Entropy

by Addison Moore

  “Deep hypnosis,” he breathes it out as if he were in a trance himself. “You were the perfect Manchurian candidate—you all were.” He folds his hands together staring past me at nothing in particular. “Is she angry?”

  “Hell, yes, she’s angry. She wants to kill every Count on the planet, and once she finds out you’re responsible, she’ll want to start with you.”

  “You’re in that number, Wes.”

  “You still didn’t answer my question. Where’s my mother?”

  “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you—she perished.” He cuts his hand through the air as if he were stating a fact, but something in that movement makes my head spin and triggers about a dozen different memories concerning that skeletal, pasty-faced version of my mother that doesn’t, in fact, have any relation to me at all.

  “Whatever the hell it is you’re doing, stop. Where’s my mother?” It rips from my lungs with a ferocity I didn’t know I had. A part of me still doesn’t accept any “past” I had outside of Laken. It’s as if she were the only true bond I had. I remember my grandfather—my mother in the kitchen baking pies as if she were about to open a factory. I can still see her soft features, her mousy hair always away from her face and the scent of lavender whenever she held me. A pang of grief washes over me at the memory, and suddenly I want nothing more than to find her and hold her.

  “Her body was interned. We always take care of our own.”

  I sink down in my seat and take it all in. I can’t trust a word the bastard says, and yet I believe him, and my heart feels as if it’s just been wrung out by a giant. “I’m taking Laken to the Ensign meeting. She’s agreed to be my Essential.”

  His face bleaches out at the thought of me fucking his niece on some stone altar.

  I try to hide the smile forming on my lips. “I’d like to petition for our first request to be utilized immediately following the ceremony.” I know for a fact that the first request can only be utilized by upper echelon Counts after a coupling initiation. And that’s exactly what Laken and I will be, upper echelon. We’ll be committed to the Countenance for all eternity, as well as one another. Any thoughts of leaving the organization—leaving each other is cause for certain death.

  “I see.” He nods. “I’ll make sure it’s granted. I owe you that much.” His eyes slit to nothing as if he didn’t think he owed us anything at all.

  “Why Laken? Why me?”

  “Yes,” a soft female voice hums from the doorway, and we turn to find Laken standing there, her eyes wide with rage. “Why me?”

  Jones stands in her presence. His features sag as if he were on the verge of tears.

  “Can I hold you?” His lips tremble, but he never takes his eyes off his niece.

  “Never.” Laken comes over, and I stand beside her.

  “I swear to you, Laken, on all that is holy above and below the earth, I only did what I thought was best for you.” He extends his hand as if pleading for her to understand.

  “I don’t even know you.” She shakes her head. “Did you know that my mother, my baby sister are suffering a fate worse than death?” She chokes the words out just this side of tears.

  Jones doesn’t say a word.

  “Then you do.” She takes a step forward, her eyes drilling him a new one. “Please, if you care about me the way you say, help me get them out alive. Right now.”

  Jones lets out a breath and sits back down in his seat. He stares off at the wall a moment.

  “It can be done”— he leans hard in his seat—“but there needs to be a sacrifice in exchange for their bodies.”

  “Like a person?” Laken is eager to get to the bottom of this. “Take me. Let them go right now along with Cooper Flanders mother and my friend Casper. I swear to you, I will gladly take their place.

  I slip my hand over hers.

  No, Laken, please. I give her fingers a gentle squeeze.

  Jones looks down at our conjoined hands, and his lips twitch with disapproval.

  “They wouldn’t want you, Laken,” he says it plain as a fact. “They’re not interested in your bloodlines. Besides”—he rocks back in his chair despondent—“it’s against inter-angelic law to hold one of our own.”

  “Then let me see them,” she pleads. “Let me talk to them.”

  Jones shoots a look to me. I know what he’s thinking.

  “I don’t have that kind of pull,” I volunteer before he can accuse me of holding back.

  Jones spears through me with a viral look that says he knows far more than he’s letting on.

  “You, young Wesley, have far more pull than you realize.” He stands and walks around to the side of his desk. “One day, I imagine very soon, you’ll both realize who you are and what you’re to become. Every Count has a role to play, some are created for noble purposes and some for common.” He looks from me to Laken, grim with his inflexible hard-lined stare. “Every person comes upon that hour in their lives when they must to decide who they are. This is your hour.” He walks out the door, and it clicks shut behind him quiet as a whisper.

  Laken turns to me, unyielding in her anger. “Who are you going to be, Wes?”

  “We’re Counts, Laken. And for the first time in our lives, we’re going to use this to our advantage.” I pull her in by the hips and tuck a kiss in the warmth of her neck. “We’re going to free your family”—I lift her chin with my finger and dot a kiss over her lips—“we’ll free any damn person you wish.”

  I land my mouth over hers, and Laken stiffens for a moment before her body relaxes into mine, and she meets me right there with a kiss that tastes like a hazy summer morning, like crisp fall afternoons spent jumping in stacks of dry leaves the color of gold and crimson. With every moment that beats by, Laken’s kisses remind me of Cider Plains, of home, and yet I don’t miss it, or crave it, or want any of it back. With Laken by my side, I already have all I need.

