“I’d like to see that sketch sometime.”
“Done.” He picks up my hands. “Swing by Henderson, and I’ll show you my work.” I’ll have to hide a third of my stuff, or she’ll think I’m a stalker.
My mouth falls open at the revelation. The thought of being the epicenter of Wesley’s obsession radiates through me sharp as light refracting through a prism. Our love sprays the walls with its indelible rainbow.
He squints into me and a smile slides up his cheek, as if acknowledging my odd thought. “Game’s Friday.” He’s quick to change the subject. “I get to see you in action. You excited?”
“Oh, yeah,” I say, lackluster. “I still haven’t memorized any of the routines. I’ll be the awkward one that looks like she’s having a seizure.”
“I’m sure you’ll be great.” His demeanor darkens. “So, how was detention?” He ticks his head to the side. Bet Coop took full advantage of it and played out those twenty minutes in heaven for all they were worth.
“It was fine—finished most of my homework. I should have detention every day to keep me focused.” I give a private smile at his jab at Cooper.
A student appears at the front desk returning a stack of books, thick hardbacks with Mylar dustcovers. I lean over his shoulder as Wes processes them, trying to memorize his actions. It looks basic—scan the inside jacket and place the books on the go-back cart.
Wes gives a half-smile in my direction. “Too much detention and you can land on academic probation which means no cheer for sure.” His expression sours. “I told Coop to keep his notes to himself.”
“You did?” I’m reveling in his jealousy.
“The football team needs him.” He shrugs as if that were all that was at stake. “He’s one of our best defensive linemen.”
“I’d hate to be responsible for removing one of Ephemeral’s star players from the roster. I’ll stay as far away from Coop as possible.” I dot the sentiment with an impish grin.
“Hello,” a familiar voice booms from behind the counter.
“Cooper!” I jump a little at the sight of him.
Shit.
There he is in all his defensive linemen glory. He’s wearing a ratty old sweatshirt with a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, and he gives a seductive smile—proof positive my efforts to evade him won’t get me far.
“Hi, Laken!” A tiny voice squeaks beside him. I hadn’t even noticed Marky standing there, her face nearly eye level with the thick marble counter. A pink barrette sits pronounced in her dark, wavy hair. I miss all those details about Lacey. Her mass pile of accessories, the Barbie shoes that made sure to find their way under my bare feet during midnight raids to the kitchen. The hair, the clothes, the scent—everything—dear God up in Heaven, I miss everything.
“Hi, you,” I say. “Almost ready for the big mall crawl?” The cavernous room has lost all of its pretentiousness. It has a whole new energy with her small happy face gracing us with its presence. It takes everything in me not to comment on how much like Lacey she is—point it out to Wes to see if he’ll agree.
“What’s up, Coop?” Wes breathes it out with boredom as the two of them stare one another down. You can feel the temperature rising, the testosterone charging the air.
“My dad wanted me to pass on a few exercises for Laken.” Coop sharpens his glare before continuing. It’s clear that I’ve inadvertently stuck a fork in any sort of friendship they might have had. “He’s at a convention—had to take off for the week but he thought I should give them to her.” He gives a quick glance in my direction, careful not to latch on. I wish I could return the favor, pretend that he meant nothing, but I can’t look away. It’s like he has me under a spell, and I’m victim to his carnal rovings.
“I have a list of books I need to read for class.” Marky widens her eyes over at Wes. “Could you help me find them? Cooper said he’d check them out for me.”
“Why, I’d be happy to, young lady.” Wes moves around to the other side of the counter and examines the list. “Nice. You’re going to be one smart cookie once you read all these. Let’s go.”
Marky turns back and winks at me as they walk off toward the back. It’s obvious Wes was just tag teamed by the Flanders’ brother-sister breakup brigade. I can’t help feel a little sorry for him.
“What’s up?” I straighten a pile of books in front of me. I try to focus in on their dull ragged covers, the gilded lettering along the spines vying for my attention, but I revert back to Coop like a spring.
