Paragon weeps as the sky unleashes a torrent of rain, a deluge of water poured right over our heads in vats. The afternoon sky sits gray and abysmal. The evergreens slump their branches toward the ground. The entire damn island looks forlorn at the thought of Gage Oliver no longer gracing its presence. If I had to wager, I’d guess Paragon herself was Team Gage. The thought evokes a dull huff of laughter, but I’m too damn depressed to give it. Earlier today, I drove down to Cooper’s place and nothing. Not a sound, not a freaking mouse, not even a ghost haunting the old Walsh house.

Call me. I’m worried. I shoot him a text.

I head over to Dudley’s and ransack the shit out of his library, taking everything that remotely looks like an ancient text that might offer me a clue, any idea as to what the future might hold, what any of this might really mean. A note glows on the piano, iridescent as if the parchment were lined with a flame and I head that way.

Young Oliver, I kindly request that you consider taking the reins from your beloved at this delicate time. Fate is stirring. The saboteur has roused from his long slumber. I’m afraid I’ll need you to keep this between the two of us. I will do all I can on my end to assure things end amicably for you—whichever way it is you’d like for me to steer them.

Dudley

No sooner do my eyes scan every word than the paper erupts in flames and peters out just as quick, leaving the parchment in ashes.

Dudley wants me to take the reins from Skyla? The Factions? No way. But I do agree with him on one thing. This is a delicate time for her. I’ll do what I can to get her through it. The last thing I’ll do is team up with Dudley to usurp her. It makes me wonder whose side he’s really on. I shake my head because I already know the answer. Dudley is on Dudley’s side, the Sectors.

I take off for Barron’s office at the morgue where he keeps his special angelic files under lock and key and pilfer what I can. He and Emma are in deep mourning, inconsolable to the point of agony. Liam and Giselle have graciously been keeping them company. But then, Giselle is Gage in female skin. I’m not sure how much comfort she can really bring.

And then I head to Demetri’s—load up on the granddaddy of them all—two trunks full of old, dusty, musty manuscripts that look as if they were a part of the sacred scriptures themselves. After that, I more or less kidnap Emily Morgan, steal a stack of crayons and plain paper from Lizbeth’s shocked grandchildren, and barrel my way back to Whitehorse.

I’m out of breath by the time Emily and I hit the subterranean level that I essentially built for Ezrina. I wanted her to have all of the creature comforts the Counts had afforded her in the Transfer during those hundreds of years she worked as a captive under their rule. The subterranean level of Whitehorse spans miles in either direction, and I’ve given both Ezrina and her husband, Nevermore—Heathcliff, if his proper moniker is required, and now their sweet baby daughter, Alice, run of the place. They also have the Gas Lab, a café that serves everything from donuts to deep-dish pizzas. They bought Skyla out of her share of it a while ago, and she used the money as a down payment on the old Walsh place. Skyla and Gage only spent a single night there before he was murdered.

“Ezrina!” I bark as Emily struggles to keep up.

“It’s cool down here,” Emily says while taking in the sheer white walls and matching floor. Ezrina insisted we adhere to the sterile décor she had grown accustomed to. “Michelle and Lex keep talking about how creepy it is, but I like it.” Emily Morgan has just spewed more words per capita than I’ve heard her say in all the years I’ve known her. “I think they called it the Wonderground.”

“That about says it all.” It’s true. Michelle and Lex hang out down here often enough. Hell, they might be living here for all I know.

We find Ezrina, Nev—and Ezrina’s startlingly white tit staring at us like a pudgy saucer while little Alice suckles happily away, all seated at an enormous glass table just shy of the body farm—the room with rows and rows of upright glass caskets that Ezrina is hoping to fill with Spectators one day soon. At present they’re filled to the brim with blue keeping solution should the need arise to shove a body inside. It’s essentially a preservative that prevents the cellular structure from decomposition. In truth, I like the look of the glowing blue liquid. It offers an incandescent, serene appeal to the entire area. Ezrina’s specialty back in the Transfer was resurrecting Counts, but now she’s focused on expending all her energy in profiting Celestra in any way possible.

I slam the dozens of manuals I’m holding onto the glass surface and stop cold. Situated in the center of the table sits a glass box filled with the aforementioned blue keeping solution. And spinning around in a slow, dizzying circle inside of that box is Gage Oliver’s severed head.

“Creepy,” Em says as she unloads the books I burdened her to carry.

Ezrina harrumphs over our stunned expressions. “I rather like it.” She glares at me a moment. “Oliver? You judge me?”

“No. Never.” I take a seat next to Em and divvy up the texts amongst Nev, Ezrina, and myself. “Here.” I shove a pile of blank paper and crayons toward Em. “You sit there and draw the ever-living shit out of the future. You got that?” It comes out curt and, for the love of God, I have no idea if I meant for it to. My head feels just as disconnected as my poor nephew’s these days. “I want to know if there’s an end to this story. The dragon, the angels—all of the crap that falls in between.” I begin riffling through the book in front of me like a madman. “Surely there has to be something prophetic lying dormant between these pages.”

Em begins to doodle, and my insides feel as if they’d like to bring up my lunch. Suffice it to say, Emily has never delivered good news. At least not to me.

Nev pulls a new book forward. “Any word on Master Gage?”

“None. I suspect Demetri will insist he makes a reprisal—and believe me, I want that, too. I just don’t know what that entails or what it’ll mean for Celestra.”