  This is our time—the hour we decide who we are.

  We aren’t subject to the Counts.

  We are the Counts.

  Lunch goes off without a hitch. Joy had a five-star spread under the veranda, and the sky sews up its pregnant clouds as if waiting for our gathering to conclude before pouring down its wrath. The table has been cleared, and the candles blown out, leaving her mother with a small stack of gifts surrounding her.

  “Thank you all for coming and making this day extra special.” She looks to each of her three children and offers a generous smile, but too much as if it were forced, and it makes me wonder just how much she knows. “You’re welcome to come out next weekend. Your father and I are leaving for the Maldives for a month. It would be great to see you before Christmas.”

  “No can do.” Jen raises her glass as if she were making a toast. “Austen House is having an anniversary. It’s a very sacred and special time. There’s no way Laken nor I can miss it. Plus, the girls like to go a little wild so I need to hang out and make sure no one goes off the deep end.

  I cut a quick look to Laken, and she frowns at me as if insulted by the insinuation.

  “How’s life at Trinity?” Jones asks Jen as if he really cared, and yet a part of me believes he does.

  “Classes are tougher than last year, but overall, it’s okay.” She pulls Blaine’s arm across her shoulder. “It helps that I have the world’s best study partner.”

  “Speaking of studying.” Blaine nods over to me. “The deadline is coming up in a week. You’d better get your app in, or you won’t be carrying on the family tradition of attending Trinity U.”

  “Is that so?” Demetri’s haunted eyes pull back as he offers an unrepentant smile. “I’ll be glad to write a letter of recommendation.”

  “As will I,” Jones is quick to offer up his useless self.

  “I’ll have to talk to Laken.” I slip an arm around her waist.

  Jen ticks back a notch. “What’s there to discuss? Of course, you’re going to Trinity, and when the time comes, so will Laken.”

  “I�
�m not going to Trinity.” She shakes her head emphatic. “In fact, I don’t plan on hanging around much longer.”

  “Where will you go?” Demetri connects his palms as if he were applauding.

  “I don’t know. I’d kind of like a fresh start. Maybe West Coast? I hear there’s a nice island out there, Paragon. Maybe I’ll end up there.” She spears him with a look.

  “Paragon?” Her mother flattens her hand across her chest. Her father looks unimpressed as if he couldn’t care less where Laken ended up in life, and that, too, makes me wonder.

  “I’ve been there.” Demetri smooths his finger over the rim of his glass never taking his eyes off hers. “Beautiful place. It can be claustrophobic at times. You can get island fever in a matter of hours. There’s no university on the island.”

  “There’s one nearby.” Jones is quick to offer up. “Host Island has a private university. There’s also a subdivision of Althorpe out that way. I do a lot of travel in that direction.”

  Laken studies him long after he finishes speaking. She’s connecting the paranormal dots, the island, Althorpe. The Counts are everywhere. There’s no escaping them. I’d tell her myself, but it’s best she discovers this on her own. She will. You can no more escape the Counts than you can oxygen.

  “How about you, Mr. Edinger?” A private smile plays on her lips. “Are you familiar with Paragon?”

  “My grandfather is from the island. He bequeathed me his estate. I’m returning in the summer. I’m afraid I won’t be back this way with the exception of pleasure.” He nods over to my mother with her hair pulled back in its tight knit bun. I have every memory still intact from as far back as being a little boy in this world, and, oddly, none of it seems to clash with the memories I have of Cider Plains. It’s as if the Counts gave me the gift of another life. Two parallel existences going down separate tracks, and now that they’ve collided, I don’t feel any different.

  Laken leans in as she continues to stare the bastard down. “Is that all the family you have, Mr. Edinger? Just a grandfather? No one else on the planet to call your own?”

  “Laken!” Her mother rasps it out, high and scratchy, like a parakeet. “Please forgive her, she has absolutely zero manners.”

  “No, it’s quite all right.” He holds up a hand to quell her mother’s insolence. “There are others. But we’re all a part of God’s family, aren’t we? The world is too big, too full of good people to ever feel alone.” His lips curl up on the ends with wicked intent. “Like being part of a family you never knew existed.” He cuts his dark eyes to mine. “Family is a sacred gift.”

  “That’s right,” Jones chimes in. “You can disown them all you like, but you can never change who you truly are.”

  “Well”—Laken flattens her palms, glaring at the two of them like she were having a standoff—“let the record show that I would gladly give my life for the ones I love.”

  Shit. “I would do the same.” I squeeze Laken’s hand. I’d take a thousand bullets for you.

  Demetri looks from Laken to me. “You know what they say when you make a bold proclamation like that—you’re twisting the hands of fate to test you.”

  Laken’s chest thumps with a dry laugh. “I figured as much.”

  I shoot the wicked bastard a dirty look. “So did I.”

  So did fucking I.

  5

  Wake the Dead

  Laken

  Soon after the awkward family get-together, Jen and Blaine announce they’d like to take a quick stroll through the property, stranding Wes and I out here a little longer.

