New Year’s Eve has always been one of my favorite holidays. No gifts, no expectations, no gluttony, no greed, no need to do hard time with the family. That’s not necessarily true. Back when my father was alive, we held fast to our New Year’s Eve traditions. My mother—Lizbeth—cooked up a boatload of crab and lobsters. I’m not sure why crustaceans were on the menu at the close of each year, but nonetheless, it was a feast we didn’t partake in for the next twelve months. We watched television, and as soon as Dick Clark announced it was midnight, we banged pots and pans loud enough to wake the living and the dead. Back when my father was alive, the promise of a bright new year seemed plausible, possible, and wholly immanent. And after he passed away, each new year felt dim, a regretful waste, unyielding in the horrible ache he left in his wake.

I scoop Nathan and Barron into my arms. Two tiny perfect beings who I would die for, sacrifice anything for—and just like that, Gage weighs heavy on me like granite. In his mind, I’m sure he thinks he’s done this for us. I can only imagine his reasoning, but I’m quick to push it away. My concern is the welfare and happiness of these twin angels, these dark-haired mini studs that will soon break hearts all over Paragon just like their daddy. Will they love Gage as deeply and spiritually as I love my own father? They must. Deep down, I love Gage that way—the old version, the one I thought I knew. This new version feels more like a disruption than a reality, but the truth is, he is still their father. I want that special bond to form quickly and permanently. If I can’t save Gage from himself—Chloe lights up my mind, and I blow her out like a birthday candle—then these boys will reach him. They will keep him grounded, keep his compass honed to true north, to good and not evil. They must, and they will. With Gage under the cloak of the Steel Barricade, there is no more immediacy to save him than there is now. Demetri’s words come back to haunt me. The hour of the Dragon is upon us. The age of the Serpent has arrived. Gage is a lot of things, but he is no monster. Please, dear God, don’t let it be so.

The boys begin to fuss in turn, and I head downstairs with my tiny crew. I’ve already fed and changed them, but it’s noon and Emma hounded me within an inch of my sanity that she and Gage needed to see the boys today for a visit. I know for a fact she’s already sniffing around Ellis’ legal eagle of a mother because she informed me of this custody drama herself. God, custody. It sounds awful. It sounds like something just south of prison, and if Gage and I can’t make this work, then I’m up for a lifetime of regular separations from my boys. My heart bleeds just thinking of it. There is no way in hell I will ever share custody of my babies—not with their father, not with anyone. I can’t go an hour without missing them. I can’t imagine them being carted off for an entire day—worse yet, an entire weekend. I can see it now. I slave away all week, and Gage and Emma swoop in and take all the fun days. No way. Hell no. Fuck no. Not happening on my partial human, Celestra-blooded, overseer of the Factions celestial watch.

I clutch the boys extra tight as I descend the stairs and hear a bevy of voices rising in a panic coming from the kitchen—Mom and Tad specifically, but it sounds like a riot even if it is just the two of them.

Just as I’m about to break out into a full sprint with the boys in hand, I spot Gage and Emma sitting in the tranquility of the living room—if you can call it that with a week’s worth of old wrapping paper still strewn around the room, a pile of unwanted gifts rotting in the corner, and dear God, has that bowl of eggnog really been sitting out for seven solid days? Emma’s OCD must be silently killing her on the inside.

“Hello,” I say, trying to sound amicable, but as soon as she spots the boys, her face brightens and she’s quick to snatch one from me and hand him off to Gage and then take the other for herself.

“Why hello, little mister! How are you today?” She wiggles her brows into poor Barron’s face until he starts to fidget and cry. “Oh no, you don’t, Mister Fussy Pants! Your grandmother is here to save the day—that’s right. I am saving the day.”

From what pray tell, I want to ask but don’t.

Gage steps in front of me, and it takes herculean strength to lift my eyes to his, but once I do, my stomach drops straight through the floorboards.

“I just saw Tad.” He leans in with that hopeful look on his face, and my heart wants to break all over again, but I refuse it the right. “He looks better. You look beautiful.” He tracks my eyes with his, just trying to get a lock on me. Tad spent a few nights in the burn unit but has come right back home with his body bandaged up and his left arm in a straight splint to allow the skin to heal properly. For the most part, he looks as if he kissed the sun and things went horribly wrong.

Gage dips in with a sad smile, and my heart grows heavy as the ocean as I brush back Nathan’s hair in lieu of a thank you. The commotion in the kitchen hits riotous levels, and I nod in that direction before taking off. My heart pounds all the way to the family room as if my own head were on fire. I’ve never felt so vulnerable, so heartbroken around Gage before. A part of me wants to shake some sense into him, but another very real part of me knows that once I touch him I won’t want to let go.

The family room is flooded with the usual suspects, Bree and Drake tossing marshmallows into one another’s mouths as if it were their latest party trick. Ethan with his bare feet on top of D-O-G, Mia’s dog, aka Bullet the oversized living rug, while the equally oversized TV features a bevy of talking heads before they flash to scenes of dark woods from all over the country, New York, Maine, Colorado, New Mexico.

“What’s this?” I lean in, trying to hear what has the news and just about half the country in a tizzy. Normally I would dive straight into that argument, still ripe in the kitchen, but something about those Paragon-esque settings has my nerves jumping.

“Clowns.” Ethan grunts and belches at the very same time.

“Clowns?” I step in further, and both little Beau Geste and Misty wrap themselves around my legs.

“Kyla!” Beau gives my shirt a tug. “I went—I went poo poo under the Kissmas tee!”

“That’s nice,” I say catatonically as Ethan turns up the volume.

“Clowns have been spotted all over the country, terrorizing adults and children alike. Authorities are looking to question these individuals, one of which was seen brandishing a gun.” The camera zooms in on one of the demonic creatures with its misshapen head, that pale skin, a blood stroke of a wicked grin. I’ve seen that haunted face before. This is no Halloween mask. That’s a Fem. “If you spot anyone suspicious, the authorities caution you to stay away and call the police.”

Long svelte fingers pick up the remote and turn the channel to a bunch of people sitting around on a group date naked, and I look to find those long svelte fingers connected to none other than the demon herself.

“Chloe?” I take a step back, still dazed from the trance of that clown’s face. “What are you doing here?” I glance behind her to find Mom and Tad both red-faced—Tad with petroleum jelly smeared all over his skin, his left arm extended in its splint to keep the skin from contracting. To say the least, his burns were serious. Demetri is most certainly not off the hook. There are plenty of other gifts he could have given me, and lighting Tad on fire wasn’t anywhere near my list. Ditto for Marshall. I expect more from my favorite Sector, and I don’t mean more burns. That was a barbaric act I’d expect from the Fems, certainly not from him. Just the thought of Demetri and Marshall teaming up to gift me a well-roasted Tad sets my teeth on edge.

“I’m here for you.” Chloe offers up a friendly shoulder bump. “Sleeping until noon, Skyla? Really? The Olivers showed up an entire hour ago. How could you keep your man waiting like that?” Her lips curve into a sinister smile when she says your man, and I groan. I’d give anything to be back in bed with my boys curled around me like puppies. My favorite part of the day is feeling their naked flesh warming mine while I nurse. There is nothing more bonding than flesh against flesh. Speaking of which…

“Where’s Tobie?” I can feel my milk coming in again just thinking about that pink little cherub. God knows I’ve nursed Chloe’s child more than she has.

Chloe scoffs. “With Ezrina? Wesley maybe? Who the hell gives a shit.”

“Watch your language.” I study the dark-haired devil before me who has brought so much heartbreak into my world. Dear God, what have I gotten myself into? “We don’t do that anymore at this house.” I clamp my hands over little Misty’s ears before carefully removing her from my leg.

Tad lets out a yelp, and I turn to find my mother detangling him from his arm brace.

“Of all the shit, shitty shit shit things to happen!” he rages as the two of them spin into a tornado of howls.

“Enough!” Chloe barks over at them as the room falls strangely silent. “Watch your language.” Her voice hacks through the air like a throwing star. “We don’t do that anymore in this house.”

Slowly the melee of the Landon home grinds to life again as Chloe turns to me with a sinister smile.

“Your wish is my command, master.” She gives a sly wink. This is precisely why teaming up with Chloe is a piss-poor idea. She’s a loose cannon.

“For one, I did not command you to holler like a drill sergeant. And secondly—”

“She’s right!” Mom hacks over Tad’s incessant verbal tirade. “This is a house of proper manners, and we will not tolerate such verbal outbursts.”

“Mee-Maw!” Beau shouts from the hall. “I made poo poo on the stairs!”

“All of them?” My mother’s voice warbles in horror.

“I was sliding!”

Drake and Brielle slap one another five as if their son just managed to cross something major off their bucket list, and, knowing the two of them, gliding down a feces-covered stairwell just might be on it.

Mom dashes out of the room with a roll of paper towels and manages to snatch Drake on her way out.

