Celestra: Books 1-2

by Addison Moore

  That’s exactly what I’m worried about.

  24

  Game On

  Friday night comes, and the rain doesn’t bother to stop for the game. The opposing team is from upstate Washington. Apparently, most teams use Paragon as an excuse to party for the weekend, and lucky for them because the games are rarely cancelled. West High only goes off the island once this season and that’s not until November.

  Michelle’s father came out earlier and staked a giant white canopy into the ground for us to cheer under. There’s not a soul in the bleachers, not one sign of a Sector.

  Lightening illuminates the night, radiates a glow with the earnestness of midday. The players each revert to the sidelines. It’s impossible to tell if a whistle blew. I can’t hear anyone cheer but myself, and even that is mostly drowned out by the rain.

  “They’re calling it off!” Brielle screams into my face.

  “Forfeiting?” I scream back.

  The players run in our direction, and we line up and extend our hands to the high five ready position. I smile wide at Gage who leads the pack into the gym, but it’s Logan I hold my breath for. We’ve never talked about what I said the last time. I’m pretty sure a high five after a losing game wasn’t the best moment to declare my love for someone. And tonight I have no idea whether we won or lost, or how exactly one might quantify a forfeit.

  Logan clasps my hand a second.

  Meet me in the gym by the hoops. He makes his way down the line without so much as an extra glance in my direction.

  ***

  Hoops, like basketball, right? I look around the colossal darkened room as my feet create an echo with every step.

  A faint whistle emits from behind the bleachers.

  “Logan?” I hiss, hardly able to contain my excitement. I see him give a slight wave. His hair is plastered to his forehead, and his white uniform is covered in mud thick as toothpaste.

  My heart races as I squeeze behind the metal support beams and make my way over.

  “You have a good game?” I ask stupidly. For one, I was there and for two, it was cancelled.

  He cocks his head to the side. A devilish smile glides across his lips. Something tells me he’s not too concerned with how stupid my question was.

  I’ve been meaning to say something to you. He takes my hand and kisses it.

  How much you miss me? And that this game of pretend is really just a big waste of time? I punctuate my questions with a brief kiss. It’s beyond exhilarating kissing Logan right here at West in the gym.

  No, not that. He pulls back and lays his hand across my shoulder. His eyes pulsate into mine with intense laser precision. Skyla… he traces my jaw line with his finger. The thick black lines on either side of his face set off the amber of his eyes and make them glow like lanterns. His lips curl into the promise of a smile. I love you.

  In one swift move, I hike my legs up over his hips and kiss him in a hysterical fit of passion. This is better than kissing Logan in the gym. This is kissing Logan in the gym with an, I love you.

  The metal door to our left explodes open, and I plant my feet back firmly on the floor.

  A shadow marches over swift as a ghost. It’s Marshall.

  “What in the hell is this?” He asks looking right at me.

  We take off past him without a word.

  I’ll see you bright and early. Marshall penetrates my mind like a bullhorn.

  Outside, Gage is propped against the side of the building tucked safely away from the rain under the awning.

  I can’t help but notice the clear look of hurt across his face, and it makes me feel like crap.

  “You ready to go?” He asks, wounded.

  I pick up his hand as we head out towards the parking lot. I can’t let this keep happening to Gage.

  I won’t let it.

  25

  The Plan

  With Dr. Oliver and Emma off the island on business, Gage and Logan opened their doors to, well, everyone.

  It turns out driving rain—nails spit from the sky—doesn’t stop a bunch of teenagers from congregating en masse.

  It’s dark inside. I’m partially blinded until my eyes have a chance to adjust. There must be a code on Paragon that reads all parties must take place with the lights off. Not that I’m complaining. My makeup has long since melted off, and my hair has blown up twice its size after Brielle attacked it with a blow dryer. Brielle, of course, looks flawless.

  “So I’m thinking we head back early,” she says.

  “Head back, as in my house?” I find her monkey lust nauseating. “You are aware that we’re at my boyfriend’s house, right?”

  “Boyfriends’,” she corrects.

  I’m still not sure whether Brielle is onto us or not. I thought I made that whole relationship thing with Gage pretty hard to argue with. Speaking of which, here he comes to lead me upstairs.

  He wraps an arm around my waist, and we head on up without incident.

  “So you gonna hang out in your room for a while?” I ask. It feels almost motionless up here compared to the riot-like atmosphere happening downstairs.

  “Yeah, I’m gonna write you another poem,” he says with a morbid rendition of sarcasm. “Maybe I’ll take the dog out for a walk or jump in the pool.”

  My stomach cinches. I can’t look him in the eyes, so I trail the white molding with my gaze.

  “We’re just gonna talk.” I’m not expecting him to believe me, but I have no idea how to soften the blow.

  “His room’s that way.” He points down to the left before disappearing into the dark.

  ***

  I walk down a series of corridors, each dimly lit with a candle flickering in a sconce on the wall. A part of me wishes Gage took me directly to Logan. But he’s too pissed, so goodbye Mr. Nice Guy.