“Death.” Ezrina doesn’t miss a beat, licking her fingers before casually turning another page.

I scowl at her a moment. “You’re always a ball of sunshine, Ezrina.”

Nev shakes his head. The expression on his face lets me know he thinks she’s right. “She’s sure of it. Trouble is brewing, and I’m afraid with Demetri commandeering this runaway wagon, we’ve got plenty of chaos about to unleash.”

Em slides a paper my way, cluttered with red markings. “The bowling alley.” Her tone is lackluster, as it usually is, and I spin the page until I can see it for what it truly is, a cartoon caricature of what it once was. My father built a classic ode to the sport, but with Ellis Harrison’s assistance—and let’s not forget Giselle’s precarious influence—this cartoon caricature looks about right as far as the new version goes. I glance up at Gage’s floating head as he stares blankly my way, mouth agape, and I feel bad for thinking such ridiculous thoughts. Gage would be thrilled to be in my shoes, with a brand new business ready to open its doors, a body to call his own, arms to hold Skyla with. Technically, I don’t have a body. I have a Treble. A shit ride that reduces me to a looky-loo here on Earth. A moment of time that I’m savoring and it just so happens to enable me to be a part of this crazy thing called life.

I continue streaming through the books, reading up on powers, principalities, the covenant between man and God, the Fems, the Sectors.

“What do any of you know about the rivalry between the Fems and the Sectors?” I look around at the stony faces while they promptly ignore me and continue at the tasks at hand.

Baby Alice, with her moppet of red hair, pulls away from Ezrina’s left tit with a riotous gasp before offering me a milky smile.

“Huh.” Ezrina shoves the girl’s face back where it was. “She seems to have taken a liking to you.”

Em grunts, “Most girls do. If I have to listen to Michelle and Lexy duke it out one more time, I’m going to break an arm.” She slides another picture my way—that of a beautiful girl. Red crayon once again. “Skyla’s mom.” She gets right back to work.

I grimace at the image a moment before sliding the picture of the bowling alley over it. No offense to Candace, but she’s been a curse as much as she’s been a blessing.

“Here’s something.” Nev clears his throat. “The devised hosts of the most high include the curious Fems and their counterparts, the Sectors. The Fems and Sectors are a supernatural created breed that have garnered favor to rule throughout the millennial reign along with the saints. However, a pall was cast upon their kind as a dark leader emerged who believed his kind could carry out the duties without the aid of the Sectors and asked the Holy Father to remove them from their post. Upon further inspection, it was brought to light that Sectors, too, were secretly looking to oust the Fems from their dual position. In His infinite mercy and wisdom, the Holy Father set forth a decree allowing the Fems and the Sectors to battle it out through the ages, and the one left in a superior position upon the start of the millennial reign shall grab hold of the honorary post. To the other shall befall a less than savory fate—one designed and designated after the fall. It has thus been delineated that the Fems should cleave to the earthbound Countenance and the Sectors to the Celestra Faction. Theirs should not be considered a war between brothers—the Fems, the Sectors—yet should be revered a battle between the dark and the light, those with intentions that revolve solely around their own might and power and those for the good of all mankind. It shall be so, the Holy One has spoken this decree.”

“The Fems have the Barricade now,” I’m quick to point out. “An army far more vast than Celestra has—even if you include those that side with us.” I can’t bring myself to say it out loud, but the Barricade seems to be ready to slap our hand down to the table. In this long, muscle busting arm wrestling match, it appears that Wes and his minions have garnered the upper hand.

“Celestra is dwindling.” Ezrina dots her finger over a page in the text before her and spins the book my way. “This.”

I glance over. Splayed out before me is a picture of a dragon—a charcoal sketch of a scaly, demonic looking creature who appears to hold two rag dolls in its talons. There’s a beautiful woman riding his back, her face pressed loving toward his, but those flames shooting out of its nostrils, its mouth, they burst to life right off the page with or without color.

“She chooses the beast.” Ezrina digs her thumb over the page as if squashing a bug. “Love,” she says it as if it were a vile expletive leaving her lips.

My stomach sinks at the thought. Yes, Skyla loves Gage. She wants him back. We both do. Hell, even I’m rooting for them.

“She chooses the beast.” I swallow hard while inspecting the picture, but Ezrina twists the book back to herself as if denying me the right to shed a river of tears. I’ll save those for later.

“She does.” Emily slides another picture my way—an exact representation of the one Ezrina just showed me but in red, an alarming hue when paired with those flames. “But it’s all up in the air. See this?” She points to a few lines around the beast that give it the feel as if it’s flying through the air. “That’s the wind. The winds of change. Something about this scenario can be altered. That’s where you come in.”

“Are you drawing me next?” I’m only half-kidding. I’m terrified she’ll draw a gnat. That’s about how significant I feel in this scenario.

“Maybe.” Emily gets right back to work.

“Logan”—Nev shakes his head at me, and it feels as if Gage’s primal apex is doing the very same thing—“I know both you and Gage love Skyla, but we must do what’s best for our people. If Demetri does indeed place his son as the overseer of his wicked kingdom—if he is indeed compelled to do what is intended…”

The room stills around us.

I look to Ezrina, and my features harden to stone. “How can they topple Skyla?”

“Battle.” She shakes her head in a quick frenetic movement. Ezrina has always reminded me a bit of a mouse, and I mean that in the nicest way possible. “They don’t have a leader. Wesley is not the chosen one. Only the leader can declare a proper war.”

