Tremble (15 page)

Gage returns from the English building after pausing to chat with his coach.

“King High can’t make it tomorrow. Storm’s too rough—ferry’s down.”

I’m a little relived to hear it. Watching them play in the rain was miserable enough, but entertaining the idea of an earth-churning downpour like today seemed a bit ridiculous—deadly, in fact.

“Bowling in the dark’s stil on.” His teeth radiate a light al their own when he smiles.

“What’s bowling in the dark?” I can hardly bowl with the lights on.

“Pins and al eys are lit up. There’s just enough light to get around.”

“Mood lighting.” Briel e shakes her chest. “Speaking of mood, I heard Mr. Dudley and Ms. Rice are having a thing.”

“A thing, thing?” Mr. Dudley is having a thing with everybody, but I don’t share that bit of information.

“I heard it was Ms. Richards.” El is leans in behind her.

I look at the two of them next to one another, El is and Briel e. I would have never suspected.

“I guess sometimes people surprise you with their true colors,” I say.

Briel e shrugs it off, but El is dril s me with a curious stare.

***

It’s late, and my body is racked from staying up the night before, keeping one eye open in the event Marshal felt the urge to slaughter me.

Logan wakes me in the butterfly room and presents me with a smal bouquet of bril iant red roses.

“I love them!” I bring them up to my face and take them in. They don’t smel like anything. They’re holding back their scent like a secret from the rest of the world just like us.

His face warms to a nice shade of pink as he scoots in close.

“I miss you.” His jaw clenches when he says it and stays like that.

I take up his hands, but he slinks his arms around my waist instead.

“Does it creep you out that I have Chloe’s arm?”

“No.” He picks up my left hand and kisses it. “It’s your arm now.” There’s a gentleness about him tonight, a genuine vulnerability.

“So, what’s going on? Are you, like, jealous?” The words escape my throat before I have an opportunity to filter them. Logan is quite capable of being loving and showing affection without being jealous.

“Deathly.”

“Of Gage?”

“He’s disgusting.” He gives a hard stare at the wal . “This morning he put the cereal in the fridge and the milk in the pantry. He’s walking around with his head in the clouds.” His mood darkens.

Clearly this is not the path I should have taken. I want romantic, blushing Logan back, not slaughter the enemy, hostile Logan.

“Forget Gage.” I push his arms tight around my waist and scoot into him.

“I can’t forget Gage.” He says slowly as he rubs his cheek against mine. It bristles, feels like sandpaper and reminds me of my dad. “Gage is annoying. It’s like he’s completely forgotten he’s playing a part—faking.”

“He’s not faking anything.” A part of me wants to defend Gage. “Besides, I’m not faking it.” Did I just say that?

His eyes widen. I can see them glimmer a distinct shade of fear in this dim light.

“What aren’t you faking?”

Can of worms. Shut up Skyla. Shut up.

“Wel , I like him. I don’t want to pretend to be with him when clearly I am with him. So I don’t.” I shrug. In this sorry state of fatigue I can’t seem to help but tel the truth.

“So you’re into Gage.” His body goes rigid as his head pushes back a notch.

“Yeah, I’m into Gage, but only when I’m with him.” Muzzle, I need a freaking muzzle.

A rather lengthy pause ensues as he ponders the finer points of my confession.

“Goodnight.” He practical y dumps me out of his lap. There’s a marked look of sadness on his face, and he stuffs his hands into his jeans pocket and gives a dejected smile before opening the exit door.

“Wait.” I grab him by the arm. “I didn’t mean it like that.” I sort of did, but that’s not the point.

Then what’s the point? A clear look of frustration cuts across his face.

“I hate it when you do that.”

“I’m not doing anything” He removes my hand from his sleeve. “You’re forgetting that I can hear you, just like you’re forgetting about us.” With that he climbs out of the butterfly room.

I hope he hasn’t crawled out of my life completely.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Longing

The earth quakes with thunder, explosions of light ricochet through the night. The sky il uminates into a thousand shattered pieces, resembling lavender broken glass.

Gage and I arrive late to the bowling in the dark event because my mother has the habit of turning into a game show host each time he comes over. She pries into his life with the efficiency of an FBI detective while plying him with her questionable cooking and wands me over with her hands like I’m some sort of prize. It’s like she’s trying to extort information out of him while slowly poisoning him.

