Celestra Series Books 1-3 Page 19

  “Really,” he pauses, “I had to break it off with her, but she didn’t want to.”

  “What do you mean had to?”

  “Two Celestra make a very big bull’s eye.”

  “Oh.” I don’t think I like where this is going.

  “Two Celestra dating, are too stupid to live,” he continues.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You and I, we can’t see each other anymore,” he takes in a breath, “not publicly.”

  “So we’ll date in private.” I don’t really like it, but I’ll take what I can get.

  “It’s not that simple. We need to take it a step further.”

  I don’t want to know what that could possibly mean.

  “You need to have a boyfriend. A real person who everyone thinks—believes you’re with.”

  “Who in their right mind is going to agree to that?”

  “Gage,” he closes his eyes as he says his name.

  “Gage,” I repeat. “His prediction—it’s probably a fake marriage.”

  “Let’s hope.” He twists his lips.

  “So when does this start?”

  “I think it should take effect now. And trust me, Gage made it clear that he would make this very believable.”

  A flashback of Lexy Bakova’s party flickers through my mind—Gage and I locked in a kiss.

  “I know,” he says mournfully.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I was stupid to let Michelle hang all over me.”

  “What about you? Are you going to get a girlfriend?”

  “Nope. I’m going to be the scary loner.” His chest rumbles with a dry laugh.

  “What would we have to do to be together permanently?”

  “Take down the Countenance.” He shakes his head as though this were impossible.

  I crawl over and sit between his knees. He drapes his arms around me, and I lean up and kiss him gently on the lips. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

  Thank you for reading Ethereal (Celestra Series Book 1). If you enjoyed the book by this author please consider leaving a review at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or Goodreads.

  *The following is a preview of Addison Moore’s new series, EPHEMERAL (The Countenance Trilogy 1).

  Ephemeral

  The Countenance Trilogy 1

  Preview

  Addison Moore

  Copyright © 2012 by Addison Moore

  This novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to peoples either living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places, and characters are figments of the author’s imagination. The author holds all rights to this work. It is illegal to reproduce this novel without written expressed consent from the author herself.

  Preface

  I used to believe in things, in people, in places, and names—concrete forms of life that ended at some point in the unknowable future. I used to believe memories were infallible, that they could never collapse around you like a house of cards, burn to cinders before ever touching the ground.

  People vanish all the time. Other people. You hear about it on the news, see their smiling faces staring back at you on milk cartons—their pictures plastered around town like wanted posters. But it was a world within a world, and innately you knew this could never really happen.

  I used to believe in death. I used to believe once they put you in that box and tucked you away for one very long night under six feet of soil it was finished. The sunlight, fresh air, a warm embrace, they would never be yours again. It was the final vanishing act—your curtain pulled down and covering your casket. That was the day it would all start anew. Staring into the face of God, awaiting your final judgment.

  But I was wrong about everything.

  I had my name, my life, and my eternal judgment revoked in one passing hour at the hands of madmen who share my bloodlines.

  They took everything, but my memory. They tried and failed, and now I am nothing more than a liability—a spark in a bed of dried timber, waiting to unleash an inferno. I don’t know how long I can go before they stop me or if they even care.

  I used to believe so easily and now I strain the most insignificant detail from each passing day as if it were poison.

  I know one solid truth. Everything about this new world is a lie.

  I’m going to infiltrate their ranks—dismantle their kingdom—take them down until they all vanish, evaporate like smoke from the planet, erase any memory of them as if they had never happened.

  Or I’ll die trying.

  And I just might.

  1

  In Memory of Me

  In the grand scheme of things, you’ll be dead for a lot longer than you’ll ever be alive.

  I marinate in that truth, baste in the beauty of its wisdom while peering out at the dull emerald world. I fumble through dense woods with roots that race throughout the forest floor like wild petrified snakes. Wisps of lamp-lit fog twist throughout the narrow trails as gnarled branches coil around the evergreens.

  Something stirs from behind, disrupts the silence with the heavy crush of leaves. I jump—startled, as though waking from a very bad dream. My chest thumps in rhythm to the pounding in my head.

  “Hello?” I call out.

  I try to remember how I got here. The last solid memory I have is driving to my boyfriend Tucker’s house to rip him a new one for sleeping with Megan Bartlett, a girl I know from volleyball. I was distracted with rage, the light turned green, and I never saw the other car coming. Then the crash—I remember kissing the windshield as I bristled through it at a horrific velocity.

  A groan emits from the branches—more rattling.

  My feet crush over a bed of dried maple leaves, filling in the haunting void of silence.

  A hard thud lands square behind me, and I turn slow on my heels.

  It would have been understandable to see a deer, a bear, or even another human being. But this…

  A whimper gets caught in my throat, drowns out the idea of a scream.

  It’s a man—a thing, his grey skin decomposed beyond recognition, exposing dried muscle and bone over his forehead, one eye missing, teeth all but gone. It staggers forward, slashing the air with a violent swing.