“This.” He produces a frail-looking sepia picture encased in a plastic sheath. It’s a photo of a small group of girls each sporting short, dated hairstyles iconic of the fifties, long smooth waves flip up toward the bottom. He glides his thumb over two girls standing in the back row. “Amelia and Hattie Tobias. Identical twins.”
Something about those dark eyes, their haunting expressions, feels strangely familiar.
“What about them?”
“I did some digging and found out Ephemeral has a consistent record of students disappearing.”
“What?” I hiss. “You think they were Celestra?”
“There’s no real way of knowing.” He entombs the picture between the pages of his lit book. “Most were listed as runaways.” Our eyes lock strong as concrete—an entire hornet’s nest of possibilities flies between us.
“Then there’s a good chance Casper’s still alive—your mom, too.” It comes out sad. “People being held against their will.” I shake my head. “People taking the role of complete strangers. What the hell kind of demonic mind comes up with this stuff?”
“It’s not one person.” He leans in. “It’s an entire group of people who justify their actions through the propagation of their kind.”
“The Counts,” I say it lower than a whisper because now I’m one of them. I’ve grafted myself onto this madness, and in some way I feel responsible for the carnage.
“We need to find my mom and Casper.” Cooper gets lost in a faraway stare.
I can’t imagine what it would feel like knowing your own mother is being milked for blood, treated like a lab experiment and made to suffer.
“What’s with the creepy picture?” I reach forward meaning to touch his lit book but end up laying my hand over his in an effort to comfort him.
Coop drops his chin into his chest and gives a sad smile. “You mentioned when you saw those girls—beings the other night, that there were two of them.”
“They were saying, Hattie and Amelia.” I gasp at the prospect. “Can I see that picture again?”
He pulls it out just enough for me to see their faces.
“The girls I saw were balding, emaciated and scary.” I shake my head. “But those eyes.” Those sad elongated orbs look desperately the same.
“If you lose enough blood, you become anemic.” Coop’s heated breath skims over my cheek with the scent of fresh mint. “With severe anemia, your hair falls out, you can lose it in patches just the way you described. If they weren’t being fed, or they refused to eat, they’d become emaciated.”
“You think I saw Hattie and Amelia’s ghosts?” Tears well up in my eyes at the thought of what the Counts had done to them. How they ended their days so frighteningly monstrous. “Coop…” I breathe his name out in a sigh. I want to lunge across the counter and pull him in. The fact he believes the things I tell him merits him an Olympic worthy medal—he’s already taken gold in the event of my affection.
“I know you saw them.” He sears me with a solemn gaze. “And, the fact they opened a portal into the Transfer leads me to believe they’re trying to help you in some way.”
“You think they’re responsible for the pictures? The hatbox, your pillow?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I still think you’ve managed to tick off whoever is in charge of the brainwashing department or maybe someone else entirely.”
“You think I’m in danger?” If the Spectators and Fems were any indication, I’d say yes.
44
Cold as Ice
I find Jen writhing over her rose covered quilt when I get back, moaning into the pillow like an injured pigeon.
Suddenly, I want to be anywhere but trapped within these four cloistered walls with poor broken-hearted Jen. It reminds me of how much I was hurting when Wes and Fletch died, and how I wallowed in misery when Tucker riddled me with Megan Bartlett-shaped bullets to finish me off.
With my homework covered for the night, these last few hours of the evening are going to be torment listening to Jen groan like she’s slowly having her head severed. Her tears double as a waterboarding device, which have somehow harnessed the power to torment me as well.
Maybe I should hightail it over to Henderson and beg Wes to let me see his sketches—those beautiful oil paintings that seem to speak to me more than life itself.
Hide a third of them—I huff a laugh at the thought. He fleshed me out onto those canvasses before I even existed in this world. Wes and his love are wrapped around me like a very tight coil. All of the manipulation in the world couldn’t keep the two of us apart—from unfolding like some macabre fairytale.
