Celestra: Books 1-2

by Addison Moore

  13

  Hide

  Gage meets me in the butterfly room at ten o’ clock. He doesn’t need to break in through the attic. His gift of teleportation provides a dramatic and yet practical entrance. It may be a staple gift for the Levatio, but I’m determined to learn how to do this on my own. That’s the best thing about Gage, he’s not shy when it comes to experimenting with gifts.

  “Check this out.” He runs his fingers over the hundreds of paper butterflies that Chloe once meticulously pinned to the walls, and they start to flutter and come to life. Every color shape and size animates, and they oscillate full of vigor. Each one seems to express an intense desire to leave the confines of this partitioned enclosure.

  He pulls a cobalt butterfly off the wall, one the exact shade of his eyes and holds it out on his finger. It stretches its wings in a fibrillating tantrum as though it were so relieved to move at last.

  “This is you, Skyla.” He tosses the butterfly up, and it floats up to the ceiling. “You’ve come out of your cocoon and are starting to move.”

  I can stare at the trembling wings for hours, but they die down far too quickly, returning to their paper state. “Sit across from me and fold your legs,” I instruct.

  “OK.” He blinks into me with curiosity.

  “We’re going to visit my dad.”

  “I figured.”

  “How’s that?” I tilt my head. It’s like Gage knows me.

  “Logan said, ‘whatever you do, don’t let her talk you into time travel.’”

  “Oh.” Or that. “Never mind him.” I take up both his hands. “All I have to do is ransack the kitchen for the spare. It’ll just take a sec, you wait upstairs in my old room.” I tighten my grip on his fingers. “Close your eyes and relax.”

  “I’ll go wherever you want. Only maybe not the dawn of time, I’m terrified of dinosaurs—Mastodons to be specific.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Really. When we were kids, Logan pushed me into the bones of some ancient Mastodon at the museum. He kept saying, ‘Look out! He’s going to eat you.’” His hands gyrate above his head when he says it.

  “You’re funny.” I take his hands back and thread our fingers.

  And I think you’re beautiful. He says it openly, as a clear thought.

  I pretend not to notice, and get our transport underway.

  ***

  It’s still and quiet when I open my eyes. Gage is already surveying the landscape, which leaves me panning the floor for bras and underwear because let’s face it, not much has changed.

  “Stay here. I’ll be right back,” I whisper, getting up.

  The sweet scent of cookies lingers in the air from my mother’s latest baking endeavor. I miss those happy days when she would spontaneously bake up a storm. I don’t recall a single cookie emerging from our new oven on Paragon, not one cake. Tad sucks all the energy out of her.

  I rush downstairs and into the dining room.

  “Daddy!” I skip over to him like a third grader and give a tight embrace. His cologne smells fresh, strong. I remember when he first started wearing it. It would make me sneeze, but I never told him. I loved the way he used to whisk through the room and let his scent linger like a ghost.

  “Better already?” He pulls off his glasses, inspects me as if he’s seeing me for the very first time. “And, you’ve changed your clothes.”

  “Girl thing,” I say, plucking at my sweater. Shit!

  He remembers. Just like with Chloe, my last visit left an impression.

  “I need a drink. Can I get you anything?” I used to detest doing menial chores for my parents. Now I would lick the bottom of his shoes if he wanted—if it meant I could have him back in my life again.

  “No thanks. Get your drink and get back to bed.” He shakes out the paper. I try to memorize the straight bridge of his nose, the way his upper lip defines itself clearly like a prominent letter M, the patch of rosy flesh slightly elevated just beneath his left eye.

  I head into the kitchen. For a second, it feels so natural, like I could really be faking cramps and hanging out with my dad, like Gage isn’t really in the room upstairs taking inventory of God knows what.

  I pull open the official junk drawer—pens, lighters, loose receipts, keys—at least a dozen.

  Shit.

  What the heck does the spare look like? I pick at the dirty gold and silver discards, lying around like unwanted orphans.

