The fog shrouds itself around the cemetery like a faithful witness as body after body is slowly exhumed from the ground, and from the mausoleum as well. In the future, I might suggest my brother bury anyone with a drop of Nephilim blood inside that den of easily accessible corpses in the event Skyla feels the need to summon the dead once again. Skyla has made it abundantly clear that this is her baby. Chloe didn’t play into the decision making one bit. In fact, Chloe isn’t exactly helping with any part of the process, and it makes me wonder if she wants to absolve herself of malfeasance altogether. Instead, she sits back with our old—newly resurrected friend, Kate, watching her mime out a conversation and laughing her ass off. Poor Kate has signaled that she wanted paper and a pen, but Chloe couldn’t be bothered. Why put someone out of their misery when you can torment them for hours? I would have helped Kate out hours ago myself, but, as it is, I’m covered with dirt, sweat, and blood. The blood is my own from a cut I incurred while prying open a crypt. Who knew I could bleed? I guess I’m a real boy after all.

“Logan.” Skyla waves me over to the precipice where she’s standing. “Look at that.” She marvels at the small mounds Gage is tapping down with a shovel to minimize the damage we’ve done. “It’s not that bad. I can’t believe he’s gone back over every single hole we’ve dug and smoothed it over.”

“You sound proud of him.”

“I’m”—her lips screw up in a fit of confusion—“I’m just saying he’s going the extra mile.” She slaps her hands over her jeans. Whether or not Skyla wants to acknowledge it, she’s getting her figure back to her pre-pregnancy state. She looks great, and she’s a great mother like I always knew she’d be. “Can you believe this?” She looks over at the crowd of the walking dead, each in their formal prom-like attire. They all look pretty damn good as a whole, which is a testament to Barron’s embalming skills. “They didn’t all choose to come.” She wraps an arm around my waist. “Once I tapped their gravestone, I suppose they had a decision to make. And to be honest, I didn’t think this many would show. Not on this grand scale.”

“One hundred ninety-two bodies. The oldest of which was born in 1805.” I should know, I’m keeping track and keeping them from straying as Drake and Ethan help transport them all in our trucks over to the house that Gage and Skyla purchased last fall. Yes, it will be crowded as hell, and feel like hell since they’ve all been privy to paradise, but, as Skyla pointed out, it’s far more spacious than a casket. Collectively they look stiff, but as the early hours of the morning fast approach, they’ve been testing out their old bodies, stretching and jogging in place as if readying for a marathon. Their voices, however, aren’t louder than a whisper, which is something that I’m hoping will clear up once those vocal cords get lubed up once again. The whispering phenomenon could be enough to trip up the feds long before we’re ready.

“Amazing.” She offers a firm squeeze to my ribs. “And they understand completely that they’ll be ushered right back to eternity once their calling is through. The only thing I’m unsure about is”—she lowers her voice to a whisper—“God, Logan, what if they feel pain? I don’t see why they wouldn’t, but I hadn’t really considered it. That would be just as bad as putting the living through it.”

“That may be so, but for them it’s a mission. They’ve got one task to complete, and they’re doing it for the good of the living. I think your biggest problem is sitting right over there.” I nod back to where Chloe is doing her best to remove that scarf poor Kate scrambled to retrieve. A rotten thing to do, considering it’s what’s securing Kate’s head to the rest of her.

“Chloe won’t tell.” Skyla wraps her arm around mine like a vine. “I own her. I own Chloe Bishop.” Her voice drops into its lower octave, dark and seductive, as if the prospect of owning Chloe left her sexually charged. “She is my bitch just the way God intended.”

“Things are going to end badly.” The words weren’t even necessary. At this point, anyone can surmise it.

“They would have anyway.”

Just as I’m about to beg Skyla for a hint on the dirt she has on Chloe, or perhaps more to the point the kinds of promises she might have made to her—and either has to be big in order for Chloe to do her bidding—one of the older gentlemen near me coughs explosively into his hand. You have to give it to them, still considering others when it comes to germs. There are some hygienic practices not even death can beat out of you.

He leans in toward Skyla and me. “I was just saying it used to snow on Paragon—big giant heaps of”—he gags and bucks forward as a stream of neon green vomit spews from his mouth.

“Shit.” I pull Skyla back as a chunky waterfall of putrid barf splatters through the air.

A collective groan works its way through the crowd as body after body doubles over and pukes right where they’re standing.

“Oh no.” Skyla covers her mouth with her hand as throngs of those long-deceased bathe the ground in a sea of vomit. “Shit, shit, shit!” She jumps back, and just as I’m about to grab a hose from the side of the mausoleum, Barron pops up—about as unwanted as a puking corpse in a cemetery.

Crap. “Hey, Barron.” I give a quick nod his way as if our little corner of the world weren’t falling to shit. “What brings you out tonight?”

“It’s morning in the event you haven’t noticed.” That mean glare he’s casting my way says it all. My brother has always been a man of few words, studious to a fault, and a peaceful, amicable soul. But, at the moment, he’s raging-bull mad, ready to fire off his anger at the first familiar face he comes across, and as fate would have it, that would be me.

“What in the world is going on, Logan?” His voice shakes with fury. His glasses steam up, and it has nothing to do with the fog. “Why are you having a party in the middle of the cemetery, and why in God’s name are they all regurgitating their dinner at the very same time?”

Skyla buries her face in her hands a moment. “We’re not having a party, Dr. Oliver.” I’ve always thought it was sweet the way she continues to call him by his proper name. She’s his daughter-in-law now. She could easily call him Barron, or Dad if she liked. “And they’re not regurgitating their dinner. I’m pretty sure it’s those embalming fluids you filled them up with. These people are actually at home. You see—Logan and Gage dug them up from their respective graves.”

I blink her way, stunned at how easily she threw both Gage and me under the bus—and I also find it cute as hell.

Technically, she’s right. It was Gage and I that did all the heavy lifting, but I can’t help but chuckle at the thought of Skyla omitting herself from the tragedy unfolding.

“Fine.” She smacks me over the arm. “It was my idea.”

Barron’s eyes bug out like a pair of golf balls. “Holy shit.” He does a quick spin into the crowd as the bodies fall to the ground and pant for water.

I’ve heard Barron shed an expletive or two in my day, but they are rare and few between, and usually signify a shitload of trouble—case in point.

He leans in to inspect the moaning crowd. “My God, these are people I’ve buried! The legal ramifications of unearthing the dead are innumerous. Are you insane?” He stops short as he spots his son nestled among the gravestones. “Gage Oliver! Get back here right this minute!”

Gage does a double take before tossing down his equipment and doing as he’s told.

“I have a very good explanation,” Skyla starts, but Barron holds up a hand, unable to look her way. The brunt of his rage is very much pinned on Gage at the moment.

“Did you give the green light to this circus?” His voice pitches as white plumes burst from his mouth.

“Shit,” Gage says it under his breath as he makes his way over. His face is covered in a thin layer of dirt, and it makes his eyes siren out ten times brighter than before. “Look, I’ve got everything under control.”

“You must be kidding me,” Barron barks so loud half the newly awakened dead stagger on over. “Do you see the unfortunate state of these people? They belong in caskets. They belong under Paragon soil, not on it! If word gets out that I’ve dug up half the bodies in my possession, I’ll lose my license, my house, and never mind my sanity.” He growls over toward Skyla, “I’ve already lost that.” Barron stalks over to the side of the morgue and starts the hose running.

“Great minds,” I muse. “I was just about to do the same thing. I’d better go help out.”

“No, wait.” Gage stops me. “I’d better do it.” He looks to Skyla with that forlorn expression he wears whenever she’s around. “A few more trips and everyone will be settled at the house. As soon as I clean this place up, I’ll help you get the boys.”

She offers a silent nod, and Gage jogs off to clean up the mess.

“He’s good at that,” I muse.

“At what?” Skyla doesn’t take her eyes off him. I know this separation is killing her just the same.

“At cleaning up messes. That’s all he was doing, Skyla—cleaning up a mess.”

“I know,” she says it quiet, with a touch of defeat in her voice.

“So, are you ready to hear him out?” Here it is, the moment Gage has been waiting months for. All Skyla needs to do is understand his motives and she’ll see he never betrayed her—not in the way she thinks he did.

“Not tonight.” She heads over to Drake and Ethan, and they cuss up a storm at the prospect of vomit-covered passengers. They’re still knee-deep in transports, and it looks as if they’re ready to throw in the vomit-covered towel.

“Dude.” Drake gets in my face. “I don’t see you offering these assholes a ride. Do you know the last few trips they puked their guts up in the back of the van? Brielle is going to shit a brick when she sees I need to recarpet the ceiling.”

“Tell you what.” I fish the keys to my truck out and hand them over. “Pile as many as you like in the back. No pukers in the cab. And why don’t you buy Brielle a new car for the hell of it? Trust me, you’ll be thanking me when you see how happy it makes her.” If I know one thing about Bree, it’s that she loves new things. And if I know one thing about Drake, it’s that he likes to get laid by his wife. It sounds like a win-win to me. Besides, Drake and Bree are rolling in it. Drake has amassed more wealth in the last year alone to qualify him for the Forbes 500. Bree isn’t doing so bad either with that nail polish line Ezrina helped her hone. If someone would have told me that two people who I graduated high school with would strike it rich right off the bat, I would never have pegged it to be this particular dynamic duo.

“Good thinking.” He stalks off, and I help him and Ethan load up the last of the formerly dead.

Ethan nods over to Skyla, and she heads on over. “What’s the deal?” He waves a hand at the truck full of dead men and women anxious to get this next, most likely disastrous, part of their new lives underway. “You throw a party and don’t bother inviting Em and me?” He shakes his head in disgust.