“And that leader would be Gage.” The words come out lower than a whisper. “My God.” I pull the books before me, spinning the pages as fast as they’ll turn, reading at dizzying speeds, just trying to devour the information before me. It’s all here in black and white, Skyla bowing to wickedness, evil knocking good right off its pedestal. This was a war mapped out long ago, already declaring the victory to the enemy according to these pages.

A low-lying growl works its way up my throat.

Emily shoves another picture at me—a dragon, that unearthly beast seated on an outlandishly large throne, a tiny beautiful girl on his lap—throngs around them looking up in adoration. Every single one of the pictures Emily has given me glow in one color—red. Red equals blood. We learned that the hard way the last time. Skyla chooses Gage. Gage topples Celestra. The Fems declare victory over mankind. Mankind goes to hell in a handbasket because that’s what the Fems do—they destroy.

“Shit!” I slam my hands down over the glass table so hard the room explodes with the boom. Poor Alice lets out a viral cry, and I roar right along with her. I pick up a stack of those old paper relics and fling them across the room. It was there all along. The dark answers to the questions we were too afraid to ask.

Gage spins toward me, darting those bright blue eyes my way an unnaturally long while, and my heart breaks because this was not supposed to happen to him. Gage was and will always be my brother. Not my enemy. Never that.

Emily stands and hands me the final portrait, red once again.

“This is you and him.” She holds it out where I can get a better look at the two figures who look to be shaking hands. Shards of jagged lines expand around the two of us. Gage is completely colored in with the crimson hue, and I’m nothing but an outline. Something about this feels right.

“What does this mean?”

“This is the beginning of the end,” she says devoid of all emotion. “The moment this happens you’ll know.”

The beginning of the end.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s Dudley. I have a gift for you.

I contemplate this a moment. I don’t need anything from Dudley, nothing materially speaking. But I do need something. Clarity.

I pluck my keys out of my pocket. “Em, see if Nev can give you a ride back home. I have somewhere to be.”

I take off running like a man with a purpose. It’s laughable. I’m the furthest thing from it.

My tires eat miles of Paragon asphalt until I find myself in Dudley’s driveway. It’s the last place I wanted to be and yet, like some supernatural magnet, I couldn’t fight it. The rain has done a disappearing act, and that beastly fiery orb in the sky struggles to break free from the membrane of clouds shielding us from its glory.

“What the hell now?” I jog up to the house and use my shoulder to break my way in. “Dudley?” I shout before heading to the rear of the home and out to the back patio. Sitting over a stone table is a quiver full of arrows, an enormous bow next to it, and I don’t hesitate in arming myself.

That corral full of llamas and horses startles to life as I stride past them. “Dudley?” I thunder across the great expanse that details his property, but my voice comes back to me as an echo. No sneaky Sector to accompany it. I run down to the stream as the sky begins to pepper me. I can feel a buildup of tears just below the surface that have been percolating in me since the day I asked Gage to watch Skyla for me—pretend she was his. And now she is. Even in death, Gage has held onto Skyla. But those pictures—those haunted drawings that I forced Emily to vomit out on my foolish behalf all scream Skyla will choose him. As much as I want her to, deep down, I’m broken.

“What the hell am I here for?” I stagger toward the water like a drunk. “Marshall Fucking Dudley!” I thunder across the expansive field. “You are my supervising spirit, and I command you to get your slimy ass down here!”

A gentle breeze stirs the aspen trees, and it feels as if they’re mocking me. Nothing. I am nothing to no one. An obstacle even to myself.

“Crap,” I whisper as I stumble out farther down the property. I have never felt so melancholy. Never so down. Not even Gage Oliver’s death brought me such a heaviness of spirit. It’s as if I can see the world—our world unraveling before my very eyes. Everything Gage and I fought for—that Skyla, who fought harder than both of us combined, has been reduced to dust and ashes. At what point do you throw in the towel and cry uncle? At what point does the word defeat start to pepper your lexicon? I lean against the base of an evergreen, knocking my head back against the trunk, hard like I mean it. Everything that’s happened—everything that’s still happening rotates through my mind, cryptic, frighteningly esoteric.

Time waits for no one. Death comes in like a thief and binds your wrists. It fetters your feet, blinds and whips you before whisking off with your soul to the paradise of God. Death is ruthless in its endeavor as it rips you away from the planet—unremorseful as it gives all of your loved ones the finger. I cheated death, mostly. Rumor has it, I’ll come back one day. But, in the end, Candace was right. This halfway life that my soul lingers in, this delicate state of limbo between this realm and the next, has proven a special brand of torment.

They say every living soul has one true love—the trick is finding them, and then holding on. You can miss love by a mile if you’re not careful. It can sneak up on you in the least likely places, a parking lot, a chance meeting at a party, a bowling alley.

My true love’s heart lingers for me, although our paths have split for a time. They’ll converge again, but for now, she belongs to another, and it hurts like all bloody hell. I didn’t think it would. I didn’t think it could. Then again, I never think too deeply when Skyla is in the balance.

An arrow whips by, biting my left ear in the process.

“Shit.” I jump back, touching my fingers to my head, only to show the bright red impression of blood. I’m far more amused than I am anything else. This simply means two things. One, Dudley is back. And two, I can bleed?

“Oliver!” Dudley cries out from the clearing near his property and points a good fifty feet away to the arrow he’s just lodged in the eye of an oak. “Top that. I doubt you can.”