Good move. It’s about time at least one of Beau’s parents is held responsible for his potty shenanigans. Lord knows I’ve found brown mounds on top of the toilet seat, in the bathroom sink, in the kitchen sink, on the doorstep, and in the pantry—and all of that was just last week.

Chloe leans in. “I’m sure Gage and Emma are quite entertained.” She lifts a sharp angled brow. “Especially since shitty shenanigans are their specialty.”

“Right.” I scoff at the idea. “I’m sure they’ll have an entire swat team of social services crawling all over this feces-infested place within an hour.” I glare at her a moment. “Why am I talking to you?” I grit through my teeth. “Why am I looking at you? This is not your home, Chloe. Don’t get too comfortable. I’m not looking for a bestie. That position is filled.”

“By me.” Brielle wraps me in a hug from behind. “Big party at Ellis’ tonight, and I expect to see both you bitches there.” She leans over and pinches Chloe’s cheek as if she were a three-year-old, but Chloe growls.

“No using the B word, Bree.” She gives a sly wink my way.

Brielle is quick to brush her off. “God, it’s so nice to see you both in the same room and not clawing one another’s eyes out. Isn’t this crazy? Back at West I could never have predicted this. I thought for sure one of you would have ended up dead by now.”

A small laugh trembles through me. Chloe is all but dead. Ezrina’s body is well over three hundred years old. But apparently well-preserved, considering she looks twenty and was able to birth a child a few months back. I’m guessing every valve and chamber is in good working condition. Just my luck.

“Of course, we’ll be there.” Chloe blinks over to me with those dark bat caves she calls eyes. “Skyla and I will be at all of the important parties that Paragon has to offer—together. But make no mistake about it. We are the important ones.”

We. I shudder as she says it. As much as I hate the thought of being so intricately connected to Chloe, we’ve become just that. Oh hell, we’ve always been intricately connected, long before I killed her and long before she killed my father. In the celestial mother of all ironies, the only thing we really have in common is the fact we’re both killers—that and our Celestra lineage.

“Dear God.” Mom stalks back in, retching with her hand over her mouth. “Brielle, help Drake call out a carpet cleaning service.”

Tad groans so loud you would think he were ready to blow to bits.

“Oh”—Mom throws her hands in the air, exasperated—“the kids are paying for it for shit’s sake!”

Chloe’s about to say something, and I hold up a finger. She frowns my way, but it is nice to know she’s willing to comply—for now. Her eyes widen as she looks over my shoulder, and I turn to find Gage strolling in with Nathan in his arms, or at least from here I think it’s Nathan. The boys might be fraternal, but there is not one noticeable difference at this point.

“Hello, Gage.” Chloe’s entire face opens up for him—much like her legs would gladly do, I’m sure.

“Down, girl,” I whisper. It’s nice to be holding the whip and the chair for once in this bedraggled relationship.

Chloe’s chest pumps with a silent laugh, her eyes still very much pegged to my betrothed. “Don’t you ever liken me to a dog again, Skyla.”

“If the bitch shoe fits.”

Gage steps in close, examining the two of us as if trying to see which one is easier to read. I’ll give him a hint. It is most definitely not me. I bet it’s killing him to see me with this demon by my side, killing him to know what I might be thinking, staging, preparing, all in the name of our twisted love. Whatever becomes of us, of Chloe and me, Gage and me, I can squarely peg the outcome on Gage Oliver’s shoulders.

You did this, I want to say. You have unraveled us, and now I’ve come undone.

He leans in and takes in a breath with his eyes closed, his face seemingly relaxed for the first time. “You smell nice.”

“It’s me,” Chloe volunteers. “It’s my new perfume—Chloe. Skyla gave it to me for Christmas.” God, she’s such an attention whore around him I’m almost embarrassed for her.

His eyes widen with fright before looking to me. “Skyla.” My name comes out in a depressed whisper. “I need to talk to you.”

Nathan fidgets in his arms, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he was wiggling in my direction so I scoop him on over.

“Not now.” There. I’ve given him a modicum of hope. He can run with it all the way back to the Olivers’ for all I care.

Chloe takes a step into him, and I note how creepy it is the way her eyes remain trained on his, wide and full of expectation. All Gage has ever given her is rejection, but Chloe is resilient in her pursuit of him. Apparently to some people, delusions are nothing but a springboard of hope.

“We’ll be at the party tonight.” Chloe nods slowly as if trying to hypnotize him. “We expect to see you there.”

“I won’t be there. I’ll be with the boys.”

Mom pokes her head into our tiny circle. “I’ll be with the boys. Actually, Emma just informed me she will, too.” She wrinkles her nose and waves to Chloe with one finger. “It’s so nice to see you around the house again.” She coos for a moment while fondling the blob of paper towels in her hands. “Anyway, I’m having a get-together here tonight and the Olivers are coming.” She nods my way. “So you, young lady, go out and have a little fun.” She hitches her head toward Gage and makes all sorts of crazy eyes before zooming past us once again on route to the slip and slide disaster on the stairs. Little Beau is singlehandedly turning this entire house into a hygienic nightmare.

“Then it’s set.” Chloe slings an arm around me as Nathan arches his back and starts in on a cry that sounds very much like the bleating of a lamb. “We’re partying like it’s our last night on earth.” She never takes her eyes off Gage. “Last chance for love and all that other good stuff.” She struts over to Em and Bree in the kitchen, and for once I’m sorry that Chloe Bishop has left my presence. Who knew Chloe would turn out to be a life preserver in my darkest hour? A lead-lined life preserver, but still.

“Then it’s set.” Gage washes those cobalt eyes over mine, no smile. “Yes, I have things I need to explain”—he shoots a quick glance to Chloe—“but apparently, so do you.” His arm comes in low around my waist as he attempts to pull me in, but I flinch and he retracts. “Let’s go upstairs.”

“The stairs are indisposed if you haven’t been paying attention. And no, this isn’t the time or place.”

His eyes narrow in over mine, angry and brooding. “I don’t want to start the new year off this way with you.”

I lean in, my blood, my temper, and my growing discontent for him coming to a roiling boil. “Then you should have considered that before pledging to darkness,” I hiss so fast it’s Gage who flinches this time.

Emma blinks into the room with Barron, and Mia swoops in behind her only to take the baby from her arms.

Gage takes a step back. His dimples invert with dissatisfaction. That’s the magic of those beautiful divots. They don’t need a smile to perform at maximum capacity. The boys are the same way. I’ve watched for hours as those deep wells of cuteness go off in their sleep.

“We’d better take off. We were on our way to the daycare center. I offered to take a look at the plumbing, but I wanted to stop by.” He leans in and offers a kiss to Nathan. His hand grazes over my swollen chest, and our eyes meet. No apology from him, but then, I didn’t expect one. “I’ll see you tonight. Know this, Skyla”—his gaze weighs heavy on me like the sea pressing over the ocean floor, letting me know I will never emerge the victor, he will lay over my heart forever—“I love you. It’s you I’m fighting for. Always you, Skyla.”

He escorts his mother out of the room, and the air around me feels thick with loneliness. Even in our anger Gage seems to make it a little easier to breathe. I’m sure that’s what Demetri wanted when he manipulated this designer union. Gage and I were never pieced together by my mother and her destination station—we were forged by wickedness and now the light has shown through the broken pieces of who we’ve become and is exposing us for the sham we really are.

Mia swoops in with a wiggly little Barron, and my heart melts as his hand reaches for his brother. They’re practically conjoined all night in their tiny bassinet. I don’t know how much longer they’ll be able to sleep together, but I don’t have the heart to separate them just yet.

“Too bad you’re saddled with kids at such a young age.” Mia snorts while bouncing Barron in her arms, and my mouth falls open. “Don’t worry, Skyla. I won’t screw up my life like you did.” Her eyes meet mine with a renewed enthusiasm. “I’m going out tonight! Melissa and I are heading to the it party on Paragon.” She holds a finger to her lips. “Don’t tell Mom and Tad.” She passes Barron to me, and now my arms are full of love, and yet my mind is still mildly pissed at the slight my sister just gave me. “I’m going to party, Skyla. I’m going to live life for the both of us.” Her face opens with such sincerity I almost want to laugh.

“Please, Mia, I’m not dead.”

“But you’re basically an old lady. You’re like Mom.” She makes our mother sound like an infectious disease. “Face it, you can’t have fun anymore. And you’re uneducated. This is all you’ll ever be now—a mom.” Her face falls despondent before she livens up once again. Mia has fully grown into a mirrored version of myself, unlike Melissa, our stepsister who looks every bit the dark-haired, dark-eyed Landon with a questionable dark soul to boot. Although, at the moment, I would very much like to give this mirrored version in front of me a swift kick in the ass. She leans in and whispers, “I’ve got a hot date tonight, but don’t think for a minute I won’t make him use protection.”

