There have been many battles I’ve fought in my short, spirited tenure on this planet, and I’ve fought every single one of those for Skyla. In her name, for her people, for our love, and now for our children. There have been victories, and there have been losses. I’m not entirely sure how to quantify the latest war I’ve landed myself in, but I guarantee I will emerge the victor. Skyla and her people will prosper, and my boys will be safe, secure, and most of all, well on the side of good and not evil. I’m not entirely sure how Demetri Edinger, my genetic supplier, the designer of my being, passes himself off as an angel of light, but this war he’s waging, these lunatic ideals he’s hell-bent on passing along to the rest of humanity, has me eroding on the inside. His words have become my affliction, his ideals the necrotic growth that’s eroding me from the inside.

Logan and I survey the disaster that was once Ellis’ greatest feat. His New Year’s bash has turned to a pile of shit, and the clock is nowhere near midnight. A few of the partygoers have staggered inside only to emerge back out after being chased into the night by Ellis himself.

“Let’s get her home.” Logan pats my back, and we head over to Skyla. When she walked into the room tonight, she illuminated the darkness like the brightest star. Skyla chose to wear the exact dress she wore to our vow renewal last September. I’d like to think that was a peace offering, a beacon of hope of things to come. The potential symbolism wasn’t lost on me. But then, I’m desperate and refusing to believe the fact she didn’t have anything else to wear. With all of my heart I want to believe that Skyla is on the cusp of forgiveness, that a sit-down between the two of us, an honest to God heart-to-heart is just on the horizon. I can’t stand the idea of the clock striking midnight and her anger still percolating against me. I need Skyla and her love. I need all of her approval just to navigate the rocky bottom that I’ve landed on. Skyla needs me, too, doesn’t she?

“I’ll give you a ride.” I land an arm over her shoulder, soft as cotton. It made my stomach turn to see Dudley doing this exact same thing just a few minutes prior. He’s chomping at the bit to have her, and I know damn well a desperate Sector is a dangerous one.

“Laken is taking me.” Skyla zips into Cooper Flander’s waiting car like she was fleeing a poltergeist, and they take off before I can refute the idea. I don’t mind her taking off with Laken and Coop. It’s Chloe and Dudley I’d have issues with.

I pat Logan on the shoulder. “You okay?” He’s still holding the back of his neck while staring at the carnage. I know him. He’s ten steps ahead, trying to piece together how this madness fits into the grand scheme of our lives. The prophecy might not have affected Logan directly, but anything that touches Skyla and me affects him directly. Most likely the same goes for Chloe.

He breaks free from his trance. “I’m fine. I’m going to head in and help Ellis out. Something tells me he can use a clear head right about now.” His brows pinch at the center. Logan has that pained look in his eyes that he gets so often these days when he looks at me as if I’ve caused the pain to begin with. I know I have. And I also know that he loves me. I’m so sick of bringing pain to those I love the most. Just the thought sends a toxic level of grief right into the pit of my gut. “Why don’t you head home and kiss your boys good night?”

“Now that’s a great idea.” If my parents weren’t there, I would have given that great idea pause. As much as I miss the boys, as badly as I want to hold them and land a kiss to each of their tender foreheads, I want Skyla to know that I’m still working with her. I’m giving her time, but I think we both know I’m on the losing end of the hourglass. That ridiculous rock with my personal number monogramed on the back of it comes to mind. That number. I shake it out of my head. “I’ll see you soon.” I pull him in and give a tight squeeze. “Happy New Year, buddy. I hope it’s everything you want it to be.”

“It will be,” he assures. Logan pulls back and catches my gaze. “You have the power to control your own destiny, Gage. Do not buy into the bullshit anyone tries to feed you.”

Anyone is a long list of complicated people and entities—my father, Candace herself, my crooked-minded brother, and now Emily has joined that long and wicked roster.

“I am who I am.” A part of me knows there are no truer words. “I will accomplish all that I set out to do for those that I love and no one else. I promise you this. No one and nothing will ever take my heart away from those that I love and all that I believe to be true.”

And with those words, I let the night eat away at my shadow as I evaporate into nothing.

* * *

For a moment, I pause from my journey. The closet in the bedroom I share with Skyla is where I’m all but programed to go, but I hesitate and opt for the front door. Yes, my parents are up there with the boys, but a part of me demanded I go formal and I can’t figure out why.

The Landon house is lit up like a pumpkin at Halloween. Laughter and music seep from inside as the entire wooden structure vibrates from the party going on. My blood boils a minute. Who in their right mind is having a party? Drake and Ethan were both at Ellis’, weren’t they? Wait—this can’t be the little get-together Lizbeth mentioned, could it?

I ring the doorbell, but the raucous music inside swallows up any hope of someone answering. I didn’t drive tonight so I don’t have a key. I’ve been teleporting freely ever since Skyla put me in the doghouse. But I’d much rather travel at a snail’s pace, bogged down with car seats and diaper bags, making two and three trips to and from the house. It might be an ordeal to go anywhere with the twins, but it’s our ordeal. A beautiful ordeal.

I give a stiff knock, and when no one bothers to open, I do a brief glance around and teleport myself right into the foyer.

“Son.” Demetri appears before me with a mildly stunned redheaded woman by his side. Come to think of it, she looks more amused than she ever does shocked at what she’s just witnessed. “Do practice discretion. There are a myriad of far more discreet locales to materialize. Our people are in peril these days, you know.” He brings a glass to his lips and wraps a smile around the edge before taking a sip of the bubbling liquid. I glance past him at the sea of people at or above the age of my parents, and I’ll admit I’m a bit impressed with the way they have the house rocking.

“I’ll consider that.” He’s right. Discretion is the name of the game. And every last part of me hates it when he’s right, but I’m suddenly understanding the urge to teleport in this exact location rather than the closet upstairs. I’d bet every dirty dollar I don’t have that it was Demetri who was prompting me to do just that. He smelled me outside that door like the hellhound he is and all but summoned me. That will teach me to respond to any geographical urges again.

