Celestra: Books 1-2

by Addison Moore

It takes three tries before he hikes his way up the horse, using its mane to propel himself over the top.

  “Nice job!” Mom explodes in both laughter and clapping. Her red hair whips in the breeze, and she looks about ten years younger this day. “Third time’s a charm!”

  The horse jerks a few times before taking off in a full throttle canter throughout the corral. Tad lets out a series of grunts and screams as he latches onto the mane with a death grip.

  You approve? Marshall casts a sideways glance at me.

  “Very much so.” I don’t take my eyes off Tad. I want to remember him this way, feeble, with all of the potential in the world of breaking his neck.

  It gets better.

  Marshall whistles and the horse kicks up on its heels, nearly dislodging Tad in the process. It strides back over, with Tad lying low against its back, frozen with fear.

  “Now let’s see the dismount!” Marshall calls out.

  Tad pulls his leg over the side and slips down under the horse’s body landing with a thump on the ground. The back of his head bounces hard before settling.

  “Oh my gosh!” My mother gasps throwing her hands up over her face.

  “Are you able to breathe?” Marshall calls out rather calm.

  A horrid groan emits from Tad.

  Before we can react, or my mother can slip into hysterics, it sounds as though a water faucet is going off.

  “Oh my freaking gosh!” Melissa screams.

  The horse begins to urinate within inches of Tad’s face. It’s the splash factor that makes this horrifically hysterical. The fact that muddied urine is getting splattered all over his face and neck is priceless.

  I shoot a quick look over to Marshall.

  I expect full payment tomorrow evening. Your sisters have riding lessons. I suspect it’s a good time to go over mathematical equations. He slides into a lazy grin. I’ll have the wings ready. We can discuss your destiny with Logan and Gage. Better yet, I’ll show you.

  42

  Show, Don’t Tell

  In the morning, before school, I catch a snippet of Chloe’s diary.

  October 1st,

  Logan took me to the movies and we just sat in his truck afterwards staring out at Devil’s Peak. He kept asking what was wrong. I finally just told him I was tired. I’m so glad Gage didn’t tell him I was dying. I really want the rest of my life to be normal, well, as normal as it can be.

  I saw the crazy redheaded wench again outside of the student parking lot. I was alone and it was just getting dark. I swear to God she came from nowhere. She had a noose in her hand and she tried to lasso me with it. I screamed bloody murder, got in my car and took off. I saw her laughing in the rear view mirror then she disappeared. Is it possible that Ms. Richards’ great, great grandmother was a Fem?

  October 5th,

  I did it. I went to Ms. Richards house Saturday morning and told her I wanted to talk to her. She sat me on the porch and started up with all that angel crap again. I felt like shaking her from across the table. All I really wanted was info on her demonic family, not to debate whether the Nephilim were real or myth. I felt like saying, do I look like a freaking myth to you? Anyway, I casually asked her about her mom and then her great, great grandmother. I asked what kind of person she was. Ms. Richards said that she heard she was a cold woman and clammed up real fast. Then I asked how she died, and Ms. Richards said the weirdest thing. She said she walked into the woods one day and never came out. They never found her body.

  I told Ms. Richards that I wasn’t feeling so good just before I puked in the bushes.

  It’s safe to say, I’m more than a little freaked out.

  ***

  After a long day of school and cheer practice, mom drops Mia, Melissa, and me off at Marshall’s house. The inside holds the hypnotic scent of fresh baked bread. I haven’t eaten since lunch and I’m half starved, but I’d rather let my stomach digest itself than ask Marshall for food.

  He leads Mia and Melissa out back and hands them off to a riding instructor named Julia. She sports a choppy blonde bob and a youthful face even though she’s probably in her thirties. Already there are five or six girls riding in the ring with a few other assistants.

  I meander over to the black grand piano that sits majestically near the window overlooking the sweeping grounds. A rose garden comes to life just beyond the glass. In this sleepy haze, they show off their colors of blood red and fuchsia, loud as a siren.

