We Own the Sky (The Muse Chronicles Book 1)

by Sara Crawford

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Lydia

  Lydia sat on top of a billboard just outside of Marietta, drinking a bottle of whiskey straight and smoking cigarettes, one after the other. She had been crying for days, and she knew something must be wrong with Urania because she had stopped responding to her requests for music in her head. Lydia had been forced to get some actor in a local community theatre to buy her a cheap mp3 player and fill it with her favorites. She also made him buy her the alcohol and cigarettes before she vanished. He would never know she was a Muse. Lydia had gotten too good at that—manipulating the artists into doing whatever she wanted them to and then vanishing.

  But now, here she sat, on a billboard. She couldn’t go back to Dylan’s house, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave Georgia yet. Sylvia had turned out to be such a beautiful young woman. And she couldn’t believe that that lunatic Muse Vincent was carrying on a relationship with her. Would Vincent repeat the same mistakes with Sylvia that she made with Dylan?

  She did feel bad about the fact that Dylan was currently without a Muse, which was clearly not helping his sobriety. Lydia couldn’t help herself, though. She had told Carrie to leave him alone. She was going to be his Muse. She was going to tell him the truth, tell Sylvia the truth. They could be a family again. They would have been if Vincent hadn’t ruined everything.

  A part of her knew that Sylvia had been right. A part of her knew that she had treated Dylan horribly from the moment she first met him; she should have told him what she was. She never should have deceived him or tried to hide him from the world with drugs and alcohol, which couldn’t affect her body but could certainly affect his. He had turned into a real addict, and it had all been her fault.

  “Hey, man!” Lydia didn’t even budge when she heard Mercedes’s voice beside her. And yet, she couldn’t help but smile. She looked over at Mercedes.

  “Hey,” she said weakly. Mercedes threw her arms around Lydia.

  “What’s wrong?” Mercedes asked.

  “I saw Sylvia,” Lydia admitted. “She absolutely hates me. She kicked me out of the house.” Lydia took a big sip of her whiskey.

  “Well…” Mercedes hesitated. “Once you explained to me that she was actually a half-Muse…I mean, I was shocked by that. I can’t imagine how she must have felt, man.”

  “Yeah,” Lydia sighed.

  Lydia handed the bottle of whiskey to Mercedes, who shook her head.

  “You don’t want any?” Lydia asked.

  “No,” Mercedes said. “I don’t think it would be a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “Lydia…” Mercedes spoke slowly. “I think I’m pregnant.” Mercedes exhaled. “Well, aren’t you going to say something?” she asked after a long moment of silence.

  Lydia stared out at the suburbs of Atlanta. She lit a cigarette and took a long drag. She flicked ashes down to the ground below.

  “Congratulations,” she said without smiling.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Let’s Begin Again

  When I wake up, my father is knocking on my door. Loudly.

  “Sylvie, you awake?”

  I’m trying to remember last night’s dream as I look over at my door. I get up out of my bed and walk to the door, unlocking it and then opening it.

  “Hey…”

  “Um…hey, Dad.”

  We are awkward. I look back at my bed.

  “I’ll give you two a moment,” Vincent whispers. He blows me a kiss and vanishes.

  “Sylvia, I’m sorry about yesterday,” he says quietly, putting a hand in his brown hair.

  “That’s okay, Dad. We all have our moments.”

  Does he remember anything? Does he remember Lydia was here? I don’t want to bring it up on the chance that he blacked out and forgot the whole thing.

  I haven’t even begun to process how I feel about Lydia or seeing her or how I yelled at her and kicked her out. When I start to think about that, a wave of sadness mixed with anxiety and anger bubbles up inside of me. I brush it aside. I’ll deal with that later.

  “What happened to band practice?” I ask.

  “I think the guys came over, but I wasn’t exactly in a good state to play.” He winces slightly. “Sylvia, I wanted to say thank you. I don’t remember much of yesterday, but I’m assuming you were the one who got me into bed and made sure I didn’t…well…thank you.”

  “It’s okay, Dad,” I mumble, staring at the floor. But it’s really not okay. And we both know that.

