We Own the Sky (The Muse Chronicles Book 1)

by Sara Crawford

  Travis is acting so normal, too, and I’m starting to think I was just being dramatic earlier. So maybe they did only ask me to be in the band because of who my father is, but now, it’s more than that, isn’t it? They are my friends.

  “Oh my God, you guys,” Cassie says as she looks at her phone. “Matthew Morris died.”

  “What? The actor?” Bianca asks.

  “Yeah. Apparently, it was a heroin overdose.”

  “No, really?” Travis asked.

  “He was one of my favorite actors,” Cassie says. “And his father directed some of the most brilliant films. We just watched one in my film appreciation class and it was so—”

  “I never even knew he was on heroin!” Bianca exclaims, interrupting Cassie before she can go on one of her film geek rants.

  “It’s like the Jenny Treb thing…” Jamie says.

  They continue to chat about it. I am distracted. Matthew Morris. Amber’s brother. I know in my gut that this has something to do with Izabella or Vincent or both of them. What does this mean? A shiver runs down my spine.

  “I think I’m going to walk home,” I say in a shaky voice.

  Everyone says goodbye to me, but Travis insists on driving me home. After he drops off Bianca, we are alone in his car.

  “Great job tonight,” Travis says as I am sitting in his passenger seat. Moonlight Bride is on, making me feel a little nostalgic, though so little time has passed since he first showed me this band.

  “Thanks,” I reply. “You sounded great, too.”

  “Thanks.”

  We sit in silence for a moment as the song plays.

  “Travis,” I say, taking a deep breath. “So I’ve been writing a lot of songs lately, and I’m actually playing at Cool Beans in a couple of weeks.”

  “Really? That’s awesome,” he says. “Can I come?”

  “Sure,” I say with a shrug. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

  “Yeah?” he seems nervous.

  “When you and Ryan asked me to join the band, did that have anything to do with who my dad is?”

  Travis is silent. “Alright,” he says. “I will admit, at first, that was a big part of it. But then, I became friends with you. We both did. And you turned out to be a really great drummer.” He sighs. “I’m sorry. And I’m sorry I wasn’t more open minded when you tried to play your song at band practice. It did sound great.”

  “It’s…alright,” I say quietly. “And you don’t think…you don’t think I’m crazy?”

  His mouth twists. “No,” he says. But I can tell he’s lying. I don’t push it.

  “I…I think I need to take a break from The Posts,” I say quietly.

  “What?” he asks, his mouth dropping open. “Sylvia, really, is this about your song?”

  “Kind of,” I say.

  Travis frowns. “I wish you wouldn’t quit.”

  “It’s just for a bit. Maybe.”

  We sit awkwardly in my driveway.

  “Maybe we should talk more about it later,” I say.

  “Yeah, whatever.” He frowns.

  I wait a moment before saying, “Goodnight, Travis.”

  “Goodnight.”

  I get out of the car. Well, that was uncomfortable.

  I rush up to my room where Vincent is waiting for me in my computer chair.

  “How was the pizza?” Vincent asks.

  “It was good,” I say. “A little weird with Travis. I told him I was taking a break with the band.”

  Vincent settles on a Muse album. Absolution. Is he trying to be ironic or does he know how much this album reminds me of him?

  “Did you hear about Matthew Morris?” I ask him.

  “Yes. Supposed heroin overdose.” He is hesitant.

  “It wasn’t heroin, was it? Does it have anything to do with you and Izabella? Wasn’t he Amber’s brother?” The questions are spilling out of me frantically.

  “Shhhh,” he says. “Everything will be alright.”

  He clearly doesn’t want to talk about it. I feel a sense of urgency to be close to him.

  Without thinking, I rush over to him, spin the computer chair around so that he is facing me, and press my lips to his hungrily, crashing into him. I want him so badly, I can’t see straight. He kisses me back with equal passion. For a moment, I think he might be giving into me, but then he pulls away.

  “Don’t you want to put your pajamas on?”