  My fingers migrate over the keys. It’s been so long since I’ve taken piano lessons. Fifth grade feels like a million years ago, a whole other lifetime. I practiced Pachelbel’s Cannon until my fingers ached, until they petrified from the effort. Of course, I called it Taco Bell cannon so I could remember the name.

  I start in, plucking at the keys, missing a few until the piece crawls to life.

  Marshall plugs in an amplifier next to me and it goes off like a horn. He picks up a shiny white electric guitar and starts to play along.

  He starts in slow, pulls out the chords as though each one were the most important. He picks up the tempo and I stop dawdling at the piano to listen. Marshall destroys the piece completely, in every good way. He is a rock god on the electric guitar and his version of this primeval piece, has the ability to grab you by the throat and make you listen with jaw-dropping intensity.

  About five minutes later, he places the guitar down carefully and motions me over.

  “Let’s take a walk,” he says, leading me to the back of the property.

  “That was amazing! You’re a freaking rock star or something.”

  “I am rather advanced with stringed instruments.” His face brims with pride.

  It’s cold outside. I’m still wearing my cheer uniform and, of course, forgot a jacket. The cheer sweater is more or less a joke, skin tight and cutoff above the stomach.

  “I’ve got something for you in the barn.”

  “So, I’ve been wondering,” I say as we walk along, “can people change the future?”

  “It’s a malformed question. Sharpen your focus and feed me the content one more time.”

  “Well,” I try to keep up with him. “If you show me a vision, for example, and say I find myself in that predicament, could I alter what I’d seen in the vision from happening?”

  “What did you see, Skyla?” He looks puzzled. “You’re beginning to frustrate me. If anything, earth is an exercise in patience—you qualify as one of the chief reasons.”

  “Gage says I’m going to marry him.”

  “And you find this stressful because you would rather be with me. Easily remedied.” He blinks a smile as he leads us into the barn. It’s still pretty cold in here, although the harsh chill has been removed and replaced with the distinct smell of horse crap. “What do you want me to change for you?”

  I pull my sleeve up over my face and breathe into it.

  “You don’t need to change anything for me,” I tell him. “I’ll do the changing.”

  “You don’t want to marry Gage?” He pauses, dropping his mouth open in a spasm of sarcasm.

  “I do.” The words fly out and surprise me. “But, right now I have feelings for Logan, too, and I’m plagued with guilt over this whole thing.”

  “I thought you said he left you? Doesn’t that solve the problem? Tell your emotions to leave the party. Only heartache comes from that. Never hang around where you’re not wanted.”

  Alright, so it’s obviously best I drop this whole thing. I’m not into analyzing my love life with Marshall anyway.

  It’s time for me to ease into Gage and get over Logan. Then, when the faction war ends, if I haven’t embedded my feelings into Gage completely, I can maybe go out with Logan just to see if anything’s still there, that is, if he hasn’t embedded himself into Lexy. This whole thing is turning into a pile of relational crap.

  “It’s just such a mess,” I say it soft, mostly to myself.

  He pulls the same dirty wings he had me wear for the photo shoot last
month, out from behind some equipment. One by one, he helps hoist them onto my back, secured with a metallic brace that hooks over my shoulders. They’re heavy—beyond heavy, and for the first time, I see they have the slightest blue tint in them.

  “Why the costume? Halloween was over five minutes ago.”

  He strokes his chin with his finger, examines me as though I were missing something.

  “Halo?” I ask, half serious.

  “Don’t be a child. It’s simply an effect caused by the inner luminescence we’re known to give off. Come.” He walks further into the barn and pulls open the door to a huge empty stall.

  I walk in without hesitating. It’s insane really—playing dress up with my Algebra Two teacher while he pens me in like an animal.

  He shuts the door creating a rather strange partition between us and the rest of the world.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I wanted to see you like this. You’re the most exquisite creature on earth, Skyla.” He gives a thoughtful nod. “This is the part where you reciprocate.” He looks dejected as though he knows it’s not possible.