  “I’m going to a meeting today,” he says, unprompted.

  I nod, not knowing what else to say. It’s been so long since he’s been to Alcoholics Anonymous. This does make think at least he might not completely relapse.

  “It won’t happen again,” he promises. And then for no reason at all, he opens his arms and gives me a hug. I hug him back, closing my eyes.

  “Hey, listen,” he says, pulling away, “I was thinking you should get your license soon. Maybe Saturday?”

  Anxiety. Panic.

  “Sure, Dad. Saturday’s fine.” I sigh.

  “Do you want to practice driving? I could give you a ride to school. I mean, you’d drive, obviously.” As soon as he says that, I can feel my pulse quicken. Why can’t I have a Muse who Inspires me to drive?

  I nod.

  “Just… let me get ready…”

  My dad gives me a weak smile, and for just a moment, I think I see a hint of recognition on his face. Does he remember?

  He disappears down the hall, and I stumble into the bathroom. I shuffle through a few CDs on the bathroom sink. I settle on Lungs by Florence and the Machine. I used to love this album when it came out, when I was a freshman. I haven’t listened to it much since then.

  I skip to my favorite track, “Cosmic Love,” turn it up, and turn the water on in the shower.

  Isn’t it funny how music can transform you into another place entirely? The way a song can send you swirling back into the past and you can see it clear as day? As I hear this song, I know that I am standing in the shower, washing my hair, smelling the scent of my mango shampoo. But as I listen, I can clearly see the 14-year-old version of myself, walking down to Cool Beans for the first time, listening to this album on Murphy. I can smell the scent of autumn in the air, feel the crunch of the fallen leaves underneath my feet, and feel the warmth of my old, green sweater.

  That was one of the first moments I felt like an independent person. I remember feeling that things would somehow be okay, listening to this song and feeling like one day I would fall in love and have adventures of my own. I remember feeling like the world was full of possibilities.

  But then the song ends, and there’s nowhere to be except in this moment. And I have to get ready so I won’t be late to school.

  ***

  I walk into chorus in somewhat of a daze. I must have been walking fast because I’m one of the first ones here. I look around for Vincent, but he’s nowhere to be seen, so I pull out Lily.

  I drove Dad’s truck to school this morning. Normally, it takes about five or ten minutes to drive to school. It only takes longer on the bus because we go a little out of the way to pick up other people. I managed to make it a much longer journey because I refused to drive faster than absolutely necessary. I was so tense, gripping the steering wheel in a death grip the entire time. I know Dad wanted to tell me to drive faster, but he was quiet the whole ride. I don’t even remember what CD was in his CD player.

  There are more important things to write about than driving. My mother…Vincent…my dad.

  I’m a half-Muse, Lilly. Half-immortal.

  “Hey, girl!” Bianca says. Flustered, I immediately shut my journal and look up.

  There she is, wearing a Jenny Treb t-shirt and holding hands with Travis. I guess they worked it out. Cassie still doesn’t appear to be speaking to Bianca. They both sit on either side of me. Travis unlaces his hand from Bianca’s, mumbles hello to me, and goes over to sit with the tenors, pretendin
g to be preoccupied with his sheet music even though our concert is in a few days and we have all the music memorized at this point.

  “Did you two make up?” I ask.

  Bianca looks over at Cassie. “Yeah,” she says. “I told him that I really like him—that I like guys. We talked for a while, and now everything is okay.”

  Cassie looks angry. “How convenient,” she mutters. “It must be nice to be bisexual.”

  “What did you say?” Bianca asks Cassie over me.

  Vincent appears.

  “Caught in the middle of a love triangle?” he asks, smiling a little though he’s obviously trying not to.

  It’s not funny, I think. It’s a complicated situation between the three of them.

  “They’ll get past it. I promise,” he says, smiling at me. “Are you glad to see me?”

  Always. I can feel myself blushing.

  “You look beautiful today,” he says. “But then, you always do.”

  I look down at my faded jeans and my blue t-shirt. Does he really think I’m beautiful like this?