  I sigh and nod. I grab my pajamas and sneak into the bathroom. How long will we continue this dance of ours? Will he ever give up? What is he waiting for?

  I shouldn’t even be thinking about this with everything else that’s going on.

  I didn’t even check on my dad, I realize.

  I put my pajamas on and brush my teeth. I go back into my room where Vincent is sitting on the bed. I grab my phone to text my dad.

  Dad, are you okay?

  I crawl into bed with Vincent. He is quiet.

  “Sylvia,” he says. “Don’t you think you’ll ever want to be with a human? Someone that everyone else can see? Someone who can give you a normal life?”

  I don’t like it when he talks like that.

  “No,” I say. “A normal human wouldn’t understand me the way you do. We can have entire conversations in melodies. Whenever I’m feeling any emotion—whether it’s my crippling sadness or exhilaration or anxiety or anger—I can look at you, and it’s like you actually feel the exact same thing that I’m feeling. It’s like we are made up of the same energy; we’re connected in an entirely unique way. I’ve never had that with anyone. I didn’t know it was possible.”

  He looks at me for a moment, saying nothing. His eyes tell me he knows exactly what I am talking about. I’m not really sure where the words came from. When I’m with Vincent, ideas and words and thoughts and songs just come to me, and it’s hard to tell which are mine and which are his.

  He looks away, breaking the gaze.

  “I don’t know,” he says, “you might change your mind.”

  I move his chin so that I force him to look at me. This is something he usually does to me. It’s as if I have a newfound confidence, though. I have never been so sure about anything in my entire life.

  “I will never change my mind. Vincent, I know that you’ve had your heart broken a lot in the past. But I’m different. I’m not like Izabella or Amber. You said it yourself; I have the blood of the Muse inside of me. And that means that I understand you in a way that no one else ever will. And…I love you.”

  Maybe I should feel silly, having just told an immortal Muse that I’m in love with him, but I don’t budge. I don’t look away. I don’t apologize.

  His face softens into a genuine smile.

  “Sylvia, I love you more than I can possibly say. More than you know.”

  And then he’s kissing me with so much vigor that I feel like he’s trying to swallow me. Everything is perfect in this moment.

  THIRTY-SIX

  Urania

  Urania sat, bound to her chair as she had been for what seemed like years—but probably hadn’t been longer than a couple of weeks. She watched as Erato stirred. Erato with her long black hair like silk and her appealing early twentieth century burgundy dress. Urania had hoped that Erato would be the one to wake first. Erato, the Muse of Love Poetry and Marriage Songs, had always understood Urania more than any of the others.

  Urania had been watching Erato stir for what seemed like hours. She knew the moment was almost at hand.

  And then Erato’s bright blue eyes flew open and she shot up out of her bed. She looked around for a moment at Euterpe, Polyhymnia, Calliope, and Terpsichore, all of which were fast asleep still. And then her gaze fell upon Urania, tied to the chair in the corner. She rushed over to her.

  “Urania,” Erato said. “Who has done this? What is this material that binds you?”

  “Oh, thank the gods, you’re awake! You have to help me!” Urania said.

  “Of course, I will help you,” Erato sta
rted to untie the fabric, eyeing it strangely. “I see Clio is awake. What has she done this time?” There was an edge to Erato’s voice as her hands clenched into fists.

  “You have no idea,” Urania said. “I’ll explain later. I just have to help before it’s too late.”

  When Erato was finished untying her, Urania closed her eyes in an attempt to see Izabella and Vincent. Urania had the power to see any of her Muses at any time—to see where they were and what they were doing—but she never invaded their privacy that way. This was an urgent situation, however. She would have to act.

  She discovered at once that Urania was unable to see Izabella. This meant the Muse had moved on—almost certainly at Clio’s hand—and Urania had been too late to save her. She felt her heart drop. Vincent, however, was lying on Sylvia’s bed. Was she too late to save anyone else? What about the half-Muses?