  “You are the strangest creature on earth.” And hot as hell, but I leave that part out.

  “I have a vision that you can test out your theory with.” He takes a bold step forward and burrows into me with a heated stare.

  “I don’t have a theory.” Never said I had a theory, and suddenly I’m feeling caged in like an overgrown bird. Is this the part where I call Nev?

  “You need a foundation in which to test these thoughts that plague you.” He takes another step forward and runs his open palm along the rim of my left wing. It sends a sizzle of excitation coursing through my veins.

  “What’s this constant flow of lightning?” I try to keep my lips from shivering in rhythm to the vibrations.

  “Lightning is a good way to put it—passion is another. You felt it when I took you to my home—our home,” he adds.

  Marshall focuses intently, bears into me with his entire soul—I can feel him pouring into me. His features meld ever so slightly, and he begins to look like Logan’s twin again.

  “Do you prefer me this way? I don’t mind one bit.” He gives a wide vexing grin.

  “Stop that,” I say, but it’s too late. I’m already hypnotized. He picks up my hands and takes another step forward.

  I have to keep reminding myself this isn’t Logan. He’ll never be Logan no matter how hard he tries.

  “Skyla,” he imitates Logan’s husky tone with highlighted precision.

  I exhale a lungful of air that I didn’t realize I was holding. Logan gives a sad smile, the same melancholy look that Gage gave off for so long—still does. We exchange our sorrowful smiles. Everything in me knows this isn’t Logan, everything in me knows it’s not right to play with the fire that is Marshall. But how will I ever know if the future is immovable, if I don’t test it? How will I ever know if I should abandon all fruitless efforts and sever the chords that lasso Logan and me together like a noose on both ends?

  Logan comes in and kisses me, deep, masterful kisses that match my passion and intensity. It’s that electrical impulse that flies through me, that reminds me this is Marshall. It both detracts and rockets this experience to its zenith, leaves me lingering far too long and far too willing.

  A scene emerges—Gage and me, alone in the butterfly room. He plucks one of the paper butterflies off the wall and blows it at me. It energizes and comes to life with its bright blue paper wings, fragile as bougainvillea petals.

  Marshall and me are so immersed in our moment, with his arms dropping ever so slowly below my waist, that I ignore the squeak of the stall door opening, chalk it up to the wind, or Holden’s ghost.

  A shrill scream penetrates the air. It saws through the moment with its serrated buzzing.

  I look over and see Mia with her hands clamped over her mouth. Her eyes are locked in fear as she staggers backward and runs away fast.

  There was the kill switch—the sharp knife that could split my indecisiveness to ever act on my lust again. It was always reality that ended those feelings in me for Marshall.

  I push into Marshall’s chest with violent force. He’s completely himself again and that’s precisely what Mia saw.

  “You are ruining my life!” I thunder in his face.

  He pulls the wings off me one at a time with no affect whatsoever.

  “You don’t even care that she saw us.” I’m exasperated by his lack of responsiveness.

  “She’ll get used to it. In the meantime, threaten her. Find something to lord over her. That’s what sisters do.” He says it like it’s some universal truth.

  “You looked like Logan to seduce me.”

  “He’s your weakness—don’t blame me for the circumstances.” He blinks over at me. “I’ll play dirty if I have to.” The words slit through the air.

  I’m sick of Marshall and his head games. It was one thing when Mia wasn’t dragged into it, but now this has blown up into a huge freaking disaster. Not only is he my teacher, but I happen to have a boyfriend. What worse example could I possibly be to her?

  An explosion of anger rips through me. I grab him by the collar and yank him in close.

  “You are fucking with the wrong person.” I grit the words out in pieces.

  He steps back and dusts me off with one swift stroke.

  His eyes flare up a vivid glowing copper. He seethes as though I had somehow finally crossed the line.

