Burn (31 page)

***
  
  

Marshall treats us like convicts when we return.

“Would the horse thieves like some cake?” He holds out two small plates with an exaggerated amount of chocolate icing.

I take one and thank him. He deposits the piece for Gage, right on his light blue t-shirt.

“Oh, did that just happen?” Marshall gives a wistful smile. “You’ll have to go home and change immediately. I have a strict no shirts, not allowed policy.”
Not for you,
Skyla
.
He bedroom eyes me a moment before handing Gage a napkin and smearing the mess further around his shirt.

“I should go with you,” I offer.

“Nonsense. Your parents are here,” Marshall says, wiping the excess frosting off his fingers.
I have yet to make an ass of your stepfather. The horse wouldn’t mind me—she’s a lot of you
.

“He’s right, I should stay,” I pull a face at Gage. “My mom would flip out if I took off. It’d be like the equivalent of running away.” I lean up on the balls of my feet and press a kiss into his cheek. It feels real now. Like I’m truly with Gage, not pretending in any arena. “We should go on a date. You know, get to know each other better.” I mean as a couple, but Marshall is leering in on the conversation as if he belongs here.

After several minutes of awkwardness, Gage finally takes off.

“A little sugar and flour is all it takes to get rid of him. And the other one you’re still pining for, proved to be half the challenge.” He smirks, as we walk briskly in Tad and Mom’s direction.

Marshall claps his hands together, and the horses begin to stir in the corral. My entire family has lined up against the fence like they’re waiting for a firing squad. Drake and Brielle have manifested themselves, complete with spikes of hay that stray out oddly from their clothes.

“Who would like to mount a steed bareback?” Marshall calls out. “Tad, you’re the man of the family—why don’t you show them how it’s done.”

Tad doesn’t even protest. He climbs under the bar of the fence and stumbles into the corral unnaturally.

“The silver one,” Marshall instructs.

I recognize that one from the ad. It’s the one I took the pictures on, wearing angel wings.

“You didn’t have me wear the wings.” I’m so thankful, I could actually hug Marshall for letting me off the hook.

“You will,” it speeds out the side of his mouth. Marshall bows into Tad as if giving him the go ahead to attempt this moronic feat.

It takes three tries before he hikes his way up the horse, using its mane to propel himself over the top.

“Nice job!” Mom explodes in both laughter and clapping. Her red hair whips in the breeze, and she looks about ten years younger this day. “Third time’s a charm!”

The horse jerks a few times before taking off in a full throttle canter throughout the corral. Tad lets out a series of grunts and screams as he latches onto the mane with a death grip.

You approve?
Marshall casts a sideways glance at me.

“Very much so.” I don’t take my eyes off Tad. I want to remember him this way, feeble, with all of the potential in the world of breaking his neck.

It gets better.

Marshall whistles and the horse kicks up on its heels, nearly dislodging Tad in the process. It strides back over, with Tad lying low against its back, frozen with fear.

“Now let’s see the dismount!” Marshall calls out.

Tad pulls his leg over the side and slips down under the horse’s body landing with a thump on the ground. The back of his head bounces hard before settling.

“Oh my gosh!” My mother gasps throwing her hands up over her face.

“Are you able to breathe?” Marshall calls out rather calm.

A horrid groan emits from Tad.

Before we can react, or my mother can slip into hysterics, it sounds as though a water faucet is going off.

“Oh my freaking gosh!” Melissa screams.

The horse begins to urinate within inches of Tad’s face. It’s the splash factor that makes this horrifically hysterical. The fact that muddied urine is getting splattered all over his face and neck is priceless.

I shoot a quick look over to Marshall.

I expect full payment tomorrow evening. Your sisters have riding lessons. I suspect it’s a good time to go over mathematical equations
. He slides into a lazy grin.
I’ll have the wings ready. We can discuss your destiny with Logan and Gage. Better yet, I’ll show you.

Chapter Forty-
Two

Show, Don’t Tell

In the morning, before school, I catch a snippet of Chloe’s diary.

October 1
^st
,

Logan took me to the movies and we just sat in his truck afterwards staring out at Devil’s Peak. He kept asking what was wrong. I finally just told him I was tired. I’m so glad Gage didn’t tell him I was dying. I really want the rest of my life to be normal, well, as normal as it can be.

I saw the crazy redheaded wench again outside of the student parking lot. I was alone and it was just getting dark. I swear to God she came from nowhere. She had a noose in her hand and she tried to lasso me with it. I screamed bloody murder, got in my car and took off. I saw her laughing in the rear view mirror then she disappeared. Is it possible that Ms. Richards’ great, great grandmother was a Fem?

