Toxic Part Two (Celestra Series Book 7.5)

by Addison Moore

  “Consume Celestra.” I look to Gage. I’m floored my mother would approve of this madness.

  Delphinius stretches his long arm across a splintered shelf, retrieving a silver goblet.

  “This is from your mother.” His eyes shine with the hint of a smile. He seems so kind and father-like. “She requested you drink the elixir.”

  The goblet is round with tiny bulbous protrusions. The stem is comprised of the long leg of a bird with its talon settled over a disc at the bottom, and it reminds me of the haunted mirror crowding Marshall’s living room. “Looks like something from Marshall’s medieval workshop,” I muse, taking the cold steely cup from him.

  “Sector Marshall was indeed the craftsman.” He dips in with a knowing smile. “Congratulations once again. You make a fine addition to the noble gentry.”

  I cut a quick glance to Gage. I am so not going there right now.

  A crimson liquid swills in the goblet, thick as nectar. A quiver darts near the bottom. Oh God. There’s something swimming in there.

  Thoughts of Isis and her slithery beginnings run through my mind.

  “No thanks.” I try to push it back but he won’t take it. “There’s a worm drowning in there. I don’t care if it’s the best tequila in the universe, I don’t want any.”

  “It’s Caelestis reserves,” he informs.

  Blood? And that’s a selling point, how?

  “My mother is a raving lunatic,” I say, watching my reflection wobble in the liquid. “Consume Celestra…” I glance up at Gage. “You think this has anything to do with moving us closer to Ahava?” I know damn well how to get to the next region thanks to Logan and that magic mirror. I should be running instead of wagering whether or not to fortify myself with iron in the worst way possible.

  Gage shakes his head—doesn’t say a word.

  “Drink, Skyla.” Delphinius raises his enormous hand to encourage me. “The region cannot complete itself unless you do.”

  I take a sip and falter. People digest things like worms all the time. It’s practically a rite of passage at universities, the world over, to swallow a live goldfish freshman year. I’m pretty sure Drake and Ethan have swallowed a parasite or two, what with all the bad hygiene and sleazy girlfriends—with the exception of Bree, of course.

  I take a heroic swig and pause to assess the damage.

  “It’s bitter wine,” I whisper, secretly doing the happy dance. The fact my mother has chosen fermented spirits in favor of the choice drink of Countenance everywhere pleases me to no end. I chug the rest to the dregs, letting the tiny worm slip down my throat and gag twice before setting the cup down with force.

  “Excellent,” he says, retrieving the goblet. He wipes down the rim and the inside with meticulous precision. “You’ll feel the effects of your punishment shortly. I’ve already administered a dose to your cohort in depravity.”

  “Logan?” My voice sounds faint, muted. Per usual, my mother’s timing is wonderfully ironic. We finally have our act together. We know where the portal to Ahava is. All we need to do is secure the region. It makes me question if the tempest who bore me really wants a Celestra win. Wasn’t eliminating our powers in every single region enough? Blinding me, landing me in the ethereal plane naked whenever she felt the need? And now on the last leg there would be more of her off-brand discipline to contend with.

  “Can Celestra prosper?” I ask as my head fills with a strange sensation, light and airy as the world loses its crispness for a moment. Something is happening…

  “Yes.” He turns to Gage. “Celestra can prosper by getting past the enemy. The region waits for you. Go on now, run.” His voice rumbles loud as thunder. “Tread lightly, the enemy hungers for your slaughter.”

  Gage takes me by the hand and we step back into the ruins of this false Paragon.

  “Shit.” Gage drags the word out in a whisper.

  An entire army of soldiers, dressed in fatigues, jog through the area bearing elongated weapons that vaguely resemble rifles. They shout in unison, a strange, haunting cadence that surrounds them in mystery as they travel up the hillside.

  The air begins to smolder, the scent of ash and dust burrows in our nostrils.

  “They saw us,” Gage marvels, “and they didn’t come—they didn’t try to kill us.”

  “They’re not blue.” The Counts would have cast a sickly glow that in this tarnished sunset would be easy to decipher.

  An explosion of pain surges from my back. I drop to my knees in agony as volcano-like eruptions spring from my shoulder blades.

