Ephemeral (The Countenance) (34 page)

“Just FYI, that little stunt you pulled at the lake nearly cost me everything.”

I scoot to the edge of the bed eager to hear her asinine explanation. With no TV, I’m strictly dependent on Jen for entertainment.

“Blaine’s all riled up over the PDA’s you and Wes were throwing out all weekend. He stated you as exhibit A—that Anderson women are capable of putting out. You didn’t really sleep with some kid name Tucker did you?”

“No.” Not in this universe. “Heaven’s no. I’ve been saving myself for Wes.” God, how I wish that were true. Well, it’s sort of true now. “And really, Jen? If that’s all your boyfriend thinks about, and he doesn’t respect your wishes, find another boy. He’s obviously not the one.”

“So you were kidding?” She sags with relief at the prospective return of my virginity, completely ignoring the fact I just advised her to dump the dead weight posing as Wesley’s brother. “Blaine thinks we should profess our love physically now that we’re out of high school.”

“If you’re waiting for that special moment, he should understand.” And I’m not talking about the backseat of a Camaro—freaking Tucker. “It sounds like he’s pressuring you.” And cheating on you, but I don’t say that. Blaine is creepy. Even his name sounds foreign on my tongue like I’m striving to say
blame
with an accent. Personally, I don’t see what the sexual dilemma is since they both seem to have their memories intact.

“Moment nothing—I’m waiting for a wedding. Guys don’t buy the cow if you’re giving away the milk for free.”

I stare at her in disbelief. She’s gone from hero to zero in less than one overused bovine analogy.

“Look, if you really want to wait until you sell your hide, you’re going to have to dump that moron. Or, you know…” I involuntarily tick my head toward Jax’s room. “He might get thirsty and get his milk elsewhere—like a neighboring cattle ranch.” Might,
will
, they’re interchangeable at this point.

“What?” She gasps, stunned by the prospect of her boyfriend suckling off someone else’s udder. “Blaine would never in a million years cheat,” she says cheat as if the word alone were too inept to belong in her lexicon. “Not in two lifetimes, not even if he were about to die and an entire row of beautiful naked women begged for a kiss.”

I gawk in disbelief. Surely, poor plain-brained Jen doesn’t believe that kissing would be the height of the debacle if Blaine found himself staring both death and naked boobs in the face. A perv on overdrive like him would be aching for the death penalty if those fringe benefits existed. It would bring a whole new meaning to “having your last meal.”   

“I have confidence in our relationship.” She settles the brush through her glassy hair with one smooth stroke.

“So, I forget, how long have the two of you been together now? A couple years?”

“Six.” She nods with pride. Jen wears the time served as a badge of honor while Blaine sees it for the prison term it’s panning out to be.

“Wow, that’s a long time. So, you guys kiss, right?”

“Chaste kisses,” she whispers as if she’s ashamed at the thought. “Then, you know, we spice it up on birthdays and holidays.” She averts her eyes, leaving the roving of tongues to my imagination.

“Really?” I’m fascinated by her self-control. I can’t imagine not wanting to devour Wes.

“What!” She gives a little laugh. “It’s not a big deal to me. Blaine understands. He knows once we’re married, things will be different.”

I doubt Jen knows what’s required of her vagina.

“Look, I’m not trying to be mean or create weirdness between us, but I really don’t think Blaine is the one for you. Maybe you should break up for a while and see other people?” Like monks. “What if there’s an incredible person out there for you, and you’re missing out on something spectacular? Maybe deep down inside it’s not the kissing you don’t want, it’s Blaine you’re not that into.” She very well could be spending all her free time with Tucker while there’s a perfectly good Wesley floating around on the planet just waiting to be found. Or Cooper—there could always be a god like Coop waiting to rescue her from her unblemished reputation.

I bite down on my lip, frightened at how easily the discretion slipped through my mind.

And, in no way am I looking down on Jen for waiting to take the next step with her moron boyfriend. Maybe if I had waited, if I had that same sense of conviction, I would never have landed in the backseat with Tucker to begin with. It’s been my deepest regret and I can never get back what I lost. I wish I had Jen lording her stringent morals over me back home. 

“Anyway.” She leans over and retrieves something off her desk—a hand written note. “Wes forgot to give this to you. You’ll have to have it memorized by Tuesday. It’s pretty easy. It’s recited as a group, so there’s no pressure if you forget a line.”

Countenance
. It looks like a poem, a prayer or something.

I am an immortal.

Flesh and bones and such as these are not tethered to my soul.

In this world and outside its bounds, I stand shoulder to shoulder with my brothers.

This pledge is delivered from my heart.

With one another and with God,

We shall conquer and hold down our enemies until they rest beneath us like a footstool.

In accordance to the hierarchy, so shall it be for one, so shall it be for all.

Dear God, this is warped.

It sounds like I’m selling my soul to the devil.

And I just might be.

34

Answers in Partial

The morning fog blooms like clapped pompons dipped in white powder. I can hardly make out the road. The statue of Asterion with his horns melting into the clouds, disappears and reappears at will.

Wesley walks me hand in hand to first period. There’s a genuine sweetness about him that no one in the world could take away. The way he paints me over the canvas of his soul with those crystalline eyes, the way he tries to hold back a smile that bobs to the surface just for me, the lust he wears on his sleeve whenever we’re together—all of it irrevocable on an intrinsic level.

I try to stave off thoughts of Cooper and the answers he might have waiting for me, but it’s an impossible task so I redirect my thoughts to the weather on a loop.

It’s freezing out. A white cloud has settled around us, inviting a steady halo of steam with every breath.

“Dr. Flanders called last night,” I offer. “Mentioned he’d have the answers to those left brain, right brain experiments he subjected me to. You know, name the inkblot, nothing too scientific. He’s giving Cooper the results for me.”

