Fire Stones (The Fire Wars #2) (18 page)

                 I first met him running track- he’s the captain of the school team, so it’s probably appropriate that I’m at practice with him on the day it starts. Then again, I’m at practice with him most days, so maybe it was always going to work out like that. We finish up, and Grayson invites me back to his place for dinner, but I can’t. I have to be home, so I tell him that I’ll see him tomorrow and get going.

                It doesn’t take me long to make my way home, since it’s not that far from the school. The house is nice enough, in a neighborhood where there’s no trouble, and there are plenty of families around. Dad’s car is in the drive, so I guess he must have gotten back early from his work as a biochemical engineer. Mom will be there too by now. She teaches kindergarten, and she’s always home before me. Even as I walk through the front door, I can picture her in the kitchen, working away at dinner, maybe yelling at my brother, Bailey, not to spend too much time online before he’s done his homework. It’s just how things are in our house.

                Except today, something is different. I know that from the moment I set foot through the door. I can’t put my finger on it for a second or two, but then I realize what it is. The house is quiet.

                “Mom? Dad? Hello?” I call it out, moving through into the living room, then the kitchen. There’s no sign of either of them. They aren’t there when I check the rest of the rooms on the ground floor, either, which is weird. By 6 pm, at least one of them is
always
there.

Still, maybe it’s nothing. Maybe the sinking feeling I have in the pit of my stomach is just an overactive imagination playing tricks on me. For all that I still can’t help feeling that there’s something wrong, it’s not like the place has been trashed, or anything. It’s not like anything has obviously been stolen, or is out of place. The opposite, if anything. The whole ground floor is neat, tidy.

Maybe Mom and Dad have just gone next door for a moment. I latch onto that thought, heading upstairs. Bailey will know. He might not pay much attention to things that don’t involve computers, but Mom and Dad will at least have told him where they were going.

“Bailey?” I knock on the door to his room, but there’s no answer. Telling myself that he probably has headphones on while he’s playing one of those online games of his, I invoke big sister’s prerogative and open the door anyway.

Bailey isn’t there either. And his room’s neat. Too neat. Bailey is, like little brothers everywhere, I guess, a one boy disaster zone. This looks like one of those occasions when Mom has finally gotten tired of telling him to clean his room and done it for him, which means that Bailey can’t have been back since.

In fact, the whole house has that feel. Like someone has scrubbed it from top to bottom, and no one has been in it to mess it up yet. That probably doesn’t sound like a big deal, but for me, it’s enough. Enough to send me hurrying around the house, looking for clues as to what might be happening. Because there’s
something
happening. I’m certain of it.

                I go to search every room again, even though it doesn’t make sense. After all, Mom and Dad and Bailey aren’t about to leap out from behind the sofa, are they? There’s still no sign of them. More than that, beyond the car in the drive, there’s still no sign that any of them has even been home.

                I check my messages. Maybe there’s an explanation there. There’s nothing. There’s nothing when I check my emails, either. Not even the usual stuff I’d get most days, which only makes me bite my lip harder with the worry of it. I don’t like this. I
really
don’t like this.

                Should I call the cops? That thought springs into my head from nowhere. What would I tell them, though? That something doesn’t feel right in my house, and that it looks like a team of cleaners has been through the place? They’d laugh at me, or worse, accuse me of wasting their time.

                I haven’t called my parents yet, so I try that next. I get out my cellphone and call the number for my father. It doesn’t even ring. Instead, I just get this message, saying “Error, number not recognized.”

                The same thing happens when I call my mother, and when I try to connect to the number for the cellphone Bailey has ‘for emergencies’. I’ve sometimes wondered what kind of emergencies a ten year old can have. I guess now I know. I’m breathing faster now, and I know I’m starting to panic. This kind of thing just doesn’t happen in D.C. Not that I know what “This kind of thing” is yet.

                I punch in another obvious number. That of my Aunt Chrissie. She’s my mother’s sister, and my parents always say that if anything serious happens, and they aren’t around, I should ring her. I’m not sure what good it’s meant to do, ringing a woman we hardly ever see to come and ride in to save the day, but right now, I’m willing to try anything.

                “Error. Number not-”

                “Stupid thing!” I throw my phone and it bounces off the sofa, coming to rest on the carpet. I stand there seething with anger at it for a minute, my head spinning as I try to make some sense of all this. There has to be a logical explanation for all of it, right? People don’t just… disappear.

                Only, I can’t think of an explanation that works. Unless I’m willing to believe that my parents and brother have all chosen to call in on one of the neighbors together right at the moment when a freak fault has developed in my phone, and what are the chances of that?

                This is really starting to weird me out. So much so that I can barely breathe with it, while my stomach is tight with the apprehension running through it. Nothing good is happening. I’m certain of that now. I just wish I were as certain about what to do next. I need to calm down. To think.

                Grayson. I latch onto thoughts of him like a life preserver. He’s always been my rock; always been there for me. Whenever I panic about not getting good enough grades to make the track scholarship to Georgetown, he’s the one who talks me through it and helps me study. When I’m down about my track times or just annoyed with my little brother, he’s the one who picks me up.

