Expel (17 page)

Chapter 28

Mirror, Mirror

Under the watchful eye of my mother, I enter into the gothic estate. Demetri carries on ceaseless chatter with his
Lizbeth
as though I were never born, as though Tad and the rest of the universe no longer existed under the timber of this colossal roof.

We had entered into a world which was governed by Demetri’s special ruling, and I have the distinct feeling he’s slowly amputating Tad from my mother’s life until he finally chooses to dispose of him. It’s simply a detail that has yet to work itself out.

“Skyla,” Demetri waves his hand in the air like an illusionist, and for a moment I’m convinced I’ll evaporate just the way Logan did. “Feel free to explore. Upstairs, the attic, the basement, nothing’s off limits. I’d love for you to familiarize yourself with the premises.” He grazes out a toothless grin. “Go ahead, I’ve nothing to hide.”

His last sentence spurs me upstairs fast and furious without even thinking through the possibilities. There could be an entire herd of Fems relaxing, watching a ball game up there—enjoying a rousing game of foosball. Ezrina could be wielding her battleaxe waiting to do a flesh swap, or an entirely new batch of freaky things I’ve yet to learn about, nevertheless, off I traipse to the second story.

A series of elongated halls quarter the top of the estate. I choose the one with a soft blue light glowing in the distance. I bet he’s got his very own glass casket, complete with Ezrina’s homemade keeping solution that juices the Counts into existence each time one of them pops off unexpectedly. This I’ve gotta see.

I speed down the hall and approach a huge archway, pausing just shy of the entry and peer inside.

It’s a…library?

A giant overgrown lava lamp sits in the corner. It stretches from floor to ceiling with three blobs of aquamarine goo lethargically oozing towards the surface.

That’s it? That’s the big unearthly reveal?

I step inside and peruse Demetri’s reading selections, old classics, probably first print runs worth millions. Leather-bound spines gleam with gilded lettering, line an entire third of the room. Another series of clothbound books run the distance around the lower circumference. They show their age, faded and disintegrating along the hard lined seams. Their lowbrow consumable status, cowers in the recesses of the heavily shelved unit. If you hadn’t seen them dancing around the periphery you might never know they were present and accounted for.
 

I make my way deeper into the room. A leather-tufted sectional complete with animal print throw pillows adorn the lower portion of the room.

I have to admit, that as far as home libraries go, this one’s a stunner, a praiseworthy relic of literary recognition that would set any scholar agog with affection for the infinity of resources. I run my fingers against the spines at random in the event the wall decides to spin and expose a secret room, but nothing. I reach the end of the aisle and a glimmer of light catches my attention.

“Crap,” I whisper.

At the base of the long wall of bookshelves is a narrow entry about a foot wide leading to yet another room. An entire corner of the wall is missing leaving a gaping hole in its absence. It’s brightly lit inside. It looks rather unassuming from what I can tell with yet another sectional, a circular glass coffee table, so I turn sideways and squeeze my way inside without hesitation.

I look up and startle at the horrific sight above me. Instinctually I close my eyes and let out a scream that sears my throat with its invasive barb.

Each wall is lined with mounted creatures, lions with distinctly humanlike faces, oversized cat’s with tourmaline stones set as eyes, a bearlike animal with ivory fangs that drip down to his throat.

I’ve seen these things before, not in my nightmares but in my waking hours, during my flesh-bearing tournament with Fems. It’s a catalog of all the otherworldly creatures I’ve seen and some I’ve yet to encounter. I bolt for the exit and smash into a wall.

It’s gone!

I pat the stone lined corner from where I entered only to find it sealed over.

“Shit!” A part of me isn’t that worried. My mother is here after all, and there’s no way she’d leave without me. Unless, of course, she thought I ran away again, or worse, she’s in on this horror.

I spin on my heels and walk along the border of the room, nothing but shelves upon shelves of strange collectables. Pewter beasts that I’m unable to classify sit in various poses with ruby cut eyes, an entire section of glass orbs with what looks like real fire burning on the inside. They’re fascinating. I want to pick one up, but I know better. They probably have the capability to launch me clear into another dimension, into a
real
fire. Or who knows? I might spontaneously combust. I bypass the temptation and meander from shelf to shelf inspecting an odd collection of prehistoric toys, long metal-pronged objects that look as if they might double as barbaric torture devices.

