bow.
“No! No—I’m afraid of heights.” The words squeal out of me as I’m catapulted up hundreds of feet in the air, up higher than the puff of fog lying over the island like a dream, up high enough to count the stars in detail, to touch the moon, or to scream into God’s own ear if I wanted.
I catch a glimpse of Logan stretched back with his arms pulled tight, his legs and torso no longer visible due to the unnatural coiling of branches cinched around his body.
“Skyla!” My name vibrates through the pitch and the gloom—it merges with the crashing ocean waves in the distance.
It’s the last thing I hear as I plummet straight back to earth at a velocity that promises only one thing.
Death.
Chapter Twelve
Terminal
The ground fast approaches, and I shut my eyes.
I can only assume it approaches because it has to eventually. It’s the law of physics, when you fall, you will undoubtedly land somewhere, and that somewhere in my case is going to be the cold hard earth of Paragon.
Then I feel it. That strange tuning fork feeling rattles through me, and my lids fly open hoping to find Marshall wrapped around me, flying me off to L.A., back in time two years ago when everything was simple, so seemingly normal. If he did, which he’s not, I could outsmart Chloe and save my father. But I’ll never do those things. I might never do anything again because I’ve passed through sky and earth, and now I’m falling through a blank colorless world that I hardly recognize.
A white glossy floor crops up out of nowhere, and my face slaps against it so hard I’m convinced I’ve crushed my jaw to dust.
A dull thud lands besides me. I can see the tip of Logan’s sneaker through the slit of my left eye, and I feel safe and thankful that I let him tag along in the forest with me.
“Skyla?” He groans crawling over to me. “Can you breathe?”
“Yes.” It comes out like the hiss of an expiring balloon. “Where are we?” I think I already know—Ezrina’s funhouse. I sit up trying to ignore the intense wave of nausea rolling through me.
“I don’t know.” Logan rises to his feet and helps me do the same.
“You think Chloe and Gage are down here?” That would make so much sense. Of course, the only way Gage would spend gobs of time with Chloe is if they were taken captive together. She’ll have to hold him prisoner if she ever wants him to spend time with her.
“I have no idea,” he says. “But let’s you and me get the hell out of here.”
It’s a stark white room, which solidifies the fact we’re in Ezrina’s lair. A row of steel tables sits up against one wall and then nothing. No door, or window, or attic, just a full-blown well sealed box.
I try my phone, but there’s no reception—big surprise there. We pat along the walls for a hint of some way to escape, and just as we’re about to meet in the middle a door opens.
“Well, there you go,” Logan looks disgusted with himself.
Two men walk in, both with sickly grey skin as though they’ve never seen the sun, as if they wouldn’t believe you if you told them about it. Pale as though they just crawled out from underneath a rock. The shorter one with dark hair treks over and checks my pulse. It’s as though he’s reading it to see how viable I am.
“What’s going on?” Logan asks point blank.
“Celestra.” The taller one shouts over after examining the inside of Logan’s wrist.
“This one too. Looks like cupboard steak tonight.” They break out into goofy grins.
“He’s a Count,” I say, annoyed that I’ve landed myself here yet again.
“Countenance?” The tall one pads his fingers across Logan’s wrist again. “Where’s your allegiance?”
I scoot over and take up Logan’s hand, low near my thigh.
Tell them you’re a Count.
“I’m a Count,” Logan spits the words out with great difficulty.
They look at one another steadily as though conducting a telepathic conversation of
“No! No—I’m afraid of heights.” The words squeal out of me as I’m catapulted up hundreds of feet in the air, up higher than the puff of fog lying over the island like a dream, up high enough to count the stars in detail, to touch the moon, or to scream into God’s own ear if I wanted.
I catch a glimpse of Logan stretched back with his arms pulled tight, his legs and torso no longer visible due to the unnatural coiling of branches cinched around his body.
“Skyla!” My name vibrates through the pitch and the gloom—it merges with the crashing ocean waves in the distance.
It’s the last thing I hear as I plummet straight back to earth at a velocity that promises only one thing.
Death.
Chapter Twelve
Terminal
The ground fast approaches, and I shut my eyes.
I can only assume it approaches because it has to eventually. It’s the law of physics, when you fall, you will undoubtedly land somewhere, and that somewhere in my case is going to be the cold hard earth of Paragon.
Then I feel it. That strange tuning fork feeling rattles through me, and my lids fly open hoping to find Marshall wrapped around me, flying me off to L.A., back in time two years ago when everything was simple, so seemingly normal. If he did, which he’s not, I could outsmart Chloe and save my father. But I’ll never do those things. I might never do anything again because I’ve passed through sky and earth, and now I’m falling through a blank colorless world that I hardly recognize.
A white glossy floor crops up out of nowhere, and my face slaps against it so hard I’m convinced I’ve crushed my jaw to dust.
A dull thud lands besides me. I can see the tip of Logan’s sneaker through the slit of my left eye, and I feel safe and thankful that I let him tag along in the forest with me.
“Skyla?” He groans crawling over to me. “Can you breathe?”
“Yes.” It comes out like the hiss of an expiring balloon. “Where are we?” I think I already know—Ezrina’s funhouse. I sit up trying to ignore the intense wave of nausea rolling through me.
“I don’t know.” Logan rises to his feet and helps me do the same.
“You think Chloe and Gage are down here?” That would make so much sense. Of course, the only way Gage would spend gobs of time with Chloe is if they were taken captive together. She’ll have to hold him prisoner if she ever wants him to spend time with her.
“I have no idea,” he says. “But let’s you and me get the hell out of here.”
It’s a stark white room, which solidifies the fact we’re in Ezrina’s lair. A row of steel tables sits up against one wall and then nothing. No door, or window, or attic, just a full-blown well sealed box.
I try my phone, but there’s no reception—big surprise there. We pat along the walls for a hint of some way to escape, and just as we’re about to meet in the middle a door opens.
“Well, there you go,” Logan looks disgusted with himself.
Two men walk in, both with sickly grey skin as though they’ve never seen the sun, as if they wouldn’t believe you if you told them about it. Pale as though they just crawled out from underneath a rock. The shorter one with dark hair treks over and checks my pulse. It’s as though he’s reading it to see how viable I am.
“What’s going on?” Logan asks point blank.
“Celestra.” The taller one shouts over after examining the inside of Logan’s wrist.
“This one too. Looks like cupboard steak tonight.” They break out into goofy grins.
“He’s a Count,” I say, annoyed that I’ve landed myself here yet again.
“Countenance?” The tall one pads his fingers across Logan’s wrist again. “Where’s your allegiance?”
I scoot over and take up Logan’s hand, low near my thigh.
Tell them you’re a Count.
“I’m a Count,” Logan spits the words out with great difficulty.
They look at one another steadily as though conducting a telepathic conversation of
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