“Mia!” I bounce the boys between us. “You keep your legs shut, young lady. You hear me?”

“Ha!” She yelps out a laugh all the way down the hall. “You’re such a mom!”

Chloe seeps in like a dark fog with Emily by her side. “My—isn’t she going to be surprised to see you, an old lady, show up at Ellis’ party.”

“She’s going to Ellis’ party?” I straighten at the thought.

“That’s right. He’s not only the hottest party on Paragon, he’s the only show in town.”

“Then that’s where I’ll be.” I dot a kiss to each of the boys’ foreheads, soft as peaches.

“Good thing,” Em huffs while gliding forward as if she were floating. Emily is stone-faced with dead eyes, very much her day-to-day self. “I have a vision, Skyla.” She shakes her head, and I’m afraid to guess why. “I need you there. I can’t get this out fast enough.”

“Do it now.” Chloe taps her shoulder into Em’s as if cajoling her along. She’s such a snake. Of course, Chloe would love to start my new year off with a message from the Master concerning the bleakness of my future.

“No, thanks. Not now, not tonight.” No way, no how. If I never hear another vision from Emily Morgan, I’ll be a happy little bird.

“I have to.” Em’s eyes bug out, and my insides tremble. That’s more emotion she’s shown than in the last five years combined. “I’ll blow if I don’t get this one out, and I don’t think your mother wants me defacing her dining room again. We’ll do it at the Harrisons’. Gage needs to be there, too. This is a big one.”

“The last one was a big one,” I correct as I display the boys before her. Emily accurately foretold the birth of my children, including the third triplet, my daughter Sage who never made it to this madhouse known as earth. Emily isn’t a fortuneteller or a psychic per se. She’s akin to an Old Testament prophet who receives her visions straight from the throne of God—or in the least my celestial mother. The Master strictly forbids witches, warlocks, fortunetellers and the like, so Emily really does have a pipeline to both heaven and the future. She’s a Viden, and that’s their gift. Only lately, and come to think of it always, the visions are enough to make me rethink the idea of a future altogether. Her visions are dark, ominous, and most definitely nothing to be giddy over, unlike the troll to my left.

“Wipe that smile from your face,” I tell Chloe, and she slowly complies.

“Messenger’s right.” Emily huffs in the wicked witch’s direction, “You’d better wipe that smirk off your face, Bishop. I’ve got one for you, too.”

My eyes round out just as wide as Chloe’s.

“Me,” Chloe says it like fact more than a question. “I haven’t had one since—”

“Since word was sent you were about to be hacked to death in the forest.” Emily Morgan bleeds a silent smile. “That’s right, Chloe. There is something urgent inside of me that I’m just dying to divulge. I’ll see the two of you later.” She starts to take off, then backtracks. “And don’t think you can avoid it. Whether or not you bitches show up makes no difference.” Em looks right at me with those dark unknowable eyes. “Your fate is sealed.” She snaps up Ember and takes off down the hall.

Chloe fans herself a moment. “Well, she’s a breath of fresh air. I think I’ll go find Ethan and see if he’d like to play a round of hide-and-go-seek-the-penis like we did in the old days.” She offers a seductive wink my way, and I’m sick straight to my stomach.

“Don’t you dare. You know Em and Ethan are practically married. They’re raising Ember together. Ethan loves that baby as if it were his own. Don’t go screwing up someone else’s life just because you don’t have one.”

Chloe’s gaze hardens over mine. “I can and I will.” She steps in close. “Don’t think just because you tell me to jump I’m going to ask how high. Yes, I am in line with our agreement. But it was just that, ours.”

I lean in until we’re nose to nose, clutching the boys to my chest with a vise grip. “Yes—Chloe, we very much have an agreement. Don’t you forget it.”

“You don’t hold all the cards, Skyla,” she seethes and her chest palpitates dramatically. Here she is, the living, breathing bitch I always knew her to be. Gone is the Pollyanna routine. Yes, Skyla—no, Skyla will soon be replaced with death threats and very real follow-ups. I knew I was playing with fire, but it’s her fire I’m after. “You never hold all the cards,” she spits the words right over my mouth, and I half-expect a kiss in the process. “Don’t you forget that.”

Chloe takes off, and I hear the door to Ethan and Emily’s room open and close. There’s that. Give Chloe a solid piece of advice, and the first thing she does is go out of her way not to listen to it. I hope Tobie grows up to be a firecracker of a teenager so Chloe can get a taste of her own poisonous medicine. On second thought, I’d rather Tobie grow up to be a respectable, sweet, young woman, not another thorn in my side. I doubt Chloe would care either way. She’s a python of a mother. I’m shocked she hasn’t eaten the poor thing by now.

Brielle, my oldest and sweetest bestie, pops up and her features harden with concern—a look I’ve virtually never seen on her before. She plucks a sleeping Barron out of my arms and cradles him.

“Why is Chloe here?” Her voice is low and tempered, and for the first time in a long while, it feels as if I have my best friend back from a long bubble-headed hiatus. “You need her for something, don’t you?”

“The Savior needed Judas to accomplish his goals, and I need Chloe to accomplish mine.”

Bree tosses back her strawberry blonde hair as if I’ve struck her. “Who do you think you’re going to save?”

“Gage.”

New Year’s Eve has always represented more than just the touchdown of a new year. It’s the promise of a better tomorrow, a better year, and an overall better you. I nurse the boys for over an hour just sitting in the comfortable glider my mother—the one who makes her home in the heavenlies—squeezed in here while I wasn’t looking, loving on my boys, counting their delicate fingers and adorable toes over and over. Wondering all the while what these little angels will do in life. Where will these precious feet take them? These beautiful hands, what will they build? What will they destroy?

I settle them both in Nathan’s bassinet and yank outfit after outfit from my closet wondering how the hell my waist was ever the size that my ankle is now. I finally settle on the white dress I squeezed myself into for that demonic renewing of the vows in the Transfer—a maternity dress no less. It hangs baggy and sickly, making me look all together dumpy, so I cinch it in the back with a safety pin I dig out of my jewelry box. The protective hedge winks at me, so over my neck it goes, but Logan’s mirrored heart—I run my finger over it. Not tonight. I feel just as betrayed by Logan as I do Gage. But that ring Chloe gifted me—that little bit of heaven—I pop it right onto my finger. Lapis Lazuli—or sapphire as it were, from the very throne of God? I kiss it for good luck, and a current travels from my lips all the way to my toes. I marvel at the tiny wonder for a moment. Yes, this ring is special, and I cannot wait to find out all of the amazing things it’s capable of.

I peer in on the boys with their eyes sealed shut, their dark lashes so long and lovely. Two miniature versions of Gage. My boys are so beautiful it makes my heart weep. I turn on the nanny cam Logan gifted me for Christmas and make sure the app is synced to my phone. Enabling me to see and hear almost the entirety of my bedroom while anywhere on this planet is a stroke of genius. I might be angry with Logan, but this gift makes me very, very happy. I press a barely there kiss to each of their warm heads and leave the room with a silent click of the door.

Downstairs the house is lit up bright. Drake painted a hasty coat of whitewash over the blackened wall where Tad ignited like a Roman candle so it looks mostly presentable again. Mom has the tree lit, sans a single candle in the vicinity, and to my surprise there are a handful of guests already milling around, laughing, swinging their hips to the music Mom has pumping from the speakers in the family room. Mom and Tad don’t have many friends, so I don’t expect things to get out of control, but it’s nice seeing them expanding their social wings a bit.

“Skyla. You look fantastic!” Mom beams while fluffing my hair with her fingers. “Gage is going to drop dead when he sees you!”

Oddly I feel rather ambivalent at the thought of Gage dropping dead, and a dull smile comes to me. Of course, I myself would die if he died. It would be a parental disaster for the boys, but in theory I wouldn’t mind stopping Gage Oliver’s heart for once. Honestly, I think it’s in need of a reboot.

“Now”—she adjusts my dress around the hips, her affect growing quickly serious—“it’s time to let go of the past and dive into a brand new future—together. Emma and I both agree this cold shoulder nonsense needs to end right this minute. You hear me, young lady?” Her eyes needle into mine as if a ripe punishment waited for me at the other end of this threat.

“Well, if you and Emma insist.” I glance down at my phone and check on the boys. “Where is the wicked witch, anyway?”

“Skyla!”

Tad waltzes in with his arm extended because obviously Dr. Frankenstein isn’t quite through with him just yet.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, hopeful that his fleshly torment is over. “I don’t know what the hell Marshall was thinking,” I say under my breath. God knows I understand completely where Demetri’s evil head was.

“Don’t be too hard on Mr. Dudley.” Mom waves off the quite literal gas lighting of her husband. “His heart was in the right place.”

“What are you talking about? He lit him up like a birthday candle.”

Mom inches back as if I just backhanded her. “What are you talking about? He donated the suit. It was his idea we have Santa show up for the boys. He said it was his gift to you.”