That’s Dudley for you, always quick with the dig, at least where I’m concerned.

He’s lured me out here, claiming he has a gift for me. I happen to know for a fact that Dudley’s idea of a gift doesn’t quite match up to the English definition.

I pull an arrow from the quiver strapped to my back and take a few steps forward.

“I’ll land it in the heart of the trunk, on top of yours,” I shout over to him. “Try not to get your riding pants in a bunch, sweetheart.” I fire one off, and it slips just past the tree, digging into the bushes.

Dudley barks out a laugh.

“You’re a fool to even suggest that arrow would obey your nonsensical whims.” He loads up and stretches his bow taut, but he’s not aiming for the oak. He’s aiming straight for me. “I’ll get it over your head and give you a little trim off the top at the same time.” He launches it like a missile, and, before I can duck, the wind whistles over my skull. That damn arrow nearly scalped me in the process.

“You’re a piece of shit, Dudley.” I pat my head for signs of blood before glancing at the glorified stick neatly planted in the trunk of a pine just shy of where I’m standing.

“The sentiment is mutual.” He fires another shot back toward the oak. “You think about my offer?”

“No can do.” Hell, yes, I thought about his offer, and there isn’t a chance I’m going to let him utilize me as his lackey, especially not when it consists of me sidestepping Skyla. I’ll leave the trickery to my nephew.

Skyla. A cloud of dread seeps over me just thinking about her. I never knew it would pain me to hold her in my heart, and, yet, that day has come—it’s been here all along. All these months on the island—all the shit that’s gone down with Gage, with the Steel Barricade, with Chloe and her constant scheming—it’s all more than I can take. But I’d do it again and again for Skyla.

I wonder if she cares. I wonder if I should have left the planet entirely and never stuck around where I didn’t truly belong. At the time, staying seemed like the right decision, but now, in the light of day, under the inspection of the circumstances, I question the very thing I swore to cherish, my time here on Paragon—my time with Skyla.

“Have you fallen asleep on your feet?” Dudley belches it out across the expanse, and his voice drones on in an echo, unstable as water.

“Yes, I’m asleep.” I yank an arrow from my quiver. “That’s because you bore me to fucking tears.” I stretch back my bow, with an arrow ready and willing to eat air, and turn slightly to my left, aiming straight for Dudley. I let go and watch as it glides across the field, right past his left shoulder. Figures. I shake my head in mock disappointment. “Missed.”

“You’re a bigger moron than you think.” A fire churns in his eyes. His hands move quick as lightning.

A blur of a line travels my way, slicing through the air at an alarming, low trajectory. I try to jump out of the way, but it nails me right in the heart.

Dudley straightens with pride. “I, on the other hand, never miss.”

My body lurches. I stagger back as a crimson stain blooms across my chest.

“You shot me,” I say, disbelieving. God. He’s going to fuck up my body.

I try extracting the arrow, and a spear of pain shoots through my skull.

Dudley strides toward me a few feet before reloading. “The important thing to note about a Treble is your flesh doesn’t quite have the ability to heal itself like it used to.” He fires another one off in my direction and lodges it into my chest right next to the last. “Pity.” He flexes a brief smile.

A jolt of pain rockets through me.

“Fuck.” Now it’s my voice echoing across the field.

Maybe this is it—his big gift. Maybe the Decision Council sensed I was bitching about my imperfect half-life and decided to renege on the offer. And now Dudley gets to maim me at his leisure, bury me in his backyard so he can piss on my grave every now and again just for kicks. Hell, maybe Gage will join him.

“I’m not going down without a fight.” I pluck arrow after arrow out of my quiver and land six in the field, two in his gut. His crisp, white dress shirt darkens as a deep red liquid oozes out. “Looks to me, you bleed like the rest of us.”

He glances down at his newfound wounds, slightly amused.

“I don’t take lightly to what you’ve done,” he says it stern as a reprimand.

“Nor do I.” My bow shakes as I stretch it taut with all my effort. I shoot another one off in his direction, aiming for that pompous mug of his, and son of a bitch—

Dudley lets out a strangled cry and staggers with an arrow through his eye.

The faint voice of a girl comes from the direction of the house, and Dudley holds up a hand as if to still me.

“Marshall?” she cries. Her voice carries high and light like a flute.

Skyla.

I take a step back and try to pluck the arrows from my chest, but they’re lodged behind my ribs, and it hurts like shit. My chest tightens. It’s getting hard to breathe as the world starts to fade. What the hell is happening?

“Marshall, where are you?” she shouts from just a couple feet away, and now the inevitable will happen. Skyla is about to see both Dudley and me in a serious state of disrepair.

“I’m in the clearing, love,” he calls back with his voice smooth as silk.

I glance over.

He’s already extracted the arrow from his eye, and is working the two out of his stomach. I reach down to do the same, and another hits me, creating an unholy trinity of overgrown darts—pinning my heart, caging it in with pain.

“Let this be a lesson.” Dudley tips his chin up. His eyes are still intact—his dress shirt, crisp and clean, no worse for wear. “Don’t ever think about turning on me.”

Footsteps quicken in this direction, and Skyla illuminates the dark woods with her porcelain skin. Her eyes glow like quicksilver.

“Logan!” She stops at the foot of the forest, examining me, but she doesn’t scream or run or flip Dudley the bird for inflicting such damage in the first place. Instead, Skyla smiles. She walks over slow with her eyes locked over mine as if the arrows, the blood dripping from my body at an accelerated rate—Dudley himself—were inconsequential in general. “It’s me.” She tilts her head as she steps up her gait.

