Toxic Part Two (Celestra Series Book 7.5)

by Addison Moore

  I hear everything he’s saying, but mentally I’m picturing a sword hidden in my body like some medieval tampon, and suddenly, I’m afraid to sit down.

  “This picture.” Marshall pulls a series of photos taped together to recreate the long canvas that stretches the length of Emily’s dining room. “I’m here.” He glides his finger over a pair of wings ridding high over his back. “Look at this.” He taps over to my effigy where Emily has me wearing a pair of feathered appendages. A bloodied hole lies over one shoulder and it looks as if I had just plucked an arrow from my back. Logan and Gage sit slumped and injured—God, I hope they’re simply injured.

  “When do you think this happens?” Gage spins the picture to get a better look. “Eleventh region? Twelfth?”

  “Twelve will be Ahava.” Marshall pulls another series of photos out to inspect. “What are your thoughts, Nathan?”

  It startles me to hear my father’s name. It sounds beautiful like a song. I had been craving the sound and hadn’t even realized it until Marshall filled in the void, poured sunlight where there had only been the dark cover of earth, six feet deep.

  “Ahava must be its own region.” Dad agrees. “I’m not even sure a full challenge will be issued. This one will be exclusive.”

  “Just Skyla?” Logan darts a quick look to Dad.

  “The war is in her honor,” he affirms, “but it doesn’t mean she’ll be the only one trying to fulfill the task.”

  “She’ll be the only one who can,” Marshall amends. “Or so we hope.”

  “From what I understand,” I start slow, “the sword of the Master isn’t just mine for the taking. Why would the Counts try so hard unless they believed they were capable of the grand prize?” They’re capable of just about anything and that includes swiping the sword before I ever get a chance to see it.

  “True.” Dad looks up with anticipatory excitement. “But I’d like to believe you’re the only one that can truly complete the mission. This blade is private issue from the King. The sword of the Master, much like the war, was meant for you.”

  “And the Sectors?” I ask. Certainly we haven’t forgotten whose war this really is. They want to rule just as much as Celestra.

  “The Sectors,” Marshall says with a satisfied growl, “are interlinked with the destiny of your people. The covenant shall be ours.”

  The covenant, in my pants, where all things are holy.

  Dear God.

  If there is a sword at the end of all this madness, I might just fall on it.

  Chapter 106

  The Fear in Cheer

  The next morning, I rise with a song of wicked intent blossoming in my heart. Not only is the sun filtering through the ethereal haze to ensure a perfect morning, but I managed to beg Giselle in all her Emerson-inspired magnificence to sleep over last night. I can’t wait to drag her downstairs for a little show and tell. I plan on eating the look of fear in Chloe’s eyes for breakfast.

  We get dressed and head on down for curtain call. I’m counting on Giselle to put on the performance of a lifetime. All she really needs to do is look eternally pissed and scowl at Bishop once in a while. God knows that’s all Ethan does, and oddly, look where it landed him.

  A smattering of Landons are present as we enter stage right.

  Chloe in her unstoppable pursuit of bitchiness doesn’t quite notice the tall, dark, and very much alive beauty beside me.

  Mom and Tad give an unenthusiastic reception to our guest, but Chloe stops short of injecting a spoonful of cracked wheat into her mouth, letting the milk dribble down the side of her petrified face.

  I snap a quick picture with my cell. The sheer quantity of dumbass written all over her is priceless.

  “Morning.” Giselle growls it out all emo, like she might knife everybody in the room if someone reciprocates the greeting.

  A strangled gagging noise escapes from Chloe’s throat.

  “Oh, hon, are you OK?” Mom jets over and gives her a few good slaps on the back.

  I should seize the moment and slap her in the face a few times in an effort to clear the obstruction that’s blocking her sanity. Oh, wait. You can’t cure stupid.

  “I think Chloe is just excited about cheer today,” I say, taking a seat at the barstool over from her. I pat the seat sandwiched between Chloe and me for Giselle. “Today’s our first practice of the year. Plus, we get our schedules.”

  “Bonfire’s tonight,” Drake adds.