  “Skyla?” Gage glances over at me before doing a double take.

  Enshrining me on either side, are a pair of pale-blue wings that have sprouted from my body, enormous—disturbingly heavy, gorgeous in every way.

  I let out a groan and twist to get a better look. A dull light illuminates from my newfound appendages. I twitch and they lend a powerful clap reminiscent of Nevermore and his enormous wingspan. The plumes ignite, expelling a brilliant glow as sharp as an atomic blast.

  The tendrils of my dress animate to life. The tiny filaments hum and vibrate as if Marshall himself had wrapped his arms around me. With these wings, this dress, I’ve become one of them. I can feel the love of the Master pulsate through me like a gift.

  Gage shields his eyes until my newly acquired feathers cease to illuminate.

  He gives a sheepish grin.

  “What?” I say, staggering to my feet. I’d abandon the heels but I’m pretty sure they’re better than the alternative in this thorny terrain.

  “You’re stunning, that’s what.” He leers into me with his cheek curled up on one side—his head dipped low with seduction. “You’re the butterfly I’ve dreamed of a million times—blue as the sky—a creature of beauty all your own.” He sweeps a heated kiss off my lips and pulls back. “I always want to remember you this way. The angel that lived inside my heart for so long is real, and she’s you.”

  I wrap my arms around Gage and bury my face in his chest. Gage dreamed of wings, of butterflies, an angel—and here I am, decorated in all my ethereal glory—a surprise to even me.

  “It’s going to be impossible to move like this.” I fan out my arms. It feels like I have a bookshelf strapped to my back.

  “It’s your mother’s idea.”

  “You’re right,” I whisper. I step out and throw my arms out. “So this is the big punishment?” I balk at the sky as the sound of mortar shells stop abruptly as if frightened by my audacity. A peal of thunder ignites so deafening in nature that the ground quakes with its fury.

  The air grows frigid, as biting pelts of hail assault us from above.

  OK, I don’t think we’re communicating well. It’s not like I wanted her to outdo herself in the big bad bitch category, but I’d say for sure she’s giving Chloe a run for her money.

  “It is a punishment, Skyla.” Logan staggers over from behind a building as the hail lets up to nothing.

  “Logan!” I drag myself along the dirt-covered road with the lead weights strapped to my back. His shirt is soaked with blood. A crimson trail leads over his shoulders. “What happened?” I whisper, alarmed by his injuries.

  “I ripped them out.” He winces in pain.

  “Why?” I touch my hand to his wound, horrified at the dark gloss covering my fingers.

  “It’s a target,” Gage says, herding the two of us into the shell of a nearby building. The outer wall is comprised of smooth stones in browns and blues, and I try to map out which building downtown this might have been.

  Bodies start to fill in the land. The ground turns to dust, parched and cracking as if the hail was nothing more than a hallucinatory effect. The soothing sound of the storm has been replaced with the crash of mortar shells and loud booms of thunder from a shotgun blast.

  A swarm of grenades hit the region. The ground comes to life, bouncing and thrashing as we try to steady ourselves. It shakes us from the building like ragdolls, landing Gage fifteen feet out in the fiel
d. He lies motionless on the ground, open for scrutiny by the enemy with his skin as pale as milk.

  “Skyla.” Logan heaves as the walls crumble around us. He pushes me out of the way with a powerful shove and gets his arm pinned under a piece of metal rebar.

  Logan lets out a groan and tries to yank himself free, but ends up stripping a portion of his flesh from the elbow down.

  “Shit, don’t move.” I kneel beside him.

  Gage reappears. He tries to lift the jagged beam, but it doesn’t budge. He gets on the ground and gives a few good kicks before the rusted hardware gives an inch. Logan slides his arm out and pushes me away from the crumbling structure.

  “Let’s get out of here.” Gage takes me by the hand and leads us out into a dust-filled haze. The three of us make our way through roads congested with dislodged boulders, an entire layer of dirt caked over an unrecognizable cityscape.

  “There.” Logan points over to the circular remains of the bowling alley. A strange glow of sunlight shines down from above, paper white and blinding, with no heat. We cross the street and take in the lay of the land from behind the architectural deformity.

