We Own the Sky (The Muse Chronicles Book 1)

by Sara Crawford

  When I get to Greek mythology, Travis isn’t even in class. He must be ditching. Class goes by in a blur. I’m having trouble focusing.

  “Sylvia,” Ms. Bolton asks me as everyone shuffles out of class. “How’s the paper going?”

  “It’s going well,” I lie.

  “Are you enjoying writing about the Muses?” she asks with a twinkle in her eye.

  “Sure,” I try to make my face look happy. The truth is I regret my selection of the topic. I’d rather write about anything else.

  She gives me a puzzling look. For a minute, I think she’s going to wish me a happy birthday, but she doesn’t. I give her a little nod and walk out of the classroom.

  I’m walking out to the buses when I hear an enthusiastic voice.

  “Hey, girl!” Bianca exclaims from behind me. She practically jumps me, wrapping her arms around me. “I TOTALLY forgot it was your birthday! I’m so sorry!”

  “It’s okay,” I mumble.

  “No, it’s not! Happy Birthday, girl! Let me make it up to you. Let’s go to the mall!”

  “Um…”

  “Oh, come on!” She grabs my arm before I can even say no and pulls me towards her car, and the next thing I know we are walking around in some teenage girl clothing store that I don’t think I’ve ever been in in my life. In spite of my lack of interest, though, it does make me feel slightly better that someone remembered my birthday.

  She makes me try on a ton of clothes that she thinks are “hot” until she decides that a maroon quarter-sleeve top and a black skirt is a “must have” outfit, and she buys it for me as a birthday gift. She even buys me earrings to go with it. I do have to admit, the new outfit did make me feel a little better.

  “Thank you,” I tell her as we’re walking out of the store. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “It’s your birthday!” she exclaims. “Come on. I’ll buy you a milkshake.”

  She takes me to the food court and buys two chocolate milkshakes for her and myself. It tastes amazing.

  We sit down at a table, and Bianca shows me some of her latest pictures on her phone. There are a few of us playing Tommy’s party, there are some candid photos of Travis skateboarding, and there are some headshots of Cassie.

  “These are really good,” I say. “You’re becoming quite the photographer.”

  “Thanks,” she says. “Cassie’s always talking about how she wants to try acting, but she hasn’t gotten up the nerve to audition for anything. I convinced her that if she had headshots, she would be more likely to go to auditions, but she hasn’t yet.”

  “Is everything…okay with you two?” I ask hesitantly.

  “Sure,” she says. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “It just seems like there’s something more going on there,” I say carefully. “And the way she yelled at Tommy when she saw him hitting on you…”

  “That guy is a creep,” Bianca says, frowning. It feels like I broke an unspoken rule even bringing him up. “Who wouldn’t have yelled at him?”

  I shrug. Clearly, Bianca’s not ready to talk about whatever weird tension exists between her and Cassie.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks me, frowning.

  “Why do you assume something’s wrong?” I say, folding my arms across my chest. She gives me a look. “I know it’s stupid to be upset about but everyone forgot my birthday.”

  “Is that all you’re upset about?” she asks. I look at her, confused. “You’ve been kind of moping around for a while.”

  I sigh. Sometimes I forget how perceptive Bianca can be.

  “I kind of have feelings for someone,” I say quietly.

  “Who?” she asks, her interest clearly piqued.

  “You don’t know him,” I say quickly. “Anyway, he doesn’t like me.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just know,” I explain. “There was a moment when I almost kissed him.”

  “You did?” she sounds shocked.

  “Yes. It’s not really like me to go around kissing people. I mean, I didn’t even know what I was doing. It was like I was under some kind of spell or something. Does that make sense?”

  “Totally.”

  “Have you ever kissed someone you liked? I mean, have you ever initiated something?” I ask her.

  “Oh, yeah, I’ve definitely made the first move before. Guys really love that.” Bianca stares off like she is remembering something. She snaps out of it. “Why do you think this guy doesn’t like you?”

  I almost laugh when I think of Vincent as just being the “this guy.”