“Fletch is taking me to dinner.” Jen sniffs into her spontaneous admission. “Wanna come?”
“Sure.”
“Guess what?” Her tone sharpens as she jabs the air with her words.
“You told Blaine to go to hell, and now he wants you more than ever?” I lie back on my bed and stare up at the ceiling as I bathe in the possibilities. “Welcome to boys 101. They always want you when they can’t have you.” That does seem a rather rosy scenario for Jen’s case.
I wonder if that’s what’s gotten into Coop? He knows he can’t have me. That might explain the sudden uptick in interest.
“No.” She looks dazed as if the idea in general confuses her. “Mars said she saw them together—more than once.”
“Knew it,” I hiss the words out. “So, what are you going to do?”
Lopping his balls off with a rusted razor sounds like a reasonable solution.
“I’m going to do what any other girl would do. I’m going to tell her to back off and get her own darn boyfriend.”
“You sure you want to be that harsh? And that language alone might tarnish your reputation.” I push out a frustrated breath. Obviously my attempt at sarcasm is lost on her. Jen’s overzealousness in the religion of Polly Anna is exasperating on so many levels. “Listen, I wouldn’t necessarily go that route.”
I decide against encouraging her to employ the use of actual expletives if the opportunity arose. “Look, I didn’t want to say anything, but there’s a rumor going around that they do a lot more than talk when they’re together.” I say it extra slow should the R-rated version, also known as the truth, cross her mind. “I think maybe you should just forget about him in general. I’m telling you, there are a lot nicer guys in the world than Blaine Paxton.” Doubtful that’s his bona fide moniker. Like everything else at Ephemeral, he’s probably just another counterfeit.
“I know.” She closes her eyes a moment. “I know they’ve seen each other. And he’s been courting her behind my back.”
“Courting?” I give a disbelieving blink. “What is this? Dating circa 1865? According to reliable sources, they’ve exchange oral affections when it is clearly neither a holiday nor birthday, and from what I hear, said exchanges were anything but chaste.”
Jen sits petrified, stiff as a statue.
“He would never do that.” Her face bleeds out all color and for a brief moment, I’m afraid this conversation might have aneurysm-inducing properties that hold the ability to kill faux Jen.
“I really don’t know what they do.” A surge of regret fills me. “It’s just hearsay, sometimes the truth lies in the middle, but in all honesty, even the middle doesn’t paint such a pretty picture.” It paints pornography is what it paints, but I leave out that little tidbit.
“I’ll have to talk to Blaine.” Her features sag with the gravity of the situation.
“You should probably approach Jax first.” Like with a sledgehammer. “You know, gather your ammunition.” Again, sledgehammer.
“Let’s go.” She pulls me off the bed, and we head out the door.
I follow Jen in her quickened state of irritation as we wrap around the long hall and stop abruptly in front of a door with a poster of a cat dangling from a rope to greet us.
Jen starts in on a series of barely audible knocks, so I step forward and explode a few good pounds, feel the solid wood vibrate under my command—swear to God that cat almost fell off the damn rope with my grenade like blows.
“Yes?” Jax answers the door in all her copper glory, wearing a tight-fitting sweater dress and heels. She looks beautiful, unmoved by our hostile actions. The pissed-off look on Jen’s face means nothing to her, which is consistent with a theory I’ve been harboring—deep down inside most cheats are sociopaths.
“I have choir.” Jax widens the door to charitably let us in. “Make it fast.”
“Stay away from Blaine.” Jen gets right to the point, only she lands the statement with a slight uptick, and it ends up sounding more like a question.
“I do stay away from Blaine—Blaine finds me.” She takes a bold step in Jen’s direction. Her short hair hugs the curve of her face, accentuates her sharp molded features. “Look, the show is over for you guys, so why don’t you just do us both a favor, and remove yourself from the equation.”
I take in a breath at her audacity.
“I think it’s you who needs to remove herself from the equation,” I say, maneuvering in front of Jen. What the hell is this girl’s problem? Can’t she see that Blaine is cutting poor Jen’s fragile heart out with a machete that would clearly be better put to use lopping off his balls?