  In a panic, I pluck a plastic bag off the counter and start filling it with every available key I find, every shape and size. I don’t bother using reason when I toss in the one the size of a fingernail. Opening drawer after drawer, I find them hidden in even the most discriminating nooks and crannies. It’s a near impossible task. I open the desk in the front hall and discover a new treasure trove of dulled out metal, three full rings and one with an orange tag marked, spare.

  I clutch it in my palm and close my eyes. This is it. He is not going to get on the freeway, his seatbelt won’t malfunction, and he won’t suffer the most excruciating death humanly possible.

  The Holy Grail of my father’s destiny—that I traveled through time and space to retrieve—is tucked safely in my hand.

  ***

  “Let’s go.” I shut the door to my room and try to secure it by pushing a stack of books against it. If my dad caught me with a guy in my room, he would have a major heart attack and defeat the entire purpose.

  Gage is seated at my desk reading something out of a spiral bound notebook.

  “You’re good.” He runs his fingers over the page as if to feel the words.

  I briefly look over his shoulder before slapping the palm of my hand over my loopy handwriting.

  Crap. I completely forgot about my sadistically sweet poetry phase.

  “Forgive me. I was stupid.” I snatch his hand and pull him towards the closet.

  “I didn’t think it was stupid.”

  Gage has a way of looking up at me from under his dark thick lashes. Those sapphire lenses warm me up and down as they laser through me. It sends my stomach on a roller coaster, and I yank him down to the floor in an effort to distract myself.

  “Come on, sit down,” I say, as we sit Indian style across from one another. “Think about falling asleep.” I tuck the bag under my shirt for safekeeping then lace our fingers together.

  “I sleep better with a kiss before bedtime.” He tucks a smile into his left cheek and ignites a deep-set dimple.

  Gage—those sweet soulful eyes, that painful angst of his that shreds me to pieces. I take a breath and lean forward, pressing my lips against his. He pulls me over, meeting me with soft, careful kisses. Then, like the careless toppling of a candle, it ignites into a full throttle blaze.

  Kissing Gage is like lying in the grass on a warm spring day. You forget the beauty, how amazing it can make you feel until you’re right there in the meadow glowing in the radiance. We roll onto the floor and lose ourselves for what feels like hours. I don’t think either one of us wants to go home.

  14

  Heavy

  My father died in a cab on the way to work.

  The cabdriver escaped unharmed. I remember it in detail as though it were an actual memory. It makes me wonder how many of my memories are real and how many came by way of supernatural alteration. Nevertheless, I’m depressed as hell.

  I sludge through the week, masking my pain, holding Gage in between classes and all through lunch as though he were Logan. I’ve come to appreciate Gage all on his own, the way he tenderly touches the back of my hair, the way he rubs his cheek against mine as though it were enough—his sad smiles.

  Tonight is the first football game of the season, West Paragon Dawgs versus East Paragon Dolphins—Cerberus, guardian of the underworld versus, Flipper—go figure. Later, there’s a big party at some girl’s house from East that I’ve never heard of which probably means more of the Carly show. Every time I throw a high kick, I picture her face right there.

&nb
sp; “Skyla!”

  A voice shouts from out in the bleachers. I pan the crowd and catch my mother saying something to Tad. I see, Mia and Melissa, but I swear it sounded like a man.

  “Skyla!”

  My head snaps to the far left. A tall guy with an open, well-chiseled face raises his hand in a stagnant wave. He doesn’t smile, instead he holds my gaze in a spellbinding manner. There’s a sharp, dark beauty about him. Just as I’m about to grab Brielle and ask who he is, Ellis pops up.

  “For you.” He thrusts a small bunch of hot pink daisies into my chest.

  “Oh.” I take them from him, dazed. I glance back into the crowd, but I don’t see the stranger anymore. “Thanks. What are they for?” I don’t mean to sound rude. I’m still thrown off by the guy in the stands.

  “For being you.” He stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Need a ride to Carson’s?”

  “Gage…” I point out at the field. “I’m going with him.”

  “All right. I’ll catch you later then.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  My eyes divert back to the stands. Something doesn’t feel right.

