Burn (36 page)

I try not to make eye contact with Marshall. Pierce will totally misinterpret that and think I’m shooting daggers at him, or worse, lusting after him. He’ll think I’m wishing he would drain the life out me as though it were some sensual thrill ride.

I’ve been reading his thoughts for a while now. Would you like the exhaustive or the synopsized version?
Marshall pauses.
He says you’ve got a great ass. His words, not mine, although I agree. He also likes the way you choreograph your sweater to rise at the precise moment you lift your skirt. He finds that very erotic.

Again with the sex on the brain.
It’s every single one of them, I swear.

He’s drifting in and out of a fantasy concerning your blood. It’s gory and degrading, and I choose to skip the details.
 

The pom-pom in my left hand starts to wiggle out of control. It takes my arm on a wild ride directly into Michelle’s face and smears into her hard.

“I’m so sorry!” I shout.

Shit!

I try to drop the haunted ball of tinfoil, but it sticks to my skin as though it had somehow magically adhered.

Michelle jumps back and clamps her hands over her nose. The black circles under her eyes have impressed themselves as permanent features. For a moment, I think I should take advantage of the opportunity and rip the Fem-riddled rose off her neck.

“You bitch!” She gurgles from under her fingers.

In one quick motion my arm turns, before I can grasp what direction it’s about to maneuver, I’m bopping
Lexy
in the face, fast and repetitive like a cartoon kangaroo.

“Holy shit!” Emily pushes me hard, landing me flat on my back in a patch of orange dirt. Brielle, Nat, and Kate run over to help me to my feet. They’re laughing so hard they’re dry hacking.

Good show
Skyla
! Good show!
I see Marshall in the stands clapping while gazing out into the field as though the team might have done something worthy of his praise.

If anybody can stop Holden, Marshall can.

Maybe I can cheer
that
in his room tonight.

***

 
Dinner theatre. No, really. Come to find out Ms. Richards is a theatre buff, and the small abandoned town which lies on the outskirts of civilization is putting on a production with all of its thirty-five inhabitants in the cast—that includes an infant.

The play is Romeo and Juliet. The entire tragedy is narrated in verse by a tall, thin, man who looks as though
he might have literally been stretched out by
Fems
.

“Seventh century outdid itself with this one,” Marshall leans in and whispers from the table behind me. “The past was much more fun. More rebel rousing, less social death by internet.”

“Do you mind?” Gage hisses over at him.

It’s not easy to rile up Gage, but I think deep down inside he senses a connection between Marshall and me. Not that I’m even remotely interested in Marshall.

Michelle is practically sitting on his lap, glaring at me with that gaunt haunted expression she wears like a mask. As of late, she’s pretty damn scary to look at. Just past her, I can see Logan sandwiched between
Lexy
and Emily. I should have taken
Lexy’s
eye out while I had the chance.

Logan gives a heartfelt smile. It’s the distinct look of longing—that covetous look in his eye when he sees me with Gage that makes me want to forget about everything we’re hiding from and go over to him. But it’s Gage I’m here with and Gage I’m committed to—Gage that I really do love, so I turn around and try not to let Logan’s resplendent face burn a narcotic image into my heart—too late.

The play comes to an end—the actors walk the plank and dip down together in an arm-linked bow.

Natalie whispers something to Pierce, and they laugh in unison. He continues his crooked smile in my direction, but something in his eye glints a challenge.

“What are you staring at?” Gage huffs over to him before taking a swig of his soda.

Something in Pierce hardens. He’s handsome in a future frat boy of America sort of way. The arrogance melts off his face and is replaced with a hellish fury. His brows form sharp triangular peaks as barrels on over.

Gage is ready for a fight. He thrust back his chair and meets him chest-to-chest gorilla style in less than three seconds flat.
 

“Sit down,” I say, plucking at his shirt.

Pierce gives a hard shove and Gage bullets backwards into a rolling dessert cart about eleven feet away.

Chaos breaks loose as half the football team rushes over to
Gage
and the other half try to tackle Pierce.

Marshall snatches Pierce by the back of the collar and escorts him out into the lobby, strangulation style. Pierce’s tongue protrudes from his mouth and his face bloats a brilliant shade of purple.

“Everybody calm down.” Ms. Richards pats her hands in the air motioning for us to get back to our seats.

Gage cleans the frosting off his arms as the coach tries to calm him down.

I note Logan in the shadows, speeding towards the exit.

“I’ve got go to the bathroom.” I snatch my purse off the table and head on back.

The theatre is dressed in deep red velvet. Large black panthers adorn the palatial entry, complete with stickers thrown on by errant children and initials carved, in graffiti style, towards the bottom. The glass doors to the entrance have a lightning
bolt shaped
crack in one, and a bullet hole in the other.

