Toxic Part One (Celestra Series Book 7) (12 page)

Marshall declares he has business with Barron and excuses himself, so I meander over to the buffet that Demetri’s drones set out. A small army of waitresses hustle and bustle in tiny black skirts, carrying out dish after exotic dish, fussing over the ornate fruit arrangements in this magical culinary display. I wish my mother would note that both edible and beautiful can get along on the dinner plate.

I head to a table with a row of miniature palm trees set upon it with overgrown strawberries speared into their trunks by way of colorful toothpicks. A giant chocolate fountain rains dark sheets of heaven down at the other end. It’s calling me, luring me over with its glossy perfection. Usually, I’d think twice before loading up on carbs, but without Gage in my life, it all seems rather pointless. In fact, I plan on dunking my head under that chocolate river before the day is through and drinking down its offerings as a part of my huge kiss off to both Gage and my skinny jeans. I’ll eat a freaking carb when I want to. Gage may have taken my heart, but I’ll be damned if he’s taking my calories.

Mia catches my eye wearing a barely there swimsuit. Her hair is almost to her waist, and she looks far hotter than she’s allowed. I couldn’t wear a two-piece until like the tenth grade.

Maybe my mother really is hoping all female Landon slash Messengers will take over the maternity ward in the very near future. Weird.

A pair of prepubescent boys sits on either side of Mia like pimpled bookends. They laugh every time she opens her mouth like a pair of barking seals. I recognize the beady-eyed one on the left as Gabriel Armistead, the dolt she and Melissa keep fighting over. She shakes out her flowing hair, and he rakes over her with his eyes when he thinks she’s not looking—pig.

“Hey.” A low husky voice emanates from over my shoulder. Speaking of pigs…

“Hello, Gage.” I pluck three giant strawberries off the miniature tree in front of me and violently jab the toothpicks back into the trunk.

“About last night.” His hot breath warms my bare shoulder. I’m suddenly regretting wearing anything but a tank top and cutoffs. I wish I could wrap myself in a blanket while I’m near Gage. The last thing I want are his eyes feasting over my flesh. He’s the last person on Earth who deserves said feast, and unfortunately I was too weak to prove that point last night.

A part of me wants to tell him that I would have done that with any boy that happened to be in my room—that he wasn’t special, that he never was—but that’s one lie I don’t think I could pull off. When all is said and done, and I look back on my life, Gage Oliver will be the most devastating heartache I have ever known.

“It won’t happen again,” I whisper.

He presses up from behind and warms me with his body. His cologne enwreathes me, creates an ache in me to touch him as deep as the ocean.

“I was sort of hoping it would happen again.” He blows it hot in my ear.

I reach over and run my finger under the warm chocolate fountain before glancing back at him with a look of mischief.  I push the chocolate covered digit into my mouth and extract it slowly.

“Need help?” His lips part at the sight.

“Who’s going to help, Gage? You?” I dot his nose with the moist pad of my finger.

“Yes,” he says in a hypnotic voice, “let me help you, Skyla.” His breathing becomes erratic. It’s nice to know his penis is in working order even if his brain and heart are clearly defunct.

 I turn to face him fully. “Why are you continuing to waste my time?” I spear him with all of the hatred I can muster, but it comes out weak, just this side of tears.

“Skyla.” He presses it out in a broken whisper. “Let’s go somewhere and talk.” His entire being radiates an apology.

“So what happened? Did you have to force yourself to kiss me? I bet pretending to be my boyfriend felt like a prison sentence. Did you and Chloe have a good laugh every night at what an idiot I was?”

“No, I swear to you it was never like that.” He gives a long, tortured blink. “I beg of you, let’s get out of here.” He picks up my hand and massages it with his warm fingers. “I’ll take you to Paris.” The curve of a smile plays on his lips.

“Skyla.” A male voice booms to my left. Demetri heads in this direction at a quickened clip.

“Looks like I just found someone I’d rather hang out with,” I say, abandoning the strawberries and walking away.

“What?” I hiss at Demetri while watching Gage twist and writhe from my peripheral vision.

“I believe this belongs to you.” He holds up a large metal disc with a filigree edge, the one I had tucked in my garter belt at prom just before I was taken.

I snatch it back from him.