“Who’s the friend?” I glance to the older redhead in a tight black dress, tits hanging out like twin pale moons. I’m surprised to see how beautiful she is. She’s about his age, which puts her in the running, I suppose, and oddly this makes me feel bad for Lizbeth. Her longtime crush on my father spans back to the time they were both living in L.A. Of course, Demetri was simply stalking her then—waiting for the right to claim her. It’s a wonder why he ever let Tad marry her to begin with. And now my interest into their bizarre love triangle is piqued.

“Dominique Winters.” She extends a delicate hand, and I shake it. Cold, bony, yet firm. Her features are textbook villain, sharp, dark brows that peak without warrant. Hard features and a blood red smile that looks more like a curse than anything born of kindness. “You must be the prince that rescued my daughter from a certain death in the freezer.” Her lips turn down at the corners as if she might be sick.

“Yes.” I straighten at the memory. So that’s who she is. “In fact, I saw your daughter tonight.” More of her daughter than necessary. “She seems quite healthy, and in a great mood. It’s good to see she’s moving on.” And God, those moves. I’m still traumatized from the private lap dance she thrust upon me.

“We’ll be suing the hospital, of course.” Her tone is matter-of-fact, and a chill runs up my spine at what she might say next. The morgue isn’t doing that great. One swift lawsuit to the ass and Mom and Dad will have to bury their finances in one of those empty plots in the back. They own the cemetery, too, which has always proven to be the big winner as far as businesses in their repertoire, but it’s as dead as a corpse as far as profits stand. It’s amazing what people are willing to pay to send their loved one off in style, but my father has never believed in price-gouging the grieving, so even in that they are not wealthy—not by anybody’s means. “For you though, I have a reward.” Her lips expand, revealing an entire mouthful of knife-sharp teeth, each one a pointed canine, and I glance to my father for explanation, but he’s as unmoved as that ridiculous grin on his face he can’t seem to shake. And back the hell up. Did I just seamlessly consider him my father? That has to end.

“A reward won’t be necessary,” I quickly assure her. A part of me wonders, though, what’s the going rate for a daughter brought back to life. Not that I had anything to do with her miraculous rousing from the dead. I doubt the poor thing wasn’t dead to begin with. She’s right to sue the living shit out of the hospital. I almost shoved her in the fridge and called it a night. Come to think of it, if the refrigeration unit weren’t busted, I wouldn’t have been there at all.

Demetri’s brows peak and he offers a slight nod as if letting me know I’m onto something.

Bastard. Do not read my mind. You are not welcome here.

His brows dip as if disappointed, and I put up a missile defense shield around my thoughts.

“Nonsense.” Dominique takes up my hand and lays her thumb against my palm. She leans in and bears her gaze into mine. Her eyes are made up of one too many colors for me to keep track of, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s doing something nefarious with this feel-you-up, stare-you-down routine so I pull my hand back and stuff them both into my pockets. Holy shit, is she reading my mind, too?

“Your father tells me you have an account with the Bank of Paragon. I’ll be making a rather large deposit into your name come Monday. There’s not a thing you can do about it. When I set out to do something, no one and nothing can stop me.” She laughs a large, hacking laugh, full of power and loud as hell. She manages to compose herself just as quick as she erupted and glares from Demetri to me. “I’d best thank the hostess for a pleasant evening.”

“So soon?” Demetri’s eyes squint out a laugh all their own. “We’ve only minutes until the new year. Do stay. Whoever shall I kiss at the stroke of midnight?”

She grunts as if ready to vomit. “If you insist.” She stalks off in the direction of the chaos, and I take a moment to inspect this devil before me.

“What is she?” I’m not entirely sure I know who she is either—I don’t have a lot of faith in the things my father’s friends tell me. “Let me guess, a demon like you.”

“Hush.” His eyes widen as he hisses out the word. In all the years I have known Demetri, this moment, right here, is perhaps the most animated he’s ever been. “Never again equate me with those sons of perdition. I chose to side with the Son. I am no more a devil than you are.” His eyes twirl a toxic hue of molasses and blood. “We are God’s. I am created to serve, and you are born as an heir to the throne. I won’t have you dragging our good names through the celestial mud.” His brows hike a moment before that greasy grin reappears once again. “You are my heir as well. I have no doubt you will serve your people well.”

“The Videns don’t really need—”

“I’m not talking about the Videns,” he doesn’t hesitate to cut me off. “I’m talking about your Fem lineage, your alliance with the Countenance—a superb organization that’s already agreed to meet with you, though you’ve yet to officially take the throne.”

His whip, sharp tone, his demanding demeanor, it all sets my blood to lava.

“I have a throne in the event you have conveniently forgotten. One in which I find no use of. As I was saying before you so rudely cut me off, the Videns are Skyla’s people, not mine. She is their leader, just as she is the leader of the rest of the Factions. I may have swallowed that curse you force-fed me, but let me be clear about one thing—I will never turn my back on her or what she believes in.” There. Those words purged something deep down inside of me, and my entire body feels lighter, healthier, albeit not much wiser. Words are just that. But that curse has already proven to be a millstone.

“You are correct.” He leans in just enough. Demetri’s heavy pine-scented cologne weighs down my senses. Doesn’t he know that scent alone is associated with urinal cakes and sparkling kitchen floors? “You will never be forced to go against your love, her beliefs, or yours. That is the beauty, Gage. I can no more force your hand than press a crown over your unwilling head. But you are willing,” he muses as he bears in hard over me with that menacing gaze. “You are more than willing to yield to what is right for your people, my son. In this, the eleventh hour of humanity, it is more important than ever that our kind take command of the spiritual reins. What is proclaimed on earth is sealed in heaven, and our victory over the Sectors will be an everlasting one. Eternal implications lie in the balance.”