  “He just kind of avoided me after I tried to kiss him, and I haven’t talked to him since,” I say.

  “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t like you,” Bianca says with a smile. “Maybe he’s scared of his feelings for you. Guys do that, you know. Or maybe he just got out of a relationship.”

  I think about Amber and Izabella and how there may be some truth in that. Maybe I told Bianca about Vincent because I want to feel like it’s still happening. Bringing it up makes it feel like it’s not over.

  I shrug and change the subject. We talk more about her photography and some colleges she’s interested in that have great photography programs as we leave the mall.

  When we pull into my neighborhood, I vaguely notice a bunch of cars parked near my neighbor’s house. I am annoyed that Bianca has to drive really slowly to get around them.

  “Well, thanks for the outfit,” I say as I start to get out of her car. “And the milkshake. And being the only person who remembered my birthday.”

  “Is your dad home?” Bianca asks, ignoring my last comment.

  “He should be. Why?”

  “I wanted to say hi to him,” she says, looking down. Something about this makes me think that she is lying, but I shrug.

  “Okay…”

  We walk up to my front door, and I open it.

  “SURPRISE!” I hear voices shout, and I almost fall backwards.

  My dad is waving his arms with the rest of Midnight Walk, Leo and Jake. Ryan and Cassie are here, standing with Jamie, Travis’s brother, and even Derek, the old Red Lampposts drummer. I look at Bianca.

  “Did you…but I thought…wow…” I stammer. And then Dad is beside me, giving me a huge hug.

  “Happy Birthday, Sylvie!” my dad says.

  The party is surreal. My dad gives me some new vinyl records—Dead Cities, Red Seas & Lost Ghosts by M83 and Bloom by Beach House. Cassie gives me a new journal with a really cool photograph of an orange butterfly on it. Travis gives me all three Moonlight Bride CDs.

  Bianca gives me a framed picture of her, Cassie, Travis, Ryan, Derek, and myself, all in a group after the Red Lampposts show at The Warehouse. Ryan, Travis, and Derek are making goofy faces, and Cassie’s arm is around Bianca, and I am looking at the rest of them and smiling. I tear up when I look at the photo. It’s the best thing she could have given me. I throw my arms around her in an unusual hug.

  I have friends. These are my friends. I am overwhelmed.

  We all sit around playing music in the living room, eating cake. Leo and Jake are drinking beer, and I see Ryan sneak one from the kitchen. He pours it in a Dixie cup so no one will know. I roll my eyes. I can’t even be mad.

  I hear “Party in all the Right Places” by Jenny Treb come on in the living room. I can’t help but laugh.

  “Hey girl! It’s my song!” Bianca exclaims. She grabs my arm and pulls me up off the couch to dance with her and Cassie. Even though this song is really cheesy, I find myself singing along, dancing, having fun. I never really dance in front of people, but I’m not horrible at it. I do have rhythm, after all. I never thought I’d be dancing to this song, but when I forget about the fact that I’m not supposed to like it, I realize it is catchy. And for once, there is no crippling sadness, there’s no longing, there’s only this moment—dancing with my first real friend at my first real birthday party.

  “Turn this crap off!” I hear my dad call out. Another
pop song comes on. “Alright! There are seven musicians here. It’s time to jam!”

  We all file downstairs. Dad, Leo, Jake, Derek, Ryan, Travis, and I all take turns on various instruments, playing all kinds of music. Midnight Walk, Red Lampposts, Pink Floyd, Beatles, Radiohead. Everything.

  We must have been down here for an hour at least, maybe even two. I’m having so much fun that it doesn’t even matter.

  We’re playing a Led Zeppelin song. Jake is on guitar, Dad is on bass, Derek is on drums (I let him play Charlie), and I’m singing. Being in chorus has taught me some technique so that my voice sounds a little stronger even when Vincent isn’t here. We all actually sound pretty good until I notice that Jake is so drunk, he can barely stand up. And then he falls in the middle of a guitar solo, but he keeps playing on the floor until we finish the song. Derek sees this and erupts into a fit of laughter while he plays the drums. Even I have to admit, it’s pretty hilarious.

