Celestra: Books 1-2

by Addison Moore

  My eyes flutter open, and I’m on her bed, only she’s not naked under the sheets, and I sit up quickly half expecting Logan to come out of the bathroom or something.

  Two formal dresses hang like ghosts up over the door, a pale blue strapless and one the color of butter.

  “You’re here!” She balls her fists and gives a mock cheer. “Tomorrow night’s homecoming.” She picks up both my hands and bows into me. “In which I shall be queen.” She mock curtseys, barely able to contain her excitement.

  “You can’t know that.” She is going to be queen, but I’m not going to spoil it for her.

  “Gage told me.” She rushes to the vanity and examines her complexion.

  Homecoming. That’s the night Chloe disappears. My skin prickles. This is her last night on earth. The last time she’ll ever lay her head on the pillow, see the room in this light.

  “Which one?” She takes down both dresses and airs them out on either side of her.

  “I don’t know.” I can’t match her enthusiasm. “The yellow is nice, but I think I like the…” before I can finish, she rattles the pale dress in the air.

  “I thought so, too. Yellow’s too formal—blue dress rocks.” She discards the yellow dress into a heap on the floor and places the light blue one around her neck by the hanger. “You think it’ll be me and Logan?” She sways holding out her dress like a little girl pretending to be a princess.

  “No clue. I haven’t heard much about homecoming.” True—only the grim details that take place after. “Um, I can’t figure out how to save my dad.” Suddenly, I feel guilty even being here.

  She stops cold from digging into her makeup bag. In one swift movement she throws down the glossy pouch and plucks the dress off her neck.

  “Skyla.” Her long thin arm collapses over me.

  I can’t help but note her fresh polished nails. It’s really screwing with my head that there are three of Chloe’s arms in this room.

  “Your dad, he died in a fire.” She picks up my chin gently. “I’ve never heard of any way to retract that.”

  “But you didn’t.” My affect brightens. “Chloe,” I pull her to the bed, and we sit down. “Don’t get upset. I had this crazy accident,” I pause trying to figure out how exactly my brain managed to classify this as an accident. “A run in with Ezrina.”

  “Ezrina?” She purrs when she says her name. If I had time, I’d analyze that satisfied smile layered beneath her concern.

  “Yes. She hacked my arm off.” I hold it out as though it proves a point.

  “You look fine.” Her eyes sweep me up and down like she’s fearing for my sanity.

  “I am fine—thanks to you.” I hold out my new arm as though I were bearing a gift. “This is your arm, Chloe. Dr. Oliver reconnected it, and, in a few short hours, I was able to move my fingers. I could pitch a baseball game if I wanted.”

  Her features darken.

  Shit. The last thing I wanted to do was depress the hell out her, and on this, her last night breathing.

  “Chloe.” I grab a hold of her by the shoulders, but she shrugs me off. “I can do this for you. I can bring you back, with my blood.”

  Her entire person relaxes. She stares off towards the closet as though she were seeing a series of tragic events unfold.

  “I’ll be missing an arm.”

  “I’ll give it back to you.” I’m incensed she isn’t jumping at the offer.

  “What if my brain malfunctions?”

  “It won’t.”

  She slits her eyes in my direction and gives the slightest wicked grin.

  “Then do it.”

  34

  Crazy for You

  The dark sky lays over Paragon like an ashen wool blanket. The air is condensed so thick, you can’t move a foot without drenching yourself in dew.

  Dr. Booth, the psychiatrist Tad and my mom forced upon me, has been on vacation, so my sessions were preempted accordingly. Mom leads me up to his office by the hand like I’m seven, but I let her. I think back to my dad and wonder if I ever shrugged him off—probably. If it’s one thing his death has taught me it is to appreciate the flesh and blood in front of you. You never know when it will disappear.

  Dr. Booth sits with his hands stretched behind his neck, feet up on the desk. I don’t really mind seeing him since he confided he was a Levatio. This whole session thing is just a sham to please my parents more than anything else. At least, I think it is.

  “So let me get this straight—you have a Sector leeching onto you, you’ve unearthed a dead body and harvested it for parts,” he nods towards my arm. “You’ve decided you’re not really leading on Gage because he too is your real boyfriend, and your best friend and some stoner from math class are both Counts.”

  “Right,” I can’t tell whether or not he’s being sarcastic. “I didn’t actually partake in the unearthing of the body, and I offered to bring her back to life.” I’m quick to point out.

