Celestra: Books 1-2

by Addison Moore

  “I moved my fingers!”

  “Great.” Logan’s face flushes with amazement. “I say we arm wrestle and put it to the test.”

  “Ha.” A part of me wants to shoo them out of the room, so I can fall asleep and tell Chloe the great news, only it’s not so great if you’re Chloe.

  “What’s wrong?” Gage sits gingerly on the edge of the bed. “You want something else to eat? A burger?”

  “No thanks.” I shake the thought of Chloe out of my head. “Brielle’s a Count.”

  I start in slow, explaining my modeling gig for Marshall. I let them know only the basic details before dropping the bomb about Marshall, a.k.a Mr. Dudley, being a Sector, touching me and letting me see Brielle for who she really is.

  “Shit.” Gage mutters under his breath. He takes a small book off the end table and launches it into the wall.

  “What? He’s completely harmless—so far. Besides, he has this strange ability to make you feel really good when he touches you. Oh, and he can read minds,” I turn to Logan. “Not ours,” I pause. “Gage, he can read yours to an extent. He says you run a porn reel during math class.” The tips of his ears turn bright red. “Also, he threatened to take me captive if I told.”

  “Well then we don’t know anything, do we?” Logan gives a wry smile. “Use him. Have him show you who the Counts are.”

  “It’s going to look bad. He’s a teacher,” I say.

  “Doesn’t matter. He’s strange—eccentric, plus you’re working for him. It’s not that big a deal.”

  Since when is playing with Sectors not that big a deal? I stare at him with an open mouth.

  “I guess you’re right.” I snap out of it. My arm tingles. The flesh on my new forearm is starting to itch. “It’s itching.” I marvel. It’s like I’m brand new. Who knew I had all this powerful blood in me? A perfect Celestra can reanimate. No wonder I’m so…. I stop myself. “A perfect Celestra can reanimate,” I say out loud.

  A cloud of deafening silence clots up the room. I can barely breathe from the excitement following this trail of knowledge.

  “Where’s Chloe’s body?” It comes out robotic—restrained.

  “In the refrigeration unit. We were too exhausted to put her back,” Gage offers.

  “Don’t put her back. Keep her in the fridge.”

  Logan leans in with a stern look across his face. He rolls the cut fabric of my unraveling sweater between his fingers.

  “We can use my blood to bring her back,” I add.

  They scoff in unison. It’s as though I’ve just suggested the most childish idea they’ve ever heard.

  “I’ll donate my blood. A pint a week or whatever I can until we have enough to bring her back.”

  “She’s full of formaldehyde,” Gage informs me.

  “Pump it out of her.”

  His face loosens. He’s shocked at how serious I am.

  “I want to save my friend.” I would much rather tell Chloe I’m going to bring her back, than show off my new designer Bishop arm. I’m sure she’d be less than thrilled to see we’re using her for parts.

  Gage bends over and lands a soft kiss on my forehead, says goodnight and heads up to bed.

  It feels so safe here at the Oliver’s house. I wish I could live here permanently. A wave of fatigue washes over me, and I tuck my head in the crook of Logan’s neck.

  My lids close without hope of opening again until morning and it puts me in the mood for a bedtime story.

  “Why did Ezrina cut off my arm?”

  Logan tightens his grip around my waist and pulls in close.

  “Because she wanted to chop you up and kill you,” he says.

  Perhaps not quite the bedtime story I was looking for.

  31

  Strange Love

  Gage makes chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast. He’s showered and dressed beyond early, and we eat them in the kitchen with Logan who’s yet to get ready for anything. Logan gazes at me with a sweet boyishness about him. It’s like waking up in his arms has brought our relationship to whole new level.

  Dr. Oliver changes my bandage before leaving for work and reduces me to a sling with a gauze sock over my arm.

  “Skyla?” Emma rounds out the corner. “I hope you don’t mind, I took the liberty of washing your purse—it was covered in blood. I didn’t mean to pry or anything, but when I emptied it, I found this. Would you mind me asking what it is?” Her nose twitches as she examines the silver knife with the handle carved out. “Looks like…” She stops short of saying Ezrina’s name.