I try to take in his words, but they speed by like cars on a highway. “Wait—are you saying that the last one standing as a ruling authority once the planet wraps up is left in a power position for all eternity? Why would that make sense? Once the planet project is through, there isn’t a lot to take command of.” The planet project. Why the hell did that just come out of my mouth? I’ve never called the end times anything so cold-hearted before. A shiver rips through me at the thought I might be acquiescing to Demetri’s wickedness so soon.

His brows flicker like twin black flames. “Once again you are correct. Eternal implications are in the balance. So you see how very important the part you play is on behalf of the Fems. You alone are capable to usher in this new era—the final era that will yield much for both our kind and humanity.”

The door behind me bursts open and in tumbles Bree, Em, Drake, and Ethan. Skyla comes up, and the mere sight of her takes my breath away. Skyla is stunning on any night, but tonight, in that wedding dress, she shines like the star from heaven she is.

She pauses and looks up, stunned with her crystal-clear eyes darting from my demon of a father to me. Skyla’s eyes are the clearest blue, but you really have to scour to see the color. I have never seen that shade, that level of transparency on any other human. Mia might be her lookalike in every way, but her eyes hold a darker hue. Skyla is one of a kind in every respect. Candace, her biological mother, might be far more of a twin to her than Mia, but the truth is, Skyla’s heart is made of pure gold.

“Discussing your descent into hell?” Skyla cracks a dull smile before disappearing up the stairs.

“I’d better go. I’ve got far more important work to do than assuring your people rule the celestial roost well past kingdom come.” I start up the steps then backtrack, shooting a quick glance into the family room where Bree and Em shake their hips to the music. “Emily Morgan shared some kind of a twisted prophecy tonight.”

He steps in, that greasy grin of his slips right off his face. “Whatever did it say?”

“She didn’t draw it out. This wasn’t some old-school Viden vision. It was more of a performance piece. She went nuts and singlehandedly destroyed the Harrison estate. She swung from the chandelier. She knocked the heads off that giant lion fountain they have out front. She treated a bronze sculpture twice her size as if it were a football, and now there’s a crater in their living room large enough to drive a car through.” My breathing ticks up a notch as a newfound fury rides through me. There’s not a part of me that believes Demetri doesn’t hold the answer to what that bizarre act might have meant tonight.

He looks past my shoulder at the door with such earnest intent, I half-expect it to blow off its hinges. “Who specifically was the vision for?”

“Skyla, myself—and get this, your wicked pet, Chloe Bishop.” Demetri has been Chloe’s spirit guide for years.

“The three of you?” His attention snaps back to me with amusement before his expression darkens. “It was no accident Ms. Morgan chose to forgo the proper medium in which the vision was to be given.” The cold as steel gaze of his hardens over me once again. “It can only mean one thing—a rebellion is at hand.” That painful smile curls on his lips. “Rebel as you might, it will most certainly lead to destruction. Know this, son. No good comes of it.” He turns to leave, then pauses. “And did you suggest my cologne is reminiscent of urinal cakes?” He ticks his head to the side as if shocked by this. “I’ll be sure to find something far more pleasing to the senses to grace your presence with.” He gives a slight bow. “Your highness.” He stalks off into the heart of the party without so much as a good tiding for the new year at hand. Figures. Demetri was practically giddy at the thought of a good destruction sitting on the horizon.

A thought comes to me. I never said that remark about urinal cakes out loud. He’s in my head, in my veins, in my blood and marrow. Escaping Demetri will prove impossible.

But I’ve got news for the monster that is my father. The only thing I plan on destroying is him.

* * *

The chaos from the party slowly fades as I head upstairs. The door to our room is slightly ajar, and I step in just in time to witness my mother christening one of the twins with a sneeze.

“Emma!” Skyla howls so sharp the baby in her arm jerks to life.

Crap. My mother of all people knows better than to sneeze in the face of an infant, my infant for that matter.

“Here.” I take the baby from her and inspect his brightly colored toenail affirming that it’s Nathan.

“Excuse me.” Mom fans her watery red eyes. “My allergies really hit hard as soon as I entered this tiny hole you cage yourselves up in.”

“Hole?” I ask, looking to my father as if to ask what the hell has gotten into her, and he simply shrugs as if powerless to control her mouth—which happens to be entirely true. Although I probably shouldn’t have repeated the slight, judging by the way Skyla’s chest is pumping with fury.

“Yes, it’s a hole, Gage,” Skyla snaps. “Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed. And you”—she jabs her heated gaze toward my mother, who at the moment I don’t feel sorry for in the least—“I’m not buying your allergies. You have a full-blown cold. I could tell the minute I walked in that it sounded as if someone was pinching your nose shut when you said hello. If you weren’t feeling well, I’m sure my mother would have gladly come up to relieve you.”

Mom is quick to wave her off while gathering her things. “That wasn’t necessary. Happy New Year to you both.” She pecks my cheek with a kiss. “I’d lay low if I were you,” she whispers.

“I heard that,” Skyla sneers as she and my father exchange a polite embrace.

“If you need anything, call.” My father winks as they disappear and click the door shut behind them.

A welcome silence fills in the air around us as the boys both indulge in thick sleep that will hopefully last the duration of the night. If the boys enjoy one thing, it’s staying awake and crying out to let the whole world know about it.

The room vibrates for a moment as the crowd below shouts in unison, “Three-two-one—Happy New Year!”

“Happy New Year, Skyla.” I lean in and steal a sweet kiss off her velvet soft cheek and savor it as if it were our last. I hope to God it’s not anywhere near our final goodbye.

She bats her lashes at me a moment. “You said goodbye the night you chose your father over me,” she says it low, each word measured with grief.

“It was me or the boys, Skyla. I made a sacrifice that any father would make.”

“Every other father would have consulted with their wife—if they were smart.” She holds up a hand as if to end it and places Barron down in his bassinet. I do the same with Nathan, and they both start in on a hacking cry. “I think tomorrow I’m going to have the swings brought up. I swear it’s the only way they sleep—even if it is for ten minutes at a time.” She picks up Nathan and hands him right back to me and does the same with Barron.

“Why wait until tomorrow? I’ll do it now. It will be a serious game of Tetris getting them to fit, but at this point I’d rather chuck the bassinets altogether.”