“Oh.” Now I’m the one inching back. So, Marshall’s gift wasn’t the Tad-based bonfire? Oh! It was the suit! Of course, it was. Marshall would never set a human ablaze in front of their family on Christmas of all days. What kind of monster would ever do that?

“Demetri’s here.” Tad gruffs, and just like that, I have my answer. “And he’s brought a date.” Tad jumps as if this somehow pleases him. It should totally please him because we both know damn well my mother has the hots for the flame-wielding demon.

“A date?” Mom forces a laugh. “You mean his niece. He mentioned something about her traveling to Greece soon.” She narrows in on Tad with a look of smug satisfaction. “Unfortunately, you won’t see the likes of her for a while now. Althorpe is shipping her off to help with its European branch.”

“Oh dear God.” I suck in a quick breath and look to Tad in horror. “You don’t think they’re going to ship you off to the European branch, do you?” Please, God, anything but that. Demetri and my mother will be coiled around one another before Tad’s ferry ever gets to Seattle.

Tad staggers forward with his arm swinging wildly. “You bet your sweet patootie they won’t! It looks like Mee-Maw here didn’t give you the memo. I’ve been canned! I’m done. I’m toast. Stick a fork in me. I’m deader than a Thanksgiving Day turkey basted in formaldehyde. I’m eating gravel. Sucking up exhaust. Taking a dirt nap. Becoming a root inspector. Living challenged—”

“Enough already.” Mom tosses both hands in the air as the demon of darkness enters the room with a lady friend by his side who is neither his breasty niece, Isis, nor is it Brielle’s mother, Darla Johnson. Nope, this new and slightly improved slut-alicious skank is six feet of redheaded glory with a face that can set sail to a thousand European ships, high cheekbones cut in marble, perfectly pouty blood red lips, and a distinguished, sexy as all hell mole between her lip and left cheek—and hair, oh dear God, that glorious hair, how even I crave to touch it. My mother had better hope this is a new relation of his or else some serious competition just swooped into town.

And an unemployed Tad? Gah! Althorpe has clearly gone off the government watch-list rails. Who else are they going to pin all their otherworldly shenanigans on?

Come to think of it—most likely me.

“Why, who is this?” Mom walks past Tad, clipping his limb extension and sending him moaning with agony. I’d offer to soothe him, but I can’t seem to look away from this redheaded train wreck about to crash right through my mother’s rockin’ New Year’s Eve.

Demetri sheds his signature hellish grin and nods with a slight bow. Dear God, it’s as if he’s constantly performing. Figures. Demetri’s entire existence is one, long, wicked performance piece.

“Let me introduce to you the lovely, most beautiful Mrs. Dominique Winters.” Most beautiful? My mother is seeing red—and most likely black and blue from the offensive she’s ready to divvy up. “Dom and I are old acquaintances. Dominique, this is my first true love, Lizbeth.” He set the record straight pretty quick. Figures. “And her darling daughter, Skyla.” He preens my way with that demonic grin. “Skyla is married to my most treasured son.” Wow, I bet Wes would love to have heard that. “They’ve just gifted me two of the world’s best grandchildren a man could ever ask for. Twins.” Poor Tobie.

“Children?” She smacks her crimson stained lips when she says it. Either she likens them to a late-night snack or she’s truly repulsed by the idea. Her gaze sharpens over me, revealing pools of lavender, an eye color not anywhere in nature, and already I’m doubting her human standing. And back up the train. There were so many things wrong with Demetri’s intro. For one, he has more than one son, but per usual, Wesley gets the shaft. And secondly, I didn’t pump out two beautiful babies just to give Demetri a gift, and third—hello, hot mama. What grave did he dig this stunner out of? And what kind of a spell did he cast to make her pretend to like him?

My mother’s jaw roots to the floor as she examines her potential replacement.

“Lizbeth.” Demetri nods to her with a smug smile of satisfaction, but before he has a chance to rub in his redheaded hussy, Tad grunts and hops his way over. He maneuvers his extended splint wide to the left and whacks my mother on the side of the head with an audible thump.

“Shit!” I hiss under my breath as Mom blinks back the stars in her eyes.

“Tad Landon.” My bumbling stepfather offers an awkward handshake to Demetri’s femme fetale, and this time nearly takes out the king of pain himself, but Demetri wisely ducks. Darn. Tad will just have to try harder next time. “Welcome to my estate! Me casa you casa. I’ve got a butt roast heating just for you and enough beer over at the refreshment table to make this a night to remember. Please feel free to help yourself to whatever I might have to offer. Anything for a beautiful woman.”

As if the thought of Tad offering up the questionable hindquarters of a pig’s behind and warm beer weren’t appetizing enough, I think he’s just thrown himself into the unappetizing mix.

Tad offers up an awkward bow and manages to poke her in the chest with his petrified arm. Oh my dear God. Tad just stole second base in front of God and Demetri—not that my mother cares. But, wow. Copping a feel of Demetri’s date? I’m guessing that butt roast isn’t the only thing that will be burning tonight. If Tad and his wandering fingers aren’t careful Demetri will finish him off before midnight.

I glance to my poor mother who is presently nursing both a bruised heart and a shattered skull—from two different men.

“So, what are you doing in town, Dom?” I offer my own smug smile at the use of the flirty little nickname Demetri gifted her.

Her hair flickers like a flame as she ticks her head slightly my way. It’s as if she’s a wind-up doll and swift staccato movements are all she’s capable of, and knowing Demetri, this might actually be the case. Her skin is smoother than porcelain, and her face has a mannequin-esque quality that I can’t quite put my finger on. Something about her—I’ve seen that look before—but not on a mannequin.

A gasp gets locked in my throat. A corpse! Gah! Yes, that’s it! She’s got that whole I’ve just been embalmed by the best, half-past deceased glow about her. (The best being Barron Senior. Nobody wields embalming fluid like my father-in-law.) My heart sinks because it doesn’t quite feel like he’s my anything anymore.

“What am I doing?” Dominique squares her gaze over me as if I were a spider than needing to be dealt with by the wrong end of her stiletto. I can tell by her tone I’ve managed to vex her. I’m not too sorry about it either. “I’ve lived on this island longer than you’ve roamed the planet.” Her voice cuts through the air like razor wire, and an odd tension springs up in its wake.

Demetri clears his throat my way as if he were attempting to manage me, and I almost want to laugh. If anything, he’s the one who needs to be managed. Who does he think he is hauling this hussy over and flaunting her in front of my mother? Not to mention the fact she’s flat out rude.

“Impressive. I haven’t seen you around. I guess Paragon does like to keep her secrets.” I glance down at my phone to find Mia and Melissa in my bedroom stealing kisses from the boys. And before I can say a single rotten thing about Emma, she pops up on the screen as well and my sisters scatter like birds. Figures. Even they can’t stand her. “I’d better run. My sitter is here and, apparently, there’s a new year to be ushered in.” Truthfully, I’m a little bummed I’ll be missing the rest of The Dominatrix Show. Judging by that clearly pissed expression on my mother’s face, there will be fireworks at the Landons’ first social bash after all.

“Lizbeth”—Dominique ignores my trivial excuse to ditch the senior center this place is quickly morphing into and steps in toward my mother—“Demetri has told me all about you.” A dull laugh rattles through her chest as she razes my mother with a scathing sweep of the eyes. Dear God, what did that vile villain say? “You are every bit the fragile little bird, aren’t you?”

My mouth opens, and just as I’m about to tell this redheaded heathen off, a body swoops in behind me—Bree.

“It’s time to get our groove on, little mama!” Brielle’s hair is a freshly dyed darker version of red tonight. She’s been blonde for so long I’m half-convinced Dom here has duplicated herself for a moment and is doing her best to get rid of me. But it’s clear Bree is determined to start the new year off with a redheaded bang, and I can’t blame her. It’s a good look on her.

“Just one second.” I stutter on my heels as Tad yanks on his tie, his eyes still very much plastered on the new object of his affection.

Tad squints into the queen of evil hearts. “Come to think of it, I’ve seen you around a time or two.”

“I run the apothecary.” She smirks at him as if he were a rat that just crawled from muddy waters. “But perhaps you know me from the picture the paper ran of my family this morning.”

“Aha! That’s where I’ve seen you!” Tad slaps his thigh, and a cracking sound echoes throughout the room. Dear God, don’t break a leg over this apothecary dominating demon. And who the hell runs an apothecary? It’s obvious Demetri’s hauled a witch into our midst. If my mother is wise, she’ll tie her to a stake and burn her at midnight. She should hogtie Demetri while she’s at it. Cleansing the island of all its evil sounds like a great way to start the new year.

I break out of Bree’s grip for a moment and step in close to the wicked witch. “Tad is the only person on the planet who reads the paper. What were you doing in it?” It comes out far more accusatory than I meant it, but hell, I meant it. Besides, I have a feeling the only good that can come from that paper is if this rotten fish was wrapped in it.

