We Own the Sky (The Muse Chronicles Book 1)

by Sara Crawford

  The wind blew Lydia’s brown hair into her face. As a Muse, she didn’t have to let things like wind or gravity affect her if she didn’t want to, but she liked the wind. It made her feel alive.

  She was so engrossed in her thoughts, she didn’t hear the Muse, Mercedes, as she sat down next to her.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this,” Mercedes said. Lydia was certain that Mercedes was not her real name, but that was the only thing she would answer to.

  “It’s pretty fun, isn’t it?” Lydia asked, turning to look at her. Mercedes’s hair was bright red, wavy, and shoulder length. She wore a tight black dress and huge platform heels.

  “Yeah, it is!” Mercedes was a new Muse. You could always tell when a Muse was new. She had spent the first few months sitting around, listening to the music, watching the films, and looking at the paintings that she asked Urania to put in her head before Lydia had come to her to mentor her.

  Mercedes held a bottle of vodka in her hand. She opened it and took a huge gulp.

  “Don’t you think you should calm down with that?”

  “Are you kidding? I can get totally wasted, and it has no permanent effect on my body whatsoever. Hell yeah!” She held her bottle up, cheering loudly. “Are you sure you don’t want some?”

  “Oh, no,” Lydia said, “I’ve been sober for years.”

  “Why would you be sober when you’re immortal?” Mercedes asked.

  “You can still be addicted, man. And then your whole life is about getting messed up when it’s supposed to be about Art. Plus, the hangovers are still a bitch.”

  “You know,” Mercedes continued, ignoring Lydia, “I never would have guessed that an immortal could drink vodka and smoke cigarettes.”

  “It only has any effect on you because you believe it will. And besides, we’re not exactly real immortals,” Lydia explained. “I mean, we are. But we’re not like the Original Muses. We’re humans who have been turned into Muses. Our bodies stay in exactly the same shape they were in when we died.”

  “Well, at least I will have a hot body for all of eternity,” Mercedes laughed. She was thoughtful. “Am I ever going to meet them? The other Originals besides Urania?”

  “They wake up once every hundred years. Most of them just go back to sleep once a new leader has been chosen. They’re all pretty exhausted.”

  “You know, there used to be Nine Original Greek Muses.”

  Lydia looked at her with surprise.

  “That’s right,” Mercedes said confidently, “I know history, bitch!”

  “What’s your point?” Lydia said.

  “Well. You said there were only Seven sleeping. And Urania is here, ruling all of us, which makes eight. So…what happened to the Ninth?”

  “It was a long time ago,” Lydia sighed. “She’s no longer with us.”

  “She died? I thought we were all supposed to be immortal, especially the Originals.”

  “We are. It’s tricky.” Lydia didn’t want to go into the whole thing.

  “Tell me!” Mercedes said. There was some kind of spirit that Mercedes had that reminded Lydia a lot of herself. It was the same Lydia that once drove around with her high school friends in Seattle, smoking cigarettes and blasting Hole’s Live Through This. It was the same Lydia that once threw eggs at a passing train, drinking gin, and wearing glitter. It was the same Lydia that made out with boys she didn’t even know in the grunge bars in Seattle—pretending to be 21—as the Sex Pistols played on the jukebox.

  Mercedes was like that. She understood.

  Lydia sighed and told Mercedes the whole story of Thalia and Clio that Urania had once told her.

  “Wait,” Mercedes said after Lydia had explained the whole story, “does this mean we can have sex with people?”

  “Is that all you got out of this story?” Lydia asked, laughing.

  Mercedes was thoughtful. She took another sip of vodka.

  “So, we can get pregnant?”

  “Yes,” Lydia said, “or so I’ve been told. I don’t really understand exactly how it works, but apparently, there are a ton of legends about half-mortal-half-immortals. Zeus had several different human baby mamas.”

  “Do you believe that? The whole story?” Mercedes asked, cynical.

  “If you would have asked me when I was human, I would have told you you were crazy, but I’ve seen too much to not believe it now. And so have you.”

  Lydia didn’t like talking about the Nine. It made her feel uneasy and anxious.