  He knew the deal when he agreed to it. I pause in the fog of darkness and draw in a breath. A part of me is furious for my decision to go along with this. It’s me who’s driving the stake into Gage’s heart, not Logan.

  A seam of light sprays out from under a door down the hall. My feet move swift as a brush fire. I open the door and jump in out of the darkness, quickly securing it shut behind me.

  He’s lying flat on the bed in jeans and a t-shirt with something strange thrown over his face. I take a few steps closer and startle.

  Crap!

  It’s a mask—a creepy clown mask. I can’t breathe!

  “You scared the junk out me.” I press my hand into my chest.

  He tilts his head to the side as if amused, only it looks freaky with that ghastly grimace glued to his face and him not saying anything. Makes me want to run screaming.

  He gets up slowly.

  “Oh, no. Not with that thing on.” It’s so weird. This is totally out of character for Logan. “Is that you?” I hiss below a whisper.

  His head cocks to the side as he takes a few bold steps forward.

  I propel back ten paces and hold out my hand.

  He flicks his fingers beckoning me over.

  “It’s freaking you, Marshall, isn’t it?” I bolt for the door, but he beats me to it and blocks it with his body. “What’s the matter, Michelle not enough for you? Brielle wants in too, does that make you happy? I’m sure you can juggle your four-thirty appointments for months if you wanted.”

  He reaches up and plucks off the mask, exposing a very stunned Ellis Harrison.

  “Who the hell’s Marshall? And why is he getting all the hot chicks?”

  I snatch the mask out of his hand and smack him across the chest with it.

  A light knock erupts at the door. It’s Logan.

  ***

  Logan leads me to his bedroom at supersonic speed. Away from flower bearing Ellis who apparently has some girl in there using the bathroom and away from conversations of Marshall who I’m not even supposed to mention.

  “So what’s the game plan?” I ask, leaning against the door with a seductive gleam in my eye.

  “We�
�re going to get some serious studying done,” he says, walking over to a small round table off to the side.

  “You’re kidding, right?” That’s not your typical protocol right after you declare your love for one another. Usually it manifests itself in a physical form, but I don’t have to spell it out for Logan—do I?

  “I’ve got a pretty good map of who’s who in the factions as well as local chapters, thanks to the meeting I went to a few weeks back.”

  I take a seat next to him, startled at how serious he is. He has two identical flipcharts set out. A poster board size diagram of names I don’t recognize takes up the center, and triangular splinters that lead to more names I don’t recognize shoot off the sides.

  “It looks like you have it all figured out.” I run my fingers across Logan’s hard work as though I expect it to make more sense that way. “You know all these people?”

  “Most.” He taps his pen against the page. “I don’t have it all figured out. Do you see what’s missing?” The challenge glints in his eye.

  “Celestra, Noster, Levatio, Deorsum….” I look up. “Countenance.”

  “Yes.” He nods. “Do you see what we’re up against? I have no clue who they are, not one.”

  “Can your uncle help?”

  “I asked. He doesn’t know either.” He darts his pen across the room in frustration.

  “Who can we ask? There’s got to be somebody.”

  He shakes his head, unable to answer.

  Then it hits me.

  I know a certain Sector who might be willing to help.

  26

  Let Me Hold Your Hand

  Brielle and I drive over to Marshall’s ranch and park in front of his palatial gothic estate.

  “Creepy,” she moans, studying the prominent gargoyles adorning every available corner of the structure.

  “I know, right?” I say clutching at the door handle. Brielle and I didn’t get to talk last night like I had hoped. She went off to Drake’s room as soon as we got home, and by the time I woke up, they were both downstairs enjoying the pancakes mom whipped up. Weird—if my mother only knew.

  We get out of the car and find a note taped to the oversized front doors that bear a striking resemblance to giant elongated coffins.

  Please come around back. I’m tending to horses in the barn.

  We head over a neatly manicured lawn. The entire house is outlined with dense rose bushes in every shape and color—thorns as thick as knives.

  The sun manages to break through a crack in the dense layer of clouds that have pressed low against the island all morning. The cool air whips into a frenzy, so crisp and clean it hurts my L.A. lungs to take in a full breath.

  “You think he’s going to care that I came?”

  “Right,” I huff. “More like he’s going to try to molest you, so make a run for it while you can.”

  “I’d let him have his way with me.” She shags her hair out with her fingers.

  “Well then, he’d better write me a thank you for bringing you along.”

  “Skyla!” He waves from the large gaping entry to the barn. The barn looks massive, more like an airplane hanger with bright red paneling that creates a spectacle on the outside. “Come in, come in.” He extends his hand, and both Bree and I walk over.

  It’s strangely immaculate. It hardly smells like horse crap at all, for which I’m fiercely thankful.

  “Brielle, fourth period.” She shakes his hand.

  I watch as her face transforms, her eyes revert into her skull momentarily, and I’m surprisingly jealous.

  “I know you. If you want, I can go over some quick pointers once I’m through with the shoot, guaranteed to boost your test scores. Do you like horses?”

  Brielle stares at her bare hand still hiked up in the air.