“Be thankful.” Skyla averts her eyes with measured drama. “It looks like a bad case of food poisoning.”

I’m almost amused that Ethan bought the excuse. Gage told both Drake and Ethan we were having a graveyard bash and needed help transporting the guests. He said our valet took off. If by valet he meant hearse, then yes, those took off years ago.

“Did you cook?” Ethan looks affronted at the idea, and Skyla gives a sorrowful nod. “Damn straight they got sick. You need to get this shit catered. This is too many people to be slaving over a stove for. You got kids now. You’re not Wonder Woman.” He takes off, and we watch as their taillights wash the cemetery in a bloodbath of red.

“You are Wonder Woman.” I wrap an arm around her shoulders as Barron and Gage come up.

“I want you all off the property.” Barron’s eyes widen as he observers something from over my shoulder. “Good God and take it with you!”

We turn to find Kate staggering over, her head dangling by her waist as she grips it by the hair. Her mouth is moving, her eyes blinking frenetically—it’s enough to make a grown man vomit, and Barron heads over to the bushes and does just that.

Chloe comes up from behind and tosses Kate’s scarf over her disembodied head. “I’m taking off. Don’t worry about a thing. This reanimation-fest will be our little secret.” She offers a dark smile to Skyla that reeks of wickedness. Skyla has to see through this bullshit. “Wes is too busy with that little brat to notice anything anyway. He says he’s hired some hot little nanny to replace Ezrina, now that she’s down for the count.” She glances at her fingernails as if the thought of her own child reminded her of the fact she’s in need of a manicure. And what’s with calling your own kid a brat? I’m pretty sure that moniker is reserved for non-relations, or at least it should be. “I’ll catch you losers later,” she says it with a wink and a smile before looking to me. “Can’t wait to don my legwarmers and neon heels for that party you’re throwing.” She spots Gage, and her arms stretch wide as if gunning for a hug. “I’ll be sure to save the sexiest dance for you.”

Skyla reaches over and knocks her in the forehead with the palm of her hand. “Good night, Chloe.”

And just like that, Chloe Bishop blinks out of this plane and into the Transfer.

“I wondered how you did that.” Gage smiles down at her, and they share a quick laugh, but Skyla stops short as if startling back to reality—a reality where laughing with Gage simply isn’t permitted.

Barron offers us a curt nod. “I’ll be staying the remainder of the day.” He looks out at the cemetery as the sun comes up over the hillside. “Fielding phone calls, undoubtedly. I’ll be closing the grounds for repairs for the rest of the week.” He stalks off inside.

Ethan brings my truck back and takes off in his own car before I can thank him.

“That’s my ride.” I help navigate Kate over to the passenger’s side.

“I’ll help get her head on,” Skyla offers and I get out of the way.

Gage comes over with those tired bloodshot eyes. “Thanks, man. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Same.” I give him a quick fist to the shoulder. I glance over to find that Skyla has Kate’s head in the right spot and that scarf of hers tight as a noose. She’s scouring the glove compartment for what I’m assuming is a pen, and she holds one up to the light victoriously before handing it to Kate.

Gage leans in. “What do you think Kate has to say about my mom?” He folds his arms over his chest and offers a disappointed look in the direction of the family home as if he senses the news isn’t favorable.

“I don’t know. Did she even know your mom? Maybe she went to the preschool? Emma runs the largest preschool on the island. I think at some point everyone under twenty-five passed through those doors. I bet that’s what it is. She probably has some long suppressed memory of how wonderful she is and she wants to thank her. Don’t underestimate your mother.” I hate that I’m essentially echoing Dudley’s words. “She leaves a damn good impression.” I offer a mock sock to his shoulder.

“That’s probably it.” He offers a quick pat to my back. “I’ll catch you later.” We head over to Skyla, and she quickly crumbles the note in her hand and buries it in her pocket. Her face looks unreasonably pale, despite the fact she’s dusted with fresh Paragon soil like the rest of us. Whatever Kate jotted down, Skyla isn’t up for show and tell.

“Go ahead and get the boys, get a shower, and some sleep.” I offer her a quick embrace. “I’ll make sure Kate is comfortable.” As comfortable as you can be without your head formally attached. “I’ll have Ezrina look at her come morning.”

She gives a frantic nod. “That’s great.” She looks to Gage. “Why don’t you call your mom and ask her to get the boys ready? I’ll meet you in the truck. I just want to say good night to Kate.”

Gage gives a quick wave and heads to his truck.

“What did the note say, Skyla?” I glance to Kate who looks morbidly exhausted and, in truth, I’m paranoid she might keel over again on the ride back to the house.

“It said”—the words pull from Skyla’s lips in slow motion as she looks to our old undead friend—“Emma is trouble.”

“Trouble? How?” I glance to Kate. Her eyes are glazed over, fatigued beyond reason. That just goes to show, some dirt naps are never long enough.

Skyla shakes her head just barely. “She wouldn’t say. She clammed up and just kept mumbling Emma’s name over and over again as if it were some chant.” Skyla gently combs Kate’s hair to the side of her face. “Good night. Sleep tight,” she whispers before taking a step back, and I shut the door for her. “Logan.” Skyla closes her eyes a moment too long as if her body were begging for respite any way it can get it. “What could she have meant? Is there something about Emma that you’re keeping from me?” Her voice is soft, but that accusatory look in her eyes is sharp as a lion’s claw. Skyla is lacerating me with a simple glance.

“No. I swear it.”

Gage revs up the engine before pulling alongside of us. He teleported back to Whitehorse before Ethan and Drake came over and retrieved it but refused to teleport the masses—not with the feds lying in wait for some paranormal phenomenon, and it would have been just that.

“There’s my ride.” Skyla’s brows pitch as if offering me one last chance to pony up the confession, but there isn’t one. A deafening silence fills the void instead.

I watch as they take off. Skyla and Gage, together again if only for a moment. That’s the way it should be, I try to tell myself, but that knot in the pit of my stomach rejects it every single time.

I hop in and drive Kate home in silence. Lexy is there when we arrive to gift her the enthusiastic greeting she deserves. It sounds like a party in the house, and that’s just Lex bubbling with excitement. But I’m quick to ditch the reunion and get to bed.

I dream of Skyla all night long, of the two of us swimming through corpses, blood rising over us in waves, washing us red as a reminder of the new catastrophe I’m afraid we’ve pulled ourselves into.

Oh, Skyla. What have we done?

How do we always manage to slip in the shit of our own making?

* * *

The next few days are spent cataloging the formerly dead, manically emptying all the thrift stores on the island of their casual ware and shoes, and turning the bowling alley kitchen into a bona fide pizza delivery service. It turns out newly reanimated bodies like to eat. Scratch that—they are ravenous to put things other than earthworms into their pie holes. In light of the fact, I’ve been syphoning food from the bowling alley and sending a steady stream of pizza delivery to Skyla’s home behind the gates—the old Walsh residence where we stand now with the dilapidated kitchen serving as crisis central.

Dudley steps up beside me as we watch Skyla and Ellis try to work out a plan of attack on paper as far as how to best utilize our newfound army of volunteers.

“Nothing like the stench of death in the afternoon to enliven the senses.” His crimson eyes glance my way before nodding to the disheveled masses.

“That, my friend, is the scent of pepperoni and sausage. It turns out that death can really enliven your carnivore tendencies.” I glance to Skyla hard at work trying to figure out where the undead puzzle pieces fit best. “What do you think we should do?”

Dudley leans in and redirects my line of vision back to his ugly mug. “As your supervising spirit, I’d suggest you back away slowly from the puddle of blood seeping your way, but it’s too late for that. You’re covered in it, sealed with its iniquity—its stench branded upon your very soul.” The look of discontent crosses his face. It’s an expression I’ve grown familiar with coming from him. Unfortunately, Dudley is right more than he is ever wrong, and once again, unfortunately, he is never, ever wrong.

“So, you’re staying out of it.” I figured as much. Dudley has made it clear that the graveyard grovel was something he’d rather keep his sooted wings far away from.

He frowns over at me—a look I’ve grown accustomed to. “Have you ever heard the saying measure twice cut once?”

“Yes.” My insides tense because I can feel the barb before he ever lets it fly from his mouth.

“Formulating a plan and executing it should be two distinct actions, preferably the former followed by the latter. Do you see something contradictory with this picture?” He glares over at Skyla for a moment.

“I get it.” I hold up a hand to cut him off. “We jumped in. But in her defense, it’s a brilliant plan and one approved by the leader of the Decision Council herself.”

His finger bounces off his lips as if deep in thought, an action I’ve been prone to do myself, and the idea amuses me. Somewhere down the lineage line, our ancestry has crossed wires. Dudley here is my not-so-great gramps thanks to his less than stellar, albeit frequents, romps throughout history. His celestial seedlings escaped the one-eyed snake, and here I am, all but a carbon copy of the Sector himself.

“Has Candace approved this?” His voice curls toward the incredulous. “Have you thought through the repercussions, young Oliver? Has it ever occurred to you this might be a master manipulation? A setup as it were?” The lights dim, and Dudley stands at attention, his gaze dialed in straight ahead as if he were half-expecting his superior to strut in front of him.

Chloe strides up before I can answer him. Her cruel dark eyes narrow in over mine as her face curves into a snarl. “What’s this I hear about Logan Oliver becoming a bumpkin farmer?” She spits the words out with a nauseous look.

“Do my future plans offend you?” I’m not amused. And God knows I’m not in the mood to entertain this wench today or any other day.

