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Apparently Mom called Marshall who, in turn, fed her a load of crap about my whereabouts last night and now all is seemingly right with the world.

    “Hey,” I whisper to Gage as we head up the walkway to the Bishop’s house. “Maybe I can have Marshall convince my parents that I should live with him?”

    “No.” He gives a stern look. “Logan told me about that dream. Marshall is a predator.”

    Gage looks magical under the three quarter moon. I push up on the balls of my feet and press a kiss into him.

    The door opens, and Chloe appears like a stain in the night.

    Her lips curve up unnaturally, and her brows peak skyward. It’s a demented feat that only a person with evil flowing through their veins can achieve.

    Oh wait, that’s my blood running through her veins. She’s evil nonetheless.

    The Oliver’s car is already in the driveway, so is Logan’s truck. He and Chloe have probably been strategizing how to best ruin my life and take over the world.

    “I’ve been waiting.” Her voice sounds almost hypnotic. “Happy birthday!” Chloe takes Gage by the hand and bounces us inside.

    The Bishop home is normal, normal in size and contents in comparison to my own home with the exception that it smells divine.

    “Everyone, you remember Gage.” Chloe fans her hands over him like she’s presenting him to the Queen of England.

    “Yes, and you must be Skyla!” A tall brunette with a slight pug nose embraces me. She gives a rocking hug for so long that I’m half convinced we’re slow dancing to the instrumental music playing in the background. “Thank you. Thank you for bringing back my precious baby girl. Anything you ever need, just name it and I’ll do it for you.” She pulls back and examines my face. Her lips quiver with gratitude. And for a frightening moment I almost ask if I could live with her.

    “I’m Hal, and this is Glendora.” A tall man with broad shoulders and a handlebar mustache comes around the table and gives a quick embrace. “Anything we can do for you, we’re eternally grateful.”

    Wow, Chloe has nice parents. Like really nice. The apple must have rolled way far away from the apple tree, to an entirely different hemisphere for this to be possible.

    It’s dark in the formal dining room, and it’s not until I strain my vision that I see Dr. Oliver and Emma waving to me, lost in murky shadows.

    “Let’s get started, shall we?” Glendora ushers both Gage and I over to the other side of the table. I try to sit next to him, but Chloe guides me over two seats.

    “Follow the name plates,” she says it cool as though the nameplates themselves were responsible for the geography of the seating arrangements and not her manipulative self.

    The name Skyler is scrawled out on a folded piece of parchment in between Logan and her mother.

    I pull a face and sit down next to him.

    “Hello,” he whispers.

    He’s got two dark circles under his eyes thanks to Marshall, but for the most part he looks like his brutally handsome self.

    Gage is seated far to my left, so I can’t even see him without leaning in past Logan.

    A group of waitresses stream out from the kitchen each carrying a covered dome and erase all illusions I had of Chloe’s family being normal. They stand in a neat row like a drone army of servants.

    First, I’ve never seen real women wear French maid’s costumes like the one Gage picked out for me at Halloween at any restaurant, let alone at someone’s house. And second, I half expect a hand to pop up when the lid comes off the dome that was just set in front of me.

    But there is no hand, there’s cubed steak, undercooked—correction raw, sitting in its own juices, and oddly there’s nothing else to go with it. Clearly these people are insane. I mean couldn’t we start off with a nice salad? That is, until I notice that everyone else is starting off with a nice salad.

    “Skyla,” her mother purrs into me, “I thought you might need something to