“Great. There’s Coop.” Wes tugs at my hand with excitement. “Flanders
,
” he shouts over the expanse of the quad.

My heart starts to race, clearly there are no bounds to my stupidity. Of course Wesley is going to want to listen in on the results of my defunct brain scan—our entire horizontal future rides on the tail of my recovery.

Wes flexes a smile. “If you’d rather be alone when you find out the results, I totally get it.” He depresses a sigh. “There’s the coach.” He points past me. “I need to talk to him about practice anyway.”

Cooper appears with a baseball cap pulled low, his lips turned in a loose grin. Clearly he enjoys inserting himself between the two of us.

“What’s up?” He hitches his thumb into his backpack.

“Laken mentioned you’d have the results today.” He circles a critical glance at Coop before returning his gaze to me. “I’ll catch you later?”

“Sure.” I lean up and dot his cheek with a kiss.

Cooper’s eyes expand the size of platters as though I’ve lost control of my senses and blabbed about the
real
tests.

Wes looks over at me with a measure of suspicion, and I’m quick to pull my hand free. Wes is the scalding pan I keep forgetting about, burning myself at random.

A hint of sadness clouds his features. “I’d better go.” He drops a sweet kiss on my forehead before evaporating into the fog.

Good thing I didn’t further expose the fact those tests were designed to implicate imposters, which I’m sure they are—and I’m a little afraid Wes might be included in that category.

“By the way,” I whisper into Coop, “I’m not doing a great job of hiding what I’m thinking.”

“Why? Are you having indecent thoughts about me?” Cooper does a poor job of hiding a lewd smile.

“You’re not funny,” I’m quick to inform him. “And the answer is no. Anyway—you have the results?”

Cooper walks me over to the barren side of the English building, leans up against the limestone wall and gazes into me as though he could see for miles inside my soul—decipher my past as if reading a book.

“Tell me,” I plead. “I’m dying here.”

“Your father wasn’t a match.” It comes out in a victorious white puff. “He’s not even in the neighborhood of genetic possibilities.”

I throw my arms around his neck as a deep well of sobs bubble to the surface.

“Knew it,” I whisper into his neck. I pull back and try to collect myself. “Sorry.” I wipe the tears away with the back of my hand. “But this is huge.” It means Lacey is real. I can find her and Mom—and still take the time to rip Tucker Donavan a new one if I wanted.

Cooper twists his lips. He looks over my shoulder and pulls me deeper behind a towering bougainvillea. It sprays out its pink tissue petals, sheltering us with its poisonous blooms. Cooper rests his arms around my waist, relaxes into me with an intense stare. I can feel a magical pull between us, and I try to hide any insane ideas or feelings that might want to assert themselves right about now.

“Your mother…” Cooper’s warm breath sweeps across my cheek. “She’s”—he pauses, glancing over my shoulder momentarily—“she’s your mother, Laken. It was more than a match.”

“No,” I groan. The only thing stopping me from falling to my knees is the simple fact Cooper is holding me up. “It’s wrong.” I lay my hands flat against his chest to push him away but lack the effort or will. “You’re a part of this.” It comes out with great distress. “This was a setup from the beginning.” Grief for miles pierces me, splits me in two from the inside out.

“It’s not a setup.” He picks up my head gently by the chin. “And I promise you, I’m not one of them.” Cooper tightens his grip and lets me rest against his warm chest. I take in his clean scent with each hyperventilating breath. It feels safe like this with Cooper—safer than with anybody else and it kills me.  

“And Wes?” I’m almost afraid to ask. Who knows what things he’s unearthed about poor sweet, Wes.

“I won’t have those results until after school. If you want, after practice, I can bring you by the house.” His jaw loosens, hopeful. “Or, I can text you.” He gives an easy smile exposing a small dimple and makes me ache for him with an unnatural desire.

“I want to know as soon as possible.” I take in a quivering breath. “I’ll go with you. I guess, now, I just need to figure out what to do.”

“About what?”

“If that woman is really my mother, like you say she is, then I must have hit my head.” I wish I
would
hit my head, forget about Lacey and Cider Plains in general. “As far as my father goes…” I raise my shoulders. “I’ll have to come to terms with the fact I’m the product of an affair—probably part Ugandan.” I try and make light of it, but the theory swills in my stomach, corrosive as battery acid.

His features smooth out. His lips curve just enough to give him a devious edge.

“I think you acquiesce too easily, Laken Stewart.”

My entire person swims with emotion when he says my real name. Makes me want to bury my face in the warmth of his chest and never come out.

“What does that mean?” Hope sparks in the pit of my stomach.

“It means—I still believe you. I happen to know the Counts have the power to do just about anything, and if you say you’re Laken
Stewart
, then that’s who you are. We’ll prove them wrong.”

“What do you get out of it?”

“Answers.” His lips press together white as paper.

“Answers?”

“You know, about the Counts and their secrets—the Spectators.” He says it unconvincing as if he’s using them as a cover, but I can tell by his steel cut gaze, he’s unwilling to negotiate with the truth.

“Where do you think the Spectators come from?” My heart starts to pick up pace. “What are they?
Who
are they?” I’m pretty sure I’m not going to like the answer.

“Botched resurrections.”

Knew I wouldn’t like it.

“Um…” I scratch the back of my head, lost in thought. “If a Spectator were to bite someone, do they become susceptible to the virus they carry?”

“Zombie lore.” His cheek rides up with a lazy half-smile. “And it happens to be true.”

“I was bit.” My chest convulses with panic. I remember in detail that night at Charity Lake. “Wes tried to comfort me. He said I’d be okay.”

I wait for Coop to deny it, to stop this ludicrous line of thinking.

“You know what it means if he’s right?” A white plume expels from his mouth as he says it.