Her full lips twist in a knot, and a brief memory of the two of us fucking freely back in her old bedroom—Skyla’s new bedroom, before I ever knew Skyla existed, runs through my mind. “Hell yes, they offend me. They—”

“Good,” I cut her off at the pass. “I hope everything about me offends you, Chloe. I hope the sight of me makes your stomach turn the way mine does when I see you. All you have ever done to me or anyone else is caused outrageous levels of misery. I can’t imagine what I would have done if you had only approved. Thanks for solidifying my actions with your discontent. It’s how I know I’m moving in the right direction.”

Ellis scoffs from the end of the table. “Dude, she’s right. This idea sucks big hairy balls. You need to rethink the squash-fest. You and I need to pool our funds and open up a chain of breasteraunts on the island.”

“Breasteraunts?” Chloe chokes on the word as if she were equally offended by his idea, as she was mine. In truth, I happen to agree with her on that one. “Skyla—evict every idea that stoner offers. We can’t trust his judgment.”

“And we can trust yours?” Dudley smiles as he delivers the quip.

Chloe straightens, her eyes dim to a disheartening shade of soot. “My, my, isn’t this the pot calling the kettle black? You are quite the charmer, aren’t you, Sector Dudley—flaunting your manhood through the ages as if you were some starry host B list celebrity that has a dick ax to grind with the female population at large. I’ll have you know—”

“Enough.” The words come from him calm as he lifts a finger with ease, and Chloe levitates into the air with her back adhering to the ceiling.

Skyla and I exchange a brief glance before we scan the room for onlookers, as if the dead should find this the least bit bazaar. Truth be told, every last detail of our world has turned into a mindfuck as of late. Not sure why Chloe on the ceiling should jar me in any way.

“Shit!” Chloe squeals. “Please, dear God, don’t spin me! Skyla, don’t you let him spin me!” she screams as a round of oohs and ahhs erupt amongst the crowd gathering at the spectacle.

I’ll give Dudley credit. It is an amusing party trick—one he played on me not too many years ago. Although, I don’t recall any spinning.

Dudley growls up at her as if threatening her with a quick spin before he glowers over at me. “Bring Skyla to my home this evening. I’ve a dead man’s bone to pick with the two of you.”

“What about Gage?” It only seems natural. It’s always been the three of us against the world even if the two of them are at odds at the moment.

“I forbid that menace to cross my property line.” He seethes over at Skyla, “Don’t be tardy, Ms. Messenger.” He butts shoulders with the dearly departed and disintegrates long before he hits the exit, which spurs a spontaneous round of applause from the easily impressed crowd.

“Sectors are the best.” A bubbly blonde shoulders up next to me. She’s tiny and cute, and startlingly young, a pre-teen perhaps. She holds the air of innocence about her with the exception of a gaping wound that glides across her cheek. I can tell it’s been filled in with the mortuary’s finest cosmetics—dried and cracking with age. “I’m Casey.” She offers me a svelte hand, and I shake it, surprised to see how warm it is.

“I’m Logan.”

“Logan Oliver.” Her eyes brighten a peculiar shade of lavender. “Once dead and now you’re alive in a Treble gifted from your highness Candace Messenger—mother of Skyla, our great warrior princess who is destined to secure a rightful place of leadership with Celestra through her marital bond with Sector Marshall. I’m all up on my Warring Angels 101.”

Skyla looks up from the spastic notes eating up the table and offers a quiet laugh. Her eyes connect with mine, and we share an intimate moment right here in the madness, the eye of the hurricane we’ve seated ourselves in once again.

“Nice to meet you, Casey.” I offer her a quick shake. “And yes, Skyla is our great warrior princess.”

That wide-eyed stare of hers never dissipates. “You’re sexy.” Her fingers cover her mouth as she giggles.

“I second that,” Skyla calls out, and Chloe grunts from above as if she’s been supernaturally muted. And judging by the fact she’s no longer cursing up a storm, I’d say that might very well be the case. “Giselle says it’s okay to use that word.” She nods into the idea as if she’s been eager to use that word for centuries. “You are sexy. We all think so.” She motions back to a small crowd of girls gathered in a bunch near the sofa leering at me with perky little grins. I give a quick wave, and the entire lot of them breaks out into titters. Casey glides her hand up over my shoulder, taking a step in with a look in her eye that suddenly screams anything but innocence. “It’s so lonely in here. How about you give a girl a ride in that big white truck of yours?” She gives a little wink.

Skyla clears her throat as if to say something, but her mouth opens and she’s suddenly as mute as Chloe and she shrugs up at me instead.

“Pardon me.” A tall dapper man, the oldest of the bunch as far as time goes, steps up. “I’m afraid young Casey is needed in the next room.” He shakes his head at her ever so slightly as if it were a reprimand and escorts her quickly in that direction. I know the dude, David Copeland. He looks like an Abe Lincoln caricature if you ask me. He died in his late thirties—in 1898. I know Casey, too. Casey Fields was just fifteen the day she met her demise in 1948 by way of a tractor plow. It’s safe to say, I’ve made it a point to commit each newly reanimated corpse and the nature of their demise to memory. I shake my head at the thought of being hit on by a girl who is technically slightly older than my mother. And speaking of my mother—and my father. I’ll admit, I was holding out hope that they, too, would have been a part of this heroic assignment. But, as it stands, they were cremated by the Counts far before they ever were by the morgue, and it appears Candace is only allowing us to utilize those with bodies available to reanimate. Barron had their ashes scattered partially throughout the farm back in Oregon and here on the island—the bowling alley, the beach, they both loved Pike’s Reef where I spend my birthday each year. And each year I celebrate at that locale, I feel close to my mother and father.

“Wow, Logan”—Skyla marvels with that sarcastic look in her beautiful blue eyes that I’ve grown to love—“you really know how to bring the dead girls to the yard—graveyard.” She gives a little wink. “Oh, who am I kidding? There’s not a girl, dead or alive, who doesn’t want a piece of you.”

Chloe grunts from above and struggles to move her limbs.

“Yes, Chloe”—Skyla glares at the demon who’s found an unwanted home on the ceiling—“everybody knows how you feel about Logan Oliver. Now, get the hell off the ceiling. You’re causing a scene.”

Chloe falls face-first into the table below, and Skyla rolls her off and gets back to work without giving it another thought.

“I hate this old house,” Chloe grumbles as she scrambles to her feet and dusts herself off. “And what are you staring at?” she hisses my way. “Get that deconstruction crew you hired to build that Shangri-la-la land you gifted your ex-wife and fix up this haunted hovel or bulldoze the damn thing. It’s a wreck, and the décor leaves a hell of a lot to be desired.” She scowls at the table as if it personally offended her. And judging by that bloodied nose of hers, it did. “You’ll have to get Lex out here.” She snarls over at Skyla. “Just pray she can wield her magic.”

“I don’t need Lexy Bakova or her magic arts.” Skyla lifts her gaze to me a moment and scoffs. It’s clear Skyla thinks there’s something going on between Lex and me. There’s not. There never will be, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that having her around didn’t kill the sting of silence in the air. Ezrina and Nev are mostly subterranean at this point.

Skyla taps her pencil in front of the resident stoner in order to garner his attention. “Ellis—why don’t you take Chloe to the restroom and help her clean up?”

“I’m fine.” Chloe cradles her nose in her hand for a few seconds, and the mess disappears right along with the swelling. She struts over to Skyla and peers over her shoulder at the plans she’s working on. “What do we have here—more bullshit to sidestep Wesley?” She lets out a huge sigh as if sidestepping that idiot husband of hers were impossible. And it might be. For starters, Wesley Edinger is unfortunately no idiot.

“Ellis thinks we need bona fide employment for them all.” Skyla shakes her head at the thought. “But the unemployment rate on the island stands at thirty percent. I say they can work for Logan and Dr. Oliver.”

“You need to mix it up.” Ellis jabs his finger at the paper in front of Skyla. “You need a few entrepreneurs in the mix. I’ve got a handful of recruits willing to break their back at the weed farm.”

“No reefer farmers.” I take a seat next to Skyla just as Giselle comes bubbling in with excitement.

“This is so fantastic, Skyla!” She beams as she hugs Ellis from behind. “It’s like old home week. I never thought I’d see these people again—at least not until I bite the big one again. Speaking of which, can you put in a good word for me with your mother? I’d rather not land under a tire again. I was thinking of having a house fall on me this time. That’s terribly romantic.”

“Giselle!” Skyla’s eyes expand with a flash of fire. Skyla has the most beautiful eyes known to man. If there were a color to describe them, it would be stardust. “Having a house fall on you is about as far away from romantic as you can get.”

“Oh, Skyla.” Giselle brushes her off with a flick of her wrist. “I saw it in a movie. It’s totally romantic. A cyclone will hit the island, and it’ll pick up all sorts of things, men in boats and cute little dogs—and Chloe, you can be the mean old crotchety woman on her bicycle!” Chloe growls over at her, and Giselle cowers behind Ellis a moment. “And finally, the wind will pick up the rattiest old house on the island—most likely this one—and it’ll fall right on top of me! Then some nice soul will come along and steal my shiny red slippers and have a grand adventure of her own!”

Ellis nods into this ludicrous theory. “G loves The Wizard of Oz. We watch it every night before we get to bed.” His mouth falls open as he catches himself, and I shake my head at him.

The urge to kick some Harrison ass sets in strong. “Get out of here, Ellis, before I throw you out.”

“Cool.” He jumps to his feet and stretches his arms to the ceiling. “Dudley wanted to see me about something anyway. I’ll go hang out where I’m wanted.”