  Urania knew what she would have to do. She would have to get all the Muses who were in danger and get them to hide somewhere where Clio couldn’t find them. She knew she had to start with Vincent.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  The Only Thing that Survives is Art

  The past two weeks have been such a blur. All I’ve done is go to school and play music. I think I did some homework somewhere in there, too. Most notably, my paper for Greek mythology turned out really well. It was all about modernizing the concept of the Muse. I all but spelled it out for Ms. Bolton, really, in my paper, and I managed to make it academic at the same time. It was actually kind of brilliant.

  I guess the most significant thing that I did was get my license. It still terrifies me to drive alone, but I guess I’m getting better at it. I can’t believe I managed to pass the parallel parking part.

  I have tried to Inspire my dad a few more times. It’s mostly an experiment. I don’t think I’m as good at being a Muse as Vincent is, but my dad is a good person to practice on. The hardest thing for me is sustaining the Inspiration in my body. It’s as if I have to feel it flowing throughout my entire body before I can project it onto anyone else. Vincent said he would help me perfect it if I wanted to. I’m not sure who we would practice on, though, or how that would work.

  My dad hasn’t been drinking, though. I am sure the meetings are helping, but I also think it’s the music. When he’s writing music, it’s easier for him to not drink, which is only more incentive for me to work on my Muse abilities.

  Vincent and I have not talked any more about Clio or Urania or Izabella or anything. The media will not stop talking about the tragic accident that happened with Matthew Morris or with Jenny Treb. There are even some people saying that Jenny Treb and Matthew Morris were secretly together, and Matthew deliberately overdosed as tragic Romeo and Juliet sort of thing. I don’t believe this, personally, but Vincent and I haven’t spoken about it. It’s almost as if nothing has happened, like he never lost Izabella and these weird celebrity deaths are unconnected and I never even saw Lydia. And instead of Vincent mourning over Izabella or me whining about Lydia, Vincent and I just channel all our energy into our relationship and our music. I say our music rather than my music because it doesn’t feel like mine. I wouldn’t have any of the songs without him.

  Travis is acting normal towards me lately, and so is Ryan. I think they have been playing with Derek, but I don’t exactly have a right to complain. Bianca and Cassie aren’t even acknowledging that anything was ever weird between the two of them. Bianca’s yearbook photos have turned out to be amazing. Cassie didn’t audition for A Christmas Carol. I wonder vaguely if the two of them could ever have Muses.

  So basically, everything is back to some kind of normal except I’m playing my show tomorrow, which I find really hard to believe.

  I’ve done as much promoting as possible, telling anyone I know. Mr. King and Ms. Bolton even made announcements about it in class. A lot of kids from our school hang out at Cool Beans all the time. I think there will be a lot of people there.

  The whole thing makes me nervous.

  I’m thinking about these things just before I open my eyes. My alarm clock is going off, and Vincent is next to me. I smile at his presence.

  Vincent and I have spent practically every moment together in the past two weeks. He even comes with me to all my classes now. He usually just sits in the back of the room and stays quiet, though sometimes he’ll whisper an answer to me in class, especially in English. We’re reading Mark Twain in there now, and he loves to tell me about when he read Mark Twain as a boy in Manchester and what everyone in the UK thought about American literature.

  He gets really excited in Greek mythology class.

  “That’s not how Urania tells that story…” he’ll say when Ms. Bolton is in the middle of a particularly naughty tale about Zeus and some mortal woman or another. It’s very appropriate: my immortal boyfriend whispering to me in a class where we talk about all the gods consorting with human women. It is weird to think of Vincent as being merely my “boyfriend,” though. He’s so much more than that. He’s my Muse.

  I could listen to Vincent for hours. He told me that he was the actual Muse to T.S. Eliot. I have never read much by Eliot but once he told me this, I immediately went to the library and checked out a book of his poetry. Vincent’s been helping me to understand it. It’s complex and intricate. I didn’t understand it much at first. I read “The Waste Land” and then promptly complained to Vincent about it.