  “So are you,” he spits it out with venom—then disappears.

  43

  Damage

  I try to calm Mia down as we wait for Mom to pick us up. I have no idea where the hell Marshall went, but I make myself at home in his living room in an effort to try to quell my sister’s hysterics.

  Melissa strides into the room. “What happened?” She’s alarmed by Mia’s blotchy red face, her convulsive hiccupping.

  “She fell off a horse,” I say it so quickly, I don’t have time to process the lie.

  “Did not.” Mia glares over at me. She goes to open her mouth then shuts it abruptly. “I tripped.” She cuts me a hard look.

  I mouth a thank you as Melissa looks out the front window.

  “Your mom is here.” She opens the front door and heads on out. Mia speeds out right behind her, leaving me alone in Marshall’s living room.

  The dagger above the fireplace beckons me. I plan on paying a visit soon to the regional leaders with Gage. I know Logan would never go if I asked. He’s too locked up in altruistic illusions just like the rest of them.

  I reach up with my left hand and pull it down from the wall. If I took this, then both Gage and me would be well protected. It’s ironic that I’m cradling it with my Chloe arm. It was Marshall who had Ezrina hack off my arm for stealing a butter knife. A harsh reminder of what it could mean if I took this from him too. He did say it was special issue.

  I drop it in my backpack and bolt outside. I don’t bother shutting the front door. Maybe he’ll think someone else might have taken it? But deep down I know he’ll trace it’s absence straight back to me.

  Of course, there will be hell to pay.

  ***

  That night I waste no time and text both Logan and Gage to come to the butterfly room. As soon as I get home, I research the people on Logan’s list. I print out a detailed map of the addressees in which the cowards choose to hide themselves.

  “What did you need the knife for?” Gage asks trying to pluck a blue butterfly off the wall as he says it.

  I pull down his hands. I’m more than curious to see if I can change Marshall’s vision, although everything in me says I can’t. Logan hasn’t arrived yet, so it’s just the two of us.

  “I took one from Mr. Dudley’s house. I want to see if they’re the same.” I produce the dagger from behind me.

  “You took it?” His eyes ignite with horror. “Are you insane?”

  I pull the knife Gage brought from out of the sheath.

&nb
sp; “Look at this.” A small round symbol of a hand is embossed into the top of the handle. I press it with intention just like Marshall said, and it glows a soft shade of blue.

  “What’s going on?” He scoots over toward me, careful not to touch the dagger.

  “It’s some otherworldly thing. Marshall said these were special issue.” I place it on the floor, and it dies back down. “It fries a person from the inside, almost instant death, just one quick incision.”

  “You really want to do this?”

  “I am doing this.” I pull the clipboard toward me again. “And this person?” I point over to the name, D. Edinger. “He’s last.” I breathe the words out with suspended anger. “I’ll cut my teeth on the others and bring my game by the time I get to him.”

  “Where’s Logan?” I’m not all that surprised he hasn’t bothered to show up yet.

  “Don’t know.” Gage examines me carefully as though he were assessing my sanity.

  “He’s not coming.” I try to mask the sadness in my voice.

  He doesn’t care about me anymore. It’s obvious the faction war means nothing to him.

  I pull out the knife I stole from Marshall and place it on my lap. I fold the addresses of the regional leaders and tuck them into my pocket.

  I lean forward and give him a succulent kiss.

  “Take me to Barcelona, Gage.”

  ***

  The morning sun warms our backs as Gage and I appear near a bus station behind a group of trees. We secure our weapons in the back of our jeans and head out toward an open marketplace. I don’t know how teleportation works or how he can control where we land, but I’m afraid to ask. As long as I don’t have the details, I won’t have the fear of ending up in some random men’s restroom, looming over my head.

  “Logan told me, a while back, that if you kill someone in a faction war you’re exempt.” I look up at Gage hopeful. “You won’t get caught, you won’t go to prison.” It’s the last one that terrifies me.