Pictures. An entire shelf devoted to candid shots of people doing mundane things, walking, brushing their hair, a crowd lost in conversation. Odd. It’s as though none of them were aware they were the subject of the photographer’s interest. It feels like an invasion of privacy just glancing at the gilded frames that encapsulate them. One in the back captures my attention. It’s a girl with an all too familiar profile—
me
. I reach over and extricate it, careful not to knock down any of the frames in the process.

It was taken of me at school. I can see the effigy of Cerberus painted on the wall in the distance. I have a look of wonder on my face, my right hand hitched up on my shoulder securing my backpack.

Oh God.

I remember this day.

I place the picture down as though it were a snake.

That was the night the clown Fem chased me through the dirt lot and the forest exploded into a ball of fire. These pictures—they must be taken right before a Fem attack.

“What in the hell?” I back away not wanting to inspect them any further.

I move along until I’m greeted by a long oval mirror, perched high on the metal leg of a bird. I catch a glimpse of myself. I look exhausted, my hair frizzing, ballooning up in the back from the weather. My face twitches unnaturally in the reflection, winces and blinks unexpectedly.

I know damn well I didn’t just do that.

There’s something about this mirror—I reach forward to press against the glass and my fingers never cool to the touch, just push right through. I pull out reflexively before indulging one more time and gliding my entire arm into the strange expanse. It feels warm in there, moist.

“Must we learn each lesson the hard way?” A male voice booms from behind.

I extract my arm and jump around in one fell swoop, totally expecting to see a lion faced Fem, or an over grown cat, but I don’t.

“Marshall!” I speed over and wrap my arms tight around him. My heart pounds fierce as a prison riot while I bury my head into his chest. I hadn’t realized how afraid I was until this very moment. “Get me out of here. This place is horrible.”

“Shh.” He digs his hand into the back of my hair, patting my back in an effort to quell my fear.

“What is this place?” I look up at him. One thing is for sure, Marshall has the ability to make me feel safe even in a room full of mounted Fems.

“It’s a trophy room, Skyla.” He pulls a bleak smile. “Might I suggest you forget you’ve ever set foot in here, and please, for the love of all things holy, stay away from that thing,” he nods in the direction of the mirror.

“What is it?” I pull him with me towards our deceiving reflections. “It’s like us, only it’s not.” I point up at myself. “Look my face is twitching, so is yours, and I can—” I attempt to stick my hand in it, and Marshall snatches it back.

“I’m apprised of all it is capable of.” Marshall stands behind me and wraps his arms around my waist securing me from doing anything foolish like dipping myself into the mirror again.

“Tell me, I want to know all about it.” I stare at it in wonder as our reflections move in snatches. We warp and pop as though we were watching images of ourselves on old depreciated film.

“I gifted this to him,” he sighs. “It was a peace offering after the last revolution—an olive branch of sorts. I thought we might forge a brotherhood with the Fems.”

“I thought they were your subordinates?”

“They very much are for the time being. I wanted them to know I would make an effort to step over the old boundaries they found dissatisfying and treat them as equals. It didn’t work.” He glowers into his reflection as though he were scolding himself.

“Where does the mirror lead? What kinds of powers does it have?”

“That, dear Skyla,” Marshall nods into his reflection while increasing his grip on me. It feels as if I’m a child, and Marshall is trying to stop me from peering over a very steep cliff. “That, my love, is the Realm of Possibilities.”

“The Realm of Possibilities,” I let the words roll off my tongue. “What happens there?”

“Everything.” He breathes it into my ear like a temptation. Marshall is the serpent, and I am Eve, hungry for the gift of knowledge.

“It is good,” his breath dances across my cheek. “And, it is evil.”

“What happens if I go inside?”

“Ask them,” Marshall wands his hand over the multitude of dead Fems mounted up above.

