Ephemeral (The Countenance) (40 page)

A thin rail of a girl gapes back at me—hair the color of rust, tattered and balding, dark circles frame her eyes like bruises—knobby elbows and knees, fingers like that of a skeleton. She turns just enough, exposing another girl from behind, a doppelganger, one more grotesque than the last with grey flesh, bones that define themselves in detail through paper-thin skin, both outfitted in dirty muslin sheaths.

The first one breaks out into a demented grimace. Her lips pull back too far, exposing a necrotic gum line—stained teeth with dark outlines.

I let out another short-lived scream that scalds my throat, and it inspires them to disappear in tandem.

“Shit!” I pant at the void in their wake.

My entire person demands I flee, but the thin seam of light from beneath a wood-planked door beckons otherwise.

I speed over and jiggle the knob.

Locked.

I struggle with the door much longer than I’m able to stave off my fear and give one last push with my shoulder before giving up. Then, without a struggle, it opens, light as a feather.

A white glossy hall stretches before me, identical to the one I found myself in the other night with Cooper—the night he seared me with a kiss I’ll never forget.

I step inside and head down the over-bright corridor. Cooper works here, well, disposes of Spectators, here. It’s so cold, so isolative—the entire facility is illuminated with an unearthly sterile cast. My footsteps echo unnaturally as I make my way deeper in the facility.

Coop said this was the Transfer—what the hell is this place anyway?

A soft blue glow emanates from a room down a carpeted alcove, and I hug the wall before peering inside. Long glass tubes stretch from floor to ceiling. A blue liquid swirls inside with what looks like hair and fingers pressed against the glass. It’s not until I’m upon an entire row of the oversized capsules that I see clearly what’s floating inside—bodies.

I suck in a scream and run like hell down the pathway from where I came.

I don’t stop until I land safe in my bed next to Jen.

I don’t know what kind of hell exists beneath Austen House. I don’t know why Cooper
works
at the zombie collection agency or why there are bodies floating in giant glorified fish tanks.

The most horrifying part is I’m pretty damn sure I’m going to find out.

In the crisp, dull morning, clouds as dark as overcoats hover above Ephemeral. The air is saturated with the tenuous scent of ozone, damp earth, and bleach rolled into one. I like it like this, a storm on the horizon, a knit scarf keeping me warm, my undead boyfriend dutifully by my side.

Wes walks me to my first class, and I hold his hand, expecting to decode the basic intrinsic evils concerning all things Countenance. Instead, he lingers on my thoughts. Mulls over my words like reciting poetry. I return the favor by thinking of the ways I love him—how he’s still the boy I’ve always known, sweet, always protecting, always seeking out what’s best for me even if it puts him in peril because deep down inside we both know it damn well will.

“I’d take a bullet for you.” It seems to come out of nowhere when he says it, but I know Wes is reassuring me—that he’d love me to the end of his days if he had to.

I pull him under an olive tree with its tiny paper leaves, sage on one side, chalk on the other. The multitude of blades look cheery against the grey expanse, like confetti frozen in time—its branches spread wide like an eagle in flight.

Wes is regal in his dark Ephemeral school-issued suit with a bright yellow tie notched just beneath his neck.

“I pledge tomorrow night,” I say with a little more apprehension than expected.

God—what if there’s a goblet full of blood, or a human sacrifice, bound and gagged, awaiting my hand for slaughter?

“It won’t be weird, no horror movie elements, I swear,” he’s quick to comfort as he squeezes my hand. 

“Then what?” I whisper. “How do I make it official?”

“Nothing—just the chant and the blood bonding. It’s that simple.”

“There has to be something more. When do I get my powers? The strength, the speed?”

“You already have those, you just need to draw them out. I’ll take you to Charity one day, we’ll practice.” Wes is breathless by my thirst for knowledge, but the mention of the lake inspires a new thirst in me—one only his flesh can satisfy.

“Sounds like a plan.” I twist a smile. “What about the mind reading and the time travel? When will those kick in?”

I wonder what she would say if I told her
. He lets the thought swill through his mind. A vision of a dark forest appears, the primal scream of a woman erupts before he shuts down the thought.

“Only Celestra can do those things.” Wes shakes his head. “We’re the wrong faction.”