  “Have you found an artist yet?” Lydia asked.

  “No,” Mercedes admitted. “Not yet.”

  “You have to be careful,” Lydia said. “If you don’t find someone soon, you’ll find yourself growing weaker and weaker.”

  “What happens to a Muse who doesn’t Inspire?” Mercedes asked, taking a sip of her vodka.

  “I’ve heard that she will grow weak and eventually move on. Sort of like if a human starves to death. I don’t think it’s happened much.”

  Mercedes was silent for a moment before she finally said, “I’ve sort of just been following Brandon around. I haven’t been too focused on finding an artist.”

  “The drummer guy you used to be in love with?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I used to have one of those,” Lydia sighed. “A musician, anyway.”

  “I was thinking maybe he could be my artist,” Mercedes said, “but I haven’t Inspired him yet.”

  “It’s dangerous,” Lydia said, “being Muse to an artist you knew when you were human.”

  “How so?”

  “It makes it so much harder to be a real Muse. Art is supposed to be the way we express love. It doesn’t always happen that way.”

  It was clear to Mercedes that Lydia would say no more on the subject.

  “Lydia. I have a question.” Mercedes’s voice was breathy and hesitant.

  “What’s that?”

  “I used to know a painter. Amber. Amber Morris?”

  “I know about Amber Morris,” Lydia said. Who didn’t know about Amber Morris? The famous painter who painted portraits of the same two unnaturally gorgeous people over and over. Vincent and Izabella.

  “I was friends with her brother. Matthew,” Mercedes explained. “So then it was real? Vincent and Izabella? Are they Muses?”

  “I think so, though I’ve never met them.” Mercedes seemed thoughtful again. Lydia knew she was giving her a lot to take in, especially considering how new she was.

  “How did they get Amber to see them? Can we do that?” Mercedes had such a hopeful tone.

  “It can be done,” Lydia said quietly.

  “Have you done it before?” Mercedes asked.

  Lydia grabbed Mercedes’s bottle without thinking and took the first sip of alcohol she had had in three years. The vodka tasted good going down her throat.

  “You want to make Brandon see you, don’t you?” Lydia asked.

  “Yes,” Mercedes admitted. “Look, it’s just that he’s so sad all of the time since I died. I just want him to know that I’m okay. That he doesn’t have to worry. That I’m in a good place.”

  Lydia thought of this for a moment.

  “It doesn’t work when a Muse tries to be with a human. You have to let go of your human emotions, your human life.”

  “Is that what you did?” Mercedes asked, taking a swig of vodka.

  “Yes,” Lydia lied.

  “Who was he? Your musician?”

  “His name was Dylan,” Lydia said quietly. “We were teenagers. He was the love of my life. He has more soul than anyone I’ve ever known.”

  “Is he famous?” Mercedes asked.

  “He’s still working on it.”

  “What happened? With you two?”

  “Well, I accidentally got pregnant, and we had a daughter. Sylvia. We tried to make it all work, but we were really into drugs then. I knew Dylan deserved someone better than me, that he and Sylvia would be better off without me. So, I left.”<
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  “Is that when you became a Muse?” Mercedes asked.

  Lydia took another sip of the vodka and changed the subject. “Mercedes, how did you die?”

  “Cocaine overdose,” she said with a trace of sadness. “You?”

  “I drank myself to death,” Lydia responded.

  They sat in silence for a few moments.

  Lydia knew something had to be done. She knew that before she could commit to any one artist, she needed to go to Georgia. She needed to see Sylvia and Dylan, to make sure they were alright. She needed to deal with the past. She needed Sylvia to know who she was, why she left.

  “Well, if you won’t show me how to do it,” Mercedes said, interrupting Lydia’s thoughts, “I’ll just find someone who will—”

  “It’s not that complicated,” Lydia said. “Just go to him, and give him your image. Focus on him, feel his presence, and focus on making him see you.”

  Mercedes was ecstatic. She threw her arms around Lydia.