“Knock, knock,” a voice calls out softly from the doorway, and I don’t need to turn around to know it’s Lizbeth. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was irritated. This conversation regarding bassinets and baby swings was the longest Skyla and I have had since the incident, and I was enjoying the hell out of how normal it all felt.

“Aww,” she coos as she makes her way over and kisses both the boys in turn and somehow miraculously they seem calmer for it. “Happy New Year, kids.” She roughs up my hair and gives a little wink. “I’m so glad to see you working it out. I’m headed to bed. Enjoy the rest of the night.”

“What about your party?” Skyla’s eyes widen with mild panic as if she might be expected to tend to the melee herself.

“Demetri and his guest just left. Bree and Drake are down there having a good time. I’m sure they’ll handle it.”

Skyla’s lips twist in that adorable way that lets me know she’s irritated herself. “Is that what has you down—Demetri?” she asks sweetly just above a whisper as if trying to coax the answer from her.

“He kissed her at midnight,” she hisses as if suddenly they were alone in the room and ready to gossip. Lizbeth is incensed, and a part of me wonders if this were the sole purpose of Demetri’s redheaded guest.

Skyla’s chest rumbles with a dark chuckle. “He kissed her? I bet that was hard for you to witness. Him gnawing on the face of his lady friend while you were forced to kiss Tad.”

“Skyla.” Lizbeth rolls her eyes. The two of them have gone around the block when it comes to Lizbeth’s mostly inappropriate obsession with my DNA donor. “Good night, you two.” The boys ratchet up their cries as if detecting the fact she’s about to vacate the premises. They do seem to love their Mee-Maw. My mother almost stroked out when she heard what Lizbeth insisted her grandchildren call her. And to her credit, she only referenced Tad and Lizbeth as the Paragon Hillbillies just once after that. My father put down his seldom-used iron fist and refused her the right to use that verbiage ever again.

“Be good, boys,” she sings as she makes her way to the door. “And you two be nice to one another, too. The boys are cranky because they can feel your tension. Once the two of you kiss and make up, they’ll sleep like the little princes they are. You’ll see. Try me on this!” She gives a sly wink my way, and I mouth thank you before the door seals shut once again.

I turn to Skyla, each of us bouncing a baby in our arms, and my soul melts at how precious this moment is. “Let’s be nice.” I take a step in and take in her soft vanilla scent. My guts cinches at how easily aroused I am around her. Skyla and I haven’t been together for two solid weeks and my balls are aching, about to malfunction without her. “How about we head up to the butterfly room?”

“How about you go and get the swings, Gage?” She puts the baby down and takes Nathan from me. “And then go home and take care of your sick mother.” Her head ticks to the side. “How was that for nice?”

“Perfect.” It may not be equal to some alone time in the butterfly room, but I’ll take it. I head down and Ethan helps me hoist the swings upstairs. Somewhere we’ve got another set, most likely in the garage with a pile of unopened boxes we had no room for after the baby shower.

No sooner do we get the swings situated in the last patch of free space in the bedroom than the boys miraculously fall asleep in them. Skyla shoos both Ethan and me out of the room and bolts the door behind us. I can’t blame her. She’s eager to get a single moment of shut-eye. Between nursing and no sleep, I don’t know how she’s surviving. Most likely she’s fueled off her hatred for me. And that alone brings a wry smile to my face.

“Still in the doghouse huh, dude?” Ethan gives my arm a swift sock and I grunt.

“Yes,” I say incredulously, rubbing the shit out of the bruise quickly forming. Ethan is a darker, meaner looking version of his brother Drake. Sort of a Landon add-on, since he didn’t move here with the original crew. “How are things with Em?”

He winces as if I just sucker punched him right back. “She’s a freaking mess, dude. Half her relatives are missing.” He spears me with a look as if I’m the one who turned the Videns into a thing of horror. “You fucking take care of that shit. You got it?”

“Her relatives volunteered for this shit,” I correct. My blood courses with rage at the thought of anyone pinning the blame on me. “Emily of all people should know that.”

“Signed up for it?” He glances toward the bottom of the stairs. “I doubt it. Em mentioned something about it being mandatory, something about compensation.” He smacks me over the arm. “Do what you can, dude. She’s really losing her mind.” He takes off, and I can’t stop thinking about it.

The Videns are my people. The thought they signed up for anything so sinister is enough to piss me off, but the thought of them being forced into something so wicked makes me want to snap my biological father’s head right off. And knowing that demon—another, far more sinister head would grow back right in its place.

I take a step back and take in the sweet sound of silence coming from the bedroom. My hand touches over the door, and I say a short prayer over my family, for the new year, for the distant future, and everything in between. Something tells me there aren’t enough prayers that will ever make a difference with this fine mess I’m in.

* * *

The next day, both of my parents are knocked out in bed. It turns out my mother’s “allergies” have morphed into an all-out flu. Giselle got wind of it and swung by with enough groceries to feed half the island.

“I’m going to cook and clean, and make sure they both feel their very best by this time next year!”

I take in poor innocent G with the face of Emerson Kragger and the mind of a kindergartner and shake my head. “They should be back in shape by the weekend. But who knows, with all that pampering you’re about to do, they might be well by nightfall. Do us both a favor and wash your hands up to your elbows every time you leave their room. Don’t touch your nose, eyes, or mouth, and whatever you do, don’t kiss Ellis. That could prove deadly for everyone involved.” Him especially if I catch them in the act. I caught them in a far more nefarious act a few months back and nearly bashed his skull in. I still don’t feel too bad about that. At any given time, Ellis Harrison is higher than ten hippies. For the life of me I can’t wrap my head around the fact my sister has chosen him of all people to fall in love with.

Her eyes expand the size of dinner plates. “Oh, I won’t. I’ve been dead myself, and I don’t think Ellis would like that very much.” She leans in with her hand to her mouth. “They don’t light it up nearly as much as Ellis would care for.”