“I’m not going with you!” Giselle is quick to protest as he heads for the door. “Darnell Woodley was just about to tell us what happened when a steam engine was coming his way and his shoe caught on the track!”

Chloe burps a short-lived laugh. “Spoiler alert! He dies!”

“Chloe,” Giselle whines as the crowd swallows both Ellis and her.

“You are a killjoy,” Skyla muses, still keeping her eyes peeled to the map of resurrected humanity before her.

I wrap my hands over her shoulders and offer up an impromptu massage. “She’s a killer, Skyla,” I say as Chloe takes Ellis’ seat, and I fall in next to Skyla. “Chloe, why don’t you go ahead and play in Dudley’s supernatural sandbox, too? I’m sure there’s another dimension he’d be happy to shove you in.” That ring on Skyla’s finger catches my attention. Its deep blue stone set in that old-world filigree reminds me a lot of the protective hedge. Speaking of which, Skyla has the Eye of Refuge tucked safely around her neck. She had taken it off for a time, but I’m glad to see it where it rightfully belongs. But that ring—something about it—the way it catches the light. It seems more of a magical treasure, something far more superior than a simple piece of jewelry. I hate to say it, but it makes the protective hedge look like something out of a cheap coin machine. I run my finger over the peacock blue ring just to quell the urge to fondle it, and the stone lights up bright as lightning.

“Whoa.” Skyla holds her hand out. “Did you see that?” she asks Chloe without missing a beat.

I tap my knuckles in front of her. “Yes, I saw that.” It frustrates me that she just put Chloe before me. I’m not sure what the hell is going on between the two of them, but I want answers, dammit. “Skyla”—I give a quick glance around—“this is Chloe Bishop you’ve befriended. She’s a fucking nut in the event you need reminding.”

Chloe offers up a swift kick to my shin from underneath the table. “A fucking nut that’s sitting right here.”

“See? She’s not afraid to admit it.” I shake my head pleadingly to Skyla as I latch onto her hand. “Come to your senses. I promise you, this will not end well.”

“That’s because it won’t end.” She extracts her fingers from mine. “Chloe belongs to me. She’s mine. What I choose to do with her is my business. How many times do we need to go over this? Honestly, it’s getting old.”

A moment of silence thumps by, and I cast a quick glance to Chloe to size up how much she might appreciate being touted as one of Skyla’s possessions, and oddly enough, she doesn’t seem fazed by this. Amusing.

“Skyla owns you, Chloe?” I tip my head to the living demon.

Skyla slaps her hand down over her notebook and tips her head back with a reserved level of boredom only Dudley seemed to have mastered until now. “That’s right, Logan.” Her gaze digs into mine as her budding annoyance with me shines right through. “Do you have a problem with this? Because if you do, I suggest you keep it to yourself. Neither Chloe nor I owe you or anyone else an explanation of our true intentions.” She leans in with those eyes of hers glowing like ice. “Do you hear me, Logan Oliver?” Pure wrath exudes from her—spelling out the fact it’s none of my damn business.

Like a reflex, my own hand slams over the table just a hair away from hers. “It is my damn business, Skyla. You are my damn business. Everything concerning you concerns me.” Our eyes hook into one another, and I can feel her anger, her ripe discontent roaring like an invisible fire between us. For a moment, it feels as if she might pull a knife to my throat. “So, pardon me if I don’t apologize for scrutinizing this false friendship the two of you are touting. Which by the way, not a soul alive or dead is buying. The only two lost in this delusion would be her and you—and sadly, I’m afraid it’s just really you.”

Her pretty pink lips part as her anger gives way to hurt. But deep in her eyes, that rage she has for me still simmers. I don’t need for her to outline the reasons why. I get it. I betrayed her by keeping Gage’s secrets safe. She thinks I chose Gage over her, and in a sad reality I think I did, too. Protecting her is how I love her. Shielding her from the truth is ironically how I’ve disrespected her most. It’s how Skyla believes I may have even hated her.

“You’re right, Logan.” Her words are lower than a whisper. “I am delusional and have been in a lot of ways, and not one of them concerns Chloe Backstabbing Bishop.” She sighs down at those feverish lists she’s been compiling the greater part of the afternoon.

“Forget the list.” Chloe lands her claws over Skyla’s arm before raking her nails across her flesh, leaving a trail of white lines that quickly turn pink. “You look great. Have you finally cut the burgers from your diet? I hear those saturated fat Frisbees are murder on your arteries.”

As if Chloe cares about the hardening of Skyla’s heart. I’m sure she’s much more interested in knifing open her flesh like she’s currently doing.

“Not really. I just had to get out of the habit of eating for three, and, of course, trying not to snack around the clock or eat anything after dinner. But it’s really tough, so most of the time I’m munching on pickles between meals. You know, the ones I like.”

“The sweet bread and butter ones with a kick of heat.” Chloe doesn’t miss a beat. And why the hell don’t I know what kind of pickles Skyla likes? “Wesley loves those, too. Speaking of which, he made me promise I’d do a grocery run before I go home. He’s picking me up in a few minutes at his dad’s. I’d better head over. I’ve got fuck detail tonight.”

“Oh, come on.” Skyla laughs at Chloe’s sexual quip. “You know it’s the highlight of your week. He does look just like your favorite Oliver.”

Chloe reaches over and slaps Skyla five. “You know what they say, fake it till you make it.”

They share a disconcerting laugh, and I’m suddenly sick to my stomach just watching the exchange.

Chloe stands and leans toward Skyla. “I’ll keep an ear out and see if he makes that noise when he hits a homer. Maybe they are more alike than we think.”

That noise? Is Skyla actually dishing out private details of her love life to this witch? On second thought, I don’t want to know. It feels strange sitting here listening to them gab about having sex with their lookalike husbands—and whatever the hell that noise might be.

“Oh, hey, you want a ride?” Skyla offers. “I’m sure Logan won’t mind.”

Chloe smears a greasy grin my way because I’m pretty sure the two of them realize I very much mind. “No, thanks. I prefer the fresh air.”

“Watch out for falling houses.” I cross my arms over my chest as she makes her way past me. “Word on the golden streets is we’ve really pissed off the grim reaper.”

“I’m not worried.” She gives a sly wink, those dark lashes of hers collapsing as if a moth were dying right there on her lid. “Word in the Transfer is it’s Oliver blood he’s thirsty for.”

“I’m not worried either.” Chloe can follow her empty threats straight to hell where she came from.

“Do the math. You’re already dead, Logan.”

Chloe dissipates right along with that signature perfume she’s been bathing in ever since Skyla bopped her over the head with a great big bottle for Christmas.

“Did she just threaten Gage?”

Skyla’s cheek rises on one side as if she were threatening her husband right along with her, and it sends chills down to my core. “I’d tell that nephew of yours to watch out for falling houses.” She gathers her paperwork and starts to rise.

“Skyla, wait”—I gently grab ahold of her wrist and pull her toward me—“Dudley wants to see us tonight.”

Those lucent eyes of hers skirt the room. “Let me finish up here. I’ll need to feed the boys, and then I’ll see if I can squeeze you in.” She takes off for the living room, and the crowd surges toward her like a magnet.

Squeeze me in. Those words alone make me feel as if I’m nothing more than a bump in the road. That’s about all I’ve become to her, an afterthought, an irritant at best.

Skyla and I once had something special. We still do. She just can’t see it at the moment.

And, at the moment, my vision isn’t so great either. I’ve hurt her. Scarred her heart. Maybe it’s time I stopped acting as if I have an all access pass to the girl I love. Maybe there are hard lines—there always have been, and I’ve crossed every single one of them.

Skyla clears her throat before calling the room to order. “I’d like to appoint each of you with an employment post, and then we’ll go over the rules and regulations on what to do once you’ve been captured by the government.” Groans and cheers break out amongst those ready and willing to lay down their temporary lives for the sake of others.

But it’s not the dead that have my attention. My eyes, my heart can’t seem to stray from that celestial being that glows with love from within for each and every soul in this room. Casey had it right. Skyla is a warrior princess. She is our strong leader, and if she’s proving anything, it’s that she doesn’t need Gage or me by her side to accomplish her goals. We are ephemeral, two dark shadows passing in the night, haphazard objects in her path, unnecessary, and in the end, not needed. Skyla has this handled. I always knew she could do it.

That sinister smile she shed at the thought of Gage’s untimely demise comes to mind. Gage Oliver is the polarizing figure that has drawn Skyla and Chloe together. There is no doubt in my mind about that. But for what? Their shared loved for him? Doubtful. Their hatred? Nope. Discontent would be more like it. But his death? Now that would be downright alarming. There is no way in hell Skyla would be a cheerleader to her husband’s demise.

Would she?

* * *

Paragon wraps me in a coat of fog as I walk down the cool lonely street without a single resurrected body from the cemetery to keep me company. After the pomp and circumstance of inputting the information Skyla managed to pull together into a rather ambitious database, I’m heading over to Dudley’s. Skyla went next door to Barron’s to nurse the twins. In that respect, her new home is in the perfect location. Although, I’m not too sure Skyla is thrilled with the idea of being Emma’s new neighbor. I’ll be honest, it alarms me more than a little.