“I can explain.” I give a tug at my shirt, and she holds a finger to her lips, never once taking those luminous eyes off mine. I shoot a look to Dudley because something, for sure, is the hell up.

Maybe this is Chloe in disguise. Maybe Dudley’s big gift is for me to shack up in the Transfer with good old Bishop wearing Skyla’s body like a bad Halloween costume.

“You’re really here.” She touches her hand to my face and looks at me in wonder. “And now, so am I.”

“I think I need help.” My breathing grows erratic. My chest is on fire. I’m pretty sure I need to start hitting the panic button and getting Candace Messenger on the Red Line because something akin to a celestial ambulance is going to be needed in just a few seconds.

“God, I love you,” she whispers. Her eyes narrow in on me as if she were in pain. She places her cool hands over my cheeks and pulls me in.

Skyla hikes up on the balls of her feet and crashes her lips to mine. I don’t fight it. I twist my arrow-riddled chest to the left and pull her in close as we indulge in a deep, meaningful kiss with our tongues slipping over one another for what feels like hours—weeks.

My knees start to buckle, can’t breathe. The world feels as if it’s spinning out of control, and I sink to the ground.

The last thing I see is Skyla’s beautiful face—then Marshall’s ugly mug as he stands over her shoulder.

“Your gift is here.” He smirks down at me. “And should you have shown me an ounce of gratitude for all I’ve ever done for you, we wouldn’t be witness to your demise.” He kicks me in the thigh before heading toward the house.

Skyla drops to my side and gently slaps my cheek, begging me to stay awake. Her voice dances around me, elusive and hard to grasp, like a butterfly.

The world fades in and out.

Get your mother, I try to tell her.

“Logan, wait!” she screams. “Logan, come back. Something big has happened, and it affects you and me.”

Skyla stepped out of the forest with zero regard for the arrows lodged in my chest and kissed me. Something big had happened, and she wanted to share the news.

Tell me, Skyla. I want to know.

My eyes won’t open. All sound fades from the world.

Skyla was my gift, and now I lose her twice.

Dudley is right. I’m a bigger moron than I thought.

Her lips sink over mine, soft as a summer breeze. Skyla’s kisses are resuscitating my love-thirsty soul—her lingual affection is the exact brand of medicine I’ve needed all along.

Skyla is the cure for everything.

I’ve always known that.

And so has she.

A horrific groan expels from me as one reality is traded for the next. I give a few lazy blinks, only to find myself lying along the shore of Ahava as the icy waves slap over me. Its peaceful beaches, its serene hillsides that glitter like an emerald put me under a spell that I never want out of.

“Get up,” a sharp voice, decidedly female, barks from behind me.

Carefully, I turn to find Candace herself outshining the sparkling lake. The emerald hills have nothing on her beauty. She is the exact representation of Skyla with the exception of everything on the inside. She and Skyla are nothing alike when it comes to their inner workings—not yet anyway. And then it hits me. It wasn’t Skyla at all back at Dudley’s. It was Candace.

“Come, come.” She bows down to give me a hand, but I don’t take it. Instead, I stagger myself to my feet on my own accord, my clothes weighted with water, my bloody wounds still prominent over my crimson-stained shirt. “There we go.” She dusts off my shoulders, gives my chest a few good slaps right where Dudley pierced me, and my clothes are miraculously white as snow. “Listen to me.” She flicks my chin up hard with her finger until we’re eye to eye. “When I pulled you out of the muck and the mire, it was for the benefit of our people—for the benefit of my daughter.” Her eyes pull back unnaturally when she mentions Skyla as if something about that genetic detail enraged her. “I’ve asked one thing of you, Logan, and that was to love her. I expect you to do so. I also expect you to revere me and honor the words I’m about to impart. You shall have Skyla. There shall be no vacillating of the heart. You do not have my permission to gift her like a stone to another. She is no possession of yours to be traded as you please. Do you hear me?” Her voice is loud and shrill, and I can’t help but think everybody heard.

“Yes.” I wince because I can’t seem to process everything at the moment.

“You can’t process it?” Her brows rise with amusement. “Perhaps I should paint a picture.” Her cool hand falls hard over my forehead, and a soothing hum of light and love pulsates from her body to mine. I suppose this is that love drug Marshall spews at Skyla, at women in general, and, oh my hell, am I ever addicted. “At this hour, I’m going to bestow upon you a blessing and a curse.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” I mutter to myself.

“From this moment forward, you will be privy to the intimate dealings of Skyla and her so-called beloved. Should she choose to venerate him with her body—all will be revealed to you in your mind’s eye. I shan’t hide a single carnal detail. And if you wish to quell the madness that will surely grip your heart, all you need to do is find Skyla and press your lips to hers. All will be well once again.”

I glance around, half-hoping that Marshall or perhaps even Gage himself will free me from the madness.

“Madness?” She draws her hand away, her eyes widening with rage. “Do you liken me to a madwoman, my love? After all I’ve done for you?”

“No.” I swallow hard. “I was just having a hard time deciphering whether that was the blessing or the curse?” Truth. Right there.

Her crystalline eyes sharpen over mine, and it feels like a hostile takeover. “Shall I slap you or simply answer the question?”

“Perhaps you should do both.”