  But then I just kept reading it, over and over, obsessing over it. Vincent explained each section to me. Somewhere during all of that, something clicked. Now, I see “The Waste Land” everywhere I go. Because I think the poem is talking about how we are all isolated from each other and somehow all connected in our isolation. We’re all going through the waste land together. And the only thing that survives is Art.

  The whole poem reminds me so much of my relationship with Vincent.

  I will never get bored with him. We are both so in love with Art that we’ll never run out of things to talk about or things to share. The entire world feels like an adventure when I’m with him.

  “Time to wake up, my dear,” he whispers. “I know you aren’t really sleeping anyway.”

  I smile, keeping my eyes closed.

  “Yes, I am,” I argue.

  “Come on,” he says. He nudges me playfully until I get out of bed.

  “You realize my show is tomorrow?”

  “Yes,” he smiles. “Are you nervous?”

  “Of course, I’m nervous!” I exclaim. “This is my first show ever, and these songs are the first songs I’ve ever written. Well, I don’t consider them completely mine. Anyway, though, the idea of playing them in front of people…”

  “You’ll be amazing,” he says, wrapping his arms around my waist. “Everyone will be blown away.”

  “You really think so?” I ask him.

  He kisses me softly on the lips.

  “Yes,” he says. “You are my artist, and my artists are always phenomenal.”

  “Well, let’s not get a big head about it,” I say, smiling. “I’m going to take a shower. Will you be here when I get out? Will you go to school with me again and stay with me all day?”

  “Of course,” he says. I smile at him, and then I stumble into the bathroom. I pop Brothers by The Black Keys into my CD player, singing along as I take a shower. I’m unusually cheerful today. It seems like everything is going to work out. Everything that seemed like a problem just isn’t now. I do wonder sometimes what happened with Urania and Clio and all of that, but I can’t bring myself to ask Vincent about it. He’s so happy, and I feel that will just upset him.

  And anyway, I have a show tomorrow. Tomorrow, I will be a real musician. I’m practically ecstatic when I let myself think about it like that. Is this the beginning of something huge? Could I be The Black Keys or M83 or Muse for someone one day? Could some girl be listening to my album when she takes a shower?

  I get out of the shower, towel off, and throw some clothes on. A flowy, comfortable green skirt
, and a black shirt.

  When I go back into my room, though, Vincent is nowhere to be seen.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Vincent

  Vincent felt the unfamiliar sensation, and then he was there, in the room with Urania,

  “Urania…what’s happened? Why have you Summoned me?” he asked, speaking the word like it was vulgar. Whenever one of the Nine Summoned a Muse, there was no refusing.

  “Vincent, thank the gods. Izabella’s dead, and I’m sure you’re next on Clio’s list. We have to get you somewhere safe. Somewhere far away from any Muse who might tell Clio where you are.”

  “But Sylvia…” Vincent said. “I have to get her out of there. She’s a half-Muse.”

  “I suspected as much,” Urania said. “But I can’t Summon the half-Muses. And you can’t go back to her. That will lead Clio right to her, and Clio has been eliminating any half-Muse she finds.”

  “What are you talking about? I can’t go anywhere. Sylvia has a show tomorrow. Her first show. Just let me wait until then, and then I’ll take her anywhere you want.” Vincent frowned as he spoke.

  “Vincent, we can’t wait for that. There isn’t time. Clio is dangerous. I think she has other Muses working for her.” Urania closed her eyes, performing a quick scan of all her Earthly Muses. She gasped in horror. “It’s worse than I thought. Norris, Lorena, Hector, and Vann; she has five of them. They’ve split up. Lorena and Norris are in New York looking for half-Muses. They’ve already killed one; they don’t need the Dagger to kill the half-Muses. Vann is with Clio in Louisiana.”

  “That’s too close to Georgia. Too close to Sylvia. We have to take her away.”

  “We can’t do that. If she disappeared with us, all the humans would think she was dead. And she could never have a normal human life after that.”

  “Can’t Clio be stopped?” Vincent asked, infuriated.

  “Only when Calliope wakes,” Urania said. “And we have no way of knowing when that will be.”