  “I think it is,” I say.

  Logan and Gage hover over the object equally perplexed.

  “Where’d you get this?” Logan takes the knife from his mother and holds it out in the light. It glints unnaturally, stabbing us with its brilliance as we struggle to examine it.

  “Mr. Dudley’s house. I was looking around while he was…” Emma’s still in the room and I don’t feel like exploiting Brielle’s sexual adventures. “Busy. I thought it was strange. I meant to show it to you.” I lean into it. “It’s her. No doubt.”

  “It is her.” Logan tosses it in the air several inches before gripping it. “This is what did it.” He shoots a look to Gage.

  “Did what?” If it’s capable of doing things, then I don’t even want to touch it.

  “It called her.” Logan places it down on the kitchen island carefully. “It sort of works in the opposite manner of an amulet, and ironically, those don’t work at all. These do.” He flicks it, and it spins as though it were rabid. “You can call evil to yourself by simply having some kind of wicked effigy. It becomes the venue—the window into your world.”

  “That makes no sense.” I look to Gage hoping he’ll side with me.

  “It’s true.” Gage picks it up and examines the finer details of the sculpture by rubbing his thumb over it. “You ever hear of people buying antiques—old dolls and later claim they were haunted? Same thing. Ezrina must have been beyond happy when she saw it was you disrupting her.”

  “Now she’s got my arm.”

  The doorbell rings. Within seconds my mother’s voice mixes in the entry along with Emma’s before they both appear in the kitchen.

  “Mom!” I’m not that thrilled to see her. I’m scared as hell she’s going to notice that I’m sporting a whole new freaking arm.

  “Skyla.” She lays the sympathy on pretty thick, taking up my face in both her hands, giving my forehead a tender kiss. “Your arm!” she gasps. “Let’s see it.” She carefully unhooks the sling and starts pulling off the gauze.

  “I don’t know….it’s real sore. I banged it up pretty ba—” Before I can finish, she’s removed the bandage and glossed over it. It’s surprisingly healed. Hardly a seam noticeable where it was attached. The only difference being the flesh is slightly more olive than my own.

  “What’s this?” She runs her finger along a scar on the underbelly of Chloe’s arm, must be from when she was taken. Why didn’t that heal? Which reminds me, does she have all her organs for my halfcocked plan to work? Her brain?

  “Fell in the yard.” I press my lips together hard, disappointed at how easy it is for me to lie to my mother.

  “Well, I’ve got some vitamin E back home that might take care of that. Nice nails, by the way.” She holds up Chloe’s fingertips, bright red acrylics squared off at the tips.

  Shit! I hide my other hand behind my back.

  “Clothes are in your backpack.” She places it next to me on the floor. “I have to run. Can you catch a ride to school?”

  Gage steps forward and places his arm around my shoulder. You can practically see his chest swell with pride that he gets to start his morning off as playing the part of super hero.

  “I got it. I’ll make sure she gets home safe too,” he offers.

  “Great. I’ll see you later.” She heads into the foyer. I can hear Mom tell Emma they should get together for coffee and what great kids she has.

  Logan cuts a
hard look at Gage with his arm still relaxed over my shoulder.

  “Guess I’m off duty.” Gage lifts his hand defensively. But it’s the underlying hurt in his voice that wraps itself around my heart and breaks it.

  ***

  It’s on the long drive to school that I make the decision that I’m going to commit myself to Gage. Obviously I’m not leaving Logan, but I’m not going to be faking it with Gage when he’s clearly one hundred percent committed to me. If he’s willing to be my boyfriend, I should be willing to be his girlfriend. I just won’t mention anything to Logan, and if he sees me with Gage and it looks beyond convincing…

  The student parking lot is full, so we end up in the gravel patch that’s used for overflow.