  “Thank you!” Mercedes exclaimed. She lit a cigarette, took a drag, and shoved it in Lydia’s lips. “You know what we need?” Mercedes asked. “Urania. Give us a song!”

  “Violet” by Hole started playing in both of their heads. They sang along with Courtney Love, standing up and screaming along with the raspy vocals. Mercedes held her liquor bottle up to the sky.

  And then they were both laughing, lying on the rooftop, drunk.

  “Go to Brandon,” Lydia said, “But then you’re coming with me. I need to do something, and I want you to be with me.”

  “Alright,” Mercedes agreed, draping her legs across Lydia’s lap. “Where are we going?”

  “Georgia,” Lydia said.

  FIFTEEN

  Just the Music

  I can feel my heart sinking as I stare at the place where Vincent just vanished. I wish I had more than a few seconds to collect myself before I have to face the band. Travis bursts into the studio.

  “Hey!” he says as he sets down his guitar and his practice amp. “What’s up?”

  “Hey,” I mumble.

  “Whoa, are you okay?” he asks, noticing the expression on my face.

  “I’m fine,” I say. “I just have to…use the bathroom. You can go ahead and set up.” I attempt to smile at him, before I rush upstairs. I run into my room and grab Lily.

  Lily…Oh my God…

  This is all I can manage to write. I take a few deep breaths, allowing myself a few tears. Will Vincent come back now that I’m away from Travis? I wait for a few moments. Is he coming?

  No. Of course he’s not.

  Okay. Surely Vincent will finish talking to me later. After practice. There is no sense in freaking out about any of this now. I don’t know what will happen. I just need to go downstairs, get through Red Lampposts practice, and pretend that everything is normal. Maybe it will be.

  I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths, trying to meditate for a second.

  Okay. Shifting gears. Red Lampposts practice. I can do this.

  By the time I get back into the studio, Ryan and Travis are both warming up on their respective instruments, but they aren’t playing the same thing. It kind of gives me a headache.

  “So, Sylvia, I was just telling Travis, I got us a gig!” Ryan exclaims.

  “Oh yeah?” I’m not sure how to feel about this.

  “Yeah, but you’re not going to like where it is…” Ryan says. “Actually, neither of you probably will.” He looks over at Travis with a chuckle.

  “Where is it?” Travis asks.

  “Tommy Craig is having a house party next weekend because his parents are going out of town…” Ryan looks up hopefully.

  “No way,” I say as I flip the power switch on the PA system a little too hard.

  “A gig’s a gig,” Ryan says.

  “Are you trying to start another fight?” Travis asks.

  “This is kind of like a peace offering,” Ryan says with a note of optimism in his voice. “He’s even going to pay us fifty bucks. I was thinking it’d be more. His parents are loaded. But whatever.”

  “We can talk about this later,” I say. “Do you want to start with that new idea that you had, Travis?” The sooner we start practice, the sooner I can get Vincent to come talk to me. Hopefully.

  “Sure…” Travis says. And I can hear hesitation in his tone. He knows something is up with me. He shrugs and starts playing an aggressive, upbeat rock song, which is just what I need. I take out all my frustration with Vincent on Charlie. It feels good to feel the bass pedal under my foot, to feel the sticks in my hands as I strike cymbals and drums.

  We play through our whole set, and I’m more in love with these songs than ever. One of the best things about playing music is that you can’t think about anything else when you’re playing. You have to be present with your instruments. I manage this, and practice goes by in a blur. I notice with slight disappointment that Mariela never showed up today.

  As soon as practice ends, though, the expression of misery on Vincent’s face is all I can think about. The anxiety sets in, and I feel panic coming on. What if Vincent never comes back? When he Inspired me, that was the most amazing thing I’ve ever felt in my entire life. Have I gotten a taste of such complete joy, such bliss, just to have it taken away?

  “Sylvia…you okay?” Travis asks me. I have been staring off into space, and I snap back into reality. Ryan has his bass all packed up.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I’m just tired.”

  Travis nods, though he doesn’t look convinced. “Listen,” he says. “If something is wrong, you know you can talk to me, right?”