Kate and her ominous assessment of my sister-in-law come to mind. What in the world would make her think that Emma is trouble? When I left this morning, Lexy was busy showing Kate all of the new social media apps she’s missed out on since the time of her demise. She even sent me a picture of the two of them with overlays of cartooned puppy faces and, of course, Lexy’s exaggeratingly long tongue swooping out at me for a quick lick. It’s strange seeing Kate in pictures taken just minutes prior. It’s odd seeing her anywhere. She’s dead. And considering the fact she doesn’t have a drop of angelic blood in her, she probably should have stayed that way. There’s no way in hell I’m letting Kate leave the house. She’s not one to be taken by the feds. And for damn sure, I don’t want to sponsor some post mortuary family reunion. We cannot tip off her family or else God forbid this blows up and the media gets involved. Things will fall to shit for the people of Paragon faster than you can say Marshall Dudley.

I give a brisk knock over the slimy Sector’s door before letting myself in. I take that back. Dudley isn’t slimy. His intentions toward Skyla may not be chaste, but his deformed heart seems to be in the right place.

The spacious interior to his home is dimly lit. The fireplace lets out a muted roar as the flames fill the room with their glow. A murmur of voices stems from the dining room, and I head over to find Laken and Coop, Ezrina and Nev staunchly seated with Dudley at the helm.

“I guess I’m late to the party.” I head in with a smile and slap Cooper five, but the expressions of just about everyone else remain cold as stone.

The entire lot of them rises to their feet at once.

“We’ll discuss this in length at another time.” Dudley gives a slight bow like a stage actor coming to the end of this performance. “Mr. Flanders, I assume you understand what is expected of you.”

“Expected of you?” I look to Coop for a clue, but he merely grunts at Dudley as he heads to the exit. “What’s going on?” I try to slow both him and Laken down, but they seem determined to get to the other side of that door—can’t say I blame them.

“Nothing.” He takes a deep breath and pats me on the back. “Looking forward to the big party you’re throwing this weekend.” His forced grin melts into a pained look of pity. “Are you really okay with this?”

“Decimating my youth?” I grimace at the thought. The bowling alley will be destroyed soon after the big bash I’m hosting, and a part of me is dying all over again. “I’m petrified. But hey, do something that scares you every day, right? Isn’t that how the saying goes?”

Laken offers a sorrowful laugh. “I’m pretty sure Eleanor Roosevelt’s esoteric quote was suggesting something a little more positive.” She leans in and gives my cheek a pinch as if I were a child. “You really do look like Coop. You should bring your girlfriend around sometime and the four of us can double date.” Her entire countenance brightens at the idea.

“My what?” I’m momentarily perplexed, and before I can piece it together Coop laughs it off.

“Logan and Lexy aren’t really together.”

“What?” she squawks so loud Ezrina shouts bless you from the next room. “But I thought—she said—”

“No, it’s my fault.” I grind my fist into my eye, trying to get both the fatigue and the regret out. “Lexy has this thing for me, and I can’t seem to get rid of her. I’m a one-woman man, and that woman happens to be Skyla.” The words grind down to a whisper, but I think they get the gist.

“I’m sorry.” Laken clutches at her chest. “I just thought—oh, never mind what I thought. How is she, anyway?” Her lips curl into a scowl. “We haven’t exactly been on speaking terms. I mean—outside of bumping into her, I’m not really calling or heading over to see her.”

“Why not?” My heart thumps so loud it rattles me. I’m not sure why it kick-starts on occasion, but I’m always up for anything that makes me feel genuinely alive again, and usually I can trace that rare thump right back to Skyla.

“Because she eschewed my advice and insists on latching onto that rat with angel wings. Chloe is a menace, and as long as Skyla is buddying up with her, I can’t see our friendship moving forward.”

“Ouch.” Coop wraps an arm around his wife’s waist. “On that note, I think we’ll head out.”

“I’ll catch you later.” I don’t stop them as they head out the door, but Coop has to know I’ll be grilling him on whatever the hell was happening here tonight.

Nev passes me by with a wave while Ezrina lays her hand tenderly over her swollen belly. A few weeks back Dudley let me know the cat was out of the bag—or the baby as it were. I’ve always suspected Ezrina had a nurturing bone in her body, and now here she is making it come to fruition.

“Whoa.” I step in front of them blocking their path. “What’s going on?” They’re pretty loyal to Dudley, but hey, I let them live rent-free and eat all the pizza from the bowling alley they want, so it’s worth a shot.

“Frightful.” Ezrina shudders.

Nev leans in, towering over her from behind. “She means what you’ve done. How you think dragging the dead into this will play out in your favor is beyond me,” he says it sternly like a father to a child, and I can’t help but shed a tiny smile. Nevermore is going to make a damn good father. “We’ll see you back at the house.”

I take it that’s a hard no as far as letting me in on their little powwow. “Will do.”

“Logan”—Ezrina pauses before they hit the door—“the girl’s head has been stitched on proper.” Her jowls harden as she glares my way. I know she’s talking about Kate. I asked her to help out with that entire headless mess.

“And the corpse you resurrected, Ezrina? How is she doing?”

The two of them suck in a fresh lungful of air, shocked as shit that I went there.

Nev ushers his bride out the door in haste as if I had threatened them. “We’ll see you at the house.”

“What’s chasing them out the door?” Dudley springs up from behind just as the two of them rocket through the fog.

“None of your business.”

“It’s all my business. There isn’t a move you make that doesn’t concern me.”

“It’s not my moves you need to worry about.”

“I beg to differ.”

Skyla appears through the mist as if she had materialized right here on the porch, her face glowing, her cheeks piqued with color. “I just nursed the boys and put them to bed.” She flashes a megawatt smile as she strides through the door. Skyla is fierce and beautiful, and the thought of her nurturing those precious boys with her own body melts me to the core. If I were Gage, I’d grovel on my knees day in and day out until I wore her down and she forgave me, if for nothing else but to shut me the hell up. “I’m exhausted. Can we make this quick?”

Dudley jets past me and takes up her hand. “Anything for you, my love. Let’s get down to business.” He ushers us into his dining room, the seats still warm from his previous questionable meeting. “Are the two of you aware of the ramifications of what you’ve done?”

“It’s wartime,” Skyla says it soft, her eyes quickly glossing over with fatigue. “It may not be official, but when you sic the feds on the asses of my people, you can bet that’s an act of vitriolic aggression.”

“Agreed.” Dudley’s brows rise slowly as if he were waiting for the last second to spring this bit of news on us.

“Good.” Skyla straightens in her seat, but I can tell by that deep sigh that just expelled from her she’s as relieved as I am. Dudley is a good barometer as far as how the Decision Council will weigh. “I’ve got this under control, Marshall. I don’t want to drag you into this.”

“Nor will you.” He slices those disapproving lenses from Skyla to me. “The time of the dragon is near.”

“Gage is the dragon?” Skyla groans at the idea, which in my opinion is a good sign. It means she still sees the good in him. She should. He’s still good right down to the marrow. “I don’t want to discuss him.”

Dudley’s gaze lingers over hers. “Then perhaps we should start with his father. Demetri is all too aware that his time is short.”

“Demetri is indestructible,” I counter. “His time is far too long if you ask me.”

Dudley blinks a smile. “His earthly time to secure an eternal post for the Fems. The Sectors have staked their rightful claim ages ago. He’s been anxious ever since the Fems lost their footing. The great and dreadful day of the Lord is at hand, and once it arrives, our destinies are forever carved in stone, if you will.”

“The great and dreadful day of the Lord,” I whisper. “And when will this be?”

His eyes dart to mine, sharp as knives. “Not even the Son is apprised of the hour. And besides, that’s neither here nor there. It is imminent. The Fems are desperate. Demetri is quickly becoming a joke in all the important celestial circles. This does not bode well with him or his troops. His people loathe humiliation above just about anything else. It’s a culture of pride they foster—one which brought their demise to begin with. It’s not a matter of if but of when he decides to strike back. He’s simply building his forces, working the enemy into a fervor—rolling out the smoke, holding up the mirrors.” He looks at the two of us as if we should be filling in the blanks.

Skyla clicks her tongue. “You think the feds are a ruse? For what?”

“A double-edged sword.” I lean in. “Our people are hauled off, and in the meantime, whatever he and Wes are cooking up, front burner, we won’t know about until it blows up in our face.”

“Precisely.” Dudley folds his hands together and knocks them over the table like a gavel. “Have you delved into Revelation?”

“Yes,” Skyla and I answer simultaneously. We share a brief look before returning our gaze to Dudley because we seem to have stumped ourselves at our sudden thirst for Biblical revelation as it were.

“The time is at hand to leave your mark, your legacy, to lead the way to freedom for your people.” Marshall’s voice rolls like thunder. “Never before have they faced such an enemy, never before has the enemy felt the blade against his neck as painfully as he does this hour. It is pertinent we walk the line together.” His eyes skirt to mine before returning to Skyla’s. “There was once a man in the early fourteen hundreds who engineered the slaughter of hundreds of thousands of your Nephilim brothers and sisters. It was ethnic cleansing at its best, and it was commandeered in the short span of a year by the temperament of a beguiling character, someone so charismatic, comely, and magnetic. Every word he spoke was twisted, and yet do you know who he had carry out the atrocities?”

“His son?” Skyla tilts her head with a touch of sarcasm.

“His enemy.” Dudley grins as if this were the best news. And just as easily as that grin came, his wicked scowls returns to its rightful post. “He masterminded a play of action that in context was indeed brilliant. What better way to slaughter your adversary than by their own hand?”

“My people”—Skyla stumbles over the words—“the Nephilim were manipulated into near eradication.”

“That they were.” His eyes sear over hers. “Let me ask you this. Would it have been moral for someone with that foreknowledge to travel back in time, locate him as a babe in a pram, and snuff the life out of his infant nostrils?”

Skyla’s chest hiccups at the thought. Her eyes bounce to mine a moment before she closes them in consideration. “Yes,” she whispers so low it comes out a hiss.