God—I almost lost this. And to think it was in the wrong hands entirely. These discs were a precious gift from Marshall. Each one had the ability to stop the faction war cold, and too bad for me, this is the last get-out-of-the-ethereal-plane-free card.

“Aren’t you going to thank me?” He ticks his head. His almond eyes reduce to slits.

“Most definitely not.”

“You have plenty to be thankful for.”

“I assume you’re talking about the treble.” Like he’s capable of kindness.

“It’s a limited offer for the sake of the war. Of course, when the time comes I’ll allow you to say good-bye to your mother—tell her you’re leaving the country and never coming back. I’m sure you won’t have a problem bending the truth a little.”

“I don’t plan on bending anything.” I seethe. “In fact, I’m sure she’d be very interested in knowing the whole truth and nothing but the truth.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” He lifts his head and sucks all the residual pride out of the air. “And even if you were to tell her the truth, who’s to say she’d believe you?”

“
Me
—I say she’d believe me.” I’m totally lying. Lizbeth Landon doesn’t believe good morning when it sails from my lips.

“I’m betting otherwise.”

I guess he’s done pretending that she’s a part of the scheme team.

Mom drifts over with Tad, lingering helpless by her side. He carries an overloaded plate of food with at least a dozen hot dogs that I’m guessing are all reserved to take down his colon.

“Lizbeth, we were just talking about you.” Demetri collapses an arm around her shoulders. “I was just telling Skyla how stunning you look in a bathing suit. You haven’t aged a day in twenty years.”

Tad lifts a brow and observes his bride while stuffing a sausage in his mouth.

I needle him with a look.

That’s right, Taddy dearest, he’s checking out your wife in her next-to-nothings. Well, actually, it’s a rather involved bathing suit that can double as a dress, but still, way more skin is exposed than this idiot deserves to see.

“Isis!” Demetri beckons a beautiful blonde with over-processed hair that shags out around her face. She’s wearing a low cut V-neck, ten sizes too small, and her chest balloons out like she’s hiding a pair of basketballs under her skin-tight attire. There’s something odd about her. Her chest is completely disproportionate to the rest of her waifish body, much like the mutated doll version put out by toy manufacturers the world over. Barbie aside, there’s something decidedly not human about her.  

“Tad Landon.” Tad sticks his hand out without waiting for the proper introduction and shakes her into a jiggle fest.

Dear God. He’s openly ogling her. If ever a woman could say the words “my eyes are up here,” she can.

“Isis Edinger, you can call me Izzy.” A high-pitched squeal pinches past her lips. She leans into him and nearly spills the girls onto his hot dog-laden tray, inspiring Tad’s tongue to lap out of his mouth.

“Isis, this is Lizbeth.” Demetri pans his hand over my mother like a prize.

“Dr. Edinger.” She holds out a rigid hand and offers a fake shake to Mom. Funny how she went from Izzy to cold as Isis in zero to five.

“Doctor?” Mom is tantalized by yet another lying Fem.

“Isis here is a psychiatrist.” Demetri acts as liaison to the deceit. “She’s just returned from a rather lengthy trip—studying overseas.” He extends his false grin in my direction.

Isis? Overseas? She so
is
the worm from the water globe! It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if Demetri had her locked up for centuries on some minor blood-related offense.

“A psychiatrist—that’s fascinating.” Tad leans in and dips his gaze back to her bosom and stays there.

“Marriage counseling is my specialty—”

Tad is quick to cut her off. “We were just talking about counseling this morning.” The hot dogs on his plate almost topple as he enthusiastically enlightens the crowd with his marital discord.

“The counseling we were talking about was between Skyla and Dr. Booth,” Mom corrects slightly mortified by his awkward declaration. “Skyla, we’re thinking about reducing your visits.”

“Thank you!” I love Dr. Booth, but seriously, it’s been a total waste of time.

“I would love to counsel the two of you.” Isis and Tad continue to nurture their budding adultery. “I don’t have an office, but—”

“You can come to my place.” Tad is lightning quick with the offer. And what’s this “my place” business? He’s sure in a hurry to scratch my mother off the deed to the house.

“I can’t wait!” She giggles into him as if he had just asked her to prom. “Hey?” She sighs, plucking a bottle of suntan oil out of her bag and waves it at Tad. “Would you mind getting my back?” A sting of laughter bubbles out. It’s like she can’t go three words without cackling like a hyena.