  “Oh my God.” It depletes from my lungs in agony.

  Bodies in piles—angels all around, sifting through corpses like wheat.

  Horses roam the vicinity. Behind them lies an entire row of men with assault rifles. In the far corner, I see Marshall with his arms stretched wide, overseeing the entire situation.

  “This is it.” I marvel, stepping in for a closer look. My wings flap slowly with enthusiasm. “This is the scene from the mural in Emily’s living room.”

  “You’re right,” Gage says, taking it all in.

  Gage and his impeccable features. He doesn’t have to fight this war. His participation was never mandatory nor do his bloodlines hang in the balance. This is his love shining through, his radical love—his utter devotion to me as a person. Gage is a blaze of glorious righteousness and he uses our love as fuel for the fire. My heart sinks at the thought of him getting hurt, physically or emotionally.

  Marshall makes his way over to us with his wings intact, the touch of a scowl on his face. His beauty and nobility outshines every last one of us. He pours out his glory as rich and pure as God himself.

  An explosion rocks from behind. Bodies charge into the area—the Counts—their flesh is coated in mud, dulling the luster of their unfortunate lineage.

  Nat and Holden barrel in with a scream in their mouths. They fight shoulder to shoulder as they come into the thicket of flesh. Holden slices a man in half with a bayonet, stabs another in the face right through the eye.

  “Crap,” I hiss at the carnage. “We need to get in there.”

  Chloe isn’t far behind. I spot her in the mayhem as Celestra tries to get out of the way because they were caught off guard, most unarmed. Chloe falls to her knees holding herself by the waist. A seam of crimson stains her shirt.

  “She was hit.” I try to rush over but Marshall catches me by the waist.

  Not for you to tend to, love. He says it with great sadness as if the outcome didn’t look too good. Isn’t this what you wanted? He looks down at me as if I had the power to kill her with my admission.

  “I don’t know what I want anymore.” I try to break free from his hold, but he doesn’t budge. That vision Gage shared comes back like an unwanted visitor. “I hate death, Marshall. I hate it.”

  He points over to Chloe and she jolts as if she were electrocuted.

  For you, Marshall says it sweetly. She lives for now.

  From behind, a bevy of voices cry out in distress. I glance back to see a swarm of mud-clotted bodies pulling Gage into their midst.

  “Shit!”

  In one swift motion, Marshall takes to the sky with his wings spread wide.

  “Skyla,” Logan shouts, pulling me toward a split in the building as a way out of the chaos. “Get to safety. I’ll get Gage.”

  “No,” I shout, refusing to follow his lead. “This is my war. These are my people getting hurt, sacrificing their lives. I need to stay and fight, and if that means I die, I’m OK with it.” Not really, but I’ll be damned if I let a cowardly implication fly at this sensitive hour.

  Logan snatches me by the wrist and holds back a smile.

  “You can’t win if you’re dead,” he says, exasperated, almost as an afterthought. “But I’m proud of you.”

  A shadow envelops us from the right. A woman with stunning features holds out a rifle to me like a peace offering. Her chestnut hair explodes a potent shade of crimson in the light.

  “Ezrina!” I draw a breath at the sight of her. For one, she’s sporting the gorgeous uncursed version of herself and for two, so not supposed to be here. “How the hell did you get here?”

  “Never mind.” She hoists something that looks like a missile launcher over her shoulder, long-handled with a dark mahogany overlay and carbine fittings. She pulls the trigger and a series of rotary blades spit out at demonic speeds. Nothing but beautiful metal discs spinning their ballet of death as they slice across the field.

  “Holy shit,” Logan whispers.

  A tall, dark, and handsome Nev appears beside her side, his skin tinted the palest cast of blue, much like Logan’s. “She has a knack for sharpened steel.” He gives a quick wink in my direction.

  My mouth drops open at the two of them. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to having the warm fuzzies at the thought of Ezrina and Nevermore risking their necks yet again, but I’ll be damned if they’re winning my war for me.

  I take off into the battlefield, posthaste to find Gage, firing into the line of quasi humans who bear their mortal mark as clear as a summer sky.

