Logan steps forward. “Let me help you with that,” he offers, reaching toward the necklace, and for a second, I fear for his fingers.
Michelle hisses like a half-starved alley cat and backs away as if he threatened to strangle her with the haunted chain. Honestly, a good strangulation is not off the table.
“Mine,” she growls, her voice dropping to a spooky octave.
If Emily’s family home didn’t feel like a creepy haunted house before with its plethora of glowing dragon knick-knacks running amok, it sure as heck does now. And whatever happened to that trend of decorating with geese? My mother had a small flock in every room of the house at one point. But that was when we lived back in L.A. And after our world burned to the ground when my father died, we traded geese for dragons and Dad for Tad. A heavy sigh escapes me at the thought. And how I hate that Dad and Tad rhyme.
“Take that damn rose off, Miller,” I bark at her like a drill sergeant.
“Marshall gave it to me,” she thunders. “ToME.”
And he’s giving me a headache by proxy. I can’t wait to hunt down the surly Sector and thank him later.
Hey? I bet he can pull some celestial strings and get Logan and me home. Although knowing Marshall, he’ll require me to sleep with him as payment.
I consider this for a moment. It is for the greater good…
A burst of heat whips through me at the thought. Wow, how did I ever survive my teenage years without hitting the sheets with Logan, Gage, and Marshall all at once? Not that I didn’t give it the old college try—or high school try as it stands. These hormones are no joke and should come with a warning label, not that I would have read it.
Logan and I exchange a quick glance. This is definitely not how tonight went the first time around. Maybe we really should leave well enough alone. I mean, eventually, Michelle recovered from that haunted rose. And she looked pretty cute in a baseball cap while waiting for her hair to grow back.
“Okay,” I say soothingly. “Keep it. But maybe go sit down somewhere quiet?”
Like a dark corner so that Logan and I can knock her over the head with a baseball bat and take the necklace off ourselves when she’s unable to claw our eyes out.
Speaking of baseball bats, I crane my head into the crowd on the lookout for Gage once again, but he’s drifted out of sight.
Michelle nods vaguely and wanders off, the rose swinging against her chest as if doing its haunted best to hypnotize anyone unlucky enough to glance in its direction.
“That was close,” I murmur. “At least I’m too smart to touch the thing now—let alone shove it down my throat.”
Logan nods. “Should we go deal with Chloe? Gage obviously isn’t smart enough not to touch her. And Chloe would certainly love to shove him down her throat.”
I shoot him a look for even going there before scanning the vicinity, and sure enough, I spot them.
It’s true, Gage is still being harassed by the bitchy Bishop’s wandering hands. And I’ll admit, that jealousy flares in my chest like an explosion at a fireworks factory before I remind myself that this is ancient history—literally. But since I’ve already toyed with the idea of strangulation, I wouldn’t mind pointing my homicidal tendencies in Chloe’s direction.
“No,” I decide. “The original version of tonight spiraled into a basement fight where Chloe sliced open my face and I accidentally swallowed that cursed rose. I vote we avoid that entire haunted scenario. Gage can handle her for one night. I think.” I frown at Chloe as she continues her assault on my future husband. “Maybe we should hit Ellis up for some of his stash and have a mellow night staring at that dragon’s head mounted in Em’s living room instead.”
“Now there’s something I never thought I’d hear come out of your mouth.” Logan takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. “Good call, steering clear of drama—not so much on the weed. I think we need to stay focused on the task at hand and secure this anchor—whatever that means—and most importantly, stay sober so we can get the heck out of here.”
“Right. Anchor and exit,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut tight for a moment in hopes this is all a bad dream.
We move through the party, taking in our teenage friends with new eyes. Brielle flirts aggressively with a basketball player in the corner. Nat and Lexy huddle together by the snack table, whispering and shooting daggers behind Chloe’s back. Ellis keeps darting concerned glances our way, clearly confused by my lack of jealous rage. That, or he’s sorely disappointed that we’re not lighting up with him tonight. Not that we ever did. Often. But he always held out hope. Let the record show, I did put in a request, but Logan was quick to shoot it down.
Logan shakes his head. “I can’t get over how surreal this is. It’s like watching a home movie of our lives, except we’re living it. No offense to present company, but it sort of feels like a nightmare.”
“No offense taken and I totally agree,” I say, leading him toward the massive painting in the dining room that had so captivated methat night, the one depicting the faction war we hadn’t yet fought, complete with Marshall overseeing the battle.
It’s Emily’s work of art, the kind of art that took over her body in one fell swoop as she foretold the future on any medium she could find. That’s sort of Emily’s gift. Haunted art that tells you spooky things that are about to happen to you, whether you like it or not. I’m still not a fan of her make-and-take sessions that she still hosts to this day, or this day in the future. But it’s worked out to be a nice little side hustle for her, so there’s that.
“Look at this,” I say, pointing to the winged figure in the corner of that haunted picture that I now recognize clearly as Marshall in all his buffed-out Sector glory. “We had all the clues right in front of us.” The idea of a laugh rumbles through me. “He was always here to help us.”
“You mean help himself to you.”
“That hasn’t happened.”
“Yet,” he growls, just thinking about it. Logan studies the painting with newfound interest, right there with me. “Emily was having visions all along.”
