“I wonder if we could have avoided any of that mess,” I muse. “The war, the deaths, all of it.”
A hand clamps over my shoulder and digs into my flesh with its razor-like fingernails. I jump, turning to find Michelle standing there, her eyes glowing like radioactive tomatoes.
“It doesn’t matter,” she says, her voice eerily lucid. “No matter what we do, it won’t change things. We can’t change anything significant when we’re traveling. Maybe you can.”
Logan and I exchange a startled glance. This doesn’t sound like the Michelle Miller we know.
First, Michelle isn’t traveling. Second, she’s sort of right about the fact we can’t change things while we’re on light driving mode. Third, has she just figured out we’re not who we claim to be? Or at least technically not the original versions?
“What did you say?” I ask just a notch above the raucous music as I lean an ear her way.
“The paths are set,” she growls as that rose pendant swings against her chest like a threat. “We still win the war. Remember, I always get what I want.”
My blood runs cold. Those aren’t Michelle’s words. They’re not even Michelle’s thoughts.
“Who are you?” Logan demands, stepping closer.
Michelle’s eyes flash blue—a familiar, electric blue that I’ve seen countless times before. A pale shade of blue. My mother’s blue.
“The host is temporary,” Michelle says with Candace’s inflection. “Don’t waste your energy trying to change the past. It’s futile.”
“Mother?” I whisper, horrified and fascinated in equal measure. Honestly, I’ve always thought my mother was a little too scary for words, and now she’s proving me right.
Michelle’s head tilts at an unnatural angle, one more inch and it might snap off. “Enjoy your visit. The anchor is nearly secured.” She turns and staggers away, disappearing into the crowd of a zillion other staggering bodies.
“Did that just happen?” Logan asks in disbelief.
“Apparently, my mother can possess people via haunted jewelry,” I say, trying for levity despite the chill spreading through me. “Add that to the list of family talents I definitely didn’t inherit.” But something tells me she didn’t need the jewelry to pull off that creepy feat.
Logan rubs his temples as if a massive headache were brewing. And he’s definitely not alone in that.
“So, we can’t change anything significant,” Logan says with a nod, and I can’t help but note how deliciously handsome he looks in this dim light. “We already know we can’t change anything. I’m ready to get this little light driving exercise over with. The music is too loud, it’s too late, and I’m too old.”
“I’d say speak for yourself, but right now my feet are killing me,” I admit, hiking up a high heel. I’d ask why I ever wore such torture devices, but I remember all too well how much I loved my FM’s.
We make our way through the party, watching our past selvesand friends interact while trying to avoid the drama, the trauma, and the contact high we’re getting from the secondhand weed.
“At least we know it all works out,” I say, giving in and leaning against a wall as we watch Gage finally extracting himself from Chloe’s hot and bothered tentacles and all but gives her the finger. “We win the war. We get our family. We live happily ever after.”
And I get to sleep with Gage and be his one and only, despite Chloe’s best efforts. But I leave that part out of it for now. And possibly forever because I swear, I’d never say that out loud.
A roar of thunder goes off, so loud that it shakes the entire framework of the house and causes everyone here to gasp and scream before laughing with delight.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think Paragon itself were protesting that whole bit about happily ever after.
“We do live happily ever after,” Logan says as if reading my mind and I gasp once I see that our hands are conjoined.
“Gah!” I say as if I were just electrocuted, because let’s face it, Logan just heard everything I swore I’d never say out loud. “I’m so sorry!”
He shakes his head and waves it off and gives a meager smile despite my lusty thoughts toward the dimpled Oliver or Mother Nature’s opinion.
He gives a little shrug. “Maybe that’s why this really is the perfect place to host the anchor for our love—to remind us of how far we’ve come.”
I’m not convinced, but I high-five him anyway. “To surviving teenage drama and celestial warfare.”
“And to avoiding swallowing cursed jewelry,” he adds with a grin.
“And the pointy digestive aftermath,” I say without hesitation.