  Gage comes around as I’m getting out and tosses my backpack over his shoulder. The sun breaks through a sea of thick steel grey clouds, and I put my hand up over my eyes, so I can look up at him. He plucks something from his pocket and hands it over.

  “My cell phone!”

  “Couldn’t sleep, so I got up early and took a drive.” He shrugs.

  “I’m really glad I have you.” I meant to say, in my life, but a giant knot constricts my vocal chords and doesn’t let the words pass. I lean forward and kiss him right there in the lot with nobody else to witness it—a long lingering kiss that says so much more than words.

  I don’t plan on pretending with Gage anymore.

  32

  Blue, I See You

  Marshall—Mr. Dudley, is late again—late, late, late. I’m surprised they haven’t fired his ass already.

  He strolls in as though it were the most natural thing in the world to leave your class unattended for the first twenty minutes. I wonder if Michelle or Brielle or any other part of his high school harem has something to do with this. Then again, I don’t want to know.

  “So what happen to your arm?” Ellis asks with his eyes glazed over. I can make out thousands of crimson tracks, which ironically really brings out the blue of his eyes. He’s all American that way—red, white, and blue eyes for all the wrong reasons.

  “I fell.”

  “That’s what they all say.” His chest puffs up as he scoffs over at Gage. “You beat her?”

  “No, but I can beat you.” He blinks a quick smile.

  “What’s this? War breaking out?” Marshall passes out papers before stopping abruptly. “What happened to your arm?”

  “I fell.”

  “That’s her story, and she’s sticking to it.” Ellis turns around.

  I can smell the weed on his breath, or shirt—both.

  I don’t believe you. Marshall places the paper on my desk and taps my hand.

  I needed that. It’s like I’ve been craving him. I could have used him yesterday while I was having my body rearranged. I don’t think I’d mind having my head hacked off as long as Marshall was lounging all over me.

  Gage waits until he’s clear across the room before leaning in. “I called him an asshole, at least a dozen times. I don’t think he heard me.”

  Marshall’s body straightens. He turns and walks over briskly in our direction. The rest of the class is busy pulling out homework, shuffling worksheets to notice his agitated clip. He squats down next to Gage.

  “I have remarkable hearing.” Marshall seethes the words out. “By the way, Mr. Oliver, I would never disrespect you by resorting to name calling. I more than heavily frown upon people who decide to errantly take my name in vain. From this moment forth, I shall refer to you as, asshole.”

  A low gasp circles the room.

  I can hardly breathe.

  Can a teacher refer to a student as, asshole? Is he trying to lose his job?

  For the next thirty minutes, he references Gage as asshole, on three different occasions eliciting a comedic response from the rest of the class.

  I just glare at Marshall, shoot daggers at him, and each time he offers a sly smile in my direction.

  I’m going to tell Ms. Rice, the principal. Maybe.

  The bell rings, and the room starts to drain.

  “I’m going to talk to him,” I say.

  “Tell him the asshole says hi.” Gage takes my backpack from me and slings it over his shoulder. I wait until he clears the door before heading over.

  Marshall holds up a hand. He’s rifling through his briefcase, organized as a recycling bin.

  “Don’t bother. I know you’re not happy,” he says, pressing his hand flat inside the mess in an effort to help it close. “I thought I’d have a little fun with young Oliver. Should I make sport of Logan, too?”

  “No.”

  Michelle files in and lets her gaze linger before making her way towards the back of the room.

  “Fine. I’ll take down one boyfriend at a time.” He winks. “Now I’m going to please you. Turn around.”

  “What?” I don’t understand a thing about this man—creature.

  “Turn around.”

  I face the class. Half the seats are filled up with new faces and half are stragglers from second. Marshall steps around the desk and touches my new hand protruding from the sling.

  I scan the faces. Everyone looks a deathly shade of grey, all except one.

  It’s Ellis.

  “He’s blue,” I whisper.

  “And this isn’t your hand.”

  ***

  I avoid Marshall the rest of the day—Ellis too. What do I say? You’re a Count, and I know it? What about Brielle?