I think I have my answer.

Chapter 29

Time of our Lives

The next morning something stirs in our world. Misery wafts on the horizon like a bitter perfume. Its scent precludes the lot of us but nature gives rise to the caveat.

A scarlet sky—the dense bushy evergreens pressing into one another fighting for space on the island’s rocky shore. It was as if alarms were going off all around us. Our world was infiltrated with warning bells, one sounding off after another. But all I could comprehend was the joy of holding Gage freely throughout the halls and sprawling lawns at West. The fact my boyfriend was able to shower me with kisses before and after class, in front of the student body at large without having to fear that my life would be swept from under me was unadulterated bliss.

At school, Gage sits behind me, protective and faithful during second period, as Marshall goes off on a tangent about the revolution of mathematics. He espouses its glorious riches dating back since the beginning of the time, the mathematical wonders of nature, the golden spiral ratio.

He passes around a nautilus shell. It’s soft, smooth inside, glows a beautiful iridescent, it contrasts the gnarled outer layer that’s been exposed to the harsh elements of the sea. I pass it back to Gage, bite down a smile because he eclipses the glory of the nautilus shell as it vies for attention as one of God’s greatest creations.

I spin back around and my mind drifts back to Demetri’s hall of horrors, rife with celestial based felonies. I just can’t excavate from my mind the things I saw at Demetri’s haunted estate. The strange carcasses staged all over the secret room. Marshall had to walk me through a wall just to return me to the library from where I came. I wonder what my mother would think of Demetri if she knew what those framed pictures meant—how far out of her skin she would freak out if she ever laid eyes on the atrocities hanging just below his ceiling?

It turns out Demetri wants me to help him catalogue his grandfather’s belongings. There was talk of a donation to a local museum that helps preserve the history of Paragon. It was my mother’s suggestion and Demetri flinched when she said it. I suppose it’s doubtful he’ll be parting with his haunted devices anytime soon.

“Take Ms. Messenger for example,” Marshall’s voice penetrates me, it comes at me unnaturally invasive as though something perverse just happened, and I was only mildly aware of it. “Algebra is a wonderful tool that helps display the relationship between objects—even people.”

I shake my head slightly in an effort to thwart the oncoming assault.

If Marshall thinks turning Gage and I into some kind of twisted allegory will help my classmates master the art of relational studies, he can forget it. Things are going too damn well with Gage to ruin them with Marshall’s lewd and crude illustrations.

“Mr. Harrison sits in front of Skyla, and Mr. Oliver charitably holds up the rear, therefore the three of them have a relational value. Of course, if you added Ms. Bishop to the mix who sits unprotected by such robust bookends you would devalue the relationship of the subjects involved.”

I cut my gaze over to Chloe without daring to move my head.

Note to self, accost Marshall for inciting the cheer bot Pit Bull in my direction. Of course, her wrath should be centered on the culprit in question, but Chloe’s instincts are skewed. It’s me she’s after. A storm could rage, flood all of the roads, cut all power to the island for days, and yet Chloe would have no problem laying the blame at my feet.

“Therefore, Ms. Bishop is the weaker unit in the relationship,” he continues to propagate, “altogether unfit for the calling and should be removed from practice. I revert back to the original unit of three. They have the proper connection that empowers them to do all things.”

The bell rings. The entire class stares up at Marshall with blank faces unaware of the contextual meaning of his parable. I get it. Chloe needs to be removed. Then Gage, Ellis, and I will prosper in the faction war—we have been empowered to do all things.

“Mr. Oliver, may I see you a moment?” Marshall calls out while busying himself at the desk.

I walk over with Gage, still adjusting my backpack, my heart beating erratic over what irresponsible verbiage Marshall might decide to spout off next.

“Yes?” Gage flexes his dimples without trying.

“The dimwit, with whom you reside, has decided to abandon his scholastic efforts.” Marshall doesn’t bother decoding his speech. “I’m informing you of this grievance so you can knock some sense into him before I review the matter with your parents. I’m afraid academic probation is a real possibility. Are you aware of the implications?”