“Skyla!” my mother balks as if it took my brazenness to breathe her back to life. “Excuse my daughter. She suffers from a severe lack of sleep.” She wraps an arm around my shoulders and gives me a rattle. “The things that come out of this girl’s mouth”—she chortles—“it’s sleep deprivation at its finest!”

Dominique grunts at this measly sleep deprived excuse. “My daughter was killed by a sleep deprived motorist on Christmas Eve, right here on the corner of your very street.” She bares her sharp, glistening fangs at my mother for a moment as if it were her fault this horrible tragedy happened. “But she’s better now.”

Better? Sounds like Dom isn’t the only reanimated corpse in the family.

“That’s nice,” Bree interrupts.

Misty and Beau saunter in with their hair covered in something brown and greasy that smells like shit and—

Everyone in a square mile sucks in a breath at once.

“Mee-Maw!” Beau sings with pride. “Misty made poo poo in my hay!” Hay is as close to hair as little Beau gets these days, and after this craptastic fiasco, he’ll be lucky if every inch of hay isn’t shaved off before midnight.

“We’ll catch you later!” Bree sails me out the door faster than I can protest. “We’ve got a party to hit, and we need to leave now if we plan on waking the dead ourselves!”

“Wait!” I try to stop Bree’s stronghold on me, but it’s too late. We’re down the porch and in the minivan where an irritated Drake cusses up a storm over the fact we’re missing all the fat blunts. Freaking Ellis has infiltrated the Landon frontlines. Drake is a certified card-carrying midnight toker.

My mind drifts back to my poor mother. Although, I can’t help but think that Misty and Beau’s crap-infested heads are a metaphor for my mother’s obsession with Demetri.

“That woman’s daughter,” I say mostly to myself since Bree is cussing right back at Drake at top volume. “She’s the one that Gage saved at the morgue.” I’m not quite sure save is the correct terminology, but still, she’s back from the dead. Melody Winters—Dominique Winters.

I text Marshall and tell him to meet me at the party. There are two no-good reasons I need to speak with him.

The fog billows over the island in large vats of white powder. It’s cold enough to snow, but Paragon is too stubborn to give such a spectacular show. She likes it dark and damp. She likes turning the roads into wet, slick tongues that inspire cars to spin out—wet enough to send a girl straight through the windshield and into the afterlife.

Yes, winter has arrived on Paragon and dragged its wicked namesake right along with it.

Something rotten this way comes.

In fact, I have a feeling it’s already arrived.

The Harrison estate—unlike the Landon estate, per Tad’s pretentious pipe dream—stands proud over on the ritzy side of town that is gated and guarded and happens to hoard the most expensive chunks of real estate this haunted island has to offer. Some of its residents include the dominating demon himself, Demetri, the Havers’ home where our Faction meetings have been routinely held until I kicked the Factions and their useless meetings on their angelic ears, the Kraggers—the family that has spawned a thousand forms of evil, Marshall, my rough around the sexy edges, refined around the crooked heart spirit husband, the Olivers, Gage and his new home—I refuse to have anything to do with him or the house he tricked me into buying. Good God, do not—I repeat, do not make huge life decisions when every one of your hormones is out of whack. How I ever thought owning a home next door to Emma was a good idea I will never know.

The minivan comes to an abrupt stop as Drake uses his good judgment to block the entry to the enormous circular driveway, thus penning in the dozen or so vehicles already resting rubber on the Italian imported cobblestone. I have no clue whether or not the Harrisons are old money or new money—at this financially draining point in my life, I’d be honored to be either or both—but their taste for all things pricey is made clear by the almost disturbing visual of their not-so humble home. Ellis’ mother, Olivia, has undertaken an ongoing renovation, and each time I pop into their home, something newer and flashier than before assaults my attention.

“Time to get ripped!” Brielle whoops so loud she manages to saw each of my nerves in half before I ever get out of the car.

The night air is crisp, but it feels good to my overheated body that stubbornly refuses to shed an ounce of the weight I packed on while incubating my two little olives. I thought for sure after I had them, and drained the swimming pool that formed inside me, I would have magically lost the seventy pounds I decided to pad myself with, but nope. I’m still as robust as can be and damn pissed about it, too. Chloe mentioned she gained twelve pounds—twelve fucking pounds—and got right back into her skinny jeans the night she booted Tobie from her vajayjay. I sneer at the thought as I stagger toward the Harrisons’ home like the zombie my sleep deprived self is slowly morphing into. Speaking of vajayjays, I force myself to do a quick rep of Kegels. My mother has convinced me that the vag-inspired move will stave off unwanted bladder malfunctions—which I’m embarrassed to say have occurred on the odd occasion—the odd occasion being a laugh or a sneeze. There’s no way I’m going to stock up on diapers right alongside the boys, so I’ve been doubling up on the Kegel routine instead.

“Hey, chica.” Bree hooks her arm through mine in a seemingly friendly gesture, but I can tell by the way she’s pulling me she just wants to hustle to the open bar Ellis inevitably has flowing with all things lethal. “Do you think you and Logan will kiss and make up tonight?”

“You mean Gage.” I hate that she made me say his name. It sounds so normal coming from my lips, so vaguely benign. I’m afraid she might be trying to delude my outrage toward him, and that’s something I just can’t afford to let happen.

“I mean Logan.” She struts us right past the gargantuan fountain lit up that eerie Countenance blue with its dozen or so life-sized stone lions roaming around the waterworks. Truthfully, that fountain has always jolted me a bit. At night, when the moon hits it just right, you would swear those lions were the real breathing, moving, hungry as hell deal. “Isn’t it about time you switched? I mean, Gage isn’t going to be up at bat forever, right? You told me so yourself. He gets booted off home plate by Logan, and then you hit the sheets with Dudley.” Brielle groans and quivers as if she just hit the big O thinking about her once wild romp with our ex-math teacher. God, he was such a perv, but then, Bree was no angel. Not in the sexual sense anyway.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I certainly don’t want to entertain Candace Messenger’s supposed brilliant plan for my life or my vagina. Brielle isn’t entirely off. In fact, she’s spot-on, and it makes my stomach turn just thinking about it.

We head into the dark home, with a pulsating red light coming from the cavernous living room that can double as an airplane hangar, and the scent of weed is already thick in the air.

“Messenger!” Ellis beams as he comes my way, his eyes heavy and glossy, that goofy baked smile on his face. Ellis is handsome in a millionaire surfer-slash-derelict kind of way, and Giselle, Gage’s sweet baby sis, is completely smitten with Paragon’s resident stoner much to Emma’s chagrin—and that only makes me appreciate him that much more. “You left the STDs at home for once. Nice to see you out and about again.”

“My children are not sexually transmitted diseases, Ellis.” Although, technically, they were sexually transmitted.

“What? No way.” His chest bucks with laughter. “What I meant was studley twin dudes.” He slaps me five, and I unaesthetically slap him back.

“Nice save.” Not. I tread deeper into the foyer until I have a bird’s eye view of the entire room in front of me. The music is so loud the backbeat pulsates from my chest, and my brain begins to rattle to the rhythm. Ellis remains dutifully by my side as we watch Bree hop up on a marble table and start shaking what her mama gave her. I can’t help but notice a brand new sparkling chandelier the size of an SUV floating from the expansive ceiling above.

“Impressive,” I hiss as I continue to ogle at its sparkling glory.

“Eh.” Ellis shrugs off its magnificence. “It’s just a little antique the ’rents picked up from the Mother Country. My ma’s been hitting the back alleys of London, hard, scouring for shit to clutter this place up with. My dad’s cool with it, though.”

Ellis’ dad is cool with a lot of things, like wearing the crown as resident slumlord, no thanks to those crappy apartments he rents out to innocent college students on Host. Also, he openly sleeps around. I’ve met one or two of his adolescent—and I mean that in the literal sense—girlfriends. I could never keep it straight if his parents are exes, or simply spouses with side benefits.

“And that”—Ellis points to the corner of the room at a giant work of questionable art that looks like a stick drawing of a person come to life—“is a bronze statue she had shipped from France. It’s called The Walking Man.”

“Awesome,” I muse. Dear God, if my mother shoved that in any part of our home I’d have nightmares for weeks. I still might, and I’ve only laid eyes on it for the last thirty seconds. Although, I’d actually have to fall asleep in order to have those blessed events.

“Anyway”—Ellis slings an arm over my shoulder—“Bishop’s looking for you.” He cranes his neck for a moment before leaning in and squinting into the crowd. “Don’t get goofy on me, but I see something that might piss you off, straight ahead at twelve o’clock.”

My eyes snap to high noon, and I fully expect to find Bishop herself sucking off my future ex-husband like the tall drink of water he is, but it’s not Chloe siphoning off Gage. It’s a gyrating, turbo twerking, engaged in a demonic level of calisthenics looking redhead using Gage as a stripper pole. Granted he’s not joining in on the fun. He is still very much in the center of her skanky affection.