She cradles my cheek in her palm a moment, studying my lips as if she were about to kiss them. “I can no more harm your beautiful face than I can curse you. All I have to offer are blessings this fine hour.” Her affect falls serious as death. “But you won’t see it that way, will you?”

“If that lovemaking reel I’ll be privy to is indicative of things to come, I’d venture to guess not.”

“That’s what I love about you.” She leans in and blesses my cheek with a quick peck. “You do love the truth.” Her chest rises and falls, and every filament of hair on her head lights up as if each strand had a jag of lightning imprisoned within it. “Once we’re through with you here, I’m going to catch you up on all of my darling daughter’s greatest hits with that dark-haired prince Demetri has seen fit to pair her with. We’ll start with the very best of the best, their wedding blight.” She pulls me along toward the hillsides, and we pick up speed. “Remember, my love, you can always stop the viewing with—”

“A kiss”—I finish the thought for her—“yes, I have that rule carved into my brain.” I have a feeling I’ll need it.

A chortling laugh escapes her. “You will indeed! But first, I have a little surprise for you.”

She whisks us toward the mountain in the distance, and a dark figure stands waiting at the base as we arrive.

“Dudley.” I’m both relieved and a little pissed to see him. I offer up a partial embrace and he doesn’t deck me, so I figure we’re good again. That’s the thing with Dudley—we fight like brothers—with an infernal desire to kill—and yet there’s still a mutual respect between us. At least on my end.

He looks to me with his affect softening. “On my end as well, Young Oliver. Are you ready to do this?” He bows as if expecting an earnest response.

“I have no clue what I’m about to do, but if the two of you are in agreement, then I trust your judgment.” I look up at Zion, to the holy mountain of God, and innately understand that it is our destination.

The three of us venture up slowly, making good time while I take in the sights, the River of Life, the trees that yield their fruit year-round lining its path. And in the distance I see the Elysian Fields. It reminds me of Skyla. Of our time here not that long ago. I cast a glance at the falls—the Falls of Virtue back on Paragon are a close replica. And that too is our special place. It seems the world, the universe, and all of paradise is filled with spaces and places that are memorable to Skyla and me. Perhaps the takeaway is that as much as my mind might want to protest, Skyla and I are special after all.

By the time we crest the temple court that houses the very throne of God, the three of us are winded but not because of something as menial as earthly fatigue—we are breathless by the fact we are in the presence of excellence, breathing rarified air—about to witness the very glory of the Master with our own eyes in these makeshift bodies.

“Now”—Candace pulls and tugs at my shirt, ironing it out flat with her hands—“the time has come for you to shine brightly. Step into the light, my son.” She cups my face and leans in, brushing the softest kiss over my cheek, but all I see, all I think about when I’m looking at her is Skyla. “I love you, my dear. You have endured much. You have fought the good fight—and though you must wage a new battle, I boldly declare you the victor. Though it seems impossible, improbable, and outright desolate at times—know this—I am with you. I have approved you. You are qualified and wanted on every level. Do not be afraid. Do not be dismayed. Together, we will prosper.” She turns me by the shoulders and propels me into the long neck of the foyer which leads to unimaginable glory. “Now go! Make haste! Your time has come.”

Marshall flanks me on my left and Candace on my right as we enter into the holy of holies. A heavenly choir cries out in a magnificent song that stirs my spirit to the point of unstoppable worship. We pass the twenty-four elders, and then I see them—the Father and the Son. The Holy Spirit wraps Himself around me so strong, every breath I take feels God-inspired. The elation, the peace, love, and joy I feel at this moment is something I would very much wish to replicate and distribute freely to every soul on Earth. It is a feeling that I want Skyla to have, something sublime to transcend the agony she’s embroiled in. Everyone should know this intimate wonder—and they will. For every knee will bow, every tongue confess in His mighty name.

The Son rises. He stands as I near the altar, and my heart is both humbled and awed. I spot Demetri standing far below the throne on the left, and by his side is Nathan, along with them all of my grandparents—my mother, my father. And then I see him. Gage Oliver—distinctly familiar, decidedly new. His hair gleams like the blackest night. His eyes reflect the sapphire thrones. By his side, hooked hand in hand, is his daughter Sage. Instantly, I know her and all of her ways, and I can’t seem to understand how this should happen.

I run to him, and we lock in a mighty embrace as tears of joy expel from me. “Is it really you?” I pull back to get a better look at him, and there’s something different about this version of my nephew. His face, his hair, those translucent eyes—everything seems sharper, crisper, far more glorious than I ever remember.

“It is. I love you, Logan,” he whispers. “I’m happy for you.” He slaps his arm over my shoulder, and for a moment I wonder what that might mean, and then it hits me.

I turn to Candace. “Is that what this is?” I look to Marshall as my heart begins to soar. “Was this the surprise?” My heart drums in my chest, a sensation I can only attribute to the memory of what a response like this would elicit.

I took my last breath in high school. Murdered by the hand of Chloe Bishop. I’ve spent the last few years locked in a Treble, in a time warp of my own, and now I can only dare to dream that the long horrible wait might be over. New life. New breath. New body.

Candace steps forward and takes up my hand. “Indeed, that is what this is.” She pulls the words out slowly, cheerfully mocking me. “But first, I must bless you with a benediction.”

I glance to Gage for a brief moment. As much as it grieves me that Skyla isn’t here to share this moment, I’m glad he’s here, fully intact—a beautiful sight for my sore dead eyes.

