Chapter 7 #3
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.”
“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 selves and 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.
We share a little laugh that feels out of place amid the teenage angst swirling around us. For a moment, I almost forget we’re trapped in our old bodies with no clear way out.
A familiar figure catches my eye. It’s Chloe, making a beeline for us with murderous intent in her eyes.
“Skyla,” she hisses, grabbing my arm. “We need to talk. Now.”
I glance at Logan, who gives me a subtle nod.
“Fine,” I tell her. “Let’s see what the heck you have to say. Lord knows I’ve heard it all before.” Literally.
Chloe drags me toward the stairwell that I know leads to the basement where Emily’s paintings are stored—the same basement where, in our original timeline, we fought and I swallowed the flower of terror.
We descend the stairs, and I glance back, relieved to see Logan in hot pursuit, and a thought hits me.
“Are we sure we should be following Chloe down here?” I whisper his way. “Last time this ended with my face sliced open and a haunted you-know-what slicing open my other end.”
Logan glowers at the chestnut-haired beauty, ready to wreak way more havoc than that haunted rose could ever hope to accomplish. “You’re right. Let’s not repeat past mistakes.” He takes my hand and pulls me back up a few steps. “Bishop, we’ll catch up with you later.”
Chloe spins around with a fresh new fury flashing in her eyes. “Excuse me? You don’t just walk away from me, Skyla Messenger.”
“Actually, I do.” I manufacture a smile just for her. “And you get to watch me do it, too.”
We backtrack up the stairs, leaving a fuming Chloe behind us to seethe and pull her hair out, dig out her own eyes, or whatever else turns on the Queen of Mean when left to her own demonic devices. Chloe belts out a scream with enough force to rattle the walls.
Ah, teenage drama—so much more entertaining when you’ve already lived through it once.
“What now?” I ask as we make our way back to the tangle of half-drunk bodies. “Candace said we need to stay here to secure a happy place we can come back and visit, but she was pretty vague on the details.”
“I guess we just live in the moment. And make sure we don’t accidentally start a war.”
“Sounds like a solid plan to me,” I agree. “And since we’re making the best of it per my mother’s orders—if I remember correctly, there were some pretty spectacular brownies at this party.”
“And Ellis provided the special ingredients.” He shrugs. “What the hell.”
We’re about to head for the kitchen when we spot Gage across the room, leaning against a wall and staring at his shoes as if each one broke his heart in turn. Gage was sort of a professional brooder back then. And well, in the future, he’s still known to make an art out of it on occasion.
“We should talk to the poor guy,” Logan grunts. “He’s moping pretty bad.”
“Oh, let him hone his skills,” I say as we start moving toward the kitchen once again.
“At least this time we can enjoy the party without all the jealousy and angst.” I was going to add and the raging hormones, but I decide to leave that part out—mostly because I happen to have them in number and can’t seem to shake them.
We make our way across the room, and I marvel at how different everything feels the second time around.
What once seemed like the end of the world—Logan’s secrets, Chloe’s horrid manipulations, Gage’s wounded looks—now feels like nothing more than stepping stones that led us to where we needed to be.
And yet a part of me wonders if those stepping stones are about to become a path that leads us much farther from home than we ever planned to go.