                Even though this feels so much more serious than that, I snatch up my phone and speed dial his number. For once, I don’t get that stupid message, either. Now all I need is for Grayson to pick up.

                Come on, Grayson, pick up.

                He answers on the fifth ring, though given how fast my pulse is currently racing, it feels far longer.

“Hello?” he asks. “Celestra?”

                I’m so happy to hear his voice in that moment that I can’t think of anything to say. There’s too much of it, and it all sounds so crazy. There’s the house, and the emptiness, and the stuff with my phone. For a couple of seconds, all I can do is stand there, listening to him on the other end of the phone like some kind of weird stalker.

                “Celes, is that you? Are you all right?”

                His use of that pet version of my name snaps me out of it. This is Grayson. I can tell him anything, even the strange stuff. He’ll find a way to make all this make sense, or at least a way to make me feel better about it. I open my mouth to explain. To simply say his name.

                Before I can get the words out, my cellphone dies. Just dies, without an explanation. There’s no power, even though I’m sure I charged it up this morning. It won’t turn on, it won’t light up, and it certainly won’t let me say anything to the one person who might be able to help me. I stand there, just staring at it dumbly, for a second after a second.

                The main house phone starts to ring in the kitchen. It’s an old thing my dad liked the look of and had rewired, even though we all have individual cellphones. The ring is harsh, cutting through the silence of the house in a way that only emphasizes it.

                Has Grayson called me back on the house number, guessing what has happened to my phone? That must be it. I rush through to the kitchen, knowing that I have to talk to someone about this, or I’m going to burst. I snatch up the handset, cutting off that sharp ringing.

                “Hello?”

                “Celestra Caine?”

                A man’s voice. It’s not Grayson. It’s not anyone I know. And yet, whoever he is, he obviously knows me. Coming here and now, I know the call has to have something to do with whatever is going on.

                “Who is this?” I ask.

                “Celestra Caine, you are about to fade.”

******

FADE (Book 1: FADE Series)

Available Now

Excerpt from Kailin Gow’s Dystopian Series

DESIRE

Book 1

kailin gow

Prologue

P
erfection. That was how best to described the day. Blue skies with the hint of lilac and buttercream, fat fluffy white clouds gliding by added to the beautiful day. It was the perfect way to end a sunny school day. With my hand nestled warmly in Liam’s, I walked at his side, my face tilted up to the sun, my nostrils breathing in the fresh air that smelled like Spring lavenders and fresh linen. The fragrant air made me think of Spring formals, garden parties, and outdoor barbeques. The day could not be more enjoyable if it’d been planned that way. If I had not grown up anywhere else besides the state of Arcadia, I would have thought this was the way it always was everywhere.

School had gone well, tests and exams had been passed with flying colors and the birds seemed to be singing perfectly. Like every day in Arcadia.

As we approached Nellie’s Diner, I caught a glimpse of myself in a store window and was pleased with the reflection I saw. My long blonde hair cascaded down my back, freshly brushed and tidy. The lustrous locks fluttered in the breeze in a way that always made Liam smile, and it all added a bounce to my step. 

That morning I’d chosen to wear my pale green smock dress, the one that he always complimented me on.

“That dress sure does make those hazel eyes of yours pop,” he’d always say.

Always told I was a pretty girl, I never really believed it until Liam and I began dating in high school. At his side I felt beautiful. Was it his striking features that enhanced my sense of beauty or was it simply the look of adoration I saw in his eyes every time he looked at me that made me feel so beautiful?

“How’d you do on your math test?” he asked.

Though I’d always managed to get good grades, I never failed to get nervous and edgy when test time came around. “I think it went well,” I said, smiling at him and adoring him all the more for the concern he always showed for me and my studies.

“I think I pretty much aced that History exam this morning,” he said with pride.

He was so handsome, his fair curls so angelic. It never failed to amaze me how sweet, kind and generous he could be. A guy as handsome as Liam could easily break a thousand hearts, yet he was thoughtful and considerate in the way he treated every woman he met, and he was particularly attentive, loving and caring with me.

“Maybe my Life’s Plan should have been to become a history professor,” he added as he opened the door to the diner, his bright blue eyes twinkling with laughter and amusement.

I shared his hope and promise, and questioned what my own Life’s Plan would be. With my eighteenth birthday quickly approaching, I would know all too soon. It was as though I had been waiting all my life to find out what my Life Plan would be. All of us under the age of eighteen waited with anxiety and anticipation to find out what our Life’s Plan held: our profession, who we would marry, where we would live, and how many children we would have. It would all be written in our Life’s Plan.

“Kama! Liam,” Sarah called from across the crowded diner.  “Hey, you love birds, over here.”

I couldn’t count the number of eyes that watched us as we made our way to our table. We’d been voted the best-looking couple in school for two years, and some even said we were the most attractive couple in town. Some claimed I had pale violet highlights that shined in the bright summer sun, though I can’t say I ever really noticed them myself. Some even hinted at the added degree of elegant glamour my recently fashioned bangs gave me. Others were envious of what they call my porcelain skin.