  Drake. I can’t even look at him straight without envisioning the remote regions of his underwear that he’s allowed his cell phone to travel.

  “What are you staring at?” He barks.

  “That bird dropping on your forehead.” OK so his hairline may not replicate bird droppings, but I can’t think under pressure.

  “Shut your face,” he grumbles. “Your breath is rancid.”

  “You’re weird and your feet smell,” I fire back.

  “Enough you two.” Tad pushes his reading glasses up and further inspects the laptop, fueling his Internet addiction disorder—most likely porn per Izzy’s suggestion. I bet he’s fought the temptation to shoot her a crotch-shot. After all, Tad is the septic tank of defunct testosterone from which Drake and Ethan spawn.

  Chloe remains shell-shocked, stealing quick glances at the warm body seated next to her—inspecting her neck for signs of trauma.

  “You know,” Giselle says, hardening her gorgeous eyes over at Chloe. “I had the worst headache yesterday and I can’t figure out why.”

  Ha! I had nothing to do with that zinger. Giselle is a natural at tormenting Chloe. Senior year is going to be a freaking blast.

  “Funny”—Chloe gives a steely glance my way—“my head feels as though it’s about to explode.”

  “It’s the weather,” Mom says, glancing down at Beau who I think mistook her anatomical nipple for the synthetic one that actually produces. “I get this horrible sinus infection at least twice a year. Is your mucus running clear?”

  All eyes revert to Chloe for a status update on her bodily secretions.

  “It’s fine,” she squeaks. “I think Skyla is right.” She stabs me with look. “I’m just worked up about school. I’m not the biggest fan of things that keep cropping up in my life over and over.” She sweeps her gaze back to Giselle as if she were a giant tarantula waiting to pounce.

  “But this is your senior year,” Mom protests. “You’re going to be the kings and queens of the entire school. Trust me. You’ll never forget your senior year. Make sure you do something really crazy to make it memorable. I remember when I was back in school,” she titters, “we filled the fountain with detergent and turned the senior lawn into a foaming sea of bubbles.” She can hardly get the words out—just the thought has her in hysterics.

  “Oh, I will.” Chloe gives a black smile. “I will do something so certifiably insane no one will forget it.”

  I sink in my seat a little.

  I’m not sure what’s worse. Chloe or the Counts.

  ***

  Gage swings by to pick up me and Giselle and we greet him in the entry. We’re taking “Emerson” down to Kragger-ville, where she’ll be forced to interact with emotionally decapitated people for the next several hours.

  “Oh,” I call to Giselle as she runs upstairs to get a sweater. “Grab my cheer bag! It’s on the floor next to the bed.”

  “How’d it go?” Gage whispers it hot over my lips before surrendering a kiss.

  Tad grunts from behind and we quickly part ways.

  “See this, Lizbeth?” He dives his finger in the air. “This is the reason you’re going to have another child suckling off your bosom by Christmas.”

  Must he be so graphic, and right after breakfast?

  “Not true.” I give an impish smile up at Gage. “I’m chaste and pure as mother’s milk.” Mom was more than relieved to learn the donor wasn’t “hitting the reefer” as Tad so indelicately put it.

  “This bag?” Giselle calls from the middle of t
he stairwell, holding up the pink tote full of bawdy bracelets and buckles Demetri sent over to taunt me.

  Everything in me seizes. God forbid those contents fly out like candy from some brothel-bound piñata. One look at those thorny devices and Mom and Tad are going to think Gage and I are involved in some heavy hitting sexcapades.

  For a minute, I envision myself strapped and secured to the four posts of my bed with Gage at the helm, wielding a whip. An entire torrent of fire explodes inside me and I sway on my heels.

  “Skyla?” Giselle holds the bag up and the zipper speeds down as if it were possessed.

  An entire barrage of leather leashes and spikes and everything not holy and definitely not nice, rains down over us.

  “What is this?” Mom holds up a collar with a three-way chain dangling from it.