  “Alright,” Mr. King says, starting class. “Our concert is Friday! And I don’t know about you guys, but I’m excited.”

  His enthusiasm is contagious, I must admit. Ms. Bolton walks into class, looking a little disheveled for once. A bunch of the guys perk right up.

  “Hey Kate!” Mr. King says enthusiastically. “Ms. Bolton has agreed to play piano for us for the concert on Friday.”

  “Hey, guys!” Ms. Bolton says, sitting down at the piano, smiling, giving me an extra wink.

  You know, I think to Vincent. For some reason, I feel like she might know about the Muses.

  “I suspect she does if she teaches Greek mythology,” Vincent says with a little laugh.

  Of course, she knows about those Muses. I meant the rest of you.

  “Let’s warm up and then go through all of the songs for Friday,” Mr. King says. He glances quickly at the spot where Vincent is standing.

  Did you see that? I ask Vincent. I swear, he just looked at you. Do you think he can see you?

  “No, my dear,” Vincent whispers.

  We all stand up. I place Lily on my seat as we start singing scales. And then we are singing “Let’s Begin Again.”

  This song is all about starting over, starting fresh. I love the feeling when a song has new meaning. I’m staring directly into Vincent’s deep brown eyes as I sing. Can we begin again? Start all over, now that we both know that we are somewhat more equal? I am, after all, half of whatever he is. I’m not crazy, I remind myself. It feels good to think that.

  As we move through and sing all our songs for the fall concert, everything dissolves. There is no Lydia, there is no addict father, there is no learning how to drive, there is no crazy drama with Bianca and Cassie and Travis. There is only this moment, our voices, the music and Vincent. There’s always Vincent, isn’t there? I never feel at one with the present moment as much as I do when Vincent Inspires me, and I become the music. It’s as if I give up myself completely.

  Alarmingly, another Muse shows up. I recognize the man immediately. He looks a little younger than any of the other flickering people I’ve seen, maybe even younger looking than me. He has golden hair and bright blue eyes. If I didn’t know he were a Muse, I might think he was an angel. He’s even dressed in all white. I recognize him because he is Ms. Bolton’s Muse, the one I saw with her that time at Smith’s Olde Bar.

  He stands behind Ms. Bolton as she plays piano. Of course, Mariela rushes in now, too.

  “What are you two doing here?” the golden-haired Muse asks Vincent and Mariela. “Does a high school chorus concert really need three Muses?”

  Look! Ms. Bolton has a Muse! I told you! Ask him if he’s revealed himself to her, I think to Vincent.

  We launch into another song, but I am paying more attention to the Muses.

  “What are you doing here, Mark?” Mariela asks. “Does Kate really need her Muse to play piano accompaniment at a high school chorus concert?”

  “My other artists are all sleeping,” Mark says.

  “Have you revealed yourself to her?” Vincent asks Mark.

  “Once. She doesn’t remember it,” Mark says.

  “My artist suspects she knows about us,” Vincent says.

  Mark looks over at me. Then he looks back at Vincent.

  “Can she see all of us?” Mark asks, aghast.

  Vincent nods.

  “Baker!” Mr. King is calling me. “I said we were doing ‘Seasons of Love’ now. Come down for your solo.”

  “Oh, sorry,” I mumble as I rush down to the front. It’s really hard to pay attention to Mr. King when there are three Muses having a conversation.

  “We’ll need to continue this later,” Vincent says firmly. “Sylvia needs to focus.”

  “I don’t understand,” Mark says, ignoring Vincent. “How can she see all of us?”

  “She’s a half-Muse,” Mariela says excitedly. I look at her, surprised. “Vincent told me, chica.” She gives me a little smile.

  “A half-Muse?” Mark is shocked.

  “Shhhh!” Vincent hushes them both as Ms. Bolton plays the opening chords to the song and Travis and I stand side by side.

  The song sounds amazing, and we both nail our solos.

  “I think we are going to kick some ass on Friday!” Mr. King exclaims. “Er…kick butt!” he adds quickly. Everyone laughs. No one in this crowd is going to complain about Mr. King swearing. Ms. Bolton smiles at him, and I decide that they must have dated at some point. Somehow, I really wish they would get together. It’s like rooting for two characters to get together in a sit-com.

