Expel (30 page)

Chapter 52

Deus Ex Machina

Sunday morning I force myself to shower and get dressed, still sapped of energy from the ethereal plane the night before.

Mom is already downstairs when I amble into the kitchen. She’s fully dressed in a white silk pantsuit with enough gold bejeweling her body to arouse a Pharaoh right out of his tomb—hell
all
of them. But I’m well aware the only false deity she’s trying to stimulate is Demetri.

“How did it go last night?” Her eyes widen with anticipation.

Tad steps up to the counter and plunks down his mug. “As long as a video camera wasn’t rolling, I’d say it went more than well.” He glares openly at me. “Are you aware of the fact that boy you brought to the party turned into a drunken mess and toppled off a table? He had to leave on a gurney, which, by the way was the second most peculiar exit of the evening. Do you realize no one ate cake?” His skin changes so many violent shades of purple it’s alarming to watch.

“Gage talked with Ellis last night. He’s going to be OK, no surgery or anything,” I assure them. “He’s getting it set in a cast later today, and sorry about the cake.” It was French vanilla—the raspberry filling was to die for. I bring my fingers to my lips, still warm with the memory of eating cake off Gage’s flesh. It’s the only way to do it.

“So is everything OK with the two of you?” Her eyes swell with emotion for me. Mom wants Gage in our lives as much as I do.

“Everything went great.” I flick my ring in the air advertising the fact our forever brand of love, lives on.

“I’m so happy for you,” she swoons. “When you find that perfect person, you should never let go. Fate could step in,” her eyes darken a sodden shade of moss. “You could end up with the entirely wrong person due to time and chance, and miss out on an incredible love story that could have really taken you places.” She loses herself, gazing out at the powder white fog pressed against the window.

Dear God, she means Demetri.

I’m horrified by this.

“That’s right,” Tad wraps an arm around her shoulder. “And in less than a month we’re giving it all we’ve got, one more time.”

“I’m taking the girls to the mall this week,” Mom doesn’t even acknowledge Tad’s prideful boast. “Let me know when you’re free. I’ll help you shop for spring break.”

“Thanks!” I hop up on the balls of my feet at the prospect of a new bikini. “So you guys are really OK with Cain River?”

“We’re more than OK,” Tad picks up his cup of coffee and salutes me. “We’re going with you.”

***

I sulk to Gage all the way over to Demetri’s. There is nothing more embarrassing to haul to spring break than your parents. In fact, they are the completely wrong accessories to lug just about anywhere.

Tad surprised Mom with the chaperoning gig as a gift—an early second honeymoon. There are so many things wrong about conducting a honeymoon in a camp laden with teenagers—me being one of them. I don’t even know where to begin.

“You probably won’t even run into each other.” Gage gives the hint of a wicked smile. “I’m pretty sure on our honeymoon we won’t be leaving the room.”

A searing bite of lust rips through my abdomen at the thought of honeymooning with Gage.

“For like a month,” I add, biting down a smile.

Gage raises his brows, flashes the lamplight of his teeth before continuing. “Besides, we hardly ever see staff, they specifically try to stay out of our way.” Gage reaches over and squeezes my knee in an effort to comfort me. “And, yeah, a month sounds perfect. We should make it two just to be safe.”

“We’re going to have a lifetime,” I bring his hand up to my mouth and kiss it, run my lips over the hills and valleys of his knuckles while taking in his clean scent. A bloom of sadness awakens in me for Logan. How does Logan squeeze into a lifetime of happiness with Gage? I try to shake the thought of him out of my head by changing the subject. “You know who never stays out of my way?” I ask. “Marshall. He specifically tries to
get
in my way. Speaking of which, he’s hosting some island-wide garage sale.”

“What gives?” Gage wraps the truck around the back of the estate. Demetri’s mansion is daunting to look at from this angle. It rises from the ground like a monolithic skyscraper.

“No clue. Says he’s going to give all the money raised to the Community Center.”

“Is he planning on selling anything?” Gage squints into the idea.

“Don’t know.” Just the thought of him peddling his haunted trinkets sends a shiver through me. “Talked to Ellis this morning. He’s pretty bummed he couldn’t be here. He actually asked if I needed help hiding the body.”

“When I heard Chloe was missing that was the first thing that ran through my mind,” Gage gives a devious smile. “Figured you’d have it taken care of though.” He leans over and presses in a supple kiss that sends a mean shiver through me. “I died everyday without you, Skyla.”

My stomach swims with the rhythm of his voice. I pull him in and share a deep kiss that has the power to ignite the two of us into a Molotov worthy explosion. There’s something more profound than lust here, something stronger than puppy love, or infatuation. We sit for a small eternity fogging up the windows with the heat from our desire.

“We’d better go if we want to get out in time,” Gage pants the words in a whisper.

Somewhere, Chloe is smiling for interrupting yet another exhilarating moment between Gage and me.

“It’s time to unleash the witch back into the wild,” I say, getting out of the truck.