  “Hmm.” His feet return to the floor, and he begins to straighten a pile of papers in front of him. “I have to tell you that last one blows me away. Do you know the ramifications of this? Once the Counts get a hold of this information…” he pauses plucking off his glasses. The look of concern melts off his face. “Skyla,” he whispers, never wavering his gaze from the wall in front of him. “Rest assured, they are monitoring you, and when they need you most, you’ll be gone.”

  “Gone?” I don’t like gone.

  “Captive.” He animates again clearing a space on his desk as he says it.

  “When do you think they’ll need me most?” I swallow hard.

  “No telling. Maybe when one of their leaders gets greedy and demands a supernatural infusion. It’s limitless what your blood can do. Once you reanimate Chloe, well, you’ll both be in danger.”

  I never thought of it that way. What if she’s happy sitting on clouds and strumming on a harp? What if dead Chloe hates the fact I’m bringing her back, only to put her at risk of getting captured again?

  “I have to do it. I’ve already promised.” I say it to satisfy myself mostly.

  “Then do it.” He flicks his pen across the desk. “You know what I think?”

  “What?”

  “You’re the type of person who knows how to appreciate today. You don’t lose sight of the preciousness of life. So all this other stuff that’s cluttering up your existence is secondary. Enjoy your life, Skyla.” He relaxes into an easy smile. “While you have it.”

  ***

  Thursday after school Gage drives us over to the morgue. Dr. Oliver walks us into the kitchen and waits for the door to close before connecting his fingers at the tips and letting out a diminished sigh.

  “I think this could work. A person of your size and stature, and Chloe was,” he pauses, “has about ten to twelve units of blood. I can safely take about one unit every few months.”

  “She needs ten?” I ask.

  “At least,” Dr. Oliver squints into his thought. He has Gage’s exact same cobalt eyes. “And it will be years before we’ll have enough to begin.”

  “Years?” I lean into Gage for support.

  “We could try to speed up the process,” he continues. “I could narrow the donation window to once a month, and if you feel too weak we’ll expand the wait.”

  “Yes, please, let’s do that.”

  “Perfect.” He claps his hands together before reaching into a cabinet and pulling out a cerulean blue glass bottle. “I’ve already begun the unembalming process on Miss Bishop. I think we should introduce the tissue to something less toxic—saline will do. She’ll be fine as long as she’s stored at the proper temperature, no further decomposition.” He motions to the metal bed behind him.

  A plastic sheet lies over a small vertical lump in the stainless bathtub. It must be her. Reflexively, my hand comes up and covers my mouth.

  Chloe. I want know what she looks like, see her in real time.

  Gage steps in behind me and grips my shoulders. His e
rratic breathing heats up the back of my neck.

  “We don’t have to look,” I say.

  “No, by all means look.” Dr. Oliver speeds over totally missing the point and swipes the sheet off in one aggressive swoop.

  I turn and bury my face in Gage’s chest.

  “She looks good. What’s wrong with her eye?” The words rumble out of Gage.

  “Lost the eye, otherwise everything else is intact. I’ll open the Y incision tomorrow and inspect the organs. I’m assuming they’re fine.”

  I turn just enough to see her outline. Turning in full, I take her in. Chloe—she lies there like a sleeping doll, all decked out in the pale yellow dress she showed off for me last night. I guess her mother chose this for the burial because they took her in the blue one.

  Her right eyelid is sunk, but the rest of her looks like the Chloe I know. I catch a glimpse of her bloodied stump and bury my face in Gage’s chest once again. I can hear the rustle of the sheet sliding over her, feel the soft gust of wind hit my back, and I try not to breathe.

  “We can draw the first unit of blood right now if you like.” Dr. Oliver plucks a pair of gloves from out of a box.

  I walk over to the blue glass bottle and hold it in my hands.

  “How will you keep it safe?” I ask.

  “I’m taking it home with me. I have a refrigerated storage unit in an unsuspecting location.”

  “In the basement?” Gage asks.

  “No.” Dr. Oliver takes in a deep breath. “On the top shelf of the refrigerator.”

  Its evident Chloe and I are in capable hands.

  Worse case scenario, Logan or Gage go for a midnight snack and accidentally wash down a plate of cookies with a pint of my blood.

  But that’s not going to happen.

  Nothing is going to go wrong.

  35

  Wicked

  I’m disrupted in my sleep by the glow. My lids flutter open and I find Marshall sitting way too close to me on the bed, trapping himself between my legs and the wall.