“Nice,” I muse. “What’s Super Freak’s stage name? Let me guess—C U Next Tuesday?”

A familiar scent comes from behind. Chloe. That perfume I gifted her works like a calling card alerting my senses to her demonic presence before that sourpuss ever hits.

“What’s the matter, Skyla?” she shouts up over the seizure of a song. “Seeing your man engaging in a little cunt-punting getting you down?” She narrows her gaze in their direction. “She looks familiar. I’d know that booty shaking skank anywhere.”

Laken pops up and pulls me into a quick embrace. “It’s Melody Winters.” She beats Chloe to the punch. “She was dead, and now she’s alive.”

“Well, hello”—I lean back and watch the freak show as it continues to dazzle the crowd—“is she ever thankful to my husband.” First time I’ve claimed him as such in over a week.

“That’s our Mellie.” Chloe frowns over at the scene, clearly not enthused to have her obsession being accosted by yet another vagina to the face. “Mellie Winters.” Chloe ticks her head to the side as if curious of the cadaverous turn of events and wastes no time in heading over. Figures. Chloe isn’t about to stand for this shit—and normally neither would I.

Laken threads her arm through mine. “Come on, Skyla. We’re not missing the grand finale.”

Mellie, or Melody, or Werkin’ Twerkin Winters springs into a handstand and lands her bare feet over Gage Oliver’s shoulders. His hands grip her ankles as if it were a reflex, and he takes a half-step back in an attempt not to fall over. But Mellie is relentless in her pursuit of him as her hips grind into his chest offering up a pussy platter for the evening.

“Wow—he’s free for a week, and it’s freaking rumspringa,” I growl to Laken, and she laughs.

“He’s not free. Believe me. Coop says he’s downright miserable. Mellie’s just chosen the wrong boy. I’m sure she doesn’t mean her little hop on pop. Odd, though. She seemed so shy in all of my classes.”

“You mean she’s acting out of character?” A thought comes to me, lingering vaguely in the back of my mind, and I refuse to acknowledge it.

“Completely.” Laken scoffs as if it were the honest truth. “But it is New Year’s Eve. Finals were a bitch. She’s probably just cutting loose. You know, knocking one too many back.”

Chloe jostles her way through the crowd and knocks Mellie and her smelly snatch right off my husband. It’s sort of funny how he’s “my husband” once things go carnally south.

“Skyla.” Gage devours the distance between us with fierceness and rage as he pulls me into an embrace without hesitating. Lucky for him, he doesn’t reek even slightly of dead girl’s feet or her pink parts. Instead, he holds that familiar spiced scent that I love so much, and I can’t help but take it in deeply. I memorize how solid he feels, the granite of his chest up against my body. My fingers glide over the cool slick hair around his neck before I pull away and pretend that moment wasn’t everything my bleeding heart needed to fix it.

“That wasn’t what it looked like,” he’s quick to contest, but I keep my gaze set straight ahead as the music pumps violently through the speakers. There are so many people, so many bodies here. Chloe and Laken are off talking to Mellie. Hopefully drilling her a brand new smelly crotch. God, Mia might even be here, and I really wouldn’t know it. “Can I see your phone?” he asks as his shoulders press over my back. Everything about his body is familiar to mine, and my natural instinct insists I wrap my arms around him, but I’m quick to tell my natural instincts to go to hell.

Gage didn’t get a chance to install the baby cam app onto his phone yet, so I hand it over and wait while he chuckles to himself a moment.

“It looks like the boys are giving my parents a run for their money. Hopefully, they’ll sleep when we get home.”

“We? My—aren’t you presumptuous?”

Before he can defend his mattress standing, Laken, Chloe, and the bouncing beast make their way over. The first thing I notice about her is those eyes, a mix of colors that are clearly toxic even in this low lighting. Kaleidoscope eyes. I’ve seen them somewhere before. Something about this demon seems so gnawingly familiar.

Melody Winters is scrawny, living under a rock pale—but God, aren’t we all? Paragon doesn’t really give you a choice in the matter. Her hair is draped in gorgeous red tresses just like her dominatrix of a mother. She’s got a heart-shaped face, but that wicked gleam in her eyes, that never-ending I’ve got an edge over you smile, suggests she’s not all hearts and roses after all.

“So you’re the wife.” She scowls as she holds her hand out and I shake it. That ring Chloe gifted me for Christmas winks like a beacon, and I’m quick to hide it behind my back. Melody leans in and runs her finger along the protective hedge dangling over my chest and draws it to her.

“Spectacular.” She glances back at Chloe, and something in that one suspicious action lifts the veil ever so slightly in this entire smelly Mellie farce. “Per chance we can get to know one another better?” Mellie returns her gaze to Gage and runs her finger over his cheek, letting us know exactly who she would like to get to know better and how.

I slap her down by the wrist without hesitation. “Whatever action it is you’re used to getting on Host, we’re far more conservative on this island. Keep your hands and your hips to yourself.” I don’t need to look at Gage to know that he’s gloating. As angry as I am with him, the last thing we need worming into our lives and our bed is another woman.

Mellie glances over at me, her body language still very much begging my husband to take her. “Very well. I’m sure we’ll all be fast friends.” She cackles and snaps her fingers high up over her head in rhythm to the drumming of the music. “This night, this life isn’t through by a long shot!” She looks to Gage, and those eyes of hers light up as if she were looking into the face of God Himself. “So many years I’ve waited.” She lets out a strangled cry before jumping up onto the coffee table and knocking Bree off while gyrating like a chimp on fire.

Gage huffs at the sight of her. “I can’t believe she can move like that—move in general after that accident. You’d think she would be in bed after what she went through.”

“She does want to be in bed.” Chloe slithers up on the other side of Gage, her arm rubbing over his, and he flinches. “With you.” Chloe looks to me and bleeds her signature black smile. “We don’t want that, now, do we, Skyla?”

“It’s not happening,” I say it to Gage like a threat. The pussy patrol isn’t infiltrating my hubby, future ex or not, tonight or any other night while we’re still legally bound and gagged.

“What’s not happening?” a deep voice strums from behind as Logan wraps his arms around me for a moment. His hand covers mine. And why the hell is Chloe here?

I turn to glare at him as he steps into our circle. Hello, my Elysian. The one who stands in line to fuck me.

Logan’s eyes round out in horror, but I can’t help it. I’m still royally pissed at all Olivers at the moment—with the exception of those who dropped out of my womb and perhaps Dr. O. Liam is iffy.

I shake my head at him because it’s clear I’ve befuddled him. “The corpse bride showed up and got jiggy with your nephew. It looks like she’s chosen a groom for herself, but he’s leashed to me at the moment.”

Gage flinches as if I struck him. “I’m not leaving you, Skyla.”

Chloe runs her fingers through his hair, and he takes a step over to me.

“The devotion is charming,” I muse as I take a step in the opposite direction.

Logan leans in, his features hardened to stone as he examines the only other woman he’s slept with, sans me, of course. Logan and Chloe have a sordid history of sleeping together—mostly accidentally, no thanks to Chloe’s ability to morph into whomever she pleases when it suits her—and the fact she decapitated him in the final round of the Faction war doesn’t faze her in the least from trying to wrap her legs around him time and time again. Chloe likes her rage with a side of homicide on the regular. My poor dead father can attest to that.

Logan smirks openly at the queen of mean. “What’s with your devotion to this monster, Skyla?”

Chloe clicks her tongue at the slight. “Testy, are we? Whatever happened to forgive and forget? Or don’t you pay attention to your Sunday morning sermons?”

“You’re the devil, Chloe,” Logan is quick to remind her. “You are well past redemption, and everyone here knows it.” He looks to me with an accusatory glare. “Skyla.” His voice hisses low like a tire expiring air.

“Don’t you Skyla me.” Rage brews in my veins, and right now it’s all for this judgmental ass Logan Oliver has transformed himself into. “Don’t you judge me for who I choose to forgive or who I choose to spend my time with. I’m all grown up now, Logan.

I’ve cut the strings off my body so you don’t have to bounce me around like a puppet anymore, pulling me into your schemes, your useless dreams that landed me in this predicament to begin with.”

“Whoa.” Gage attempts to step between us in an effort to break up the real party and I push him away.

“Chloe, deal with this.” My voice quivers with anger as each of my muscles bundles into its own knot.

“Your wish is my command.” Chloe pulls Gage back a few steps, and Laken and Coop surround the two of them as if a war were about to break out. Ellis and Giselle fill in their circle, and Gage looks resigned to watching me from afar.

“Look”—Logan pinches his eyes shut a moment—“I don’t want to pick a fight with you.”