It’s beyond dark in the bowling al ey. I’m not sure why this thril s me, but it does. Hot pink, yel ow, and neon green light up the al eyways while the pins glow in varying shades of blue and purple. I love this. Logan should do this every night.

Bitch squad cackles openly at the first table to my left. Michel e ends her laugh with a yawn. I’m shocked to see giant pil ow-like bags under her eyes. She looks sal ow, sickly even. In a stray show of mercy I want to clue her in on the source of her misery, tel her in one breath who exactly Marshal is and what that black rose dangling from her neck means, but don’t.

Look who’s the bitch now, I muse to myself.

“Crap!” I pul Gage back by the hand. Marshal ’s here, laughing with one of the girls who works for Logan. She’s a little more appropriate for him, considering she’s about thirty, but stil , why is he constantly injecting himself in the student population? I pause to reflect on the sexual nature of my last thought.

Marshal swoops over before I have a chance to complain to Gage.

“I see you brought your asshole.” He slaps Gage on the shoulder.

“Enough.” Gage holds up a hand.

“I haven’t heard an apology.” Marshal looks sharp tonight in dark jeans, a black button down shirt and some form of cowboy boots tucked under his jeans.

“I’m sorry.” Gage averts his eyes. “I’m genuinely sorry. Now if you’l excuse me, it looks like Logan needs help. Be right back.”

“Kind isn’t he.” His tone drips with sarcasm.

“He is.” I do a quick sweep of the premises for Briel e.

“How’s the arm?”

“Good as new.” I wiggle my fingers in the air.

“And operation Chloe?”

“Underway. I donated my first unit.”

“To be stored?”

I can’t tel whether or not he’s trying to pump me for information.

“In an undisclosed location. Besides, don’t you know everything?” I ask, irritated.

“I’m not God. And the fact you don’t want to brief me lets me know you don’t trust me. What else can I possibly do to prove myself to you?”

“I need an arm, possibly an eyebal .”

“She’s that bad, is she?” His eyes widen then retract. “At least you’re not looking for a heart, but then Chloe doesn’t need one because she never had one.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I didn’t realize he knew Chloe at al .

“She’s a piece of work, that one.” He says looking directly at Michel e, and now I have no clue who he’s talking about. “I’l give you both the arm and the eye if you kiss me.”

“No.”

“Then no deal.”

“OK, maybe.”

“Say yes and I’l make her eyes match.”

“Hazel, and OK, but it’s going to be over before you know it.”

“Count, hard left.” He picks up my hand and laces our fingers, natural as breathing.

Hard left. It’s difficult to concentrate with this heavy rush of physical gratification flowing through my body.

“I swear, if people new how good you could make them feel, you’d be worth mil ions,” I whisper.

“That should make me al the more desirable to you. Count, four-thirty” He tries to reorient me.

“Which way is four-thirty?” I don’t real y care. I’m too immersed in the gentle buzz rippling through my body, indulging in the way it echoes through my bones, fil s me with a gentle rushing heat.

El is walks up glowing an ethereal shade of blue.

“That one I already know.” Although it stil makes me sick.

“Behind him,” Marshal whispers.

Nat and Kate high five over a strike. Their faces look murky to begin with, both an odd shade of purple until they split and go their separate ways. Kate remains a dingy grey and Nat glows blue, crisp as El is.

It’s Nat.

El is plucks my hand away from Marshal ’s and walks me over to a nearby table at a decent clip. I’m so shocked. I can’t drag my eyes off her.

“What’s with Mr. Dick?” He asks setting up the queue. “Wanna play a game?” He smiles up at me, a slow stoned smile that is so signature El is I want to cry.

I nod, but I wonder, what kind of game are we real y playing?

***

Logan manages to avoid me the better part of the night. Gage ends up helping out until the very end, so I hang out with El is, Briel e, and a very-much-in-the-dog-house Drake.

“What’d I do?” Drake hisses while it’s Briel e’s turn to bowl.

“Why don’t you go over and ask your girlfriend?” I nod over in Lexy’s direction.

“I can’t even say two words to someone with functioning ovaries without her freaking out—other than you.” He adds that last bit, disappointed.