  Ryan pulls a flask out of his jacket and takes a swig of something. “Do you want a sip of whiskey?” He holds it out to me with a smirk on his face.

  “No, I’m okay,” I say. I look up at Travis. “I’ll be fine, really.”

  “So, are you guys good to play Tommy’s party next weekend?” Ryan asks.

  “I don’t know,” Travis says. “I’ll do it if Sylvia will.” They both look at me. Tommy’s party is the last thing I’m worrying about, and I want to go up to my room as soon as possible.

  “Fine,” I say. “Maybe it will be fun.” I don’t really mean this, but I manage to give them enough of a smile that they seem to be able to leave me alone.

  When they leave, I immediately rush up to my room.

  I sit on my bed for a moment, not sure what to do. How can I get Vincent to come talk to me?

  I decide to take a shower. I enjoy letting the warm water wash over me. I realize a few minutes in that I forgot to turn the music on. I finish up as soon as I can, and then I wrap a towel around myself and move to sit in front of the computer.

  I make a new playlist including “Tonight, Tonight” by The Smashing Pumpkins, “We Own the Sky” by M83, “Sing for Absolution,” a song from Tchaikovsky’s Sleeping Beauty. All of these songs remind me of Vincent in some way. I press play and lie down on my bed. As the opening synthesizers on “We Own the Sky” fill my room, I close my eyes and call out to him.

  Vincent…Vincent…Vincent…

  ***

  I am on stage, dancing in The Sleeping Beauty ballet. I have a burgundy leotard on with a black skirt, black tights, and black pointe shoes. Vincent dances with me, twirling me around. He is wearing his usual outfit—the long black coat, the black trousers, the black boots. His long dark hair is pulled back into a pony tail. He places his hands on my waste and lifts me high into the air. He helps me down, and when the violin swells to the climax, he pulls me to him. Our faces are inches apart. There is so much that I want to ask him.

  The image dissolves, and it feels like I am falling or perhaps flying in a sky filled with diamond stars. Except the stars are falling, too, I notice. The music has changed. It’s no longer the yearning violins but the breathy vocals of M83.

  And I realize, we do own the sky.

  Something makes me feel connected to all of them. I see Vincent and Mariela and the woman who is
my father’s Muse and Izabella. And then I see my mother. I know it’s her even though we don’t have any pictures of her and I haven’t seen her since I was five. She still looks like a teenager with her short, brown, stringy hair and her multiple earrings in each ear. Next to her is a red-haired woman I don’t recognize.

  We all travel together, and I am one with them. I smile at my mother and she smiles at me.

  We are all flying to Mount Olympus. I recognize it from my Greek mythology book. But when we get there, we start hiking up the mountain by foot. We walk through the clouds, and then I see an entire village above them. We are walking towards a house, and a woman with an unnatural beauty is standing in front of it. Is she one of the Original Muses? She opens her arms to welcome us.

  My eyes shoot open, and I sit up, my heart racing. I can’t tell what woke me. My Vincent playlist is still on, which consists of mostly mellow songs. I can’t remember what I was dreaming. I realize I’m still in my towel. It’s only about 10:30, I notice when I look over at my clock.

  I get up and throw some black pajama pants on and a Radiohead t-shirt my dad gave me. I put my sleep playlist on and turn it down before crawling back into bed.

  And as I drift back off to sleep, I can’t help but wish for Vincent’s arms around me.

  SIXTEEN

  Party

  “You’re playing with your band? Your first gig!?” Dad asks when I’m sitting in the living room, waiting for Ryan’s SUV to appear in the driveway.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “Can I come?” he asks, looking more like a proud parent than I have ever seen him.

  “I thought you were working…” I say. I stare at my shoes.

  “Where are you guys playing?” he asks, drumming on his thighs as he sits next to me on the couch.

  “Just some house party.” I’m trying to be as vague as possible.

  “Oh, I get it,” he says. “Someone’s parents are going out of town. So, you don’t want to be a drag and bring your old man.”

  “I hardly think anyone would think of you as an old man,” I say with a chuckle. “But I do know that there will be a lot of alcohol probably.”