“Hold this.” Tad shoves his hotdog pyramid in my direction and takes off with Dr. Kiss-Your-Marriage-Good-bye Edinger.

“She seems nice.” Mom isn’t the slightest bit worried that Tad is busy molesting her baby-smooth skin at this very moment—and holy freaking shit! Her bowling balls are barely covered with a bright pink nipple suit that could double as eye patches.

“That girl is a true angel.” Demetri glosses over me with a rancid smile.

Something tells me she’s nothing but a skanky snake. I have a feeling Tad and Lizbeth Landon are going to need more than a marriage counselor when she’s through with them—more along the lines of a divorce attorney.

It looks like all of the pieces are falling into place for my least favorite Fem. Too bad for him I won’t let them stay there. I’m going to move heaven and Earth to make sure things don’t work out for Demetri.

In fact, I plan on giving him hell long before he ever gets there.

Chapter 17

The Gods of Sunday

Demetri’s estate boils under the white-hot spotlight that the planets revolve around like an overt act of worship. The fiery orb makes a rare appearance for Demetri’s ode to summer, but I know it’s just another lame party trick he’s pulled out of his enchanted ass. Manipulating the weather is simply the sleight of hand he’s resorted to in order to further his efforts with my mother. After all, it was the synthetic rise in mercury he organized that got her to strip down to her skivvies.

Today is all about the Fems. I watch as they walk on their manufactured sunshine and work their black magic, trying to tear my family apart. 

Brielle and Drake finally show, sans baby Beau, who thankfully averted a third degree burn, in this, his second week of life. Considering he’s already survived fourteen days with Drake and Brielle as his primary caregivers, I think the kid is off to a damn lucky start.

“You look fantastic,” I say, hugging Bree.

“Are you kidding? I still can’t fit into my jeans. And I have all this extra skin on my stomach. I’m going to need a tummy tuck or a body transplant. I’m disgusting. And hello?” She plucks at her copper hair. “I’m freaking balding at seventeen. Don’t have kids, Skyla. It’s so not worth it.”

I watch as Gage takes off his shirt across the pool and stretches like a bear into the sky. My stomach cycles at the sight of him. Just knowing he was mine, that it all felt so perfect, so right, kills me on a primal level. What I wouldn’t give to have it all back, for it to have all been real.

“I’m not having kids,” I whisper, taking off my T-shirt, exposing a very barely there, I hope-you-die-of-blue-balls-Gage-Oliver white bikini top. It’s see-through when it’s wet. I made sure of it just before I put it on. Then again Gage probably isn’t going to die of blue balls. I’m sure Chloe will see to that. Just the thought nauseates the hell out of me.

“Hey.” Brielle throws a hot arm over my shoulder. “You OK? You and Gage still fighting? I heard you tell him off at prom.”

“Yup, still fighting.” Only now it’s a little more genuine. “He turned out to be a real ass. Why didn’t you warn me about him?”

“What are you talking about?” She pulls out a yellow bin of margarine the size of a small bucket and proceeds to scoop a pile of yellow goo with her fingers. “Gage Oliver is one of the most down-to-earth, nicest guys on the face of this planet. In fact, Drake could learn a thing or two from him.” She takes a seat on a lounge chair and slathers her thighs with the milky yellow gloss.

“Yeah,” I balk, “like how to be absolutely full of shit at any given time.” By the way, I totally think Drake, much like Gage, has already mastered that.

“Skyla!” Brielle stops midflight from smearing the goop onto her chest. “What the hell?”

“I’ll explain later.”

“Look at this crap.” She gives her thighs a good greasy pinch. “Sumo wrestlers have a better ass than I do.”

“Oh, stop.” I dip my finger in the bucket.

“Messenger!” Ellis shouts from the giant sprawling lawn. He’s waving at me from behind Gage and his perfect rippling abs, his black hair shines reflectively under the alien sun—those sweet lips press out a smile in my direction, and I melt faster than the butter in between Brielle’s cleavage. It’s going to be hell living on the same island with him—just being on the same rock floating through space is far too close for comfort. I’ll have to face the fact he broke my heart, and now I’m going to die because living in this new world with a fake Gage Oliver is worse than being a permanent resident of the Celestra tunnels, worse than any torment Ezrina could ever dole out in the Transfer.

“Looks like a football game’s about to break out,” Drake says, heading over, and I follow.