  Before I can start in on a full-blown sprint, I trip over an errant branch and land hard on my back.

  It comes at me—falls on its knees beside me omitting a sharp putrid stench. Crooked fingers tear my sweater, easy as shredding paper.

  I let out a gurgled cry, twist and claw, scampering to my feet.

  The forest gyrates, turns into a viridian kaleidoscope as I fumble through a dizzy maze of branches.

  Loud guttural moans vibrate throughout the woods. I can feel its footsteps seconds behind. The forest darkens, the fog presses against the branches, fills my nostrils with its oily haze.

  This is a nightmare—this is hell—a nightmare with a trapdoor. None of this is real. It can’t be.

  My breathing quickens, my head starts to spin as I navigate the spindles in the thicket.

  My mother once said, most people are prone to run through this world blind. I remember her words, the soft mannerism in which she spoke them as I stumble from branch to branch—rip a hole in my jeans, lose my jacket on the offshoot of a pine.

  The creature gains speed, touches me. Grazes over my hair with its necrotic fingertips. I race blindly through the woods, push past the searing pain ripping through my skull, and crash to the ground with finality.

  I glance back, fully expecting to find the decaying body, the stench of death, but instead I find a boy my age—the look of surprise ripe on his face. He pulls me to safety behind the trunk of a tree and lunges at the creature. He plucks a knife from his back pocket and wrestles the beast as it tries to latch onto his face.

  I pick up a loose branch near my feet and give a hard jab at the monster, striking it right in the groin. It gives a soft gurgle as if laughing at my efforts.

  I pick a rock up off the ground, the size of football, and
lob it at the tangle of flesh rolling around in front of me.

  It hits the boy in the side of the head, and he lets out an agonizing groan.

  Shit!

  “Sorry,” I shout.

  He flips the creature, and lands it hard on its back. Its face holds a lavender hue, blue lips, unnatural bumps and lesions over the cheek and partially decomposed forehead.

  It looks as if the boy is pummeling its malformed face, but as I approach from the side I can see him digging the knife into the creature’s eye, over and over until it ceases to writhe beneath him.

  He jumps up and cleans his blade against the soft trunk of a maple.

  The creature sizzles. Its ragged clothes engulf in flames quick as a grassfire before extinguishing itself in a ball of smoke.

  “What’s happening?” I pant.

  “Don’t you know?” He replaces the knife in his back pocket. The hard line of his jaw pops as he suppresses a smile. “They’re biodegradable,” a rumble of laughter trembles out of him. “You OK?” He comes over and cradles the side of my face with his open palm, observing me as though he were a doctor. A stream of light falls over him, amplifies the fact he’s alarmingly handsome.

  I want to say, I don’t know where the hell I am, but I think there are more pressing matters than my lack of topographical orientation.

  “What was that?” I ask.

  His brows knit together. He leans in to inspect me, skeptical that I even had to ask.

  “What’s your name?” He asks, wiping the dirt off his jeans.

  “Laken Stewart.” I place my hand over the warmth of his arm. “Where am I?” I’ve never been twenty miles from where I was born—hell I’ve never left Kansas. For sure, I’ve never seen a forest this dense, let alone drifted in one.

  “Ephemeral,” he dips into me with his gaze, “Connecticut,” he adds with a touch of sarcasm.

  “I think I’m lost.” I touch my fingers to my temple as an explosion of pain rips through me.

  Laken.

  In the distance a woman shouts my name.

  “Looks like you’ve just been found.” He offers a reserved smile, holds my gaze a little longer than necessary before turning away.

  There’s something intoxicating about this stranger, this earthly savior of mine, and a part of me wants to discover everything about him.

  “Wait.” I catch him by the elbow. “What was that thing?”

  He doesn’t say a word, just gazes at me perplexed and sorrowful.

  “Laken?” The female voice spikes with agitation.

  “I’d better go,” he takes a full step back, “nice meeting you.”

  “You saved me,” I say. He disappears in the fog like an apparition. “Hey—what’s your name?” I shout after him, but he doesn’t answer.

  “Laken!” A raven-haired woman dressed in a power suit and heels snatches me by the wrist. “You need to keep out of the woods. Do you understand?” Her hair is slicked back in a knot, reflecting blue shadows as she moves.

  “Who are you?” I pull my hand back.

  “It’s me, Laken—Ms. Paxton,” she offers a short-lived smile. “You need to get back to campus.” Her chest rises violently as she struggles to catch her breath. “Never venture outside of the academy.”

  She guides me out of the oppressive forest onto a red brick path that rolls out toward a monolithic series of ivy-covered buildings.

  “Your uncle requested that you meet up with your brother tonight.”

  “My brother?” Fletcher died well over a year ago, along with Wes, the only boy I ever loved. They drank their way into oblivion before taking one last fatal swim in the lake.

  “Yes,” it strangles out of her, “do you think this is funny?”

  “No.” I rub my bare arms. “I’m confused, I—”

  She shoves a yellow student card at me. “You dropped this on your little jaunt in the woods.”