One thing is for damn sure, if I were ever to make Chloe Bishop disappear for good, I wouldn’t leave any tracks to follow. I would be the last person Demetri would want to investigate.

And that’s exactly what I plan on doing one day soon.

***

Demetri’s grandfather’s abode is more than a little freaky with no one around. Of course, Gage is with me, but even with the two of us, it seems isolative, exceptionally strange, like walking around in a museum after closing time.

I lead Gage upstairs to the entry that’s now conveniently sealed over.

“I’m pretty sure this is it,” I say, patting down the wall like a thief.

“How are we going to get in?” Gage takes pictures of the wall, the hallway. He documents our every footstep.

“There might be another way.” I lead us down to the library.

The elongated rows of spines sit up at attention, all on good behavior in our honor. The opening at the far end still exists, but it’s reduced to half its size. As it is, I’ll barely be able to squeeze on through.

“I won’t fit,” Gage tries to push his shoulder in but his chest can’t clear the opening. “There’s a binding spirit I can’t teleport.”

I take in a breath and press myself to the other side. The narrow space irons out my stomach as I slide back out towards Gage.
 

“I’ll go in by myself,” I say it weak. The thought of hopping into an alternate universe all by my lonesome doesn’t really appeal to me.

“Get Dudley,” Gage is resigned to the fact this is going to happen.

I send a quick text to Marshall. At the Althorpe dinner, he did offer to play lookout while I crawled inside to get Chloe.

“What are you going to do?” I pull Gage in by the waist.

“I’ll wait here—read a book,” he pulls a wry smile. “I’m not taking my eyes off that mirror. I’ll give you fifteen minutes before I tear down the walls and come in after you.”

“I’ll be quick.” I land a kiss on his lips before squeezing into the Fem memorial. I decide to wait until Marshall shows before actually diving into an alternate dimension.

I pause at the gilded frames that encase pictures of unsuspecting victims right before a surprise Fem attack. An entire shelf dedicated to the candid eerie photos. I pick one up of some guy walking on the beach and shake it just the way I saw Chloe doing the day she disappeared.

“Oh my, God,” I take a quick breath.

It moves—morphs into some kind of miniature television. I watch in horror as a boy around my age is attacked by three menacing creatures. One of the Fems has his entire face buried in an unnaturally full beard, the body of a bovine, arms like a man but far too long, cloven hoofed feet. The second is a panther-like creature with hind legs of a bear, and the third a bloodied clown. I turn away when the panther mauls the side of the poor victims head, his face peeling off like a mask. I place the picture back on the shelf in haste. The clown twists his neck abruptly and looks right at me. He gives an eerie grimace as though he knew who I was, as if he remembered me.

“Have you ever entertained the phrase, do not touch?” Marshall whispers from over my shoulder.
 
He’s transparent in nature, and I assume this is to keep Gage from ogling him as if he didn’t already know who Marshall really was. “You’ve aroused an entirely new form of ill will upon yourself. Which one have you called,” he muses, inspecting the frame I just set down. “Ah, yes, the clown, you must be loathing the fact you ever laid a finger on him. Do refrain from such pleasures in the future. Come, Love,” he ushers me towards the mirror. “In and out, we’ve got a date this afternoon.”
 

“We most certainly do not have a date this afternoon,” I correct. “I’m back with Gage. I’m spending the day with him.”

“Very well—Jock Strap, the Pretty One, even the Chemically Deluded one can join our reindeer games. It matters not, the faction war waits for no one.”

“So you heard?”

“Two for two,” he says with heated violence. “There’s no getting around what I must do with you later. How can I make this anymore clear? My day job depends on it.” He traps me with those copper eyes and holds me in a masterful gaze that both reprimands and beckons. “I have a meeting in a quarter of an hour.”

“What if I’m not back by then?”

“You will be,” and with that he gives me a powerful shove right through the oval framed mirror.

***

I land flat on my back in the trophy chamber of horrors—same one I came from with the exception everything here is in reverse order. I drift into the hall and the décor takes a drastic downturn in both quality and character. Gone is the gilt and stone, replaced with plaid carpeting, oak paneling with pictures of Chloe and her family lining the walls. I walk slow and steady from frame to frame. So freaking bizarre.

Downstairs it looks homier than the house in its original state, kitsch—something about it resonates ordinary people, or should I say humans.

A garish wall slaps me in the face with its questionable décor.

I take it all back. This is neither ordinary nor human.
 

Twin paintings—colossal in size—eat up half the living room wall, emitting their prideful effigies. The first one is of Chloe in a black strapless gown, a simple string of pearls bisect her neck. There’s enough cleavage to warrant an R rating. The canvas stretched by its side is a picture of Brody donning his football uniform from West. A helmet and a face guard are planted square on his head, which I find almost unsettling. It’s as if Chloe was allowing her brother into her fantasy but under her own terms.

So, I get it, I think. Chloe and her family live here now.

The scuttle of heels clip clop in my direction and a body crashes into me from around the corner.