“No football,” Gage nods into him. “Got it. Appreciate you letting me know.”

We head for the door. Leave it to Holden to so consummately screw everything up. Logan will be lucky to be on the sidelines let alone on the field come next fall.

“Ms. Messenger?” Marshall flicks a finger for me to return.

I backtrack sans Gage who is wise to Marshall’s private conversational schemes by now.

“What?” I hiss. I’m still completely perturbed at the idea of having to deal with a stabby
Ms. Bishop
for the rest of the day—if only it were a day. I have a feeling this punishment is going to transcend the rest of my life.

“I’ve had a vision.” He doesn’t bother to look up from adjusting his briefcase.

“No thank you,” I say. I’ve sworn off Marshall’s lips for an eternity. I spin Gage’s forever ring on my finger, feel the pleasurable pull as it warms over my skin.

“You’re attending a gathering Saturday night.” He looks up and smiles. “I’ll be home that evening should you need my services.”

“Why would I need your services?” I seal my mouth shut because I’m not going to fall for his lip trickery anymore. “What kind of trouble am I getting into?”

“Past tense, Skyla.” He straightens a stack of papers. “I’ve no clue what trouble awaits you, but I’ve been informed you’ve already done everything you’ll be drawn and quartered for.” He spears me with great intensity. “I’ll be up late should you desire my company.”

“No, thank you. I’ll be with Gage.”

I walk out the door.

I’m going to do everything in my power not to run to Marshall Saturday night.

I glide my arm around Gage, and we walk down the hall like a couple.

It’s heaven like this.

Skyla and Gage, forever.
  

***

At lunch, Gage and I watch with our mouths on the floor as faux Logan embeds himself in a group of girls while doing his best Ellis impersonation. Only he’s not acting like Ellis, he’s acting like Holden—exactly who I wish he wasn’t.

“He’s really back to his old self,” Gage muses resting his head against mine. He keeps alluding to the fact Logan was a real ass-wipe prior to his relationship with me.

“What are you talking about?” And what is Holden doing out of class? Logan doesn’t have lunch this hour. He has A lunch and Gage and I have B.
 

“He’s back in the game, on the hunt, the prowl. It’s his element. He thrives in estrogen laced environments.”

“What?” If Logan were really here, there would be no way he would act like that. I look around the vicinity because I’m willing to bet he is in fact here, dying of embarrassment. No pun intended.

“Hey, guys.” Brielle plops a tray laden with the cafeteria’s interpretation of edible fare out on the table. There is no way Brielle is going to be able to consume all that food. It hardly seems possible anyone is capable of such an excessive digestive feat.

“Hard left,” Gage whispers in my ear.

I look over and see Drake extricating a stream of stupid from his lips, lobbing his nonsensical words in Emily’s direction. What in the hell is wrong with him?

Ethan and Chloe stride by, and she comes to an abrupt stop at the sight of us.

“I know we got off on the wrong foot, Skyla,” she gives a shy smile.

Yeah, like killing my father, wrong foot.

“But it would really mean a lot to me if you guys came to my house tomorrow night. My parents are out of town and I’m calling in a pizza.” She reaches back and touches Ethan’s cheek like a habit, “we’re picking up a movie and just hanging out—no big deal.”

Ethan swoops his hands around her waist, draws her in before kissing her soft on the temple.

“I don’t know,” I say, backing further into Gage. “We sort of have plans.” Not really but we can manufacture them from thin air if we had to.

“If you change your mind, the fun starts at seven,” she shrugs. “You know where to find me.” Chloe doesn’t look at Gage once.

“They’ll be there,” Ethan assures. “I’ll make sure of it.” He winks over at me as they take off.

“Yeah, right.” I spin around and let Gage drape his arms over me. Let him wash my lips with his magical kisses.

Tomorrow night is just for the two of us. We have finally hit our stride.

Gage and I are together, open and free right here at West. We have both Chloe and Logan’s blessing, well, Logan’s for a time, and Chloe’s as long as there’s a prison sentence dangling over her head. But this priceless moment, these sacred hours—they are just the beginning.

This is the time of our lives.