  “Wow, Gage now Ellis? You really get around.” Michelle pushes her blue and silver wad of tinfoil into my face. She’s still wearing my claw marks high up on her cheek. They protrude like a badge I was honored to give her. “It kind of sucks because I enjoyed stealing Logan from you, I had no idea you’d roll over and play dead so easy. You’re turning out to be a good little bitch, you know that?”

  A whistle blows, and we’re back in motion.

  I alternate pretending to kick Carly and Michelle, producing some aerial feats in the meantime that even surprise me. It’s amazing what an energizer anger can be, how jealousy fuels a toxic hate so powerful I could jump to the moon if I wanted.

  Quarter after quarter, I watch Logan and Gage in equal parts—Logan as the quarterback and Gage as safety. Logan in all his quarterback glamour and Gage caught in the thick of the fight, always looking out for the other guy—protecting. The analogy isn’t lost on me. It tells our story in so many ways.

  After the game, the team runs by, and we hold out our hands as they high five us on the way to the gym. Gage leans in and kisses my cheek when he passes. I see Logan holding up the rear. My heart thumps in rhythm, quaking like the ground beneath me.

  I love you, I say as he clasps onto my hand.

  In an instant he swoops by, but he watches me until he hits Brielle at the end of the line. I can tell he wanted to say something, maybe add something of his own. But the moment passed, and he disappears into the gym.

  ***

  Clearly I should be mortified at what a stupid, stupid thing I did.

  I beat myself up on the way over to the party, sinking low in the seat next to Gage. Gage—who I need to make priority one at our debut as a couple.

  “Is Logan going?” There’s not an ounce of longing in my voice. Secretly, I hope he won’t be there. I’d die if he had to watch me melt like butter all over Gage after declaring my freaking love to him during a high five after a football game we lost.

  “I don’t know.” He leans into the rearview mirror before relaxing back into the seat.

  Gage has been bent out of shape ever since he found out Ellis Harrison’s been running around giving me flowers all night, as he so comically put it. He doesn’t seem to appreciate the competition, that’s for sure.

  “So who’s this Carson person?”

  “Carly’s friend from East—cheerleader like you.”

  “Oh. Is she pretty?” I’m still not sure if I shouldn’t encourage Gage to sniff in another direction. I’m not opposed to having him as a boyfriend, but a part of me wonders if I should be playing the part of scary loner, too.

  “Brielle knows her.” He rounds his hand over the wheel expertly avoiding the question.

  “So do you like her? You like anyone?” It’s a small tear in the bloated bag of emotions I’ve been trying to maintain all night.

  A choking sound emits from his throat.

  “I like you.” He glances over at me with a look of wild frustration as if I should have pieced this puzzle together a longtime ago.

  This isn’t going to end well. No one in their right mind can have two boyfriends. Nobody is going to win in this little love triangle of Logan’s own making. Doesn’t he realize my heart is breaking for Gage?

  “I like you, too.” I reach over and place my hand on his knee. And I’m going to make sure everybody knows it.

  ***

  Carson, the cheerleader, lives on a perch overlooking the cliffs near Devil’s Peak. I’m fascinated watching the fog swirl in thick billowy waves around the coast, hugging the cliff side—making it disappear entirely like a skilled magician. It must have been that way the night they buried Chloe. An entire string of homes face in that direction. I can’t imagine whoever put her in the ground was unseen, unless of course they were masked by fog.

  Bodies file in and out of the oversized balcony, bigger than the backyard I had in L.A.—L.A., where my father burns no matter what I do to try to stop it.

  “What’s going on?” Brielle knocks into me with the rhythm of the music.

  “Where’s Drake?”

  “Looking for a bathroom to puke in.” She swirls her straw in a pink and yellow colored drink filled with glowing ice. “Relax, it’s virgin—like you.”

  “Good to know. Hey, at the game tonight there was this really strange guy with kind of dark blonde hair. He had a black coat on. He was calling me, and he kind of did this funny wave.” I hold my hand stiff in the air. “You see him?”

  “Nope. Guess word’s out about you and Logan. For sure Ellis got the memo.”