“You don’t have to pick one. We’re in it. And I’m not relenting. Gone is the pussy of a girl who would bow to your greatness. I’m not looking for an earthly god to worship anymore. Certainly, I’m not swimming to the Oliver end of the pool to do so. You”—I stab my finger in his chest—“are a walking, talking megalomaniac who is only out for himself. You let Gage deconstruct without consulting me, and you expected fully to keep yet another secret from me without regard to the fact I’ve threatened you within an inch of your dead life from doing so!” I rage the words so loud and proud into his face my throat rubs raw.

Logan towers over me, backing me into the refreshment table, hovering over me with those amber eyes filled with a mixture of rage and hurt. “Collect yourself, Skyla,” he grits the words from his teeth, and I’m almost amused.

“Did you just tell me to collect myself?” A laugh gets caught in my throat. To think I once believed Logan was fully on my side, and all this time I was just something fully on the side for him.

“Yes,” he whispers it pained. “Deep down, you know both Gage and I love you. We love you deeply, more than we could have imagined love for any woman, any human being. You taught us to love, Skyla.”

“And did I teach you to lie? Did I teach you deception? What other things are you going to heap on me because of that four-letter word?” A small crowd amasses around us, and I really don’t care. I hope they settle in and enjoy the show because this feels good. It feels like much-needed medicine going down, healing me right to my weary bones.

“Let us speak to you!” His voice vibrates over the music. Logan’s frustration with me is so thick you can sink your teeth into it. It tastes like desperation. And in a sick way, I find it satisfyingly delicious.

“I don’t give a shit what you have to say.”

A small gasp circles the crowd.

Logan’s eyes round out with fury. “Well, maybe you should give a shit. Maybe that’s the problem here. Maybe the real problem is the fact you’re not willing to listen!” He swipes the refreshment table clean of all its contents, sending a piñata’s worth of red Solo cups flying through the air, and a group of girls howl as if the party were really getting started. It is. “Maybe he’s not the problem, Skyla,” Logan seethes over at me as his chest pumps with rage. “Maybe it’s you.”

I straighten for a moment, staring out at the stubbornly blank faces in the crowd, trying to digest the idea of me being the problem. Logan and I have grown so close over the years it’s almost like arguing with a brother. You just look past all the bullshit and know that forgiveness is inevitable. Or at least it used to be. The fair-haired Oliver has really managed to piss me off this time.

I look up and meet with those root beer-colored eyes, and in one pornographic microsecond, I can feel him in me, his naked body raking over mine, back in that bed we shared in Rome.

“Remember when I cut you?” My words come out almost inaudible as the music switches to some skull thumping techno beat you can feel deep in your chest. Once long ago, I sliced Logan Oliver’s face open wide with a broken bottle. It was done in a fit of rage much like this one, and for a long time afterward I regretted it—but if there were a silver lining, it would be the fact I managed to gift the side of his face with the world’s most endearing dimple. Every time he smiles I’m reminded of that day, that moment.

“Yes, Skyla, I do remember.” His voice is cool and even, meeting me right where I am. Logan and I had worn each other out like children.

“The night of the christening, both Gage and you cut me.” My hand covers my chest. “I feel it here, every moment of every day.”

Before Logan can put together a rebuttal, some useless apology, Ethan gets in my face, and I’m startled to see him.

“Dude, you need to talk to Emily. She’s about to blow. She’s been looking for you for like an hour.”

“Not now,” Logan thunders, shoving Ethan out of our midst as effortlessly as tossing a paper plane across the room.

Chloe pops up and latches onto me with an awkward side hug. “Skyla? There seems to be a problem.”

A light winks from my hand, and I look down to find that ring she gifted me going off again like some Halloween fun toy. Only it’s not a Halloween fun toy. It’s about as far away from that as you can get.

“What’s this?” Logan pulls my hand close, and I’m quick to retract it.

Chloe leans in. “Come now, the fun is about to begin.” She threads us through the dense crowd with the enthusiasm only danger can bring. “Emily is about to volcano shit a prophecy out of her ass, and she demands the two of us are present together. Isn’t that exciting?”

An arm pulls me away from Chloe, and I turn to find Gage as he flexes his fingers around my hand.

“You’re not going anywhere with her.” His tone is gruff and his body language coarse as he stops us cold in the great room. Something about his obnoxious level of insistence makes that secret spot between my thighs quiver for him. Damn him and his sudden need to pull rank. And damn me and my sudden need to be dominated.

“Ooh,” Chloe moans, stroking her torso over his. It’s clear Alpha Gage has her just as worked up as he does me. “Demanding, commanding. I bet you’d like to dole out a spanking right about now, wouldn’t you, Oliver? Something hard and fast that leaves a bright red impression right over Messenger’s shiny white—”

“As for you”—Emily comes from out of nowhere and grips my shoulders as if she were holding onto the handrail of a rollercoaster—“there shall be a time of great sorrow. A grief so piercing, a deception so wide—”

“That’s old news, Em. Tell me something I don’t already know or else you’re just wasting both our time.” I fling her off my body without so much of a flick of the arm, and she flies into the wall with a thud.

Emily’s entire body jolts as if I had electrocuted her, and for a moment I’m horrified that I might have landed her on exposed wiring. God knows the remodeling around here never really ends. That oversized chandelier newly installed overhead gives this room more of a ballroom appeal. It’s not just dripping with your average clear crystals, but sprinkled throughout are smoky tones of blues and gray. It’s an expensive sight to behold as it sparkles even in this dull light. Ellis’ mother’s redecorating prowess knows no financial bounds. And crushed gold flakes in your new flooring, Olivia? Really? It’s as if the Harrisons have nothing better to do with their wealth than embed it in the mausoleum they’ll spend the rest of their lives crafting and redrafting. I bet Olivia thinks she’s under some curse if she ever stops building, and soon there will be an entire slew of doors that lead to nowhere—a metaphor representative of my life if ever there was one.

“Skyla.” Emily groans as if she’s about to be sick. Her hand stretches in my direction as she staggers over zombie-like and sedated. Another hard groan comes from her, and her eyes ignite a brilliant shock of red. Her hair stands on end, her face has grown increasingly pale, and those audible groans assure the blooming throngs around us of vomitus things to come.

The crowd gasps. A few girls let out a wild cry of terror. For as many angelic half breeds that might be running around this island, there are more than that many natural humans who will be forever haunted by Emily’s little Rocky Horror Picture Show routine.

I glance around as if searching for help, for an escape route in the event things get wild. Oh hell, they’re far past wild.

Emily bucks and lets out the roar of a lioness that rattles the chandelier up above. The rest of the light fixtures around the room pop one by one, and the speakers let out a high-pitched squeak.

“Hey!” Ellis barks as he barrels forward, good and pissed. This is Ellis’ hoedown, and nobody in their right mind messes with one of his epic end-of-the-year parties. However, it’s becoming evident Em here isn’t at all in her right mind.

Emily jumps in Ellis’ face and lets out a scream that sounds like a thousand swords striking up against one another. Then as quick as a flash, Em hops up on his shoulders, and in a bizarre gymnast-inspired move, she leaps to the chandelier overhead as if it were a waiting trapeze. Olivia’s prized antique she had imported from the Mother Country, that survived wars and rumors of wars and an entire era of times gone by, sways back and forth while Emily Morgan does her best Tarzan impersonation for all to see. That dark heavily coiled mass of hair she wears thick like a carpet blows back as she howls and screams in such distress you would think Demetri himself had just peeled off her skin and dipped her in lemon juice.

The room lights up with cell phones all pointed and poised to record every lunatic-inspired moment of Emily’s performance piece. But Em is undeterred. She rattles the chandelier as if she were shaking it, strangling it, and soon enough, jewels rain down over the crowd like falling stars.

“Shit.” Logan hops up on the sofa table and tries his best to catch her feet as she swings on by, but he only manages to clip her and sends Em into a wild spin instead.

“Ellis!” Gage barks. “Get a ladder!”

“Dude.” Ellis’ mouth hangs open. He doesn’t dare take his eyes off Emily and her violent spinning top routine. “This is like the effin’ circus or some shit. Who the hell taught her these moves?”

“This isn’t choreographed, Ellis.” Seriously? I’m fearing for Emily’s cranium and he’s amazed by her acrobatics. It is damn impressive, though, if I do say so myself. “We have to stop her before she tears the house apart.” And if a single gold flake happens to get chipped from the floor, I’m pocketing the sucker and setting it aside for the boys’ college fund.

Laken gives my arm a tug. “Skyla, what the hell is happening?”

“Emily was just about to give me a prophecy, and as usual things went to shit. She typically whips it out on paper. But the performance piece is a refreshing change of pace.” I’m only half-kidding.

The chandelier gyrates heavily from side to side. The crowd breaks out into a collective scream and overall chaos as the room bleeds dry of people. Emily yanks and tugs, flexing her feet to the ceiling as she hoists her body in that direction as if readying for a dramatic dismount.

