Chapter 30
Skyla
After that little celestial spat with my mother at Devil’s Peak, Logan and I wandered all over this overgrown rock and ended up where most people end up—at the Paragon Cemetery, sitting on a bench overlooking the fog-riddled grounds where the markers glitter like broken glass, broken dreams, and broken promises.
The irony isn’t lost on me that after discovering my mother’s betrayal, we’ve literally ended up in a graveyard. If that’s not symbolism with a sledgehammer, I don’t know what is.
The Paragon Cemetery spreads out below us like a city of the dead, littered with weathered headstones and marble angels draped in mist that rolls in from the ocean.
Dr. Oliver runs this place with the same gentle care he brings to everything else, and I can see why people find comfort here.
The scent of sea salt mingles with something earthier—wet grass, damp soil, and the kind of silence that only comes when you’re surrounded by people who’ve stopped talking forever.
Initially, we wanted to speak to Marshall after our delightful family reunion at Devil’s Peak, but apparently, Shelly never left his mansion.
Something about her not feeling well and needing somewhere comfortable to recover.
Which, knowing Michelle Miller, probably translates to ransacking Marshall’s liquor cabinet while rolling around on his silk sheets once again.
“So,” Logan says, his voice cutting through both the fog and my homicidal thoughts about my mother, “that whole anchor story was complete bullshit.”
“Total bullshit,” I agree, pulling his letterman jacket tighter. “My mother fed us a gourmet meal of lies with a side of celestial manipulation and called it destiny.”
“The question is why,” Logan continues, his breath visible in the cold. “What’s her actual endgame?”
I lean back against the bench, mentally cataloguing my mother’s greatest hits of deception. “With Candace? Could be anything. World domination, cosmic chess, or just seeing how many times she can screw with our lives before we snap.”
“It has to be bigger than that,” Logan growls.
“She brought us back here for a reason we’re not seeing.
This isn’t just about creating an anchor or preserving memories.
She’s orchestrating something massive, and we’re the pawns who don’t even know what game we’re playing.
” He leans back and folds his arms against his chest. “I get it, we can’t disrupt the big things in the future.
But honestly, it feels like she’s gambling with our kids’ existence at this point.
Everything has to be just the way it was for your children with Gage and our children to land on this planet.
Not to mention a lot of other people’s children.
And I guess it will be. They’ll be here.
They’ll be safe. But for claiming to protect our family, it sure as hell feels as if she’s risking everything. ”
“My mother never gambles unless she knows the house will win,” I say as the realization hits me cold. “Which means whatever she’s really after, she’s already calculated that we’ll give it to her.”
“Or she’s calculated that we won’t have a choice.”
The cemetery suddenly feels less like a metaphor and more like a preview.
“Maybe she’s not risking it. Maybe she’s protecting it.” I pause as a new thought occurs to me. “She mentioned this had to do with Demetri tampering with our family. What if something happens in our future that she’s trying to prevent?”
Logan turns to look at me. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. Another war? Some kind of spectacular disaster—yet again?
What if keeping us here somehow stops something terrible from happening later—like much more terrible than the terrible things that are already destined to happen?
Like, maybe this isn’t just protecting our children, it’s actually saving our children’s lives.
We would do anything for them, including walk through Hell twice. ”
“That’s a given. We already have. Multiple times. I’ve got the frequent flyer miles to prove it.” Logan runs a hand through his hair. “But why not just tell us how long we need to be here? Why all the smoke and mirrors?”
“Because manipulation is her love language.” I watch the fog swirl between the headstones. “The really sick part? She’s probably up there right now, convinced she’s mother of the year for traumatizing us into compliance.”
“While we’re here playing guess-the-apocalypse.”
“Exactly.” I lean against him, exhausted. “I hate that she might be right. I hate that whatever she’s preventing might be worth this.”
“Speaking of children,” a familiar voice drawls from somewhere behind us, “shouldn’t you two be getting home to tuck yours into bed?”
We turn to see Marshall emerging from the fog like the exact supernatural apparition he is, with his dark coat billowing in the night breeze. Even in a cemetery in the dead of night, the man manages to look like he stepped out of, well, Heaven.
“Dudley,” Logan says, not bothering to hide his relief. “We came by earlier and ran into Michelle.”
“Yes, I heard,” Marshall replies, standing on the grass near our bench with casual elegance. “Unfortunately, Ms. Miller and her companions decided my home needed some urgent feminine attention. I thought it best to give them space to redecorate.”
“They’re redecorating your house?” I ask incredulously.
Marshall tips his head. “Among other things. I believe Ms. Miller mentioned something about making improvements to my bedroom.”
I nod. “She’s moving in. Expect the walls to be pink by morning.”
“It’s nothing a good exorcism won’t fix,” Marshall says dryly. “Now, what’s so urgent that you’re conducting meetings in graveyards?”
“We talked to Candace,” Logan says grimly.
Marshall’s eyebrows rise with interest. “And how did that delightful family reunion go?”
“We’ve discovered that we’re dealing with a psychotic,” I say without hesitation and the sky flickers as lightning fans out over the island in a violent spray of illumination.
He gives us a look that says, What’s new? Marshall is smart enough not to verbalize his thoughts regarding my mother, but then again, that doesn’t mean she won’t hear them.
“What did our dear Caelestis have to say for herself?” Marshall asks, tipping his ear our way as if he didn’t want to miss a word.
“A lot of vague nonsense about power balance and temporal stability,” Logan shoots back with a sigh. “Nothing that actually explained why we’re trapped here to set some ridiculous anchor.”