“Logan Oliver”—Candace begins—“you are the most excellent of men.” Her thumb glides over my mouth soft as a feather. “Your lips have been anointed with grace. Our living God has blessed you forever.” The throne room bursts with the light of a million suns, and a pain spears my heart, just as sharp as one of those demonic arrows Dudley loves to wield.

Candace places her hand on my shoulder, those iridescent eyes press into mine. “Gird your sword by your side, you mighty one. Clothe yourself with His splendor and light. In your majesty ride forth victoriously in the cause of truth, humility, and justice. May your right hand be potent. May it achieve magnificent deeds that please the greater and confound the lesser. May your arrows be sharp, piercing the hearts of the king’s enemies. Let the nations fall beneath your feet in homage to your wonder. God’s throne will last forever and ever. His scepter of justice will be the scepter of your kingdom.” Candace takes a breath. Her entire chest rises as if she had no intention of expelling the holy air she’s filled it with. Her gaze cuts to Gage, her affect hardening before she looks to me once again with that piercing stare. “You love righteousness and hate wickedness. Therefore God, your God, has set you above your companion by anointing you with the oil of joy. May all your robes be fragrant with myrrh, aloes, and cassia—from palaces adorned with ivory may the music of the strings make you glad. Daughters of kings are among your honored women. At your right hand is the royal bride in gold of Ophir.” She waves a hand, and a brilliant spray of stars appears, only to reveal a holographic version of Skyla standing next to Dudley’s side. Skyla shines like the angel of light she is, her gown an intricate network of precious metals and jewels, unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. Her beauty only rivaled by her mother’s. “Listen, daughter. Pay careful attention: Forget your people and your father’s house. Let the king be enthralled by your beauty; honor him, for he is your lord. The island of Paragon will come with a gift. People of wealth will seek your favor. All glorious is the princess within her chamber; her gown is interwoven with gold. In embroidered garments she is led to the king; her virgin companions follow her—those brought to be with her. Led in with joy and gladness, they enter the palace of the king. Your sons will take the place of your fathers; you will make them princes throughout the land.” Candace gives a hard clap, and Skyla is no more. Candace’s eyes magnetize to mine once again, cold, depleted of the warmth they held for me just a moment before. “I will perpetuate your memory through all generations; therefore, the nations will praise you forever and ever.”

Praise me? I glance to Dudley, to my parents as if asking the question. Surely, she meant Skyla. She’s rearranged destinies, realigned planets—forced the moon to kiss the sun, all for her precious daughter. It’s Skyla who progresses the cause. I’m simply a warm body. Shoes to fill in the name of Celestra.

Something stirs in me. Those words, those verses she espoused as if they were her own—I’ve heard them before. Somewhere buried deep in my conscience they linger, nagging at me to identify them for what they are.

Dudley nods my way. Forty-fifth Psalm.

“The forty-fifth Psalm?” I look to Candace. “You recited the forty-fifth Psalm in my honor? It was written for the Messiah.” It comes out incredulous. “Here we are at the throne, before the Master Himself. I can assure you, I am no Messiah.”

“You are a type!” she rages back, so powerfully loud the cords in her neck distend. “And so is he.” Her gaze cuts to Gage. “Skyla is the golden bride.” She tilts her head to the left, her voice filled with sarcasm. “I have roused you from the dead. Not once, but twice. You will revere my words. You will bow to me with gratitude for all I have aligned for you.”

Heads turn to the back. The Seraphim floating above the throne cast their eyes in that direction. I follow their gaze, and my muscles freeze stiff. There I am, the paradise version of myself bursting forward with a strange mixture of prowess and humility, in an assurance and confidence that I have never lived up to—at least not yet. This version knows things. He understands what the future holds. I only understand who holds it. He offers a slight bow of the head as he comes in close and I involuntarily frown at him. He’s visited me before, on several occasions, none of them fruitful.

“It’s time for me to help you,” he says it low as if for my ears only. “It’s time for me to be you.” There’s a sadness in his eyes as if he understands the weight of what that entails, and it pains him on some level.

I cast a hard glance to Candace, and she nods. “Yes, my love. The time has come. The Treble imposed on you has come and gone. I’ve revoked your temporal status. It’s time to descend back to Earth, back to your people, back to Skyla where you belong.”

Gage flinches, and I try my best to ignore it. Instead, I look to my mother with tears in her eyes, to my father standing tall and proud with his chest fanned out just for me. I look to my grandparents, their features set with wonder. To Dudley, who looks as if he were about to witness a miracle, and he is.

“Come.” Candace picks up the hand of the paradise version of me and leads him my way—so close until his frame is fully enveloped in mine and my head thrusts back as a powerful shock of pain, of splendor rips right through me. A roar bursts from my lungs as I look to the Master Himself, thankful for another lease at life—so very thankful. “Logan, my sweet love, Logan.” Her voice grows strangled with emotion. “I declare your time has arrived once again. Your splendor shall be known across the nations. May the Lord’s favor cover you from here to eternity. You shall bear no knowledge of your time spent in the kingdom. He is making everything new.”

An electric blue butterfly appears, graceful, so very small, fluttering through the air between us. The Seraphim begin in on a haunting hymn, the beasts at the base of the altar rouse from their slumber and let out a primal howl in concert. The elders rise from their thrones and cast their crowns to the feet of the king. And the Messiah Himself offers a nod of approval my way.

Gage steps in, so whole and so strong—but it’s the strength exuding from his eyes that startles me. “Welcome back, brother.” He holds his hand out, and I stare at it for a moment. Gage Oliver is whole again and so am I.