  Laken Anderson—right face, wrong name. Issue date September 4th. Junior, Ephemeral Academy.

  “Ephemeral.” I test the word out on my tongue. I stare at the student card, confused as hell as to what it might mean.

  “You’re a resident at Austen House.” Her lips twist with pride as if she procured the living quarters for me herself. “I realize how overwhelming your first day must be. Your sister’s the dorm mother. She’s been waiting to orient you all afternoon.”

  “My sister?” I have two, Jen is studying abroad her second year of college, and the epicenter of Lacey’s world is plundering all my free time to help plan for her epic tenth birthday party. I love Lacey. I couldn’t love her more if I had her myself.

  “Jen—your sister, Jen.” Ms. Paxton nods in frustration. Her eyes widen with horror as she circles over me with an epiphany. “I have to go.” She darts down the road in the opposite direction.

  “Wait!” I call out as she evaporates into the evening shadows.

  I don’t have a brother anymore.

  I don’t have an uncle.

  My mother is a drunk, and my sister Jen left the country first chance she got. I live in Cider Plains, Kansas, in a quickly dilapidating bungalow that belonged to my grandmother, which is safely haunted by her pissed off ghost and the curse she bestowed upon us before she hung herself from the rafters.

  My last name is Stewart, not Anderson. After I shot through the windshield, a tall radiant being declared it was not my time. He placed his hand, the size of a catcher’s mitt, over my face and submerged me back onto the planet.

  I know for a fact I died on July 13th the day before my cheating boyfriend’s seventeenth birthday. Two calendar months have dissolved without my knowledge. Here I am—same body, different name.

  All I really want to know is what the hell is going on.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to my wonderful family for putting up with mountains of laundry and lots of questionable nutrition. And to my husband who finds the time to do things that help me in every way even when he’s dog-tired. I love you guys.

  To my awesome readers who have found a heart for Celestra, you amaze me.

  To the Master who sits on the throne, I owe you everything.

  tremble

  Celestra Series Book 2

  Addison Moore

  Copyright © 2011 by Addison Moore

  This novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to peoples either living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places, and characters are figments of the author’s imagination. The author holds all rights to this work. It is illegal to reproduce this novel without written expressed consent from the author herself.

  All Rights Reserved.

  1

  Dream

  Inevitably, we all die. In your sleep if you’re lucky—unconscious, unaware of what’s transpiring around you—an instant transport to another realm. A beautiful place, if you know the way.

  Drowning. There is something mysterious and frightening about the ocean. The unknowable depths—the unsearchable reaches of the indigo marine. It hadn’t occurred to me as I lunged into the water, sinking effortlessly into its cold waiting arms, it could be the last time I’d see the pale blue sky, the hard line of the horizon, the distant rocky shore. With the last breath of wind-blown air already growing stale in my lungs, I propel forward exasperated by its beauty.

  This is the dream that masters the night. Chloe is with me. She is long dead, but has become a strange comfort to me in my dreams. We swim like mermaids with our long flowing hair, lips iced with bubbles. I feel Logan’s notable absence. Sometimes he dreams with me, when he is able. It happens now and again if he wills it, but it depletes him and he’s useless the next day.

  I take Chloe’s hand and lead her into the tall emerald forest. She resists, but I win. She follows my thirsty desire to fly through the sea, suspended weightless, free from all struggles on the other side of this ancient rain. We lose ourselves in its rich gardens, caught off guard by the occasional eel darting in and out of the rocks just an arm’s le
ngth away on the dusty sea floor.

  If there were only time for exploration, if I could somehow live out my dreams on the bottom of the ocean—bathing in brine—letting the currents have their way with me. They sway me gently to the exact place I need to be, baptizing me in quiet solace.

  I need to learn from the creatures of the deep, learn to swallow fear, bury it in the watery grave of indifference and swim away.

  The light of the outside world shimmers in assurance just beyond the forest of pale green kelp. I focus on the long amber branches—rubbery formed leaves the shape of tears. We kick our way through pressured waters, every movement unnaturally lethargic. The water around us congeals ever so slightly as if to keep us down beyond our last breath.

  An unnatural panic seizes me. I’m suffocating. I can’t breathe. I thrash for Chloe to help me—to shake me out of my dream. In my hysteria I let go and lose her.

  A figure of a man, a boy, around my age appears. He comes closer and closer until I see him full and clear—sharp chiseled features, a soft mane of caramel waves, eyes the color of scarlet. He gives a short-lived smile before pressing his lips against mine and fills my lungs with a deep well of glorious air that satisfies me.

  Then another breath, warm and deep, filling me with an ecstasy I never knew existed.

  ***

  “Skyla. Skyla.”

  The lights flip on, and my mother shakes violently at my shoulder. In a brief moment of dread, I think I overslept. It’s the first day of school, my first ever at West Paragon High. I tossed and turned until the early hours of the morning, ruminating over different scenarios of what my first day as a junior might look like.

  The alarm clock is blocked with her body, so I can’t see the time.