“You’re a boyfriend snatcher,” I say butting up against her. “Those happen to be my least favorite people. You’d better watch your back.” Okay, so I’ll think of something far more threatening later when I’m mulling over the situation in lieu of sleep.
“I didn’t purposely set out to steal anybody’s boyfriend. He came to me.” She shakes her head at Jen. “And FYI—I think you’re the one who needs to stay the hell away from my boyfriend. Things have changed, Jen.” She bites down a smile. “You’re the one who’d better watch her back.”
The oxygen in the room dissipates. You can feel the angst rising swift as mercury in the desert afternoon. I half-expect the windows to burst from the animalistic pressure building.
Jax snatches up her purse and takes off without another word.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, offering Jen a hug, but she recoils my efforts.
“It’s time to get even,” she hisses.
It’s safe to say I’d go along with just about anything to help Jen out with this one since I clearly have a transference issue with Jax and every girl Tucker Donavan ever cheated on me with.
Jen convinces me into helping her haul two giant buckets of ice all the way from the kitchen and dumping them in both beds just to make sure we actually land Jax’s mattress in a state that matches her frozen heart. Jen pulls up the covers and smooths out the comforters as though there were bodies lying in state.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say. I’m not sure what the penalty will be for such stupid debauchery, but I’m betting it’s a sure fire way to get me out of cheer. I can smell the academic probation a mile away.
“Not yet,” Jen snatches a pair of scissors off the dresser and heads into the closet.
“Jen?” I walk in and witness a hacking spree as Jen cuts through jeans and sweaters at an alarming rate.
“What the hell are you doing?” I snatch her arm back. “She’s going to know it was you, genius.”
“That’s the point, Laken.” Jen abstains from dissecting the uniforms that hang lifeless in the back of the closet—figures. She picks up a pair of furry boots I’ve specifically seen Jax wear on several occasions and spits
into them.
“Jen, stop.” I take her by the wrist before she has a chance to commit any more loogie-based offenses. “You’re going to look back one day and realize this is all Blaine’s fault. If he wants someone as stupid as Jax, let him have her.” He will anyway, with or without her permission.
“Blaine is mine.” She needles into me with a glassy stare.
“You don’t own people, Jen. Let him go.” Then again, she is a Count, owning people seems to be an inherent character flaw.
Jen explodes in a fit of rage, yanking clothes off hangers at random. She gives a violent kick, dismantling a neat row of shoes that detonate into the far reaches of the closet.
“I’m not done with Jax.” She storms out and heads for the door. “I’m not done with either of them.”
45
Falling for You
Fletcher drives us to a Mexican restaurant on the outskirts of town, called Maria’s. Jen sulks all the way over, which goes blissfully unnoticed by Fletch, so when we hit the entrance to the colorfully decorated establishment, and Jen starts bawling like a baby, it more than catches him off guard.
“What in the hell’s wrong with her?” He wrinkles his brow, seriously stymied as to why Jen just sprinted toward the bathroom full throttle.
“She has a broken heart,” I whisper. It’s bad enough Jen caused a scene. Fletch isn’t exactly helping by shouting obscenities.
“Good evening.” Cooper appears, holding a stack of menus. “Welcome to Maria’s.” He’s slow to beam his resplendent smile, but when it arrives, it lights up the room brighter than the sun, leaves me feeling disoriented and hungry for his touch.
“Are you stalking me?” I bite down a laugh. I’m more than thrilled to see Cooper anywhere, anytime.
He tilts his head thoughtfully. “I, Laken”—he starts with a playful smile tugging at his lips—“am an employee.” There’s a slight sarcastic inflection. He’s enjoying this. “And I assume you’re here as a patron, so technically it would be impossible for me to do the stalking. I think the better question is, are you stalking me?” He holds back his smile, but it plays on his lips, shines in his eyes.
Ephemeral (The Countenance) Page 30