“And when we demanded to go home, she basically went full dictator and told us we’re prisoners until she feels like releasing us,” I add.
“Then she threw a supernatural hissy fit, complete with lightning theatrics, and vanishing into thin air. Very mature for someone who’s supposedly older than dirt. ”
A deafening peal of thunder ignites overhead.
“Lightning theatrics,” Marshall repeats, clearly entertained. “How delightfully dramatic.” He frowns as he considers this. “Though not particularly subtle for someone of her... experience.”
“You don’t seem surprised,” Logan observes, studying Marshall’s face.
Marshall shrugs. “Very little surprises me when it comes to the Messenger family. Temporal imprisonment is actually rather tame by Candace’s standards.”
“Tame?” I practically choke on the word. “She’s holding us hostage in the past while our children are wondering why we left Gage holding the diaper bag.”
“Yes, well.” Marshall’s eyes glitter with a healthy dose of danger. “Last time she interfered with the timeline, she started a faction war that killed hundreds. So by comparison, this is practically a gentle nudge.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“It’s supposed to make you realize that whatever she’s preventing must be catastrophic enough to risk your wrath.” He tilts his head, studying me. “And Candace knows exactly how dangerous you can be when someone threatens your children.”
The weight of that statement settles over us like fog. Because he’s right. My mother wouldn’t trap us here unless the alternative was worse. Which means whatever’s coming for our family in the future is bigger than anything we’ve faced before.
Logan leans forward, elbows on his knees. “The thing is, nothing she said made sense. All that talk about maintaining balance and preventing disruption—it felt like she was making it up as she went along.”
“Because she was,” I say as the pieces click together in my head. “Marshall just said it—whatever she’s preventing must be catastrophic. But if this was really about cosmic balance, the entire Decision Council would be involved. Instead, it’s just my mother, going rogue, keeping us in the dark.”
“A Caelestis operating without oversight,” Marshall muses, and there’s something dangerous in his tone. “That’s either very brave or very desperate.”
“With my mother? Both.” I kick at another stone. “She’s preventing something. Something so bad she can’t even tell the Council about it.”
“Or won’t,” Logan adds darkly. “What if she’s the cause of whatever goes wrong? What if keeping us here is her way of cleaning up a mess she creates?”
The thought sits between us like a loaded weapon. Because that would be exactly like my mother—create a disaster, then manipulate everyone else to fix it while calling herself a hero.
“So what’s her endgame?” Logan mutters. “What could be worth risking everything?”
Marshall’s smile is nothing but sharp edges. “Perhaps the better question is—what is she really risking? Your mother rarely gambles without knowing the outcome.”
I shoot Logan a look because that’s exactly what I said.
Logan nods at Marshall. “Meaning?”
“Meaning perhaps the risk isn’t what you think it is.” He stands, brushing invisible dust from his coat. “Candace plays chess while the rest of us plays checkers. By the time we understand her move, she’s already three turns ahead.”
Logan and I exchange a dark look. Because that’s the most terrifying part—we have no idea what game she’s actually playing.
The cemetery suddenly feels colder, and it has nothing to do with the fog.
“I see you’ve traded one love triangle for another.
” A voice cuts through our conversation like a blade, and my heart stops as Gage materializes from the fog near a cluster of headstones.
He nods my way. “But then,” Gage continues, his voice carrying that particular brand of hurt that’s trying very hard to sound indifferent, “you were never in love with me to begin with.”
“That’s not true!” The words explode out of me before I can stop them, desperate and raw and completely inadequate to challenge the teenage angst Gage Oliver just lobbed my way. “We’re just—having a quick little meeting.”
He offers a meager smile. “My mistake.” He nods to Logan and Marshall. “Enjoy whatever it is that’s going on here.”
“Gage, wait—” I start, half-rising from the bench.
But he’s already turning away, disappearing back into the fog as quickly as he appeared, leaving me with my hand stretched out toward the empty night air.
The silence that follows makes my heartbeat drum in my ears. Both Marshall and Logan stare at me like I might shatter, which honestly isn’t far from the truth.
“Well,” Marshall says eventually, “looks as if someone’s jockstrap is in a twist. Perhaps he needs some personal attention to work out the tension. I could spare a few girls if need be.”
“Don’t you dare,” I tell him. “Besides, he’s got Chloe in his pocket, and probably in his jockstrap by now.” I sag just thinking about it. “Everything is a mess,” I say as tears fill my eyes. “Everything. If we don’t get out of here soon, it will be a miracle if Gage and I ever have a family.”
The words hang in the air like a confession, and I realize I’ve just voiced my deepest fear. Not just that we’re trapped in the past, but that every day we stay here pushes Gage farther away from the future where we’re supposed to be together—where we make three beautiful babies together.
Marshall watches me with an expression I can’t quite read. “You really believe that, don’t you?”
“Believe what?” I ask, wiping my eyes.
“That your future with Gage is in jeopardy.”
“Isn’t it?” I gesture helplessly in the direction Gage disappeared. “Look at him. Look at us.”
Marshall takes a step away. “Perhaps the question isn’t how to fix your relationship with Jock Strap, but how to escape the situation that’s destroying it. Unless, of course, that’s been the point all along.”
“Please, my mother has been playing that game since the first time around,” I point out.
“Indeed,” Marshall agrees, his eyes glittering in the moonlight. “And I suspect that game is far more dangerous than any of us realize.”
Some graveyards bury more than bodies—they bury hope, love, and the future you thought was written in stone.