blessed. She would be a great leader. I would have her create a lasting dynasty that she could be proud of. One that would accomplish miraculous things for her people. She would build up others and not destroy them. She would be a healing balm, someone who binds up the wounds of her people, and perhaps those that are not her people. I would make her a supreme unifier. She would wage heavy battles—not to weaken her, but to strengthen her. She would walk through the refiner’s fire and come out shimmering, pure as gold. I would mold her into the woman I know she was meant to be. I would never leave her. Never forsake her. Never let her forget whose child she truly is.”
Marshall starts in on a slow clap. “Very good, Ms. Messenger. Candace, shall I tell her, or would you like to do the honors?”
“No.” She tips her head back a notch. “Neither of us shall comfort her with the truth. She is so very knowing of what should be done and how”—her voice drips with sarcasm—“she should be able to figure it out for herself.”
Then it hits me like a ton of celestial bricks, as genuine tears come to my eyes.
The words I spoke were merely an echo of Candace Messenger’s intentions with me all along. Dear God, she is not a monster. She loves me. With all of her heart. She loves me as much as I love my own baby girl.