My heart seizes with pain at the thought of Skyla processing that horrific what-if scenario.

“Dudley”—I bark—“in light of the fact that Skyla is a new mother, I think it’s particularly tasteless of you to play this twisted game with her. You and I both know it’s impossible to go back and change someone’s destiny.”

Dudley leans against his seat, the muscles in his jaw jumping as he sets that look of near-hatred upon me. “You and I both know this—do we? Tell me this, young Oliver. Was it time for those poor souls to perish in what is now referred to as the Celestra killing season? Do you recall a little trial that involved the two of you? I believe it resulted in a war and a beheading—yours to be exact.”

“He’s got you there,” Skyla muses.

“To answer your question, I don’t know. Perhaps it was their time to die.” By way of the spirit sword—by my hand. The war and the damn beheading bounce through my mind. I lean in and rest my chin on my fist. “We had power—we just wielded it poorly.”

“We reversed the death of Ichabod Travers, so technically we disjointed destiny a bit—although briefly.” Skyla shudders. “That was a disaster that thankfully got mopped up quickly.”

“Because of your mother,” Dudley notes. “The trial was thrown out because of your mother.” He looks to me with those bloodlets he calls eyes. “You sit among us because of her mother.”

Skyla reaches over and takes up my hand. It feels like a peace offering, and I’ll take it. “I may not always show it, but I’m so thankful for that Treble.”

“Not the Treble.” Dudley gives a disparaging sigh as if disappointed we’re not able to follow him down the dimly lit—crooked as hell path he’s leading us down. “The time before that.”

“My first reentry?” It’s true. Candace sponsored that little visit as well.

“Precisely.” He leans in. “How old were you when Gage was born?”

The first alarming detail is the fact that he just used Gage’s proper name, a loaded gun of a moment if you ask me. The second fucking alarming detail is the fact he wants me to cannonball into the numbers end of the swimming pool—details I myself have spent my new lifetime trying to forget. For whatever reason, placing the microscope over the past makes me feel less real, less than genuine in this new reality. I hate this, and suddenly I want to be anywhere but here.

“Logan?” Skyla gives my hand a squeeze. “I guess you were alive, weren’t you?”

“I was. I don’t remember exactly. I might have been twelve.”

“Twelve?” Dudley plays the part of being amused, poorly at that. He’s no thespian, but then he’s bent on turning my life into a circus so I give him the floor. “You were about eighteen years younger than Barron. Is that correct?” I give a slight nod. “Jock Strap came bumbling into the world when Barron was in his thirties. And when did Your Grace come to the facility to visit your twisted, deformed body?” His head tilts with curiosity. I was disfigured from the burns. My body never healed from the fire that took my parents’ life.

“In my thirties? I can’t remember.” It comes out low, like a threat, and I’m pretty sure it is one. I don’t know where Dudley is going with this, but I’m one hundred percent sure I don’t like it.

“How old was Gage at that time?” Skyla asks it for him.

Dudley grins on cue. “Early twenties—that would bring us to date, wouldn’t it?” He turns to Skyla. “Gage and you alone on Paragon. Can you imagine that? You and Jock Strap running around on the island with no one else to muck up the love-struck waters.”

Skyla leans in with her lips curving at the corners. “Did that reality ever exist?”

“Of course, it did.” Dudley glances back at me. “For a time.”

“Then”—Skyla looks right through the wall as she pieces it all together—“my mother changed our destinies. All of them.”

“Why would she do such a thing, Skyla?” He’s probing her, jabbing her in a corner with his imaginary blade of truth until she comes to the conclusion herself.

“This is old news.” I give Skyla’s hand a quick rattle, trying my hardest to pull her out from his spell.

“Old news in a new light.” She leans back in her seat, her eyes unable to focus on any one object in the room as she tries to force the puzzle pieces together. “My mother changed our destinies at this juncture.” Skyla fastens her eyes on me once again. “She could have done it when you were a baby, but she didn’t. Was there something there she was trying to salvage in that alternate reality—something she needed before you could move on?”

“What could it be?” Dudley is clearly goading her along, that sarcastic infraction in his voice says it all.

“I guess that’s for me to find out.” The words leave her lips breathlessly.

“You look exhausted, dear.” Dudley helps her rise to her feet, and I follow suit.

Dudley rocks his knuckles over the table. “I’m about to take the two of you on a little field trip.” He scowls my way as if I were the uninvited third wheel. He nods me over, and I land a hand over his arm, with the other wrapped around Skyla’s waist. “Shall we start at the beginning?”

“Always.” Skyla’s voice vibrates and warbles as the molecules around us shatter and break and a new alien structure surrounds us. “A hospital?” Skyla looks down and gasps. An entire row of infants sits in clear bassinets in the spacious room we’ve landed ourselves. “The newborn nursery!” Her voice is locked in an excited whisper.

Here we are in what looks to be the exact place where Skyla gave birth, the words Paragon Hospital are printed on the adjacent wall with a list of nurses on call. Something is different. The mustard-colored walls, the cheap linoleum squares lining the floor, the flimsy looking acrylic bassinets that each stores their own bundle of joy—all of it seems just a little bit off.

“God, they’re all so adorable!” Skyla muses as she peruses the aisles of infants as if they were puppies. “My God”—she leans in toward a dark-haired boy and extracts him gently from his plastic confinement—“this one looks like my sweet baby Barron!”

“Skyla.” I glance behind her as a group of nurses share a laugh over something. They might be momentarily distracted, but I’m guessing we’ll have a security issue on our hands before long—the issue being us.

“We’re undetectable,” Dudley is quick to inform. “Although, I’m sure a floating infant might be cause for alarm.”

“This is Paragon.” Skyla rubs her cheek against the tiny being.

Dudley towers over her shoulder as they inspect the precious infant together. “What if I told you this seemingly innocent babe would one day be responsible for the destruction of your people? Should we snuff the life out of his tiny little nostrils? Snuff out the fire, Skyla. You’re living in revisionist history.”

“Marshall!” She spins the baby away from him before nuzzling into his miniature face. “Maybe he’s more like Nathan? I would swear he was one of mine. You’re not going to tell me I have another son, are you?”

“Heavens no.” Dudley scoffs at the idea. “But I will tell you they have a father.”

Both Skyla and I open our mouths with surprise. “Is this Gage?” I step in and look at those serious eyes, those hovering thick brows present even in this, his very first hours of life. And then, as if to confirm Dudley’s suggestion, his dimples dip in, and Skyla and I share a quiet laugh. “Damn, he’s cute.” I give a wistful shake of the head. And like an unwanted blast from the past, I remember the moment Liam told me that Barron had a son. My gut wrenched with jealousy before it ever did with joy. I remember wishing I could trade places with him. Trade my twisted wreck for his shiny new body, unblemished and untouched by the Counts—more importantly unwanted by them. Gage Oliver would forever fly under the radar of the enemy, and I found it grossly unfair. And now I know it wasn’t true at all. He was in the limelight. We just didn’t know it yet.

“That baby!” a woman screams from the nurses’ station, and Skyla lands a kiss to his tiny lips before setting him back down safely.

A group of nurses storm in to find all is right with the world, and the one who shed that scream looks physically ill.

“I would have bet my life I saw that baby levitating in thin air!”

The other two share a biting laugh. “I think it’s time for your sixteen-hour shift to come crashing to an end. Why don’t you look up that cute boy from psych? He oughta set your head straight.”

“You mean Doctor Dreamy, Eugene Booth?” The three of them share a chortle. “I think I’ll do just that.”

Skyla chokes out a laugh. “Our Doctor Booth? Wow, I can’t wait to rib Doctor Dreamy about this.”

“Eugene?” I shake my head at her. “That mildly explains why his son’s name is Revelyn.” A thought comes to me. “I seem to recall his ex-wife was a nurse. I guess he has Gage to thank for that.”

“That means”—Skyla’s eyes widen—“Gage is indirectly responsible for Rev, the bane of my sister’s existence at the moment. And here I thought he was older than us.”

Dudley gives a passive nod. “The butterfly effect at its finest, wouldn’t you say?” He sharpens his gaze over her shoulder. “Or perhaps we should ask him?”

Skyla and I follow his eyes to find a dark figure lingering in the corner of the viewing window. I recognize those wide shoulders, that dark cape-like coat he’s chosen to cloak himself in.

“Demetri,” I grumble.

“Of course, he’s here.” Skyla lets out a heated sigh. “He is the father.”

Another group of men step over to the viewing window, closer to the center of the show, and I’m quick to recognize the one closest to the glass, with the most jubilant look on his all-too-familiar face.

“And there’s Barron.” I lift a hand as if to wave even though he can’t see me—even if he could, his prideful gaze would never pull away from his precious son. “That man is the only father Gage Oliver will ever accept as his own.”

“You sure about that?” Skyla whispers as Demetri lifts his chin, those tar-colored eyes rising in our direction. And just when we thought we might actually blend in with the scenery, he pins us with his stare and offers a brief three finger wave.

“I’ve got a finger I’d love to show him.” Skyla lifts her hand—but just before she lets the bird fly, the scenery goes fuzzy, and Dudley has us off and running once again through time and space. But the scent of Gage as a newborn still clings to us. It holds the scent of hope, nothing at all close to destruction as Dudley has suggested. No, Gage Oliver doesn’t have an evil bone in his body, and to Demetri’s chagrin he never will.

“Where to?” My voice sounds distant, disembodied, and wholly not my own.

“As close to hell as any of us will ever get,” Dudley thunders, and I land with a thud over the cold mattress in my bedroom at Whitehorse. I pick up my phone and text Skyla.