  “Great job today,” Vincent whispers in my ear. I feel the goosebumps rise on my skin as he brushes a finger down the length of my arm so lightly that I almost can’t even feel him touching me. I want to grab him and kiss him, but that would probably look really weird to everyone who can’t see him.

  “I guess I will see you two at the concert on Friday,” Mark says. He adds a little nod to me. “And you, too, Sylvia.” I try to nod inconspicuously back at him, and he disappears.

  “Bye, chica!” Mariela gives me a little pat on the shoulder and then disappears as well.

  What’s up with that Mark? I think to Vincent. I thought most Muses only had one artist at a time.

  “Some don’t,” Vincent says simply. “It’s kind of like monogamy. It is the norm, but then you have all sorts of variables on that. Polygamy, polyamory, infidelity…”

  I nod, thoughtfully.

  I grab my book bag and start to walk to lunch. I walk behind Bianca, next to Ryan and Cassie, who are talking. I also notice Travis has disappeared. Vincent walks behind me, which is unusual. He typically disappears after chorus.

  “I’m going to Los Angeles tonight so you may not see me,” Vincent says.

  Los Angeles? Why?

  “I need to speak to Izabella,” he says softly. I feel a sting of jealousy.

  Izabella?

  “Don’t look so worried,” he laughs. “She’s working on a project, and I just wanted to ask her about it.”

  Oh. I try not to look so sullen. What about my half-Muse stuff? Weren’t you going to show me how to…I don’t know…get music to play in my head or a film or something? Do you think I could do that?

  “I’m not sure, my dear,” he says thoughtfully. “It can wait until tomorrow, though.”

  “Tomorrow?” I say aloud.

  “What about it?” Ryan asks me.

  “Um…oh, I was just thinking out loud,” I say. I really need to be more careful about that. I’m slipping up a lot more these days.

  “Careful,” Vincent says, echoing my thoughts.

  Anyway, will you be back in time to come practice my songs with me?

  “I’m not entirely sure,” he says. “But you’ll be able to practice without me if it comes to that.”

  How? I realize this is a stupid thought. I played music for years before I even kn
ew Vincent. But the idea of playing those songs without him standing next to me seems impossible somehow.

  “My dear, you have the blood of the Muse inside of you,” he says. “You don’t need me.”

  This makes me sad.

  You’re not leaving, are you?

  “I’ll never leave you,” he says.

  Except now…to go see Izabella.

  “That’s only temporary. I’ll be back.” He touches my hair once, gently. And then he vanishes.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Clio

  Clio sat in Café La Boheme in Los Angeles at an empty table with Norris, an Earthly Muse. Clio had to admit she liked him. He was an African American man who had once been a blues guitarist in the 1940s. She couldn’t remember where he was from, somewhere in the American South. New Orleans or Memphis. He had been in Los Angeles for two years, and he knew everything that went on in this city. Luckily, he had taken to her mission easily.

  It was just after lunch time. A man named Peter sat at the table behind her, waiting.

  “Are you sure that’s him?” Clio asked Norris.

  “Yes, that’s Matthew Morris’s agent. He’ll be here.” Norris laughed with his whole body.

  They waited another five minutes without speaking.

  And then he came strolling in the door. Matthew Morris. The handsome actor wore huge sunglasses over his eyes, and his brown hair looked disheveled. He sat down at Peter’s table.

  “Matthew,” Peter said angrily, not even greeting him. “Where the hell have you been?”

  “Look, I don’t have time to explain everything just now,” Matthew said. “I have to go meet someone. But just do me a favor.” Matthew pulled out a disc in a small plastic case. “Just watch this and tell me what you think. I’ve been experimenting with a documentary idea. I think it could be huge.”

  “Matthew, I have several projects I need to talk to you about. You don’t answer your phone, you just go off the grid completely, and then I finally get you to meet with me and you just give me a random DVD of some home movie you’ve made? You’re not a filmmaker, Matthew, you’re an actor. And I need—”