“Yeah wel , look at the bright side, she’s real y into you. People don’t get jealous like that unless they’ve completely lost their minds.”

Logan breezes in and sets down a pitcher of soda and cups.

“You need help?” I offer. “I can help.”

There’s a hard edge about him. He doesn’t bother giving me the polite placid smile I’ve grown accustomed to when we’re in public. Instead an underlying expression of hurt comes through. One he can’t seem to disguise. He doesn’t say a word and heads back to the kitchen.

“Take my turn,” I say to Drake.

I speed over to Logan, catching up with him just before he gets to the makeshift kitchen set up near the register.

“Did you just walk away from me?” My voice spikes.

His eyes narrow in before cutting away to Gage. He grabs Gage by the shirt and pul s him over.

“Your girlfriend’s got something she wants to say.”

I can’t tel whether this is part of the show or if he real y means it—probably both.

“You wanna go home?” Gage looks confused.

“No.” I don’t bother taking my eyes off Logan. My heart’s pounding erratical y. The music’s so loud, that coupled with the eerie neon colors il uminated against the black backdrop, makes this al feels like a suspended reality. “I wanna talk.” What I real y want to do is shake him.

“Talk to your boyfriend.” Logan bolts over to an empty table and starts clearing off stray cups.

I thought I was.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

I See You

Gage decides to stay late and help Logan lock up, so El is offers me a ride. Under normal circumstances, I would stay and wait for Gage, but I know that wil only stoke the fire of Logan’s insane jealousy—and a part of me wanted to.

The rain quiets down to a sprinkle, dotting the windshield just enough to annoy us.

“So tel me something about yourself I don’t know,” I say, wondering why the hel I got into the car with someone known for being perpetual y high and ful y infected with a serious Count bloodline.

“I like al that vampire crap girls are into.” His hand flexes over the wheel.

I can’t tel whether he’s kidding or trying to hit on me, so I don’t say anything.

“So how you like Paragon?” He takes a lazy turn and pul s into the overlook at Devil’s Peak.

“Love it.” I’m not too thril ed at the moment, but…

“Is Chloe Bishop’s house haunted?”

“Yes,” I say matter-of-fact. I’m not sure, but at this point who cares? Truth is, I’m feeling a little haunted myself.

“Cool. I hear you have her room. You see the butterflies?”

“You know about that?” A surge of adrenaline rushes through me.

“I know al about Chloe.” His eyebrows twitch in the dark. “We were like that.” He crosses his fingers.

I want to say, take me home, but it comes out as, “I know who you are.”

“Who am I?” His demeanor shifts. His whole person loosens as a demented grin spreads across his face. I can smel the stench of pot clinging to his upholstery. El is Harrison is wasting away his youth by getting wasted. My lips twist at the irony.

“Is that what baby Counts in training do to whittle away the hours? Get stoned?”

A loud clap of a laugh belts from him. He smacks his hand against the steering wheel before attempting to compose himself.

“How’d you figure it out?” He looks jovial as though it were al a part of some game of hide, and seek and I tagged him.

“I just did.” I shrug, trying to play it off. “I’d reveal my source, but then I’d have to kil you—literal y.”

“I surrender.” He holds up his hands. “Besides, I like you—a lot.”

“Like me enough to help me?” I don’t know if I can trust El is, or anybody else for that matter. “Hey, Briel e’s one too, right?”

“I don’t know. It’s like some secret society with their own version of don’t ask, don’t tel . We have to wait until we hit the age of enlightenment or some bul crap.”

“Oh, us too.”

“So is that why you blew me off? You know, when you first got here?” He asks.

When did I blow El is off?

“You ditched me for the twisted Oliver’s. You wouldn’t hang out with me ‘cause I was a Count.” The way he says it you’d think it has racial undertones.

“Do you know what I am?” I put it out there to see what he comes up with. I’m pretty good at detecting lies.

“I hear you’re the purest, most dangerous bad ass Celestra on the whole effing planet.” He lets out a loose string of laughter as his eyes reduce to slits.

“I need to know who al the Counts are. They’re trying to kil me, El is.” I feel like shaking that smile off his face. “I need your help.”

He pushes into the headrest, considering it. His mouth opens and he starts in on a word then closes it. He fires up the car up and takes me home, parking just shy of the mailbox at the base of the property.