“Nice.” I think. “I’ll see you later. I’d better check on Skyla and the kids, make sure they didn’t catch anything.” I take off and head for the Landon house. There’s no way in hell I’m even mentioning the fact my parents are all but on their deathbeds. Skyla will have my head on a platter. I’m sure at this point it would take very little to land me there.

All I can think about on the drive over is how in the hell to get our marriage back on track. An unfamiliar car is pulled high in the driveway as if it belongs here. A small blue Corolla with a clown’s head in the rearview window and I almost want to laugh. Skyla used to detest the sight of those haunted looking phantasms, but not anymore thanks to my father, Barron, the proper one.

But who would be visiting with that ode to Skyla’s old fear? I suppose it could be coincidental, but I’ve learned long ago that not many things around here are.

“Knock, knock,” I say as I let myself in with a key this time, old school. The scents of onions and celery and something thicker collide in an appetizing crescendo, and if I didn’t know better, it smells a lot like the chicken soup Giselle was starting on.

Melissa whizzes by me with a smirk. “You have guts to show your face around here.” She jogs up the stairs, taking them two by two.

“Happy New Year to you, too!” I call after her.

Mia bops down the hall and takes a bouncing step back when she spots me. “You’re here!” she squeals. “Skyla, he’s here! You can cut his balls off just like you promised!” She races into the family room ahead of me, and I groan at the thought of having yet another body part theoretically on the chopping block.

“Happy New Year,” I call out but am met with a few meager grunts.

Both Lizbeth and Tad are at the table. Lizbeth is feeding Misty while Tad ignores the entire population by burying his head in a newspaper. Brielle is huddled with Skyla, each with a baby on their lap, and a dark-haired girl keeps her head bowed while looking at her laptop.

Skyla glances back, and her eyes light up the room. Skyla’s eyes have a way of making the reality around you feel like a lie. I would have sworn there was enough light in this room until she looked this way and flooded the house with the brightness of two suns. “Your mother did this.” She glances at the dark-haired girl. “Make sure you get two. I don’t want the boys sharing any more germs than they have to.”

The boys are red-faced and squirming, choking as they struggle to cry, and my heart shreds to pieces knowing they’re not feeling well. Tiny mucus bubbles ooze from their nostrils, and Bree periodically suctions it out with a blue nasal aspirator.

“Come here.” I scoop Barron from her and hold him close as he swipes at my face a few good times as if trying to slap me. He just might be. I wouldn’t blame him if he were. I’ve been thinking of doing the same thing to myself lately.

The dark-haired girl looks up, and it’s Chloe. For a moment I’m stunned into submission—not sure why. Chloe is suddenly Skyla’s new shadow. I don’t see why I shouldn’t expect to see her at the Landon house.

“Stellar start to the new year, Oliver.” She shakes her head as if she were just as pissed at me as Skyla. “I’ll order three since it’s on the Oliver dime. Nothing but the best for your boys, Skyla.”

Skyla looks up and nods as if answering every errant question misfiring in my mind. “I always thought I had the best.”

Bree takes Nathan from her and starts in on a manic rocking session. “Make sure to get the Snotty Totty. It’s the only sure-fire way you’ll ever get some sleep again.”

“He’s sleeping just fine,” Skyla quips as she glances my way.

Lizbeth swoops over. “She means you, Skyla.” She leans in toward Chloe’s laptop. “Believe me, those are the best tools of the trade. And they’re so easy to use!” She turns to me and shakes her head. “You just plug the tip into the boys’ nostrils and gently suction all of the mucus right on out!” She snaps her fingers as if to exemplify its ease of use.

“Isn’t that what Bree was just doing?” I want nothing but the best for my boys just as much as—apparently Chloe does, but I’m also far more wary of falling into the consumer trap set out by the baby industry. Half that stuff we’ve got just seems like an overpriced rip-off. I lean in to get a look at the price tag on one of those fancy nose pumps. $49.99.

Shit. I hope this isn’t Skyla trying to stick it to me by way of my credit card. And, judging by the boys, somehow, I doubt that.

“Oh, heavens no!” Lizbeth snatches the nasal aspirator right out of Brielle’s hand as if she were taking a loaded gun from her. “This is garbage is what it is. The Snotty Totty comes with a hose that you plug into their nostrils. You plug the other end right into your mouth, young man.” She taps her finger over my lips, and I’m suddenly uncomfortable on many levels.

“So you physically suction the—junk out.” I’m afraid I know where my services will be needed in just a few hours.

Skyla gives an annoyed blink my way. “I’m sure you’ll have fun. You seem to have a habit of imbibing questionable fluids at midnight.”

Lizbeth swats her over the shoulder. “We won’t dare wait that long. These boys need relief now. Chloe, make sure you opt for one-hour shipping.”

Mia takes a seat on the coffee table. “When are you cutting his head off, Skyla?”

“He needs his head for now.” Skyla manufactures a sweet smile my way. “But soon.”

Mia gets up to leave but not before outright gifting me the finger. Shit. I can’t help but avert my eyes at that one.

“Skyla, I need to speak with you.”

Lizbeth nods over to Bree. “Why don’t we get the boys in their swings. They’ve been up all night. They can use some sleep.”

I wait until they’re out of earshot before sitting on the coffee table across from Skyla and Chloe. I can’t help but look from my sweet angel of a wife to the witch by her side and think she’s in way over her head.

“What the hell is going on?” I growl it out far more aggressive than I meant to, but with Chloe around I can’t seem to help it.

Skyla sharpens her gaze over mine as if she were ready to ax my skull in two. “The Tenebrous Woods are empty. Your father and brother swiped every petrified Viden soul right out of there and planted them worldwide to cause a mass panic, or don’t you pay attention to the news?”

Chloe gives a solemn nod. “It’s in every paper. Every talking head is flapping their frantic jaw about it. You can’t open the Internet without reading another story of a scary clown sighting, a monster chasing children in the woods. The world has gone to hell in a handbasket, Gage Oliver, and—” She looks to Skyla a moment. “And what?”