  “Skyla.” Logan motions in the direction of a mob with a dark-haired boy lodged in the middle—Gage.

  We hit a wall of Counts and slash and thrash our way through the crowd. My wings lodge and snag as I swim through the sea of violence to get to Gage. The blade of a knife curves across my belly just enough to graze me. It slices the dress and my flesh in one neat line.

  I look up to find the vaguely familiar face of a girl, wielding a machete. She wears an evil grimace while slashing her weapon in front of me. Something about her reminds me of Emily so I kick her feet out from under her rather than introduce her to the working end of my rifle. It’s not until I step over her body do I realize who she is. It’s the girl from the lake—the one I presumably killed. The Counts have already resurrected her and brought her back to the front lines to fight the war for them.

  I tread forward without giving her a second thought.

  “Gage!” I shout as bodies fall around me.

  I spot Cooper alone in the midst. His shirt is off and a long gash runs from one end of his ribcage to the other as if someone tried to saw him in half. I glance back for Logan but he’s nowhere to be found.

  “Cooper!” I shout, bolting over.

  The girl with the evil grimace appears, quick as an apparition. She dives at me with her blade, but I jump out of her knife-wielding way, and she slashes Cooper instead.

  His flesh splits straight down his side as if it were rubber.

  “You stupid shit.” I jab the butt of my rifle into her jaw and knock her to the ground.

  “Here,” I snatch the machete off the ground and shove it in Cooper’s hand.

  A hard blow cracks over my skull and I drop to my knees.

  The world blinks in and out of existence as Cooper helps me up and pulls me away from the blistering crowd.

  I stagger in the wake of the cranial assault, trying to gain my footing.

  Cooper tries to yank me off the field, but I screw my toes in the ground. I may be seeing stars, but I’m not leaving the fight.

  A long blade comes at me. I look up in time to see the wicked girl from the lake wielding a pocketknife straight at my abdomen. The unholy grin dissipates from her face as her body bisects in half. Her torso lands to my left and her legs wobble a moment before settling to the ground. I look
up to find a sickly blue frame with his bloodied sword still erect from the rather brutal charge—Holden Kragger.

  “We’re even,” he says, dipping back into the crowd.

  “You’re good.” Cooper digs a smile in his cheek. “You’ve got the enemy siding with you.”

  Blood pools on the ground as the girl Holden killed dissolves to nothing.

  I take him in. Cooper seems like the world’s nicest guy.

  “Speaking of the enemy, Cooper, what does Laken Stewart mean to you?” It feels off asking him now, but really, when else is there?

  He directs his gaze toward the crowd a moment, hesitating with his answer. “She’s someone special.”

  “I thought so. Look, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Laken Stewart is a Count. I saw her in the Transfer myself.” I stop short of mentioning Wesley and his demented yearnings.

  “I know she’s a Count. But she’s not like these guys. She’d be the last person to hurt Celestra.”

  “Cooper—” Before I can get a word in about her family, or Wesley—an entire herd of muddied Counts charge in our direction.

  Cooper and I start in on a slaughter. Arms and legs and the entrails of the enemy rain down like a blood-soaked wet dream. This is the moment I was born for, one of them anyway. This was the war in my honor, for my blood and for the blood of my people. There isn’t a Celestra on the planet I’m not holding in my heart. I don’t know what will become of the Counts that Cooper and I are extracting, but in the heat of the battle, as my hair, skin, and muscles are being cut to pieces, I could care less if the entire brood of them were barreling straight into hell on the Demetri express.

  This was the end.

  God had spoken and vengeance was mine.

  Logan appears, bloodied and battered, sporting a rifle of his own. He points in the distance and I see Gage fighting off two Counts with nothing more than a stick.

  “We’ll loop around.” Logan inverts his lips momentarily. “He’ll make it, Skyla. You don’t have to worry.”

  I catch a glimpse of Cooper as he’s swallowed in a rolling cloud of flesh, all of them Counts. He expels a loud roar and the crowd bursts into a sanguine shower. Cooper presses the enemy like a vat of grapes ripe for the harvest—drawing new wine from their bitter hearts as he rages toward victory for Celestra.