  We finish the song, and Travis takes my spot at the microphone. I decide to get another piece of cake.

  When I walk upstairs, I see Bianca and Cassie sitting on the couch, making out hardcore. I don’t even remember them coming upstairs, but they must have gotten bored with our jam session. I clear my throat, suddenly awkward.

  Bianca immediately spins around and sees me.

  “Sylvia…I…” she looks at Cassie, as if she has just realized what she was just doing. Cassie looks away.

  “I didn’t see anything,” I say quickly.

  “Okay…” Bianca says. “I’m going…downstairs. With Travis…”

  She walks downstairs and Cassie follows her awkwardly. Poor Travis. I feel bad for my new friend and bandmate. But is it my place to tell him what I saw? Is that the first time that’s happened? I decide I’ll have to let Bianca, Cassie, and Travis sort all it out. I don’t want to get involved. I walk into the kitchen.

  “Happy Birthday, chica!” Mariela appears in my kitchen. I smile.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “Are you having a good time?” she asks.

  “The best!” I exclaim. “Do you think Vincent will come?” I ask hopefully.

  She looks at the ground. “I don’t think so,” she said. “I saw him a couple of weeks ago. He seemed pretty down on himself. I’m afraid I couldn’t seem to change his mind.” I try not to look so disappointed, but tears are filling my eyes, and I’m afraid if I speak, the words will come out all choked up. Mariela senses this. “Maybe he’ll come around,” she says.

  I nod. “Thanks,” I manage.

  “I’m going to go downstairs with Travis,” she says brightly. “See if I can’t Inspire a new tune. Do you want to come?”

  I shake my head. She puts a hand on the side of my face. “It will be alright.” She looks at me and her lips form a simper before she vanishes.

  Without a word, I rush up to my room, shut the door, and lock it. I press play on my iTunes. M83 comes on. I sit down on my bed, and before I can stop them, the tears are coming.

  And now I am sobbing. I have finally lost him for good. He’s not coming back.

  There is a sadness that comes with losing Vincent that’s even deeper than some lost romance. All my life, I’ve loved Art above anything else. When I think about the future, I only want to be an artist. I don’t care about getting married or having children or going to college or doing any of the normal things most people want to do. I just want to play music. And ever since Vincent showed up, I was starting to think that was a real possibility. But now…I’ve lost him. I’ve lost my Muse.

  And then I lose it. I let myself cry like I haven’t let myself cry since that night in the garage. Because even though I have friends and family downstairs who I love dearly, none of them understand me, not really. Vincent and Mariela and the Muses are the only beings in the entire universe who could possibly understand everything that’s inside of me. All this crippling sadness and anger and joy and emotions that swirl around inside of me like a whirlpool constantly pulling me down. And Art is the only thing that makes it stop.

  Losing Vincent is like losing my chance to be an artist. How can I ever be Inspired if my Muse won’t come to me?

  And then—as if no time had passed at all since I last heard it—I hear his voice.

  “Sylvia,” is all he says, but it’s enough to make me stop crying. I look up at him, a thousand questions in my eyes.

  “Vincent,” is all I can manage to say. Relief washes over me like warm water.

  I notice “Wait” by M83 has come on, the only slow ballad on the album. In silence, Vincent offers me his hand. I look at him, wondering if I’m dreaming now, wondering if my whole life is a dream, and somehow not caring.

  I take his hand and he pulls me up.

  “Sylvia,” he whispers. “I’m sorry…”

  He takes my hands and places them on his shoulders, and then he wraps his arms around my waist. I embrace him, and we stand there, holding each other until we start to sway to the music. And somehow, I am in my bedroom, slow dancing with a Muse to M83 on my seventeenth birthday.

  I look right into his brown eyes, and neither one of us looks away. We sway slightly, holding each other, listening to the song, sinking into it.

  I grab onto him as tightly as I possibly can, not caring if he wants me to stop. I wrinkle his shirt with my fingers, pulling him close to me. He doesn’t stop me.