A strangulating sound evicts from her throat. Dear God, if I didn’t know better, I’d think Emily were engaging in some primitive form of yodeling—reckless and terrible as it might be.

“Shit!” Ellis grips his hair at the temples. “She’s coming down!”

A horrible snapping sound comes from the ceiling as a fissure blooms overhead in a large jagged line. An entire series of awful cracks emerge on the ceiling, all stemming from the epicenter, as they race to the periphery of the room.

Emily goes silent for five solid seconds before screaming at the top of her lungs, and both she and the chandelier come crashing down in slow motion. The sound of glass exploding fills the room, crushing our eardrums with the detonation. Emily lies silent while buried under the rubble, her entire body glistening as the crystal teardrops cover her body like a glass canopy.

In this moment of utter tragedy, there is an underlying beauty about it. Emily is the sleeping princess clothed in candescent glory.

Emily’s eyes spring open wide before a single soul can get to her. Her body snaps and bucks. She jumps to her feet, sending those crystal teardrops shooting for miles.

“Shit,” Laken whispers as she pulls me back a few feet.

A strange humming sound comes from Em as her head vibrates.

Laken leans in. “I’m starting to believe she’s malfunctioning. Should we have the boys tackle her from behind?”

“No. This is big.” As much as I’ve grown to detest Emily’s visions, whatever is bubbling out of her seems critical.

Emily snatches up the bronze statue of the walking man in the corner and lifts it over her head with superhuman strength. I’ve never thought too much about the Videns’ powers, but it’s becoming clear as the crystal she destroyed that strength is one of them. I don’t see why not. Strength and speed are commonalities of the other five Factions as well.

Em tips her head back and starts in on a wail that vaguely resembles a sad, sad song. She wields the statue over her head from side to side, causing the crowd to sway along with her while erupting in screams of terror. Emily takes that bronze statue and crashes it into a glass-covered hutch filled with tiny little crystal sculptures that I can only guess Ellis’ poor mother picked up on one of her many travels.

“Holy shit!” Ellis heads over in a rage just as Em swings that weighted statue his way and he ducks, missing a decapitation by a millisecond.

Emily’s voice carries on with its odd swansong at top volume as she hoists her bronze companion right out the front door, and the mob of stragglers we’ve become follows along.

“She’s lost her mind,” Laken huffs as we push our way to the front of the crowd to keep an eye on our possessed little friend.

“She’s in a Godly state of mind,” Chloe corrects, huffing and puffing right along with us.

Emily swings the magnificent sculpture by its feet in a dangerous circle, quickening her pace until she’s nothing but a blur, and a couple runs out from the bushes behind her, adjusting their clothes—the girl screaming herself senseless. But it’s the girl’s familiar frame, her familiar face I recognize as my own.

“Mia?” I say mostly to myself as I gasp at the fact my baby sis just strutted her slutty stuff in front of every single onlooker planted on the Harrisons’ driveway. I struggle to make out the boy she was with, but he’s long gone, dissolved efficiently by Paragon’s signature fog. I’ll deal with her later. Him, too. The fog may not give him up, but someone will, and when I find out who he is, I’ll make sure he gives up the ghost. He’s a dead man walking. Of course, deep down, I know it’s Rev, and secretly I look forward to administering the beating.

Gage takes a few staggering steps forward before thinking better of it and turns to the crowd. “Get the hell out!” he roars. “That thing’s about to launch like a missile!” He stops to take in the unmoved crowd. “I said now!”

Bodies scramble in a fury like ants, but there are several of us that act as if our feet had taken root. I can’t take my eyes off the whirling, twirling tornado Emily Morgan has become. Laken is right. She’s lost her mind. And I’m terrified that Chloe might be right, too. That this barbaric display might just be attributed to some Godly message—one that directly affects me.

Marshall walks up from across the street, measured and calm, completely his unmoved self, and takes his place by my side. “It looks to me Mr. Harrison has spiked the punch with bath salts. I’d steer clear of the refreshment table if I were you.”

“That’s Emily. She has a vision for me.” The words swim from my lips numbly.

And just like that, Em’s twister of fun gravitates toward the center of the driveway. The sky up above quivers with the light of noonday as a crack of thunder so loud roars over the island it starts a whole new choir of screams from the people who were once Ellis’ party guests. Emily comes to a staggering finish, the statue resting at her side with the walking man seated on his bronze head.

“And then they will make a request unto the Lord!” Her voice booms in a deep, unnatural manner. Gone is any trace of femininity, and in its place the sound of a thousand rushing rivers. “They shall beg for peace—beg to have their enemy broken—for their enemy to relent. They will say take my life in exchange for the one you seek, but I will remind them of the covenant they had made with me, and they shall be forced to drink the bitter cup of their father.”

“That must be Gage,” I whisper.

Lightning blinks in the western sky, flickering manically as if God Himself were playing with the switch. Emily screams, low at first then rising to the crescendo of a horrific tiger with its tail ablaze. She hoists up that bronzed statue once again, and the crowd gasps. Lightning strobes up above like a police siren, like a warning.

Emily Morgan takes that statue and hurls it at one of those prized lions sitting peacefully by the fountain. My heart aches as the lion’s head explodes, sending pieces of marble flying like shrapnel. Then one after another, with each scream far more violent than the last, she goes on a hacking spree, tearing each helpless lion’s head right off its menacing body.

“SHIT!” Ellis howls while doing his best to yank out his hair. “You are going to fucking pay for this, Morgan!” Every vein in his head bounces. For as long as I’ve known Ellis, he has been twice as calm and mellow as Marshall, and here he looks as if his head is about to pop right off in keeping with the theme.

In a fit of shouts and fury, Emily pitches the bronzed statue high into the sky. It launches toward the heavens like a cannon and sends the remainder of us ducking for cover. Marshall pulls me behind a Range Rover sitting at the base of the driveway, but it’s Gage and Logan who all but throw themselves over my body. Then with a heavy thud, not unlike an earthquake, it’s over and we emerge with the rest of the curious onlookers to find a smoking hole in the Harrisons’ roof.

Emily falls face-first into the pool of shimmering water at the base of the fountain she singlehandedly destroyed. Twelve headless lions and one seemingly dead as a doornail Emily Morgan.

“And there she goes,” Logan says before bolting in her direction.

Logan and Gage pluck Emily out as a siren saws its music through this unsettled night, making its way over. Emily sits up on her own, looking mildly dazed but thankfully alive.

Laken pulls me into a quick embrace. “I’m so glad it’s finally over.” Her mouth touches over my ear. “Don’t you dare overanalyze any of that psychotic crap.” She pulls back and forces a smile, patting my arms as if she just offered a pep talk. In a way, she has, but it’s altogether too late.

“No,” I whisper as I take a catatonic step toward the destruction.

Marshall wraps an arm around me, weighted and uncomfortable. “Yes, Ms. Messenger, I’m afraid it’s so. Don’t fret. There is a method to this madness. No matter what the circumstances life throws your way—you are the victor. There is a Son seated to the right of the Master who ensured just that.”

Chloe snorts at Marshall’s cryptic words. “So, you’re saying if it isn’t ending well, it isn’t the end?”

Marshall snaps his neck in her direction so quick and curt a natural human would have severed their spinal cord. “Precisely, Ms. Bishop.” But there is something in his tone, a harshness he has never invoked with her before that sets my teeth on edge. Everything about tonight, about the last few weeks, has eaten at my sanity. What is this new world Demetri and his cursed goblet filled with my own blood has ushered us into?

How is it that life and all of its offerings are suddenly so bitter, so randomly grievous and destructive?

I glance over and spot Melody Winters clinging to Gage.

Why have the dead forgotten their boundaries? Why has the universe unleashed her fury and forgotten to keep the natural order of things in check?

The smoke finally settles at the base of the decimated fountain and Ethan helps Emily down the driveway.

“Good show!” Chloe claps as Em passes us by. “Bravissimo! Bravissimo! Tell us, Em!” Chloe’s voice echoes into the night like a haunted refrain. “Who was the statue? Was it Gage or Skyla? Let me guess! It was me!” That’s one thing about this demon by my side. Chloe owns her wickedness. She understands the full impact of her destruction and doesn’t apologize for its aftermath. Of course, heavy as lead, dumb as a stick—or statue as it were, is Chloe. Chloe has destroyed and decapitated more people than I care to count.

Emily turns our way, her weary eyes a muted shade of red, glowing like embers lit in a jack-o-lantern. “It’s all of you. Destruction has come to devour you, to have you devour each other. This is the beginning of the end.”

A stunted silence strangulates the crowd.

“Good night!” Chloe trills to Em as if they just had a friendly powwow regarding something cheer related, the only real topic, outside of Gage, that could excite Chloe.

I glance over my shoulder where Gage and Logan stand, pale-faced and stunned. The slight look of anger rings my husband’s eyes as he locks his gaze with mine.

The beginning of the end. I nod his way.

It sounds incredibly fitting.