Celestra: Books 1-2

by Addison Moore

  “Yeah, I bet he would.” Brielle traces a heart with her finger onto the hood of the jeep, then rubs the muck off on her jeans. “So guess what?”

  “What?” For a moment I think of telling her about Chloe’s diary, about Carly, and how Chloe obviously mixed up Gage and Logan’s names.

  “Mr. Dudley offered me a job on his ranch, and I took it.”

  “Great.” My lips twist as I contemplate the unholy arrangement. “So when do you start?” I don’t bother asking what she’ll be doing. I already know it has nothing to do with horses or any other scam he’s running while trying to look perfectly human.

  “Saturday, and I want you to come with. I made him promise we could work all the same hours and days. It’ll be a total blast.”

  “Plus, Drake won’t catch on about you spending too much time over there all by your lonesome.” Marshall, a.k.a. Studley Dudley, takes good looking to a whole new level.

  She clicks her tongue and pushes hard into my shoulder as we head to first period. “You’re so funny. And did I ever mention, smart?” She shakes out her hair until it falls around her shoulders in dark copper waves.

  “Yeah well, I don’t want a job at the ranch.” In truth, I want to stay as far apart from Marshall as possible. I’ve been a little weirded out ever since he confessed to wanting to procreate with me.

  “Please Skyla.” She steps in front of me creating a barrier between me and the entrance to the English building. “Just the once and if you hate it, I’ll totally understand, and I won’t say another word.” She holds her hand in the air, pleading.

  Something about Brielle, her bright green eyes, the open look of mischievous behavior written all over her face, everything about her draws me in. Well, everything except for the fact she’s a Count, and the Counts want my blood. I should never trust anyone even remotely associated with the Countenance. They’re the last people I should be hanging out with, or catching rides to school with, or even time traveling with like I have been with Ellis.

  But all those things aside, I’ll do anything for Brielle.

  “OK, I’ll go.”

  ***

  Gage doesn’t show up for first. I’m anxious and keep checking my cell to see if he’s called or texted, but nothing. I stroll into second without bothering to acknowledge Marshall sitting at the desk impatiently tapping his fingers as if he expects me to be so enthused to be in his presence I should spontaneously break out into cartwheels or something.

  “Hey,” I slide in behind Ellis. His dark blonde hair is slicked back in soft waves. He looks slightly more lucid than usual, which means he either got up too late to get stoned or he’s already burned through his stash.

  “What’s up with Gage? You zap him back to the past?”

  “Very not funny.” I lean forward to continue our conversation just as the bell rings.

  Marshall claps his hands and strides into the center of the room in order to get our attention.

  “Homecoming is upon us.” He gives a broad smile in my direction. I’ve got dibs on the last dance, Skyla.

  Right. Like that’s going to happen. And what’s this ‘upon us’ business? Homecoming is not for like three weeks.

  “On behalf of the school, I’ve taken the liberty to reserve the Paragon Beach Resort Hotel. This means no party at Ellis’s this year.” He says the word party and Ellis as though they were vile. “I’m sure you’re all aware of the tragic events that marred last years event.” He rasps his knuckles against the desk of an unsuspecting student.

  Chloe. He’s talking about Chloe, how they, the Counts or Fems, kidnapped her during Ellis party, and a horrible feeling washes over me as though I were somehow responsible.

  “There is a dress code for this event,” he continues. “Formal wear for ladies and suits for the gentlemen.”

  Gage walks in interrupting Marshall’s dissertation on fashion. His dark brows lock in on me as his face breaks into a gentle smile that pushes in his dimples on either side. I clasp his hand briefly as he sits down behind me.