  “I think I’ll take a nap.” Fletch stretches and yawns. “Wake me when it’s over.” He heads upstairs, cementing the fact we’re going to be here for a little while.

  My faux parents have retreated to wherever wealthy Counts retreat, and Jones and Demetri are conferring about something on the porch with Ms. Paxton—most likely how they’re going to kill both Wes and I before the year is through.

  “So what should we do?” I ask, eyeing them like a hawk with their pressured speech, Ms. Paxton’s face stretching back in horror.

  “How about we take our own walk?” Wes runs his finger through my hair, a loose smile plays on his lips.

  “Sounds good. This is a gorgeous place. I’d love to explore.” We head out the French doors that lead to the back of the estate. “You know what? Why don’t you go on down to the fountain? I think I’ll run to the restroom real quick.” I bite over my lip playfully. “I’ll just be a second.”

  “Deal.” He lands his warm mouth over mine, and I soak in his kiss before tracking back through the house.

  House. I huff at the thought. More like a monolithic estate, a hotel, the White House. The Counts have no shame when it comes to displaying their wealth.

  I make a beeline down the main hall and note Jones is still out front speaking with Demetri. Ms. Paxton is nowhere to be seen, so I assume she’s waiting for him in the car.

  I’m not really going to the restroom. Earlier when I was looking for Wes, I discovered that Jones’s office is right next to the narrow hall that leads to the facilities. It’s not my fault if I happened to make a wrong turn.

  I make my way down the limestone-covered hall and peer into the mahogany laden office before stepping inside, securing the door behind me. I really don’t know what I’m doing here other than snooping. God knows the Counts are too smart to leave a roadmap of the Tenebrous Woods lying around, but there has to be something, anything.

  I head over to his expansive desk with that globe made of precious stones sitting heavy near the front. It smells of old musk and the hint of a pipe as I take a seat in his chair. The leather feels warm, soft like lambskin. I run my fingers over the ornate carvings on the rim of the wood before slipping the front drawer open—pencils, pens, some liquid correction as if to prove that Counts are capable of making a mistake. But I already knew that. I slip open the drawer to my right and am met with hundreds of blue files, each neatly marked off with its assigned task—water and power, taxes, gas, expenditures, receipts. I close the drawer and open the one beneath it. More files, boring as rice. Nothing but a meticulous accounting of his day-to-day life. I run my finger along them and stretch the drawer as far as it will go. The last file in the back catches my eye. In sloppy male handwriting, the letter L is emblazoned in small font as if it were ashamed to be there. I pluck it out and open it wide beneath the window as if begging the sun to help make out the murky pages. It looks like nothing more than a few bad print jobs the copier botched until I leaf back a few pages, and my heart stops. It’s those images that Coop and I were getting—the ones of us together, locked in an embrace, our lips connected in lust. They’re all here. I had seen them in many forms, a picture on the wall, Coop found one emblazed on his pillowcase, and here I was holding the entire haunted collection.

  The sound of heels clicking down the hall comes from afar, and I place the file back where it belongs no worse for wear. I slip out of the office and speed my way past the front doors where I see Ms. Paxton getting into Demetri’s luxury ride—far too fine a car for a simple English teacher to ever afford.

  I make my way out the back and down to Wesley who sits by the reflecting pool waiting patiently.

  My heart soars at the sight of him. A part of me wishes nothing ever changed, that we never left Kansas, and yet another part of me, a far more selfish part, is thankful that Cooper is in my life now.

  Coop and Wes. I can only have one.

  It makes me sick that I have to decide.

  Another reason to hate the Counts.

  Wes holds my hand as we follow the periphery of the woods as it leads down to a stream at the base of the hillside.

  “So are you ready to take the next step? The Ensign meeting is coming up, and I put in a request to have us promoted.”

  “Just like that?” I blink up at him. Wesley’s eyes explode a bright lime in contrast to the shadowed woods behind him. They hold the color of spring leaves�
��the evergreens wish they could be that green. “Why promote me? Why not Kresley or Carter or Fletch? Certainly they’ve been here longer.”

  “Technically, you’ve been here since the beginning, just like me.” He brings my hand to his lips. “Laken, Jones is a special Count, and, as his niece, you’re afforded certain privileges.”

  “What do you mean special?”

  “He’s in charge of the East Coast division. There’s a faction council in each district, and he heads up the entire Eastern seaboard. He’s big, Laken, trust me.”

  “And you? What makes you primed for the elevation in status? Is it because your fake mother runs the school?”

  “No,” he says it with a quiet laugh. “I’m what the Counts call an Ember. That means my bloodlines qualify me as close to pure.”

  “Close to pure, sounds dangerous.”

  “It’s not. Actually it affords me the highest honors. The Counts have interclass levels. You can rise in the organization without pure bloodlines, but it’s much more difficult. My bloodlines, and yours, have the power to bolster us to the top of the league.”

  “And if we get to the top, what then?”

  “We take over officiating duties. Jones won’t lead forever. He’ll need someone to replace him, and as far as I can tell, I’m betting he’d like that to be you.”