Everything okay on your end?

She texts right back. I’m home. The boys are here. Gage just left.

My heart breaks at the thought of Gage making his exit upon her arrival. It’s as if in a small way they’ve both accepted this new divide as the new normal. They shouldn’t. They’re meant to be together. What do you think that interstellar field trip was all about?

A bubble of dancing ellipses lights up as I wait for her response. What in the hell do I think it meant? Hell if I know. Dudley is just as good at head games as Candace is. Yes, she fished me out of the past. Yes, she favors me over Gage, but only because she thinks Skyla and I can move Celestra forward to where it needs to be—and ironically, that would be right where it is, sans the disturbance in the force otherwise known as Wesley.

I don’t know. But one thing is for sure. I feel closer to you than ever. My mother handpicked you as my suitor. Liam sacrificed everything to get you to where you needed to be—in my world, on this island right by my side. All the signs in the universe always seem to point to you, Logan Oliver. You say you love me more than the heavens love the sun and the moon, but the heavens, the sun, and the moon, and all of their affection are no match for the bond the universe has secured for us. Time may have framed us in two different tiers, put us in two different places on the planet entirely, but destiny stepped in and moved the heavens and her precious heavenly hosts just to bring us together. I can’t help but think we are so very special. We are meant to be. We are willed to be. We will be. After all, my mother always gets what she wants.

Tears run down my cheeks as I stare at her words. The poignant irony of the very last line. If she had omitted that last doomed sentence, I would have thought it was poetic gold—something to pen in calligraphy and frame for generations to marvel. But those last few words, those barbed truths make the very bond between us seem questionable at best.

I slip the phone onto the nightstand and stare up at the darkness, up past the ceiling, past the stratosphere, and into Ahava where that twisted celestial being wrings her hands over what comes next in this earthly game of chess she’s indulging in.

Skyla and I are pawns. That’s all we’ve ever been. But is that all we will ever be?

I’ll be damned if I let that happen.

Candace Messenger broke a few hundred celestial rules to get me where I am today. Maybe it’s high time I break a few rules of my own to make sure my destiny, that of my nephew and the great love of our lives don’t come to ruin just to please the powers that be. No. I think it’s time we went off the rails to ensure we come to a very amicable end of our own choosing.

But who would I pair Skyla with? Gage—or me?

That is the question.

That is always the damn question.

* * *

When the idea came to me to throw a big party as a way to commemorate the end of a bowling era, it never occurred to me that I would have strict fashion guidelines dictated to me by Lexy. She’s neatly laid out a pair of ridiculously loud parachute pants on the bed for me, along with something that looks like a fish net to be worn as a shirt. And as if that wasn’t enough fashion-based humiliation, she’s set out a gold sequined glove—just the one, of course.

“No,” I flatline as both she and Kate observe from the door expectantly. Lex was so eager for me to see my special gift she hauled me up here in haste. “Trust me, I’m fine the way I am.” I hold out my arms so they can both garner an appreciation for my Levi’s and flannel combo. “I’m pretty sure jeans were standard fare in the ’80s. In fact, I know they were. I’ve brushed up on my John Hughes’ movies this past week just to verify the fact.”

Kate titters because she knows it’s true. She sat right there next to me as we downed one after the other as if they were neon-coated chocolate confections. Ezrina has her head secured about as good as it’s going to get, and Kate’s resigned to the fact she’ll have to wear a scarf for her remainder of time here. Speaking of which, I need to talk to Skyla about our dear, once headless friend. Kate has no real right to be here. I didn’t realize Skyla’s guilt over the fact she inadvertently took Kate’s life ran so deep. Candace can’t be pleased with this—and God knows if Candace is pissed, we’re all doomed to a life of frustration.

Lexy grinds her teeth. Come to find out, it’s something she does quite often when she doesn’t get her way, and the more she hangs out with me, it’s quickly becoming a habit. “Wear the shirt. It’s the least you can do to fit in. It’s your party, Logan. You can’t be the host and a killjoy.” Lexy’s hair is standing on end as if she stuck her finger in a light socket and then deep-fried every last follicle in a vat of oil just to complete the look. She’s wearing a hot pink dress that makes my eyes bleed for a pair of ’80s-inspired Wayfarer sunglasses, and her neon green shoes add the right amount of garishness that the decade requires.

“I was born a killjoy.” I snap my keys off the dresser along with my wallet and phone. “You two ready to head out?” I lead us downstairs and note Ezrina and Nev’s sedan is already gone from the carport.

Kate comes up next to me and gives a quick thumbs-up as she pulls a lipstick from her purse. Lexy has her dressed like a homeless woman who happened to fall into a pile of lace and black rubber bangles. Kate’s voice box isn’t quite up to snuff, so in her defense, her ability to protest the clown outfit was greatly diminished.

“I’m ready,” Lexy says to her reflection as she dusts the tip of her nose with powder. “You know, this is officially our debut as a couple.”

Kate and I exchange a quick glance. Apparently, even someone who’s been clinically dead for the last few years realizes this thing with Lex just isn’t happening. In fact, the only person on the planet even capable of fostering that delusion is Lexy herself.

“Lex.” The tone in my voice says it all and manages to elicit an eye roll from her in the process.

“You’re just not up to speed on how things work.” She gives a quick wink to Kate as we step out and I lock up after us. “I practically live here, Logan. Even you have to admit that there’s something brewing between us.”

“I have a habit of taking on boarders in the event you haven’t noticed.”

Lexy roars with a laugh as she takes a step toward the truck.

“We’re taking the Mustang tonight.” There’s a touch of pride in my voice as we head over and climb on in.

“Are you kidding?” Lex scoffs. “We look like assholes. This car is a deathtrap.”

I choose to ignore Lex’s sentiment. I love the Mustang. The scent of the past lingers here, fresh, unable to dissipate, and I appreciate the hell out of it. My father loved this car as much as I do. Up until I met Skyla, my heart lived in this ode to vinyl and the past. The engine roars to life with the enthusiasm of a lioness about to devour her prey, and I back out slowly with one eye on the bowling alley and the other on the road. The bowling alley may be across the street for the most part, but the road is wide and long and it’s not fun to walk, let alone in heels for the girls. Hell, I much prefer the shuttle service to the front door myself.

A few cars already litter the parking lot—Ellis’ monster truck and Brielle and Drake’s new econo clown car that’s small enough to fit in my back pocket. I’m glad they’re there. I want everyone I’ve ever known to set foot in that place one last time. Bree begged me to let her decorate. As much as I want this old place to go out with a big bang, the last thing I wanted was for Bree to crop-dust it with oddball decorations. Humiliating the poor place before I chop it off at the balls seems too cruel of a fate for the spot I’ve come to know as my second home, but I relented, and sure enough, judging by the old vinyl records hanging from every free space I spotted earlier in the day, the neon flashing lights, she’s crop-dusted the shit out of it.

The rain starts in as we make our way inside, and as soon as we crest the arcade, my stomach sinks. This is it. The last normal hours of operation.

“I’ll line the doors with wrapping paper so we don’t get any looky-loos!” Lex volunteers as she stalks off toward the kitchen. “And I’ll make sure to put a note outside letting everyone know we’re closed for a private event!”

“Sure.” I glance at the meager crowd already wrapping up their final game, taking off their shoes. I’ve already decided to trash those old, worn-out leather scuffs. Hopefully, when I reopen in the fall—God willing—I’ll actually have enough cash left over to start off with a pristine supply of fresh shoes. I’m not proud of the fact that some of those leather monstrosities have been around as long as the bowling alley has. I used to romanticize it. I couldn’t take any of the shoes out of commission because my father, my mother might have worn them on their feet. The feet that the Counts saw fit to burn to ashes. My stomach churns at the thought.

Bree jumps in front of me with just the right amount of exuberance on her face to pull me out of my morbid funk.

“Winner, winner, chicken dinner!” she shrills a little too loud. “My playlist is going to like totally rock the house.” She gives a hard wink, exposing strata-like layers of yellow and pink eye shadow. She’s decked out from head to toe in a Madonna-inspired bustier with cones for tits and a skirt so short it requires a double take to verify its presence.

“That’s great. I’ll gladly let you be the DJ, and I’ll play bartender tonight.” I give a wink right back.

“With those shit sodas you serve?” Bree has been after me for years to fix the syrup lines that lead to the drink machines. “You may have wasted our youth feeding us your bullshit, but the sober buck stops right here, buddy. Don’t worry. My man has you covered.” She nods toward the shoe rental, and I’m horrified to find an array of tall amber bottles, one svelte white bottle with the word vodka etched into the glass. “We’re playing with big kids tonight, Oliver. Consider it a parting gift. I’ll even give you half the take.”

“The take? This place is headed for the wrecking ball, my friend. Keep every last dollar for yourselves. I’ve never made more than a dime here. Why start now?”

Bree zips off toward the newly minted bar, and I spot Coop coming in so I head on over.

“Where’s your better half?” I glance past his shoulder, but the entry sits empty.

“Trying to catch up to your better half.” He gives a shit-eating grin, and it dissipates just as quick. “I talked her into maintaining a friendship with Skyla. She’s still pretty pissed about Chloe. Maybe she’ll find out what the hell that’s about. Have you cracked that code yet?”

“Nope.” I shake my head at this alternative version of myself. Coop looks like he could be my brother. “As far as I can tell, it’s not happening anytime soon either. Skyla’s pretty pissed about a lot of things—what Chloe’s put her through, apparently, isn’t on the list anymore.” I know that’s not true, but to the naked eye it feels about right. “Can I get you something? Pizza, soda? Jameson?” I tick my head over to where Drake is shaking up a cocktail like a seasoned pro.