  “So, for instance, Mr. Oliver,” Marshall directs his speech toward Gage. “Someone like you, whose wardrobe is comprised of football uniforms, jeans, overalls and Speedos, what have you.” The class explodes in a fit of quiet snickers. “You are going to have to don a dress shirt and slacks, shoes without those spikes you use to gain traction in God’s green earth, and, most definitely, a tie.” Which could double as a noose quite easily, he adds for my benefit. “And if you’ve outgrown the one you wore to the family’s latest and greatest funeral, perhaps your father would be kind enough to let you strip a corpse for the night.” The laughter morphs into gasps. He could dig up the entire cemetery in search for that perfect designer look. Marshall winks in my direction. Lord knows he’s an expert at unearthing the dead. And by the way, Skyla, I have the perfect dress for you.

  Like I’m going to let some six thousand year old Sector dress me. Dream on. It’s probably some white robe that drops down to my ankles, fully equipped with a golden sash. No thanks. Or better yet, a tube top and Angel wings, probably sans the tube top this time. I bet he’d be thrilled to see me running around half nude.

  I pull a face without meaning to.

  He folds his arms across his chest, and bullets his gaze right at me.

  It’s black, short, has chains, and is sexy as hell.

  I shrink in my seat a little. I’m still not sure this whole telepathy thing is a one-way street with him.

  3

  Ride

  Since Logan and Gage drove to school together, it means I get to drive home with both Logan and Gage. Even though Gage mentioned it in passing, this information buoyed my mood all day long.

  I didn’t even respond to Michelle during cheer when she called me a bitch-faced snot for accidentally landing on her walking cast during one of our routines. I could hardly wait for that final bell to ring.

  Logan’s already leaning against his white truck, waiting. He’s got on a faded red sweatshirt and jeans. His hair is wet, combed back in dark blonde strands from either the early onset of dew or showering after practice. I walk up and give him the world’s quickest hug. The strong scent of soap clings to him and his skin is polished to perfection—definitely shower.

  “Hi,” I say. It comes out a little too eager.

  “Hi.” There’s a slight sorrowful edge when he says it. I can’t find it in me to appreciate our game of keep away in public. It heightens the intensity of the time we get to spend alone—makes me long to be with him a thousand times more concentrated than the sun. I let that dull ache burn through me all the while we’re apart. Let it needle into me until I want to cry out from its smoldering oppression.

  Gage pats me on the shoulder as he helps me inside, sandwiched in between the two of them. Suddenly it doesn’t feel so great anymore. There’s nothing in me that doesn’t like Gage any less than Logan, and even though I know this is wrong, strangely I don’t feel too horrible about it.

  It’s the Count’s fault I’m sociopathic when it comes to love. If they weren’t after me, I could openly be with Logan and would never have even gotten involved with Gage.

  “I have a surprise for you.” Logan digs into his cheek with a wicked grin. His brow arches into a perfect curve, and he takes my breath away with his beauty.

  “Really?” I try not to sound like I’m flirting while Gage sits dutifully by my side. I’m never going to hurt Gage. I swear to myself I won’t let this happen. “Is that why you guys were late? What is it?”

  “Yes, but it was worth being late. And let’s see…” He looks skyward for a second. “It’s big and hot, and desperately wants you to have your way with it.”

  OK, so Logan is not against the idea of flirting in front of Gage. I face forward trying to ignore him, watching the scenery bleed by.

  Gage places his hand over my thigh and shakes it as if letting me know it’s not a big deal.

  “Please take your hand off her,” Logan says with a restraine
d anger, his eyes never leaving the road.

  We drive another five minutes to the bowling alley.

  Gage doesn’t listen.

  ***

  “OK, close your eyes.” Logan’s enthusiasm has returned. He takes me by the hand and leads me through the parking lot. I keep my lids cracked so I don’t feel like I’m about to fall off a cliff with each step and let him take me around the building.

  “Open,” he whispers.

  The air is frosted with a milky layer of fog, coupled with the fact I’m creating a steady stream of smoke from my nostrils with each breath of anticipation.

  “Where is it?” There’s nothing but a dumpster back here, a fractured bucket rolling around in the dirt, and some old car.