“Precisely.” I swallow down a laugh. “Skyla—Chloe doesn’t see a problem with any of this. Whatever it is you’re doing with her has to stop. You’re dancing in the flames.” I pick up her cool fingers and cradle them in my palm. “I promise you, things are going to end badly. She killed your father,” I whisper the horrible reminder. “Logan, too.” It hurts just to say it.

She retracts her hand. “I know.” Skyla closes her eyes a moment and takes a deep breath as if trying to keep from getting sick. And then just as easily, her eyes snap open like a ventriloquist doll and she gives an eerie blink. “But we’ve moved on.” She reaches over and takes up Chloe’s hand, and now it’s me who’s going to be sick. For a moment, I try to recall which arm of hers once belonged to Chloe, and if she’s holding her own hand by proxy—but then, Chloe is no longer in her own body. She’s in Ezrina’s.

Chloe bleeds that desolate smile, the smile of death, the smile that says I am ten steps ahead of you both—and you will most certainly be sorry you ever fucked with me.

And trust me, I’m already sorry.

“Skyla and I have mended fences.” She bounces my wife’s hand on her lap, and I want to free her. Every last part of Chloe is nothing more than a bear trap. “We’ve moved on from our childish ways and become a united front.” She looks to Skyla and gives a somber nod as if encouraging her to go along with the farce.

“United,” Skyla says with her eyes locked over on the girl who has been her enemy as far back as I can remember. “Chloe and I are going to change things, Gage.” Skyla doesn’t take her eyes off the sinister devil next to her. If I were to suggest one thing with this strange demonic friendship brewing, it would be just that—keep your eyes wide open. “We are going to start with you.”

“With me,” I say more to myself than anyone else in the room.

Chloe lets out a bubbling laugh. “She’s traded you in for me, Gage. Isn’t that something?” She loses herself in a stream of laughter she can’t seem to contain just as Lizbeth breezes back into the room, forcing her to pause and appraise the three of us.

“What’s this?” Tad balks. “She’s traded in Greg for a woman?” He staggers over with his arm swinging wide, still locked up in that baseball bat of a splint. His face is red and glossed with petroleum jelly to keep his skin from crusting over. “Is that what’s going on here?” he huffs as he struggles to get the words out. “Lizbeth!” he barks at his poor, emotionally neglected wife. I’ve no doubt that right there is the reason she seems so attracted to Demetri in the first place. He has a way of shining the spotlight on her whenever he’s in the room. And Tad has a way of ripping her to pieces with his caustic tongue. The math is pretty easy to do. “Your daughter here has given Greg the boot so she can entertain her lady friend.” His eyes bug out so far, I’m half-expecting them to shoot across the room. I want to say I feel the same way, Tad. My own head demands to explode over this bizarre union.

“It’s not like that.” Lizbeth digs her fists into her hips, ready to go ten rounds if she had to. “Skyla and Chloe do not have an intimate relationship. For God’s sake, use your head. She’s got Gage Oliver to fulfill her needs. Why in the heck would she look in any other direction?”

A sheepish grin comes to me as I look to my wife. But Skyla rolls her eyes at the idea. I know what she’s thinking. Lizbeth has had a bizarre infatuation with me since the beginning. She’s as much on my team as Candace is on Logan’s. Too bad for me, Lizbeth has no say in just about anything that has to do with my destiny. Demetri pops to mind, and I glance up at her as if seeing Skyla’s stepmother for the very first time.

“Shit,” I hiss, stunned. Lizbeth might just be my saving grace after all. Nobody has pull with my father like she does.

“I know!” Tad does an odd little tap dance. “I’m just as shocked as you are.” His head juts out over and over in his wife’s direction like a chicken. “Like it or not, Lizbeth, I heard the whole thing with my own two ears! She’s traded him in for a new model, and that new model is missing a few boy parts!” He blinks back as if he’s just slapped himself. “Wait a minute. This might be the only form of birth control that will work. On second thought, congratulations, girls. I’ll have Lizbeth bake a cake to celebrate. If we gather all the loose socks in the house, we might be able to fashion together a rainbow flag.”

“Chloe’s got a kid,” I whip the words out before Tad decides to throw my wife and her fictional lesbian lover a party. “And a husband.” That should nail the coffin on that rainbow-colored conversation.

“Jumping Jehoshaphat, Lizbeth!” Tad bucks as if the thought of another mouth to feed has him gripped with pain. “No way, no how are we taking in boarders. This nonsense has got to stop. Greg”—he grunts as he turns my way, and I narrowly duck in time, avoiding a splint to the eye—“you get that house of horrors of yours whipped into shape, you hear me? As soon as princess here has a castle of her own to fill with all the screaming babies she wants—I’m sure she’ll hightail it right back to you.”

“Tad Landon!” Lizbeth barks so loud the boys start in on a bleating cry from the living room. “Now look what you’ve done,” she seethes through her teeth. “Don’t you ever try to kick my daughter out of our home. Skyla and whomever she loves is more than welcome here.” She ticks her head my way. “You, too, Gage.”

I blink over at Chloe a moment who isn’t missing the opportunity to gloat.

Holy crap. What alternate universe am I living in?

“Come on, Tad.” Lizbeth leads him back to the table. “We’ve got mountains of unemployment paperwork to fill out. I want to be on the first ferry to the mainland in the morning. Those unemployment lines are just about as fun as the DMV.”

“I’ve got nothing but time on my hands, Lizbeth. In fact, I might even take up gardening, or golfing. The leisure activities I’ll have time for now are endless!”

Two tiny bodies run past me, naked—covered in what looks like chocolate—but holy hell that smell gives it away. That ain’t chocolate.

Lizbeth screams at the sight. “Misty and Beau Landon! I have had it up to here with your potty shenanigans!”

Misty dives in and wraps herself around Tad’s legs, and he lets out a yelp while hobbling toward the back. “Open the door, Lizbeth! We’ll clean the little shits off with the hose!”