Over in the corner,
Pierce
nods to Marshall with feigned obedience. As soon as Marshall heads back inside, Logan pushes Pierce into a darkened alcove.

I run over to the other end of the lobby fast as I can.

I can hear their primal grunting, a series of dull thumps, and a skull bashing into the wall.

A scream dissipates as it fails to make its way out my vocal chords. They’re both bleeding. Logan’s face is lost in thick tracks of crimson and Pierce’s eye is swelling unnaturally.

Logan picks him up and thrashes him down on his back at an increased velocity.

“Shit.” Pierce writhes on the carpet as he struggles to get his bearings.

Logan plucks a large picture off the wall and holds it over him in a threatening manner.

“No—let me.” I take it from him and heave it over Pierce’s body. His flaxen colored waves would look so much better with shards of glass embedded in them. I cradle the gilded frame in my hands. I have my strength back, I could crush him with it if I wanted—kill him like I did his brother. I lift it high and smash it into the ground within an inch of his left ear. His back arches momentarily before he winces in pain.

I kneel next to him and lean in.

“Your brother says, hell is lonely,” I whisper. “Touch me again and I’ll arrange for you to find out yourself.” I bear all of my hatred down over him as I seethe out the words.

Logan pulls me off him, and we head over to a now defunct concession stand. It might have been fully operational, once, like in 1953.

“Are you OK?” His cheek twitches when he says it.

I reach over to the sink and wet a paper towel to give him, but he dunks his head under the faucet instead.
A steady stream of pink liquid rinses off his flesh.
He pops back up and slicks his hair back in one swift motion, causing a trail of water to shoot up in the air.

“You’ve got a bad cut.” I pat the puff of flesh just under his eye.

“I’m OK.” He winces out a smile. A morbid sadness falls between us. An entire sea of strangled words that will probably never be said. “Go ahead and go back in. I’m
gonna
…” He points towards his cut. Pierce lets out a loud groan from inside the alcove. “Do me a favor and don’t leave Gage.”

He looks resigned to the fact I shouldn’t and never will.

Chapter Forty-
Eight

Falling

It’s only nine-thirty, and I’m already exhausted. Nat left our room to be with Pierce, and Kate and Brielle decided it was too boring to sit around, so they put on their bathing suits and hit the hot tub.

Not me.

I let out a hard sigh as I give a light knock on Marshall’s door. I’ve completely rethought this whole earthquake thing. Marshall is right, I can’t just treat him like some magic eight ball.

The door opens, and he waves me in. He’s wearing a t-shirt and jeans and looks younger than usual. I’m not used to seeing him so casual, and well, like a teenager. This totally throws me.

A series of wild thumps erupt from inside the bathroom.

“What’s that?” I ask. With Marshall around, all of my fear and anxieties are replaced with a natural curiosity.

“I had to meet with a few
Fems
. Discuss strategies, the implications of subliminal messaging. You’d think after six thousand years they’d get it straight.” He takes a seat at the front of the bed and snatches up the remote. A football game is on, and he’s totally
vegging
out, just staring at the TV.

“You seem so—normal.”

“
Mmm
.” He appears disinterested in my analysis.

“You’re anything but.”

“Are you here to argue about my oddities or glimpse into your future?” He doesn’t waver his stare from the television.

“Neither. Actually, I wanted to forget about that whole future thing. That, and I sort of promised Holden a body.”

“Not your brightest moment.”

“Well, I know, but you have to help me. He’s really aggravating to have around, and he’s completely out of control. He almost killed Gage in that accident.”

“Better luck next time.” Marshall looks around nebulously as though Holden could hear. “Do you really want to bring him back from the dead?
First Chloe the catastrophe, and now him?
Leave resurrections to the pros,
Skyla
. That’s nothing you want to specialize in, believe you me.”

“Can you help me get rid of him?”

“I can help you do anything.” He glides into a malevolent smile. “The
Skyla’s
the limit.” He grins. “What are you willing to give?”

“Not much. I’m with Gage.”

“And you’ve called off pining for the pretty one?”

“Logan is not pretty. They’re both gorgeous. It’s like a family curse or something. And yes, I’m working on getting over him. A girl can only have one love interest and I pick Gage.” A searing pang of grief rips through me. We’re sort of like Romeo and Juliet, Logan and me. Only, it’s celestial factions keeping us apart and not family. Our blood is the poison, and we’re forced to marinade in it day after day. It’s suffering a miserable death this love of ours. How can it possibly survive?

“Have you convinced yourself yet?” He leans back, amused. “That is what you’re doing, isn’t it, Juliet?”

“I’m convinced. The future is set in stone. Whether I accept it or not, I have a destiny. The funny thing is, I really do love Gage.” Tears start to blur my vision, but I won’t let them fall. I like it like this, the way they make the world quiver at attention. “We’re all arrows, spearing through time in one long trajectory,” I say, finishing my thought on the predestination of things to come.