“I’m good.” His demeanor hardens as he folds his arms across his chest. “Ezrina’s been acting strange lately. Have you noticed anything odd going on?” His eyes narrow in on mine, and I can’t tell whether or not he’s calling bullshit on the fact I know about that Laken lookalike she’s Frankensteined to life.

“She and Nev are having a baby.” There. That alone accounts for half of Ezrina’s mood swings lately.

“I heard.” He frowns because we both know I’ve just offered up the wrong answer. Coop leans in, good and pissed. “You know. When Skyla said that you and Gage specialized in keeping secrets from her, I assured her there must have been a damn good reason each and every time.” His voice is low, but you can feel the anger shaking just beneath the surface. The corners of his eyes crease with a controlled sense of rage, the same way mine have been known to do. “Are you keeping something from me, dude?”

It’s like he’s got a sixth sense, and a part of me doesn’t understand why the hell I’m keeping anything from the guy. Coop has been a great friend. Hell, at this point, he’s family. I take a breath, ready to spill what I know, and he gives a hard shove to my chest.

“Go to hell, man.” He blows past me and hits the exit before I can stop him.

Shit. I pull out my phone, and just as I’m about to text him to get back here, in walks my tall, dark, and dangerously good-looking nephew. His hair is slicked to a shine, and he’s decked out in a suit. A thin bright blue tie pops off his dress shirt, and those sharp-looking shoes finish off the polished look on him. There is no doubt in my mind Gage Oliver is gunning to get laid. Skyla is in for it, and she hasn’t even hit the door. A knot settles in my stomach because a small selfish part of me wondered if the cold front was something that might last. And just as fast as that nosediving sense of self-pity comes, it dissipates. I want Skyla with Gage. They’ve come too far, have too many children to give up now.

Before I can head over to him, Graham Smite comes over and offers me a congratulatory pat on the back. “Why so forlorn, young son?”

It’s odd to hear him crown me with the youthful moniker since he looks to be in his early twenties himself. I know for a fact both he and his twin brother died from dysentery a couple of years apart.

“I’m fine.” I try to shake Skyla out of my head.

“Skyla?” He gives my hand a quick squeeze before letting go. He does have Celestra lineage, so it only makes sense he got the green light into my shitty subconscious. “She is a looker. Married though from what I hear—and not to you.”

“All of the above is correct.” I grimace over to Gage who happens to be waylaid himself a moment with Ellis and Giselle.

“But you love her.” He folds his arms over his enormous chest. Both Graham and his brother played ball for old Paragon High when the island just had the one school. “I once loved a young lady myself.” He gives a wistful shake of the head. “My brother had his sights set on the young lady as well.”

“What became of it?” The truth is, I’m almost afraid to ask. Two brothers, one girl. The equation sounds a little too close to home for my liking.

“One of us had to cave, and I figured it should probably be me. I’m the oldest. And I love my brother. I knew she would make him very, very happy.” A forlorn look of his own infiltrates his features. “And she did for the short remainder of his life.”

“That was very noble of you.” My heart breaks for the dude even though all parties are well past their hormonal wedded and bedded years.

“Great love requires great sacrifice.” He pats my shoulder once again. “But she’s here tonight. And I’m not feeling so generous anymore.” He gives a sly wink. “If I’m smart, I’ll steal a kiss later this evening.” He dances off into the crowd, looking as if he’s got the world in the palm of his dead hand. And in a way, he does. All rules of engagement were released once that golden cord was severed—and as it is in eternity, it’s party time from here on out.

Gage comes up and offers me a mock sock to the gut.

“What’s up?” I slap him five and pull him in. “Rumor has it, women go crazy for a sharp dressed man.”

“I see what you did there.” He offers a quick sock to my arm before stepping back.

“And I see what you did there.” I flick his tie into his face. “That color really sets off your eyes, sweetheart. Smooth move.”

“It’s lambskin.” He frowns down at it. “Dad let me borrow it. He said it was all the rage back in the day.”

“Which dad?” I lift a brow. “Kidding.”

Gage lands another sock to my arm, and this one hurts, assuring me he put some effort into it this time.

“Watch it, man. You’re packing some serious muscle.” I rub my arm down to demonstrate the fact. “Where’s Skyla?”

“She’s coming with Chloe.” His demeanor darkens on a dime. “Where the hell was Coop running off to? He blew right by me without bothering to say hello.”

“I don’t know. I think I pissed him off. He wanted to know what was up with Ezrina.”

A hand crashes over Gage’s shoulder, interrupting our conversation, and we look over to find his lookalike Wes.

“Dude.” Gage pulls him into a partial embrace as if it was a reflex, and my gut grows hot with rage. I don’t mind Gage acknowledging the fact Wesley is his brother. Hell, I don’t mind the occasional obligatory visit to the Transfer, where at least he can visit his niece, but this genuine connection the two of them seem to have going is really starting to eat at me. I don’t for a minute think Wes is going to replace me in some moronic way, but seeing them buddying up to one another, whispering something about a Barricade meet and greet right in front of me is really starting to piss me off. “Glad you could make it.” He gives his big bro the once-over, and oddly enough they’re dressed to match, sans the bright blue tie—Wesley’s is green. “Looking sharp, man.”

“Thanks.” He glowers at me a moment. “Have you guys seen Ezrina?”

“She’s the woman of the hour.” Gage cranes his neck before coming up empty. “Coop blew out of here a few minutes ago looking for her, too.” He winces my way as if to ask if he should go there. “You know about her, don’t you?” He cuts that steely gaze into his brother’s eyes, and Wesley flinches.

Knew it. “You’re behind this, aren’t you?” I give him a hard shove to the chest just like Coop did me. “You sick fuck.”

Wes snatches my wrist and lands my arm up against my chest, crooked and ready to break. “Who said you could touch me?”

“Whoa.” Gage steps between us. “This isn’t how this night goes down.” He looks to me. “It’s your last night at the old place with friends. Don’t get worked up so fast.” He shoots a dirty look to Wes. “And you”—he sighs with exasperation as one can only do when dealing with Wes—“what the hell are you doing? Who is that chick? And how the hell did you get Ezrina to agree to it?”

Wes steps back and offers a weary look around before stopping short at something just over my shoulder. “I found what I was looking for. Excuse me.” He takes off in the direction of the kitchen, and I catch Nev scowling at him as Wes heads his way.

“So much for getting a straight answer out of him.” I yank Gage in by the tie. “Get a straight answer out of your new little buddy asap, and I want to know what excuse he gives you as soon as it leaves his mouth. I don’t like Coop pissed at me.” I toss his tie in his face and press out a dry smile. “I’m betting you’ll score some serious points with Skyla if you crack this code before midnight.”

Gage shifts from foot to foot as he searches out his wicked brother. “I’ll get right on that.” He starts to head out and backtracks. “Text Skyla and make sure she’s coming, would you?”

“Will do.” He takes off, and I shoot our favorite Celestra a quick message. Where are you? We need to party like it’s 1989.

It takes less than five seconds for her to fire right back. That’s not how the song goes. And I’m just about ready. Laken just got here. See you soon!

My heart gives an irregular thump at the thought of seeing her—the way it always does when I’m about to see Skyla. A despicable part of me finds it mournful that Gage is determined to land in Skyla’s bed again, but if his dick gets its way, I know for a fact all will be right with the world tonight. His world at least.

A couple of girls walk by tittering my way with their lashes lowered, their fingers loosely covering their lips. It’s the flirtatious bunch from the old Walsh house. And behind them an entire crowd migrates through the doors. I spot Holden Kragger and a couple of girls with him. I know Skyla mentioned Emerson was back, and holy shit, there she is. The Kraggers, in addition to Holden’s new wife, who I haven’t had the misfortune to meet yet, haven’t been holing up at Gage and Skyla’s new place like the rest of them. Speaking of the dead, the last of them trample their way in with the same enthusiasm I’ve witnessed these past few days. It’s safe to say they’re enjoying the hell out of their jaunt back to reality, albeit a short one. Just as I’m about to head over and lend Ellis a hand with whatever mischief he’s gotten himself into, a familiar looking girl catches my eye as she hovers near the arcade. I give her a sideways glance and do a double take.

It’s Laken.

I glance down at the text Skyla just sent. Laken is with her.

But Laken is here.

I give a friendly wave as I head on over, and the girl’s eyes grow wide, her face just as blank as it was a moment ago. Maybe she doesn’t recognize me. And why would she? It looks as if Ezrina’s science project wandered away from the lab.

My fingers dance across my phone as I text Coop to get his ass back here right fucking now.

I walk slowly, casually toward the arcade, and the girl tries to bolt just as I come upon her and snatch her up by the wrist.

“Leaving so soon? How about a quick dance?” I swoop her in close and try to lead her to the office, but she jets out the front door into the paper white fog, and I bolt right after her.

It looks like I’m about to unlock this secret long before Gage. Of course, Skyla will be grateful, and that alone makes me run just a little faster through the parking lot.

The girl trips over a concrete block, and I dive in time to break her fall. I twist my body around so that my back takes the blow from the concrete and her mouth lands a hair away from mine. Her eyes, that face, she is the exact representation of Laken. I must admit, Ezrina is capable of damn good work.

“I don’t believe we’ve had the chance to meet.” I wrap my arms around her, making it impossible for her to escape my grip.

Laken’s twin closes her eyes as she lands a weary hand over my chest. “Wrong, Logan—we’ve met before. You know exactly who I am.”