Shit, indeed. I lean in to Skyla. “Tad lost his job?”

“That’s right.” Her nose wrinkles with her growing irritation—and perhaps the stench. “That three-headed, zero-hearted father of yours swiped it right from under him. Tad is persona non grata at Althorpe. Maybe you can put in a good word for him, now that you and Daddy Dearest are playing on the same team.”

There’s a strange sexual connotation there that I’m not touching. “I’m pretty sure your mother has more pull with him than I do.” Especially in that arena.

“What?” both Skyla and Chloe shout in unison. Skyla and Chloe doing anything in unison is unnerving on just about every level.

“It’s true.” I’m pained to think that she’s taken it as a slight. I lean in and whisper, “In a single conversation, your mother could sweet talk my father into just about anything.”

“Holy hell.” Skyla tosses up her arms. “Just when I thought you couldn’t sink any lower, Gage Oliver. Okay, playtime is over. Go and head back to the cave you crawled out of.” Her finger darts to the door. She might as well have socked me in the gut—I couldn’t feel worse if I tried.

“That’s not what I meant.” My eyes never stray from hers. “I love you, Skyla. I will always love you.”

I take off for the living room where the boys finally look to be resting, sleeping peacefully in the swings. They’ve either been hauled back downstairs or someone yanked out the new set from the garage. No sooner do I get out the door than Chloe appears by my side.

“Whatever it is, you can save it,” I toss it out there before she segues into her head games. Chloe is a master at just that.

“Aren’t you in the least bit interested?” She blinks those spider lashes at me.

“No.”

“Know this. I’m always on your side, Gage. I’m a lot of things, and one of them is loyal to a fault—to you.” Her finger curls under my chin, and I turn my head.

“Don’t think for a minute that Skyla doesn’t know that.” I head to my truck, jumping down the stairs two at a time. “And I don’t need you on my side, Chloe.”

Every damn side she’s on is the wrong one.

* * *

Other than Skyla and the boys, there is just one more person I’m anxious to see today—my brother. I park the truck back at the house and don’t even bother leaving the driver’s seat before teleporting to the Transfer. I land on solid ground in this dark, hellish nightmare of a pit. The Transfer is a plane that belongs to the Counts. With little to no light, a perennial darkness seeps over the landscape in tones of violet and navy blue. There’s a jagged line in the sky that looks as if it were ripped open then stitched back together again, and I marvel at it because I’ve never noticed it before. A battered and bruised countryside appears with cobbled roadways, weed-riddled hillsides. Everywhere you look dozens of long dead spirits tread transparent yet not forgotten with their old-fashioned dress codes, men in dapper suits, women in full hoop skirts, ghostly pale tits out to there. A group of them scuttle by without bothering to go around me. And a mean shiver runs up my spine as a robust woman walks right through my chest.

“Nice,” I muse. “Happy New Year to you, too!” I call after them, annoyed as I iron my shirt with my palms, and the entire group breaks out into a cackle. They’re a jovial bunch, I’ll give them that.

I glance back and spot a dull blue light emanating from the cave-like entrance that leads to Ezrina’s old stomping grounds. Ezrina was once bound to the Counts for hundreds of years, no thanks to Candace and her linear march for justice. Too bad for Ezrina, Candace sees justice through an unforgiving lens, but Skyla managed to talk her mother into giving both Ezrina and Nevermore another chance, and that’s precisely why Nev is wearing Pierce Kragger’s dead body like a sports coat, and Ezrina is tooling around in Chloe’s old haunted shell.

Chloe.

Just the thought of her makes my stomach boil in its own acids. I stalk down the road past the old—original—mansion with its haunted White House appeal. It’s cavernous inside, dark as crap, illuminated with the dim light of a thousand dusty candles. There’s a piano set in the formal living room that some old coot is constantly bouncing on, and for whatever reason, the entire phantasmic estate holds the scent of fresh apples. Skyla and I exchanged our wedding vows there last September. September thirteenth to be exact. It was a day to remember, with both the living and the dead present, and I would do anything if we could rewind time and go right back to that magical moment. I wouldn’t have missed the birth of my firstborn son—Logan cut Nathan’s cord. I would have had a minute to think on how I might have escaped the covenant I had entered into, but, in reality, deep down inside, I realize there was no escaping my true destiny. Demetri had sown the seeds to my destruction the moment he ejaculated me into existence.

I grimace at my raw and rather disgusting analogy as I enter through the gates of my brother’s estate, an exact replica of the one down the road but bigger, newer, and all around better. Not that living in the Transfer is anything to boast about. Surely the fact he’s raising my niece in this haunted hovel is something we will most certainly have to address. The child needs sunlight for God’s sake. She’ll wither down here physically, and with Chloe Bishop as her mother, who the hell knows what she’s up against emotionally.

“Wesley?” I bark as I enter the massive foyer. The entire mansion has a medieval appeal. It’s clear he’s taken the décor into a whole different era. The OG mansion down the road is Victorian through and through. “Wes.” My voice roars in duplicate before my brother comes bounding from the hall. A tiny pink bundle in his arms screws her tiny fists into her eyes as if struggling to rouse herself.

“There she is.” I give her foot a soft pinch as Wesley lays her down in a playpen and tosses a blanket over her waist. Tobie is a dark-haired, bright-eyed beauty, plump and happy despite the fact her mother neither cares to feed her nor cares for her in general. Chloe has left all the work to my brother, which he in turn has relegated all the work to Ezrina. “The boys have colds.”

“So, you’ve come to share your germs?” His dark brows arch with something just this side of fury, and a dull smile twitches on my lips. Wesley Edinger is my exact representation. It’s odd because he was only vaguely that in the beginning, and as Demetri’s sinister scheme laid out, it became painfully clear he was a Johnny one-note when it came to propagating his genetics. I’d say I was the mold, but Wesley is slightly older by a year, I believe. I don’t really care at this point. As far as I’m concerned, we’re both equally impotent when it comes to defying our wicked father.