  “This is it.” He glides into a huge grin, pulling me toward a dilapidated piece of junk. “Surprise.” He gives my shoulders a squeeze as he leans in and kisses me just above the ear.

  “Surprise?” It’s a dull faded orange and as old as like Tad and my Mom combined. Wow, Logan’s lousy at surprises. I totally won’t hold it against him though. “What are you going to do with it? And why would I be surprised to see it?” Maybe it’s a monument, and it belongs in a museum somewhere? Obviously it must have some historic value that I’m not aware of.

  “It’s for you. An early birthday present.” He wraps his arm around my waist.

  “Oh no—that’s OK, you don’t have to do this. I don’t even have my license.” Dear God, just being seen in that thing could socially isolate me. Maybe that’s the point?

  “Well, you’ll get it eventually.” There’s a mixture of hurt and hope in his eyes. “I can teach you. Besides, with a car of your own, you won’t need to rely on Gage to take you everywhere.” He leans in almost pleading.

  “Oh, I get it.” It’s the keep-away-from-Gage-mobile. “I’m not sure,” I say, opening the door. It’s heavy—feels solid, not all light and plastic like new cars. It smells like cigarettes and bunch of illegal stuff I’m not even aware of. Who knows what people have done in this car—it was probably known as the sex-mobile.

  I back up a notch.

  “I sort of envisioned my first car as something…” I scratch at the back of my head searching for answers.

  “Something more this century?” Gage interjects as he walks around the vehicle. “Nice ride, but it’s not you Skyla. And if you’re not ready to drive, don’t let this idiot bully you into doing something you don’t want.”

  I’m not so sure we’re talking about cars and driving anymore, and, for sure, I’ve never heard Gage refer to Logan as an idiot before.

  I look from Logan to Gage. There’s so much anger locked up in their eyes, so much newfound hate filling the gap between them. I feel horrible knowing it’s all because of me.

  “So where did it come from?” I’m almost afraid to ask. Judging by the rust spots around the wheel well, it’s safe to say it could have been abandoned for years somewhere on the island.

  “It was my dad’s,” Logan says rubbing the top of the car as though it were flesh.

  “This belonged to your dad?” I step forward and pull him back gently by the shoulder. My insides melt at the thought he wants to give me something so special.

  He pinches a smile and nods with glimmering eyes.

  “I love it.” I pull him in. “Can I paint it pink?”

  “No.” Both Logan and Gage answer in unison.

  At least they agree on something.

  4

  Oh Baby

  We leave Logan at the bowling alley and Gage drives me home. By the time we slide in at the bottom of my driveway, I’m pretty psyched about having my own set of wheels. Gage said it’s a 1966 Mustang with original paint and body, so I guess that was his nice way of letting me know why it wouldn’t really be a good idea for me to paint it pink or even reupholster the inside to that cool patent purple with glitter that my bicycle seat used to have. Evidently after Logan’s father died, it sat around collecting dust in the Oliver’s side yard, and Logan is more than happy to gift it to me. That, and it cuts down on my interaction time with Gage, which I know for a fact I don’t want to do.

  Gage hops around and helps me out of his truck. My knee is still pissed off about that fall I took a few days ago out of a two story window trying to get Ellis and Gage back into the right year. That whole time travel thing has definitely bit me in the ass, knee, and quite a few other places—I’m not so hot on cruising around the time continuum anymore.

  Gage takes my backpack and secures it over his shoulder. He tilts his head into me, his features lost in shadows. It’s only five-thirty and already it’s pitch black outside. I love autumn nights on Paragon. A dense layer of fog lies across the island like a thick blanket of sorrow. I love to let my emotions bleed into the weather here. It leaves room in my heart for the joy of having someone as spectacular as Gage around.

  He wraps his arms around my waist and rubs his cheek softly against mine. I want to tell him to stop, not to get so close, but I can’t find the words or actions to go along with that rationale.

  He brushes along my face until his lips find mine and offers a deep, luxurious kiss. My stomach bottoms out over and over until he gently pulls away.