  “Holy Hannah mother of God!” Tad snaps the lead from Mom before the baby can use it as a teether. “Here’s your reward, Lizbeth, for encouraging her to make her senior year memorable.” He turns to Gage and me. “Congratulations on your license to practice depravity. I’m betting Skyla here will be testing positive in her B-A-B-Y exam very soon.” He holds up a manacle as hardcore evidence. “This is a very bad influence on your sisters.”

  Like I’d let them watch.

  “Oh.” Giselle inverts the pink tote of defilement. “It isn’t even your bag. It belongs to a Dr. Isis Edinger.”

  “Izzy?” Tad secures the collar to his chest in her defense.

  “Didn’t she mention she dropped off a bag for us?” Mom covers her lips in horror. “Is this what she meant by innovative material to put the spark back in our marriage?”

  “Sweet babe in a manger!” Tad’s eyes pop from their frame. He bends over and starts snapping up the deviant devices like they were manna from heaven.

  “Come on,” I say, walking out the door. “I think a bag of bad influence just vomited all over the floor.”

  Gage slips his arm around me.

  I’ll let you be a bad influence on me anytime. He dips into my neck and inhales the scent from my hair.

  I reach up and gently bite his earlobe.

  “I already am.”

  ***

  We hightail it to West for our first day back on the field. Giselle begged to come with us before we “fed her to the Kraggers” so she could explore the campus. I’m not sure if Giselle fully grasped that line when she said it, but I like how quick she’s catching on. Although, knowing the Kraggers the way I do, feasting on flesh is not beneath them.

  The sky above may have hinted at sunlight this morning, but it quickly reverted to the mainstay weather pattern on the island, casting a blue-grey film over the landscape with fog proliferating around us like a clap of flour.

  “It feels like we just left.” Brielle laments as we head onto the thick lush grass just shy of the football field. “Summer just flew by.”

  It’s unbearably muggy out. I remember a day like this last year when I arrived on the island. It was the afternoon Gage told me we would marry someday and I didn’t believe him or his impossibilities. And now, everything I once thought made no sense, takes on more clarity than the simpler things that I once knew. Gage and his prediction seem as logical as breathing, but then so do the visions I’ve had of walking down the aisle with Logan, and, of course, I can’t forget the fact my uterus will one day sponsor an entire race of hybrid Sector-Celestra babies. If Marshall has his way, I’ll busy myself into the next millennium creating a whole new species of celestial beings. For a second I envision myself—my hair in rollers and my robe open in the front with long flesh-colored socks where my boobs once perked with pride. On second thought, every single one of those visions makes absolutely zero sense.

  Logan jogs over with his girth as wide as a building. He looks regal in his practice uniform with Cerberus barking out his silent approval from over his shoulder. He plucks off his helmet and reveals beads of sweat in the shape of half-moons under his eyes.

  “Hey, handsome.” It comes out low, spontaneous, and inspires Logan to slide his arm around my waist and offer a sideways hug.

  “You see the schedule?” His features darken.

  “Did Gage hack into the mainframe again?” Not that I’d mind. Spending my junior year with Gage was bliss. He was a comfort to have around—but still, Logan would be, too. “Do we have any classes together?”

  “Four,” he mouths, breaking out into a killer grin. “Trig, English, government and we definitely have chemistry.” He smears it with a smoldering look.

  “Of course we do.” I bat my lashes.

  “Unfortunately, a few other people have it, too.” He casts a quick glance onto the field. I see Gage’s jersey, number forty-four, jogging out and getting into position to catch the ball.

  “You, me, and Gage, huh?” Senior year will be interesting, that’s for sure.

  Giselle comes up after several minutes of exploration.

  “That three-headed dog nearly frightened the spirit out of me.” She presses into Logan with a heartfelt hug. “So, do you think I can cheer?”

  “Maybe, maybe not.” Brielle pops up and answers before Logan can say anything. She’s still leery of “Emerson Kragger” buddying up to me so quickly. I don’t dare tell her the truth about Giselle. The fewer people that know, the longer Chloe will be under my thumb.

  A whistle blows from across the field and the coach waves the team over.