October 5
^th
,

I did it. I went to Ms. Richards house Saturday morning and told her I wanted to talk to her. She sat me on the porch and started up with all that angel crap again. I felt like shaking her from across the table. All I really wanted was info on her demonic family, not to debate whether the
Nephilim
were real or myth. I felt like saying, do I look like a freaking myth to you? Anyway, I casually asked her about her mom and then her great, great grandmother. I asked what kind of person she was. Ms. Richards said that she heard she was a cold woman and clammed up real fast. Then I asked how she died, and Ms. Richards said the weirdest thing. She said she walked into the woods one day and never came out. They never found her body.

I told Ms. Richards that I wasn’t feeling so good just before I puked in the bushes.

It’s safe to say, I’m more than a little freaked out.

***

After a long day of school and cheer practice, mom drops Mia, Melissa, and me off at Marshall’s house. The inside holds the hypnotic scent of fresh baked bread. I haven’t eaten since lunch and I’m half starved, but I’d rather let my stomach digest itself than ask Marshall for food.

He leads Mia and Melissa out back and hands them off to a riding instructor named Julia. She sports a choppy blonde bob and a youthful face even though she’s probably in her thirties. Already there are five or six girls riding in the ring with a few other assistants.

I meander over to the black grand piano that sits majestically near the window overlooking the sweeping grounds. A rose garden comes to life just beyond the glass. In this sleepy haze, they show off their colors of blood red and fuchsia, loud as a siren.

My fingers migrate over the keys. It’s been so long since I’ve taken piano lessons. Fifth grade feels like a million years ago, a whole other lifetime. I practiced
Pachelbel’s
Cannon until my fingers ached, until they petrified from the effort. Of course, I called it Taco Bell cannon so I could remember the name.

I start in, plucking at the keys, missing a few until the piece crawls to life.

Marshall plugs in an amplifier next to me and it goes off like a horn. He picks up a shiny white electric guitar and starts to play along.

He starts in slow, pulls out the chords as though each one were the most important. He picks up the tempo and I stop dawdling at the piano to listen. Marshall destroys the piece completely, in every good way. He is a rock god on the electric guitar and his version of this primeval piece, has the ability to grab you by the throat and make you listen with jaw-dropping intensity.

About five minutes later, he places the guitar down carefully and motions me over.

“Let’s take a walk,” he says, leading me to the back of the property.

“That was amazing! You’re a freaking rock star or something.”

“I am rather advanced with stringed instruments.” His face brims with pride.

It’s cold outside. I’m still wearing my cheer uniform and, of course, forgot a jacket. The cheer sweater is more or less a joke, skin tight and cutoff above the stomach.

 
“I’ve got something for you in the barn.”

“So, I’ve been wondering,” I say as we walk along, “can people change the future?”

“It’s a malformed question. Sharpen your focus and feed me the content one more time.”

“Well,” I try to keep up with him. “If you show me a vision, for example, and say I find myself in that predicament, could I alter what I’d seen in the vision from happening?”

“What did you see,
Skyla
?” He looks puzzled. “You’re beginning to frustrate me. If anything, earth is an exercise in patience—you qualify as one of the chief reasons.”

“Gage says I’m going to marry him.”

“And you find this stressful because you would rather be with me. Easily remedied.” He blinks a smile as he leads us into the barn. It’s still pretty cold in here, although the harsh chill has been removed and replaced with the distinct smell of horse crap. “What do you want me to change for you?”

I pull my sleeve up over my face and breathe into it.

“You don’t need to change anything for me,” I tell him. “I’ll do the changing.”

“You don’t want to marry Gage?” He pauses, dropping his mouth open in a spasm of sarcasm.

“I do.” The words fly out and surprise me. “But, right now I have feelings for Logan, too, and I’m plagued with guilt over this whole thing.”

“I thought you said he left you? Doesn’t that solve the problem? Tell your emotions to leave the party. Only heartache comes from that. Never hang around where you’re not wanted.”

Alright
, so it’s obviously best I drop this whole thing. I’m not into analyzing my love life with Marshall anyway.

It’s time for me to ease into Gage and get over Logan. Then, when the faction war ends, if I haven’t embedded my feelings into Gage completely, I can maybe go out with Logan just to see if anything’s still there, that is, if he hasn’t embedded himself into
Lexy
. This whole thing is turning into a pile of relational crap.

“It’s just such a mess,” I say it soft, mostly to myself.

He pulls the same dirty wings he had me wear for the photo shoot last month, out from behind some equipment. One by one, he helps hoist them onto my back, secured with a metallic brace that hooks over my shoulders. They’re heavy—
beyond
heavy, and for the first time, I see they have the slightest blue tint in them.