  “I…” she starts.

  “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable in the main house—help yourself to a drink. The television’s in the great room. Hangout and watch whatever you like. I need some alone time with Skyla, and afterwards you can come see the proofs.”

  “Not a problem.” She marvels at his offer, ditching out of the barn without so much as a glance in my direction.

  “Tips to guarantee you boost your test score?” I scoff.

  “Works every time.” He leads us deeper into the cavernous structure and heads into a large empty stall. “Your dressing room. Or should I say your undressing room?” His eyebrows peak at his own cleverness.

  “I don’t do birthday suit.”

  “Here then,” he reaches over to a bench behind him and picks up a pair of cut off denim shorts and a white tube top. “Put these on too.” He produces a pair of worn tan leather cowboy boots complete with an inch of mud on the heels.

  “The woman who wore these still alive?” I muse.

  “The definition of life is debatable.” He steps out of the stall and clutches at the door. “I’ll have your wings ready when you get out.”

  Nice. Wings. Why do I feel like I’ve stepped into a horror movie?

  I squeeze into the ultra short shorts, which are oddly just my size. I pluck off my sweater and bra and pull on the tube top. Thank God I’m wearing socks because there is no way he would have gotten me to stick my bare feet in these disgusting boots. I shake them out upside down before venturing my hand inside to feel for spiders, or snails, or tiny mutant Fems.

  I emerge from the stall feeling rather bare and freezing. Marshall breaks out in spontaneous applaud.

  “Bella! Bella!” He chants.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Anything.”

  “Why is it that when I saw you under water, and in that dream, you looked so much younger?”

  “Oh.” He pauses from removing his camera from the case. “Have I aged myself too much?” He stands up and places his hand on my forearm. There’s that rush again. I can’t complain when he touches me. Each time he does it feels so damn good.

  His face morphs into a younger teenage version then slowly ages, until he looks the way he does now. “Somewhere in the middle perhaps?” He morphs backwards and shaves off about seven years.

  “That’s better. Now you don’t seem like a such a perv.” I leave out the part about him being drop dead gorgeous. “So you have a wife or a girlfriend or something?” I’m not too up on the love life of Sectors.

  “I’ve had many suitors. None like you though.”

  “I’m not your suitor.” I can’t believe his audacity. Maybe I’m the one about to be molested?

  A horse neighs from behind, and he walks over and pulls it out of the stall. It’s a silver looking horse, almost white with a light grey freckling. If Paragon were a horse, this would be it.

  I walk over and pet the long flowing mane. So silky—baby fine hair, soft as feathers.

  “What were you doing with Logan Oliver in the gym? Revenge sex because you didn’t like the implications of young Gage’s poetry?”

  “I don’t have sex, so there’s that.” Not that I didn’t try. “And Logan and I are just friends. I’m in love with Gage.” For a moment I wonder if I accidently said Logan’s name instead.

  “You’re in love with Gage?” He frowns. “I haven’t seen you hopping up and down on him, trying to cram your head in his mouth.”

  “That’s not what I was doing. I was…” Oh crap, never mind. “Where are the wings?”

  “Why are you hiding your relationship with Logan? I can help you.” He shakes his head and holds out his hands as though this were fact. And it might be.

  “The Countenance wants me dead—correction, alive.”

  “Don’t you know I’m the one they scurry to for help in that department? They’re cowards.”

  “I’m supposed to believe it’s just you? I give you whatever you want and I’ll be safe?”

  He pulls me back by the elbow and spins me towards him.

  “I like you, Skyla. Name something you need, and I’ll give it to you to prove it.”

 
“I’ll name something I need, but first you tell me what it is you want.”

  27

  Candor

  Marshall pulls me aside, and we take a seat on a large bale of hay, still in solid block formation.

  “I’m not going to mix words.” He claps his hands together once. In this younger state he bears a striking resemblance to Logan. “I want you, Skyla.”

  I’d ask, why me, but I have an inclination. Logan’s right, how can I trust him—especially now that he confesses to having the same goal as the Counts?

  “Say something,” he beckons.

  “I don’t know what to say. What do you want from me? I already know the answer. It’s my blood. My body is nothing more than a vessel that contains a pure Celestra.”

  “I want so much more.” He places his hand on my bare knee and that intense rush is far sharper and well defined than it’s ever been before. I don’t remove his hand. Instead I writhe inside with this bionic otherworldly electrocution that makes me feel like I can float right out of my skin. “I want you to fall in love with me. Is that outside of the realm of possibility? I think you’re funny and smart and witty. You’re everything I am, but better.”

  His words don’t faze me. It’s clear he’s openly placating me.

  “Tell me what I can do for you. I’ll do anything if you give me the chance to make you fall in love with me. There is no limit, not even the sky.”

  “Bring my father back to life.” I’ll never fall in love with Marshall, but no use in pretending I’m above using him.

  “Did he die in a fire? We both know the answer to that. Something else.”

  “I want to know who the Counts are.” It comes to me clear as a bell as though I were continuing a thought that I conceived last night.