  “Tonight’s the bonfire,” Logan says, walking backward. “I’m in charge of pizza. You like extra anchovies on yours, right, Skyla?” He gives a wink, and a quick bite of heat rips through my stomach.

  We watch as Logan shrinks onto the field. Gage pauses to wave in the background. Here we are, senior year, with Logan and Gage by my side. In months, it will all be over. It hasn’t even begun and already it feels as if it’s swimming by way too fast.

  “Listen up,” Chloe barks. Ms. Richards stands next to her going over her roster, looking decidedly like Ezrina in the process.

  Em, Nat, Michelle, and Lexy have their permanent scowls stamped across their faces. It’s all staring to feel familiar again—Brielle is right. It’s like we never left.

  “First game is in two weeks,” Chloe shouts as if we were standing an entire planet away. “We have a new teammate.” She holds a hand out toward Giselle. “And I want everyone here to make her feel welcome. We’re a team and it’s about damn time we started acting like one.”

  Giselle and I exchange looks. Clearly, whatever dirt Emerson had on Chloe has garnered us the Holy Grail of blackmail. I’d be remiss to let this precious piece of defamation slip on by. I’ll have to figure out a way to extract that knowledge from Emerson’s once-defunct brain. I’ll ice pick my way into her grey matter if I have to.

  We run through a few quick routines with Giselle struggling to keep up.

  “I promise I’ll teach you everything,” I pant as we take a quick break.

  The entire lot of us, collapse in a circle on the lawn.

  Lexy and Michelle use one another as a backrest, grumbling over how sore they are from a few short cheers. Chloe lands next to Giselle and extends her long tan legs until the tip of her feet hit Emily’s sickly pale flesh.

  “This is our last year, guys.” Brielle stretches the words out slow. “We’ll never have summer cheer again. We’re going to be so lost after this.”

  “Get over it.” Em is the first to console her. “You’ll probably have another mutant swimming in your gut by spring. You might even end up on one of those ‘who’s the daddy shows, or you can be America’s next favorite knocked-up teen. You can move to Hollyweird and we’ll all say we knew you before your hormones kicked in.”

  “I’ll never leave,” Chloe sings. “There’s magic here. It’s home. Sometimes I think that not even death could keep me away from Paragon.”

  I cut Giselle a quick look and avert my eyes over to the field.

  “Remember Mr. Mendelson?” Brielle asks as if he were a huge road bump in their
scholastic career.

  The bitch squad bursts out laughing, their cackles spear into the sky with an adolescent ecstasy.

  “He was our P.E. teacher in ninth grade,” Brielle informs.

  “Yeah,” Nat adds, “he pulled double duty as our sex ed instructor.”

  More explosive laughter ensues.

  Brielle tucks the tip of her pinkies into her eyes to stop the tears. “He would wear these short-shorts and jog around the field with no underwear. I swear it was like a daily challenge to be the first one to spot his hairy balls.”

  Eww. I offer an uncomfortable smile to Giselle. I’m not sure if she’s up to speed on either sex ed or hairy balls in general. We could be talking serious tabula rasa here.

  “Things have really changed this year.” Nat’s features take a turn for the serious. “Kate is gone.” She plucks at an auburn curl, tight as a spring and lets go. “I’m not with Pierce anymore.” She says it slow like she’s stoned—her face immovable without emotion. She glances up at Giselle. “So you’re really coming to West?”

  “That’s right.” Giselle hones her newfound ability to sound like she hates everything. “And I’m going to stay—even you try to hack my head off in the middle of the night.”

  Michelle’s face pinches.

  Oops. Probably should have clued Giselle in on the fact I may have been guilty of that offense myself on at least a couple of occasions.

  Lexy smears a grin across her face. “I think we should get to know you better. You know, initiate you into cheer.”

  I smell an accidental homicide, by way of hazing.

  “We’ll throw you a party,” Chloe offers. “Just the people from West so you can get to know everyone.” She eyes Giselle with malicious intent. Chloe is the cat and Emerson is the mouse she plans on eating for dinner. I’ve learned the hard way that any party of Chloe’s ends in broken hearts and tragedy—with vomit and Fems parading around as mythological creatures.