Ephemeral (The Countenance) (33 page)

I pick up pace and try not to over analyze the fact that the distinct crunch of footsteps is fast approaching from behind.

Crap.

Why do I choose not to listen? Stay out of the fucking forest was the only rule these quasi-humans gave me. Each time I disobey, I end up a little riper for the Flanders’s Farm, and I’m not talking about the one that houses Marky.

“Laken,” a male voice whispers from the bushes.

“
No
.” I break into an all-out sprint down the dark, twisting trail.

“Laken, it’s me, Coop,” he pants after me.

Sure—I bet that’s what they all say before chopping you up and serving you as stew to the underworld plebeians.

“
Laken
,” he shouts a little louder, catching up with me on the dirt road.

We trip over a branch and fall in tandem. He rolls over me without hesitating and secures my wrists above my head. Cooper stares down at me with his caustic good looks—every girl in Cider Plains would die a thousand deaths to have Cooper Flanders pin her down—like a dove with her wings spread wide.

He gives a bashful smile, loosens his grip. “You okay?” he pants. His eyes dance happy to see me, and I want nothing more than to curl up in his arms—find some respite from all this madness. 

“Is it really you?” I’m still ambivalent over whether or not I’ll knee him in the balls and take off for the house.

“Whoa.” He cinches his legs together and rolls off. “No reason to get the knees involved. It’s me, I swear.” He sits up. “I thought I’d meet you halfway. I forgot how creepy it can get out here.”

“You heard everything, didn’t you?” My cheeks burn under the protective shelter of darkness, not even the moon in its dissipated glory is wise enough to give away the color in my face. There is no hue that survives the night save for deep purples and blues. I love this quiet, bruised world. I like sharing it with Cooper—perhaps a little too much.

“What happened last night?” My voice breaks when I say it.

“You ended up in the Transfer.” The tear shaped dimple below his eye ignites. “I’m glad I stumbled upon you.”

“So you think it was a coincidence I ended up there?” My heart pounds, although I’m not sure if it’s from the memory of last night or the fact I can trace out every ripple from underneath his shirt.

“There are no more coincidences in your life, Laken. Probably not mine either.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means the Counts control everything, right down to who you spend your time with.”

“So, they know I’m with you?”

“They did last night. A nice impression of that kiss you gave was left on my pillow this morning. A picture of us was ingrained in the fabric, clear as day.”

“Your pillow?” I balk. “And what’s this ‘I gave you’ business?” We both know he drew his lingual weapon first. “I got one, too.” I breathe the words out and tell him about the hatbox. “How did they know I’d find it?”

“They know your nature. They knew you’d look around,” he says with a sly grin, “snoop.”

“I’m not a snoop.”

He pushes in close, the sharp scent of soap clings to him as if he had just taken a shower. I fight the urge to run my fingers through his hair, pull him over me, tight like a blanket.

He produces two small bags marked M and D.

I pluck the trash from my pockets and hand over the contents.

“How long will this take?” I study his face in this dull light as the shadows from the trees spill haphazard around us.

“I should have results by Monday.”

“Okay.” A plume of smoky night air streams from my lips. Our hands bump, and I interlace our fingers like an afterthought. It feels natural, right. “I’m pretty convinced Wes can read minds—a thousand percent sure in fact.”

“I’ve never tested Wes.” He presses it out with an unrequited sorrow. “He might have Celestra in him for all I know.”

I don’t even hesitate reaching into my jacket and pulling out the leaf.

“He cut himself. He mentioned there might be blood on it.” I hand it over gingerly. “I’d like this one back.”

“Not a problem.” He scrutinizes it in the dark.

“He wrote on it. He used to do that for me.” I draw the words out with far too much grief. “Would you do me a favor?”

“Anything.” Cooper’s eyes shine like polished silver against the navy forest.

“Destroy that pillowcase.”

“Already did.” He gives a reluctant nod. “I want to protect you, Laken. I would never hurt you.”

A shiver runs through me as he repeats the words Wes said just yesterday—almost verbatim.

“What’s with the pictures?” I ask. “Why are they doing this?”

“To let you know they’re watching—that you’d better watch your back.”

Same words Kresley used. It’s almost as if Cooper himself were monitoring me.

“Who’s doing this, Coop?”

“Most likely the same people that are after you.”

“They’re not people are they?” I pant into the sterile night.

“No, Laken, they’re not.”

33

Off to School We Go

Wesley’s mother, another imposter that continues to propagate this farce, joins us for afternoon brunch out on the terrace. Her jet-black hair is pulled back into a severe bun which advantageously smooths out her wrinkles. She gives a tight-lipped smile, inspiring me to look away.

Instead, I focus on the large Roman arches that span the length of the house. They’re carved from pale limestone and lie in sharp contrast to the charcoal-dusted sky.

An older woman with hard lines around her eyes and deep indentations on her forehead serves us a feast worthy of kings.

A scruffy terrier mix bleats at our feet for scraps, and every now and again, the woman who might be my mother, tosses him a treat—stealth without looking.

“If you keep feeding him, he’ll get fat and have a heart attack,” Dad snipes. Something about the way he and this mother of mine interact seems natural. If I did have a father, I could totally see him not getting along with the mother I left behind in Kansas.