  She adjusts her shoelaces on the grass next to me. It’s damp, and I’m pretty sure my shorts are going to have a permanent green impression of my cheeks once the season’s over.

  “So what’s up with Michelle?” she whispers.

  “I don’t know.” Not that I haven’t noticed. She’s uber giddy and acts like everything you say is the funniest thing. We’re just about through with practice when she called for a break, and now she’s huddling with Emily and Lexy—probably giving them a play by play of her four-thirty running appointment.

  “I hear she’s seeing Dudley,” Brielle announces as she slides her heel in and out of her shoe in an effort to adjust it.

  “I heard that, too.” I don’t bother filling her in on the fact I’ve actually witnessed encounters.

  “So funny.” Brielle breaks into a low gurgled laugh. “I hope she falls madly in love with him, and he completely smashes her heart—if she has one.”

  The whistle blows, and Ms. Richards claps her hands. “Skyla, take care of that arm. I’ll see you girls tomorrow.” Her strawberry blonde hair does its best Einstein impression in the wind.

  “Drake and I are headed to Devil’s Peak. It’s our one month anniversary.”

  “So you’re jumping off to spare yourself the misery?” I ask.

  “Very not funny.” She shakes her head with a look of apathy. “I still can’t believe you’re not with Logan. You were so perfect for each other.” She pulls my hair back from my face and gives a sweet smile.

  Brielle seems genuine in everyway. It’s not possible that she hates me—Ellis either.

  We stand and shake the grass off the back of our legs. Marshall comes strutting out in our direction. It’s as though the entire female population has ceased breathing, including Ms. Richards.

  He takes her up by the elbow and whispers something right in her ear. Her eyelids flutter. She sways on her heels before nodding and giving a seductive smile.

  “Looks like faculty is in for the ride.” Brielle’s not too fazed by this. It’s like she’s met her male counterpart, and sadly for Drake, it’s not him.

  Brielle takes off towards the gym, but I linger. Bodies disperse, and Ms. Richards ducks into the gym with a majority of the girls. All except Michelle, she darts over to Marshall like he’s put her under some sort of a spell. I pretend to get a drink from the fountain while watching them through my peripheral vision.

  He pulls a chain from out of his pocket—something small dangles from it. He leans in and whispers in her ear before placing
it around her neck. Her color peaks like a flickering fire.

  He put a freaking necklace on her, right here out in the open.

  I gape disbelieving. He’s brazenly flirting with her as though he were a student. I’m so shocked I can’t move.

  They part, and Michelle heads back to the gym. When she sees me she starts in on a fit of giggles and heads over like we’re suddenly BFF’s.

  “He gave me a necklace.” She fingers the pendant.

  “What is it?” I lean in. She drops it against her chest. It’s an old silver chain with a pendant of a small open rose stained black in the crevices. I’m not too sure I’d be thrilled with a black rose from anyone. “Nice.” It almost comes out a question.

  “So I found out he’s not that much older than me, and he’s got this amazing horse ranch. I’m going to get a job there, so we can spend more time together.” She says, get a job with air quotes.

  “Not good.” I can’t seem to muster any faux enthusiasm at the moment. I can lie to my mother, but I can’t lie to Michelle? What’s up with that?

  “So you think he’s cute?” She lets the comment ride.

  “Oh totally,” I shrug.

  “I think he’s like a Greek god or something. It’s a miracle we met.”

  “Or something.” I watch uneasy as she gives a stupid grin, twirling her head around in small circles like she’s having some kind of a lust induced seizure.

  She heads towards the gym—skipping.

  This is going to end badly.

  I can feel it in my bones.

  33

  Chloe with the Blue Dress

  I spend the better half of the night soaking my new fingers in acetate trying to get the acrylics off. I manage to get them whittled down part way until it looks like a rat’s been gnawing on the tips of my fingers.

  As soon as I hit the sheets, I force myself to get to Chloe quick as I can. I can’t wait to tell her my plan.