  “Turn down the volume.” I sit up and shield my eyes.

  The light dims, and I can easily make out his features.

  “What’s with the hand?” He asks.

  “As if you didn’t already know.” The room spins slightly. I’m so dizzy with fatigue I just go with it.

  “I know the arm once belonged to Chloe Bishop.”

  “Yes, it did.” I lie back down on the pillow and turn over. “I’m going to reanimate her with my blood.” I prop myself back on my elbows and stare him down. “But you know that too don’t you?”

  “Why?” He doesn’t deny not knowing, just not understanding the reason behind it.

  “I’ve decided to take it upon myself to revive the Celestra population.”

  “And the Counts?”

  “They can kiss off.”

  “You like to live dangerously, I see.”

  “Are you waiting for Dr. Oliver to drain my blood slowly for you? Because if you are, just take me now. I’m tired of all this crap.”

  “Hey.” He pulls up besides me and caresses the side of my cheek with his forefinger. “Someone’s been sleeping on the wrong side of the bed. I’m not going to hurt you, I swear. It’s sort of a big deal for me to swear, do you understand?”

  “What do you swear by?” Probably his useless self.

  “By all that is holy.” He pushes in his chin. “Satisfied? I can do something else for you if you like.”

  “Place a guardian to watch over me. The wicked witch of the east hacked my bloody arm off.” I say a little too loud while spreading my fingers in front of his face.

  “Let me spend more time with you.” He touches my Chloe arm. It feels so good, like some stringed instrument is playing the most beautiful music, and I can understand it on a subconscious level from the vibrations alone.

  “Don’t stop,” I say.

  “Gage loves you.”

  My eyelids fly open.

  “Where’d that come from?”

  “It’s true.” He removes his hand and scoots back.

  “And Michelle loves you. It’s true.” I’m disturbed by the idea, and he should be, too.

  “You see the present I gave her?”

  “The demonic rose? How could I miss it?”

  “It’s because of you.” He says, stern. “She seethes with hatred towards you. I’ve never heard such a maelstrom of viciousness. The plans she has for you my love…” He looks darn right pissed for me.

  “And the necklace makes her my friend?” It makes sense on a rudimentary level and mildly explains the bizarre interaction I had with her on the field.

  “No. It’s a portal—a training window for Fems. Let’s just say Michelle will undergo a rather violent string of nightmares or ‘night terrors’ as the lay ignorantly refer to them.”

  “Training ground for Fems?”

  “They tend to get rusty.” He muses with a wicked gleam in his eye.

  I reach over on the floor and pluck the knife out of my purse. I hold it out, so I don’t have to look at it.

  “I meant to give this to you in class.”

  “You naughty little thief.” It sounds highly sexual the way he says it and suddenly I want him off my bed. “This, my love,” he wags the knife in the air, “is why I let her chop your arm off.” His features sharpen to just this side of anger. “I hope you learned your lesson. Never cross me again.” He evaporates until just the whites of his eyes remain.

  He watches me all night long.

  ***

  It’s freezing out—hard driving rain—smoldering soot-covered clouds wring out their wrath. The sidewalk bubbles fast and furious. It boils under the weight of the downpour. Paragon has turned into a cauldron, and at this rate we’re all going to drown.

  I need to see you tonight.

  Logan’s been texting all day. I wait until Gage is talking to someone else, riffles through his backpack, is in the bathroom, before I text him back in snippets.

  Can’t wait. ~S

  I’ve never seen Logan so thirsty for me. It’s nice to know he’s losing his mind a little. A part of me wants to strangle him for the peculiar break in our relationship.

  Almost the entire student population sits under the tunnel-like awning that divides the two main buildings. I’m perched on the cold metal rail next to Brielle who, for whatever reason, is pissed off at Drake, something about speaking to Lexy Bakova during third.

  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 relieved 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 still on.” His teeth radiate a light all their own when he smiles.

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

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

  “Mood lighting.” Brielle 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.” Ellis leans in behind her.

  I look at the two of them next to one another, Ellis and Brielle. I would have never suspected.

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

  Brielle shrugs it off, but Ellis drills 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 Marshall felt the urge to slaughter me.

  Logan wakes me in the butterfly room and presents me with a small bouquet of brilliant red roses.

  “I love them!” I bring them up to my face and take them i
n. They don’t smell 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 wall. “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.

  “Well, 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 tell the truth.

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