“Do you hold the same promise?” She darts it out as a threat and laughs. The entire table hushes unnaturally. She wishes he were dead. I find this mildly amusing considering the aftereffects of meeting up with the reaper weren’t at all what I expected. In fact, this version of the afterlife holds the promise of sex with Wes, and that alone might have been worth my date with the windshield.  

“And, on that note…” Ms. Paxton claps her hands. Her dark burgundy lipstick bleeds out past the natural lines of her lips, flourishing in a tangle of delicate roots around her mouth. “What’s the scoop on next week’s game?” She nods at Wesley. Her bisque skin glows dull and listless, barren and void of feeling much like the rest of her.

“Match on Tuesday, again on Friday.” Wes shoves a tortilla chip in his mouth as if to end the conversation.

“Not during the football game?” The champagne flute nearly slips from her fingers.

“Before,” he corrects. “If it goes into OT, I might abandon the effort. I’d rather watch the cheerleaders.” He gives a sly smile in my direction, and my insides ignite with heat.

“I could put on my uniform and give a private performance if you want,” I offer, trying to make it sound innocent like some friendly gesture, but the words burn through my lips with a fireball of passion.  

Ms. Paxton lets out a sigh of contention. “Kresley’s been to see me.” She picks up her knife and rubs her fingers into the handle. “She’s under the impression you left her.” She looks from me to Wes, feigning surprise.

I don’t like the way she’s molesting that blade. For sure, I don’t like the fact she’s bringing up Kresley.

“We’re not together anymore,” Wes is quick to inform.

Her jaw goes slack. Her complexion bleaches out ten shades, and she looks artificially pasty like a circus clown. Her entire person is so hypnotically freaky I can’t take my eyes off the spectacle she’s become.   

“Anything you’d like to share?” Her pale green eyes sparkle with counterfeit curiosity. “It was almost a year for the two of you. I’ve never once seen you argue.”

“I’d rather not get into it.” Wes darts her a look that says I dare you to go on. “I will say that Kresley and I were never that close.”

“So the rumor’s true?” She squints a rueful smile in my direction. “Laken enamored you in as little as a week?

“I’ve been enamored with Laken for as long as I can remember.” He reaches under the table and places his hand over mine like a protective shield.

I relax in the warmth of his flesh. I would accept any tactile infusion that Wes is willing to offer. It’s a miracle I haven’t attacked him fully by now, defiled him in the worst way possible with my hungry mouth—raked my hands over every last inch.

Wesley blinks over to me, his lips part as he extinguishes a breath. An animalistic craving is brewing between the two of us, and I’m betting, soon enough, he’ll care less if I remember how to brush my hair, let alone last week.

His mother glowers over at us, cold as marble.

Jones takes the conversation in a whole new direction. But, it’s Ms. Paxton’s newfound discontent with my relationship with Wes that deafens me to the polite chatter. I withdraw my hand and tether my fingers around the damask napkin set before me in an effort to thwart Wes from reading my thoughts so brazenly.

My mother clears her throat. “Where’s Demetri?” She blinks a placid smile over at Ms. Paxton. My uncle’s expression darkens at the mention of this man, and it piques my curiosity.

“West Coast.” Wesley’s mother gives a quick glance to Jones. “His grandfather’s fallen ill. He’ll be back and forth a bit.”

Jones perks up. “That’s right, he’s from L.A.”

“Paragon originally,” Ms. Paxton corrects. “Although, he keeps a home in L.A. as well. He lost a friend in a fire recently. Things haven’t been easy for him.”

“How does he manage to teach?” Jones continues to feign interest.

“Demetri is a man of great talent and mystery. However, he’s already let the board know this will be his final year at Ephemeral. It’ll be a shame to lose him.”

“Tragedy.” Jones pulls his shoulders back, as if he’s secretly pleased by the news. “Laken, don’t you have Mr. Edinger this year?”

“Mr. Edinger?” He’s a total ass, I want to say. “Yeah. It looks like he’s going to be pretty tough.”

Jones nods. “Get a good tutor. It could make all the difference in the world.” He latches onto me with a strangling gaze as if we weren’t talking about lit anymore, as if somehow he were pushing Coop and I together.

I wonder if the powers that be really wanted Wes with Kresley? I can see their dark heads knit together, their bodies locked in an embrace. His killer smile, her flawless skin. They make a glamour couple far more than Wes and I ever could.

I finger my loose curls, still lost in thought.

“Any word on that missing girl?” My mother waits for a lull in the conversation to ask.

“Casper?” Ms. Paxton shakes her head. “It’s a cold case. We warn all the students about what they put out on the Internet and strictly forbid meeting up with anyone they’ve met online. I can’t image what got into that girl’s head to make her act so foolishly.” She espouses the right level of concern, but her face remains unblemished with worry. It gives away her secret—that perhaps she doesn’t care at all.

A stillness takes over the table as we collectively ponder Casper’s disappearance.

“She must have thought she was in love.” Wes nods as though it were a given.

“Love can make you do foolish things,” Ms. Paxton counters. She glares at the two of us with a palpable discontent.

Something foolish is going on all right.  

After a series of long drawn out good-byes, we head back to Ephemeral. If I’m glad about one detail in this new arrangement, it’s the fact I don’t have to live with this strange couple posing as my parents. I can feel the toxicity in my blood decrease the farther we get from my new mother and father.   

Jen waits until we’re alone in our dorm room before spearing me with a look. She rakes a brush through her hair in a violent manner, and I’m getting the idea her hostility is directly focused on me.