Little Fires Everywhere Celeste Ng Novels & Stories

Most witches don’t get their powers until they are at least 8 but Celeste started her visions at 4, she is 7 now and they haven’t gotten any easier. “What’s wrong?” I asked as I pulled her into my arms. “Mummy, there’s-,” she trailed off and smothered another shudder. “Tell me Celeste.” “A fire, there’s a fire.” She said finally and I sighed. I let out a sigh of relief, “There’s no fire darling, you can relax. It was just-,” “No!” she wrenched herself out of my grip, “There’s a fire and we’re not safe.”

No mate. And yet, somewhere deep inside, a small spark of fire refused to die. “You will all pay! I will make you all pay for what you did to me!” Celeste swore as she held her hand to her chest.

“You were born to burn. And rise.” My knees nearly gave out. She stepped closer, slow and deliberate. “You are not just the thread,” she whispered. “You are the fire in the weave.” “I don’t understand,” I whispered. “What am I?” “The beginning,” she said. “And the undoing.” Then the lights flickered. And the room pulsed with heat. Flames danced across the stone table behind her—no spark, no source. Just fire. And in it— Celeste’s face appeared.

She looked happy to be back in Ash’s arms, but the Sun Witches were sealing her mother into her realm, making her never able to leave there again and come to our world. A flame now appeared from the ground where Celeste once stood and it shot up into the sky, in a blaze. Heat radiated from it, as the fire turned from orange and then to blue. I watched as it then dissipated into thin air, and the chants stopped. Silence then fell as everyone looked around wondering if the spell worked.

When the sickness from the Chronos jump faded, I woke to smoke. The Romano docks were burning again. The old shipping office had half collapsed, fire crews shouted beyond the ruined gates, and water from the hoses ran black across the ground. I opened my eyes and saw Luca standing near one of the black SUVs. For one second, he looked at me. Then he turned away. Celeste was trapped on the second-floor balcony of the customs building, her white dress stained with ash. Luca took a fire blanket from one of his men and crossed the burning yard without hesitation.

There was something glowing in my mind that was about to explode. The fleeting feelings of unknown was at the center of my thoughts. At this moment I am a prisoner in a free world. Every corners of my mind seemed to speak by themselves and my heart seemed to be in ablaze. I stared blankly at the bright light in house in daze. It was like my eyes were roving around for something which I was not there. Something beyond its reach it persisted and jammed my heart with queer thoughts. In this night, I felt like embracing somebody. My heart felt lonely and devoid while my whole body seemed into be in flames.

“But there’s something you should know, the Vanillis take care of their own. They protect their family with everything they’ve got. They will shield you from outside threats… You just have to be careful they don’t destroy you first.” My stomach churns, and I instinctively press a hand against it. “Don’t scare the girl to death,” Celeste says as she walks in. She is dressed in a red, short dress and black pumps. Her hair is pulled back into a high ponytail. The dress is long enough to cover her, but short enough to leave things to the imagination. “Get up,” she commands. I rise to my feet reluctantly as she gives me a once-over. “You look good enough, I guess.”

They walked slowly past a row of stone lanterns that had watched several lifetimes unfold. “Distance gives the defeated a kind of music,” Celeste said. “People who stand far from the blast can convince themselves the blast did not happen. Claudia will play to that distance. She will tell a simpler story there. She will call us cruel. She will call you unworthy. She will call me afraid.” “Will it work,” Evelyn asked. “On some,” Celeste said. “Not on enough. But do not forget this. She knows things we chose not to use. Old debts. Old names. Old doors we never opened in public. Be ready for a truth that is ugly and still not fatal.”

As if my conscience was telling me to stay away from that man. Ever since the tragedy happened, my body had turned into an alarm system that would give me signals whenever something was wrong. “Mr. Serratore…” I repeated his name, and it was the first time a simple name caused me fear. “Yes. I’ve also heard of another artist who has also performed on stage in Palermo, right there, but also on other stages around the world and I’m very intrigued to meet her. You might even get to interview her once you find out her identity, of course. They call her Cello Clare. She’s the masked cellist.” Pierre spoke enthusiastically, running his hand through his soft hair. But for me it was too much to take

His expression was pure warning. But she didn’t stop. She walked forward until she stood shoulder to shoulder with him. Then one step ahead. The room went still again. Because the woman they expected to crumble… had just stepped into the center of the fire. And smiled. Coldly. At Celeste.