  “Yeah, I’m with Gage,” I say lackluster.

  “So where’s he at?”

  “Getting me a…” before I can finish, a red plastic cup swoops in from over my shoulder, “drink.”

  “Nice. Get him trained early.” Brielle snatches Drake as he’s about to bypass us.

  “I gotta go.” Drake clutches at his stomach. We’ve been here less than an hour. He must really be a lightweight.

  “Aww…” Brielle draws her disappointment out with a sigh. “Call me, kay?” She motions as he pulls her backwards.

  “Guess he’s done.” Gage takes a seat on the concrete bench behind me.

  I turn around and throw my legs around his waist, facing him. It’s my version of the Carly, as I’ve affectionately come to call the position. Although in her defense it didn’t look half as skank because she wasn’t wearing a cheer skirt at the time.

  “Hello to you, too.” His eyes saucer in and out.

  I knock back my drink, never once taking my eyes off Gage. I don’t feel much like talking. Time to convince the whole world, including myself, that it’s Gage I want.

  15

  Kiss Me

  I lay it all out on the line, slobbering all over Gage like a rabid Saint Bernard.

  First, let the record show, I only mildly enjoy it in comparison to Gage himself who, as evidenced by the growing bulge in his pants, is finding way too much pleasure in the situation. The bulge in question is in direct contact with parts of my person that it has no business being in contact with in front of the student population of both East and West high. In case fornicating in public didn’t quite send off the right signals, I openly laugh at whatever comes out of his mouth in the form of a semi-coherent statement. The more I laugh, the funnier he becomes, and the funnier he becomes, the more I want to kiss him—it’s erotic mathematics.

  By the end of the night, I pluck him off the bench we molested each other on, for the better part of forever, and pull him towards the exit.

  Inside the house, bodies float like dark shadows, their laughter creating an indecent echo. Gage goes off to use the restroom, and I refill my plastic cup with more of the minty lemonade I’ve grown to love.

  “Skyla,” a male voice says just above a whisper from somewhere in front of me. I marvel at the fact I h
ear it at all. It’s as though the room hushed for a moment, and at just the right interval, my name was called.

  A dark figure stands in the doorway towards the end of the hall. I gulp down my drink trying to ignore the fact it might be the same freak from the bleachers.

  “What’s going on?” Ellis pops up next to me.

  “Waiting for Gage. We’re taking off.” I refill my drink and start chugging in an effort to cut off the conversation. What do I say? Thanks for the flowers? I may have already done that, but at the moment everything about tonight seems a bit foggy.

  The figure in the hallway shifts, and a seam of light falls across his face. I think it’s him, the boy from the water—the dream. His head is down, and he’s got this weird clown-like smile on his face that really freaks me out. I’m deathly afraid of clowns.

  “Who’s that?” It speeds out of me as I point down the hall.

  Ellis looks up to where I’m jabbing my finger. He tilts his head and glances around the room.

  “Who is that?” I repeat, snatching at his jacket.

  “I don’t see anybody.” He steps in front of me blocking my view. I crane my neck to get another look, but he’s gone. Whoever that was is probably on his way over—probably some Count who wants to kill me, or…

  There’s a quick squeeze around my waist, and I jump a foot in the air.

  “Shit!” I clutch at my chest. It’s just Gage. “You freaking scared me!”

  He holds his hands in the surrender position. Ellis disappears within three seconds of Gage’s appearing.

  I do appreciate that Gage has become a surefire Ellis repellant.

  ***

  We make our way outside, and the world starts to spin. The sidewalk shifts to meet my legs, and there’s a distinct dizzying lag slowing down my brain.

  On the whirling drive home, I roll the down the window and stick my head out as far the seatbelt will allow. The cool, heavy fog collects on my lips, crystallizes my hair into long frosted strands. My skin feels numb. It doesn’t understand the touch of the icy wind. If I close my eyes too long, it feels like I’m twirling through the air—gyrating, and I wonder if I’m on some time travel default setting. I open my mouth to voice my concern to Gage, and a rise of vomit spikes up in the back of my throat.