  I want to say it’s wrong, but my tongue is tied up in knots at the moment.

  “I know,” he whispers. “I’m going to talk to Logan and tell him how I feel.”

  “I think he’s got a pretty good idea.” This is going to end up in a pile of crap. I can feel it.

  “I need to do it.” He chews the inside of his cheek and gets lost staring into the forest behind me. His black hair blends into the shadows. The deep blue of his eyes, glow in the night like luminaries. “I’m not trying to put you in any kind of weird position, but I need for Logan to hear what I’ve got to say.”

  “OK.” I tighten my arms around him and sigh into his chest.

  He leans in and offers me another kiss, slow at first as though he were asking permission this time, waiting for me to shove him away, tell him it isn’t right. Then comes the strength, the wave—an entire ocean of kisses, a circle that never ends, a seamless loop that could easily slide us across eternity.

  Something’s got to give. I already know this.

  ***

  The house glows an eerie orange. I race inside and toss my backpack on the floor. Everyone is seated at the dining room table, which is suspiciously complete with pressed linens, my mother’s wedding china from her marriage to my father, and my grandmother’s good silverware—never a good sign.

  “Just in time for dinner!” My mother takes me by the shoulders and guides me to an empty seat at the end of the table.

  “What’s going on?” I examine the gourmet offerings. Looks great. “You make this?” I marvel at the Mexican food buffet sprawled before us.

  “I went downtown to that cute restaurant we went to for Melissa’s birthday and picked it up.” She scoops some rice onto my plate before taking a seat.

  It’s quiet as we eat. The strange gaps of silence are filled in with the clank of our forks butting up against the dishes, the ice sloshing around in our glasses. I look over at Drake, and he shrugs as though he suspects something as well.

  “Let’s get to this, shall we?” Tad wipes his face while addressing my mother. His hair is fluffed out a good three inches longer than usual, and he’s starting to look a bit more portly than when he first married Mom six months ago. I still don’t see what drew my mother in. It’s like he’s got her under some sort of a spell. Now that I know I’m an angel from the Celestra faction, nothing seems outside of the realm of possibility.

  “First, huge announcement,” Mom taps her hands on the table doing her version of a budding drum roll. “Mia has decided to legally change her last name to Landon.” She annunciates her point with an open-mouth smile.

  “What?” I can’t believe this. “You can’t change your last name,” I say examining her up and down. Mia has slowly morphed into the mirror image of me with w
avy blond hair, grey eyes as clear as velum.

  “Yes I can.” She picks up a glass of water and starts chugging without elaborating.

  “No, you can’t.” I leave off the part about our last name being the final connection to our deceased father. “You’re a Messenger.”

  “And soon-to-be Landon.” She shoots over a curt look. “Look, it’s not a big deal, I’m tired of explaining to everyone why Melissa and me have different last names, and this way we can be real sisters. It’s not like I’m keeping it forever, I’ll change it again when I’m married. Relax, Skyla.” She sets her glass back on the table hard. “You make a big deal out of everything,” she adds, “drama queen.”

  “What?” I’m stupefied by this.

  “Enough you two,” my mother scolds, clapping her hands together once.

  I haven’t argued with Mia since before Tad and my mother started dating. It’s like having Melissa in her life demoted me to a distant family member you don’t really care about and pretty much ignore. I rather like that status.

  “Next big announcement.” My mother lets a lazy grin linger as she gazes over at Tad like a lovesick teenager. “You wanna?”

  “No you.” He motions.

  They banter back and forth until Drake knocks his knife up against the rim of his glass.

  “OK,” my mother starts. “Your father and I have decided to conceive a child.”

  “You’re going to have a kid?” Drake’s face explodes with shock.

  “Yes.” She giggles into Tad like a schoolgirl. “What better way to bring this family together in a circle of unity than the two of us having a child together?”

  “So when are you having the baby?” Mia is clearly overjoyed with the idea.