  We are both silent, listening intently to the song. The ethereal acoustic guitar and vocals reverberate through us, and it sounds like a soundtrack for the stars. I bury my head in his chest and the song swells, getting louder as the drums and bass and chanting harmonies bring the song up into a climax. I can feel my grip on him tighten, and for the first time ever in my life, I feel like the whirlpool of emotions have abated. I feel at peace. I feel complete.

  The goosebumps rise all over my skin, now, and it feels like he is Inspiring me. But we aren’t making any music. The energy is building between us.

  Vincent reaches down and pulls my chin up to face him. He looks me in the eye.

  “Sylvia, I want to be your Muse, and I want you to be my artist.”

  I beam at him, ecstatic. “I won’t disappoint you, Vincent.”

  “But that’s not it,” he says in a choked whisper. “I didn’t want it to be this way. I am a Muse. We are only supposed to express love through Art. But then in your dreams, you always pulled me so close to you, and I feel so much more than I’m supposed to.” He strokes my hair, and his eyes still look tortured. “I’m tired of trying not to be in love with you.”

  I remember something he once said to me as I inhale.

  “I am coursing through your veins…speaking to you in between every breath you take.”

  He moves his hand underneath my chin and pulls my face up, forcing my eyes to meet his. He studies my expression, waiting for me to decide.

  “Kiss me, Vincent,” I whisper.

  His lips slowly brush against mine, and the goosebumps are all over my skin. I pull back for a brief moment, just to look at him. With a silent exchange of acceptance, our eyes are closed, and our mouths are crashing into each other fervently. A wave of energy passes through me, into my arms, into my legs, into my fingertips. It overwhelms me so much that I am surprised I remain standing. He senses this and tightens his grip, steadying me. I inhale sharply as a tingling sensation flows through my body like a wild river, and I kiss him back with the same force and intensity that I use to play Ani or Charlie.

  A sense of aliveness floods my body, and I can feel all my cells buzzing with a new energy. I am lost, falling into him. I don’t even feel human anymore. I feel my spirit as if it is separate from my body, and I am completely immersed in his scent, his touch, his mouth, his existence. We are two spirits consuming each other—and the realization hits me that I am kissing music. I am kissing Art. And we are unlimited.

  PART THREE

  October 2012

  NINETEEN

  Clio

  Clio sat in silenc
e next to the six sleeping Original Muses. The only one who seemed to be stirring was Melpomene, the Muse of Tragedy, with her long, black curls pointing in a million directions, her Victorian gown all tangled up in the white sheet that lay on top of her Greek, copper skin. Clio noticed how her eyelids fluttered, how her arms twitched.

  And then, as if she had never been sleeping at all, Melpomene sat up straight, her vibrant, crystal blue eyes popping open. She looked around.

  “Melpomene,” Clio said.

  Melpomene turned to look in Clio’s direction.

  “Clio,” she answered with a serious expression on her face.

  “Do you know where the Dagger is?” Clio asked, wasting no time. “Urania doesn’t have it.”

  “Why do you want it?” Melpomene raised an eyebrow.

  Immediately, Clio launched into the same rant she had given Urania. Melpomene was a much better audience, expressing the same outrage in her solemn features that Clio felt.

  “And you need the Dagger to set things right?” Melpomene asked.

  “Yes. I was going to start with the half-mortal-half-immortals, but I will have to speak to more of the Earthly Muses in order to find them. They will look like normal humans to us. In the meantime, I thought I would start with Izabella and Vincent. I think they are in Los Angeles.”

  “I’m not sure,” Melpomene said cautiously. “Last time you got your hands on the Dagger, you went a little overboard even for my tastes.”

  “Listen, Melpomene,” Clio said harshly, “Something must be done. It is worse than I have ever seen it before. You know I can do this without the dagger, but it would be much easier if I had it. Are you going to help me or not?”

  Melpomene thought for a moment, staring off into the distance.

  “I want to see for myself,” she finally said. And then images flooded her mind—one after the other—images and video clips and songs.