“Don’t worry. I won’t kiss her. I won’t kiss you either, sweetheart. Where’s Rina?”

“She’s not feeling well.” He kick-starts a dying fire until the room lights up with the inferno-like blaze.

“I guess there’s a first time for everything.” I consider this a moment. Ezrina is the great physician, just one notch below the Almighty. It almost doesn’t make sense. “Skyla and Chloe have teamed up. What the hell is up, Wes?” I twist my fist into his T-shirt and pull him in close. “We’re on the same team now—remember, brother?” I force a smile to come and go as I glower at this demented version of myself. “Tell me what you know.”

“I know nothing.” He offers me a firm shove off his person. “Why would Skyla of all people even get near Chloe? Skyla is dangerous if she thinks that’s a good idea.” He takes a few steps over to the bar and fixes himself a shot of whiskey, neat, and offers it to me.

I wave it off. I have enough poison coursing through my veins these days. “Your wife is the dangerous one, Wes. Find out whatever you can and report back to me. We need to stick together. We need each other. This can be damning to both sides.” Appealing to his ego and his people is the only way to approach things with my knockoff brother.

“So that’s where she’s been.” Wes sways on his feet a moment, his drink swilling in his hand as he considers this. “That means Chloe has an all access pass to Paragon. She hasn’t been around the house but twice in the last two weeks.” His gaze remains fixed on the flames licking free from the fireplace. “Chloe and Skyla.” He shakes his head. “Nothing good is going to come of this.”

“But logic dictates something very much will come of this. Any news on the warfront? Skyla mentioned the Videns are back in the wild. Back to haunting the masses? So you’re setting up the rogue Factions for a fall.” That’s about as much as I can figure. Wesley isn’t all that much into secret motives. He operates in your face for the most part, and that’s the most frightening enemy of them all. “You are moving in a singular direction. Panic the public, point the finger at the Factions unwilling to bow at your feet, and then play the part of the false savior you are.”

That dark grin of his widens, his brows twitching with amusement at the fact I’ve reduced his menacing plans to a nutshell. “You, my brother, are the savior. Make no bones about it. I am simply your humble servant.” He offers a mock bow. “Do you like the clowns? I thought it was a nice touch myself. Sort of an ode to Skyla if you will. The world is in near hysterics. Some of the moronic humans are getting in on it, too. Their copycat tactics have only added to the chaos.” He toasts their efforts, and the amber liquid in his glass glows in the light of the flames. “They need us, Gage. They’re already begging for someone to step in and end the madness.”

“Somebody let me in on the fact that the Videns didn’t go in willingly. Demetri is outright using my people.” I swallow hard at the idea of having people in general. When the Videns were gifted to me—me as their fearless leader—I wanted to laugh. I’ve never taken a gift Demetri has tried to shove in my direction seriously, and now it’s becoming clear I should have done just that. I don’t know them the way a leader should know their people. I had no idea what they were up against, and yet here I’m up against the very same thing—my father.

Wes ticks his head to the side as if he’s genuinely surprised to hear it. “Who said that?”

I’m leaving Ethan out of it. “That’s not the point. The point is, I need to make a concerted effort to speak with the Videns and find out what’s going on.” I’ll start with Em’s family and work my way out. “If this is true, you and I will both work to rectify the situation. You don’t need them, Wes. You have enough minions, enough defectors from the rest of the Factions to set the world on fire.”

“Now that is true.” He toasts me once again before knocking back the rest of his drink. He sucks in a quick breath through his teeth before setting his glass onto the counter. “I’ll work with you if that’s the case. But not before launching a full-scale investigation of my own.”

A dull smile comes to my face. “You don’t trust me.”

“The river runs both ways.”

The clicking of heels comes from the entry, and we turn to find the queen demon herself haunting the doorway—Chloe.

“Here you are.” Chloe breezes into the room and smirks over at Tobie before settling in our midst. “I was so confident I’d find you here. This is the first place I looked.” She hikes up on her tiptoes and offers an unwarranted embrace. “What I’m doing is for your benefit and mine,” she whispers hot into my ear, and I pull her off me. “Skyla needs you asap, so do not pass go, do not stop by home to check on your poor sick mother. Head straight to Landon jail. The boys are waiting to have the snot sucked out of their noses by yours truly. I bet you’re thrilled you fathered an entire liter of snotty little pups, aren’t you?”

Wes shoots me a questioning look, and I shake my head at him.

Instead, I focus my earnest efforts on being nice and reasonable with the witch at hand. “What’s going on with you and Skyla?”

Chloe has always held her mean beauty, her mean heart close to the vest like a very sharp knife. In the beginning, I played along. I wanted to know her secrets, be her friend, but in the end, I couldn’t give her what she really wanted—myself. It was Chloe and I that fashioned together that butterfly room above Skyla’s closet. It was Chloe’s intense obsession for me that fueled so much heartbreak, so much loss and devastation. Perhaps it is truly the nexus of what caused Chloe’s death to begin with. Yes, Skyla played a part, but I was the kernel that grew into a strangulating vine and wrapped myself around her neck whether I like to admit it or not. But I don’t blame myself. Chloe’s incessant need to have me far outweighs the borders of sanity.

Chloe blinks to life as if she were tuned into my internal conversation and shakes her head as if to rebuff my theory.

“I’m just being her friend, Gage. Skyla and I haven’t always seen eye to eye, but we’ve found something we can bond over, agree on, and we’re moving in the right direction for the right reason. That’s all you need to know.” She pins my brother with a crooked smile. “That’s all either of you need to know.” Chloe takes off into the bowels of this megastructure, and I head for the door myself.

“Gage”—Wes calls out, and I turn around—“I’ll keep an ear out.” He nods toward his raging lunatic of a wife. “We’ll get to the bottom of both this and the Videns, together.”

Together. I offer a peaceable smile as I head out the door and dissolve to nothing.

For so long it was Logan who stood staunchly by my side, and Wesley was nothing more than an interloper in our midst.

But for the first time in a long while, Wes feels less like an interloper and a lot more like a brother.