“I love you, man.” I connect my hand to his and the room, all of paradise seizes in a violent quake as a bloom of lightning jags from the nexus of our beings. A nuclear show of violence jolts my body, so hard and painfully hot, it knocks me backward—and I fall. I keep falling right through that clear sapphire floor, right through the mountain of God, right through paradise—I keep falling all the way back to the rock from which I came.

My back slams against a solid surface, and I bounce three feet in the air, only to realize I’m back in my bedroom, back at Whitehorse, back on Paragon. It happened. Candace came through for me, after all. A roar expels from my throat without meaning to. I need to get to Skyla—tell her the news—tell her what I saw on the other side, the glory of the Lord. The glory of Gage.

I take a moment to catch my breath, blinking to life, just soaking in the darkness—the blurry violet glow from outside my window, the way the cool air feels as I fill my lungs to the hilt. My body. I’ve got it back. I slap my arms until they burn. “I’m here.” My hands slam over my chest as if doing a weapons search. I snatch my phone off the dresser. Text Gage.

Where are you? I hit send, not necessarily expecting a response, but the phone lights up with dancing ellipses as if he’s giving one.

Not here. He texts back, and the phone lights up again. It’s me Barron. Emma says she misses you and the boys. Please come by with Skyla and the kids soon. It would help ease the pain.

Skyla. I fall back against my pillow, and a flash of light goes off in my mind’s eye. I need to tell Skyla…

An image of Skyla and Gage kissing, the opening of a door—is that a hotel room?

“Crap.” I sit straight up as that threat Candace issued comes back full force. There they are, making out as if the life force necessary to survive was buried in one another’s mouths.

I grind my palm into my eye. I get it. Candace wants me to quit vacillating in my love for her—not to give Skyla away like a stone. But that’s not what I’ve been doing. Candace never did believe in giving me a chance to explain.

Gage peels Skyla’s shirt off as if he were born to do just that. She shakes out her wild hair, her tits bouncing happy in that see-through bra.

“God.” A wave of nausea comes at me as I stumble out the door, head downstairs, and snatch my keys off the glass bowl Lex designated as the key conservatory.

“Well, look who decided to get out of bed today?” Lexy herself sneers while tossing some popcorn my way. Michelle Miller sits next to her, and the giant TV taking up the living room wall blares away—something about a wedding dress.

But all I can do is offer a meager wave as I make my way out the door in haste.

Gage has his tongue buried so far down Skyla’s throat, she gags on it a moment. His hands warm her body, his fingers spread out thick, not missing a single inch. His thumbs slip into her jeans as I jump into my truck.

“Shit.” I bark so loud as I speed the hell out of the driveway. The road is slick, damp from the ever-present fog and the algae that clings to the asphalt because of it.

Skyla is stripped clean of her clothing. Her fingers do their best to return the favor, but Gage steps in and takes over. And they’re naked, tied at the tongues. His erection promises action sooner than later, and my stomach gives a violent turn.

“Candace!” I roll down my window and bark out her name at least a half dozen times as I race across Paragon’s highway. This is not how I envisioned my homecoming. Hell, this isn’t how I envision a single day of my life—dead or alive.

Gage lands Skyla on the bed, and I’d swear I could feel her velvet skin searing against mine. He pulls a condom from seemingly nowhere.

“No, no, no,” I groan as I make the turn toward the Landon house. A jag of lightning illuminates the night as I speed the hell up the driveway and stop abruptly, leaving my keys in the damn ignition.

His lips are back on hers, his body rising above her. Those beautiful legs of hers wrap around his back like a vine as I race up the stairs and barge through the door without bothering to knock—without bothering to notice if it was locked or not. I might have broken the lock. Hell, to clear my head of what comes next, I’d break every lock on the island.

He’s entering her now, slow, careful, and I take the stairs two by two as I make it to the second level. The door to her room is shut, and I burst in without knocking.

A groan comes from the Skyla in my mind, the one being lovingly penetrated by Gage Oliver, her husband. He’s in her now, deep, pushing in as if he’s determined to push right through, and her legs tighten their grip. Her fingernails carve over his back.

The boys are each in their cribs, one sleeping, one standing at the edge, holding out a hand as if asking for my help. Both miniature versions of the nephew I love and currently can’t stand the sight of.

Skyla pokes her head out of the closet, her hair a wild mane, the same way it looks in my mind’s eye, and a part of me is enraged and equally turned the hell on. “Logan?”

My arms wrap around her body as I press my lips hard against hers, and just like that, the plug is pulled on the pornographic preview. Relief floods over me, and finally I can take my next much-needed breath.

She pulls back a notch, panting, a partial smile on her face, her gaze pinned over mine with a wide-eyed stare. Her vanilla perfume lights up my senses, and I can’t stop taking in this beautiful girl in my very real arms.

“I would slap you, but I lack the proper enthusiasm. I want to know what the hell brought that on—but first, I want to know where the hell Cooper and Laken are. I’ve looked everywhere, and I want answers. If you’ve got them, so help me God, you’d better cough them up.”

I swallow hard, my new body drinking in the feel of her chest pressed to mine. “I don’t have the answers. But I have a feeling we both know who might.” Get a sitter for the boys. I think it’s time to pay a visit to that demented brother-in-law of yours.

“Wesley.” She gives a knowing nod. “We’re going to hell, aren’t we?”

“We always do.”