“Oh, I thought we were the best.” I bite my lip and manufacture disappointed. “I was really looking forward to those abilities. Can you imagine being able to read someone’s mind? Pry into their secret thoughts without them ever knowing?” I give a hard look before softening again. “I mean it’d be a terrible thing to do but totally fun, right?” It comes out accusatory—almost giving away the fact I’m onto his deep, dark, blood-sucking secret.

Wes expels a long breath like the tail of a vaporous dragon. His face bleeds out all color as he offers a dull smile.

“And time travel?” I practically bleat out the words for the entire quad to hear. “Image where we could go. Where would you go, Wes?”

“Back to the horrible day you thought it was a good idea to climb that tree house.” His eyes pulsate as though he’s already thought this through.

“Sounds like it’s important we get back there. Avert this entire tragedy.”

“Not happening.” Wes renders his gaze to the statue of Asterion as it materializes then disappears in the fog like an apparition.

“It’s because we’re not Celestra.” I dig my hands into my pockets. I want to lay it on thick and call him out on the fact Celestra is obviously the most powerful. I have the distinct feeling the reason their numbers are so low is because the Counts have arranged for that very thing. A genocide is underway thanks to their vampire-like efforts—a pretty exhaustive effort at that. The fact Wes would be an active participant makes me want to vomit all over his shiny brown shoes.

“It’s not happening because it can’t,” he says with a hint of sadness. “You can travel to the past, but you can’t change things.”

“Then why have it? Who would want to have something you could never use?”

“There are plenty of things to do in the past,” he’s quick to defend. “You just need to know what they are. You want to read about history or see it happen? Read Flaubert’s work, or watch him write it—ask him questions.” Wes ticks his gaze over me with an artful seduction. “Think about those glory days or relive them?” His eyes widen as he glances past my shoulder. “I have an idea.”

“What?” I pant. Wesley’s ideas these days may border on psychotic, but they have a remarkable ability to play out like pages ripped from science fiction.

“It’s a surprise.” His eyes glow a sodden shade of yellow. “Consider it a gift once you’re through with the blood bonding. It might take me a while to arrange it, but it’ll be worth the wait. I promise.”

“Excellent. I’ll be looking forward to it.” Maybe. If there’s not a homicide involved. “I’m ready to gift you with something Wes.” I run my tongue over my lips absentmindedly. “It’s been worth the wait, I promise.”

“Laken.” He brushes my temple with a kiss. “I want that, too. I just want your memory back first.”

I push up and give him a soft peck of a kiss then pull away and watch as his eyes remain closed, his lips still parted, waiting for more. I lean in and indulge in a delicious surge of my affection that assures Wesley Parker-Paxton that I’m looking forward to doing a whole lot more than chanting with him tomorrow night and every other night after that. 

My “memory” is coming back.

And I’ll make sure he knows it.

As soon as Wes and I part ways, I go on the hunt for Coop. I find him reading his lit book, leaning against the brick wall outside of Ridley.

A fine layer of mist surrounds him as if he had just appeared in a vat of clouds. Cooper glows from behind the veil. He burns right through it like Vulcan, the god of fire—Apollo lost in his intellectual pursuits.

“There’s somewhere I need to take you,” I pant, snatching him up by the hand.

“To bed so soon?” He gives a wry smile.

“No,” I scold. “Down Coop.”

I have a feeling he would follow me into a cave full of Spectators if I wanted, and somehow this brings me an immense sense of comfort.

“I would,” he says knowingly, answering my open thoughts. “But, for the record, I would talk you out of it long before we arrived. Have I mentioned the power of persuasion is strong with me?”

“You have that in common with Flynn,” I say, slipping my hand back into my pocket.

His cheek slides up on one side. There’s something easy and far too attractive about Coop. He’s dangerous in his own way—it’s like walking barefoot along a sharpened blade. There can only be one resolution to this relationship, and I can only surmise the end result will prove to be painful.

“So where we going?”

“Austen House,” I say. “I found a door to the Transfer.”

Cooper and I walk casually on the outskirts of campus. He says if we run like fugitives, they’ll shoot us down with rubber bullets, but if we walk calm with purpose, no one will be the wiser.

“They won’t really shoot us with rubber bullets, will they?” I ask, watching my breath puff out in a series of staccato clouds.

“No.” He drops his chin a notch. “This is Ephemeral, they use silver.”

I swat him in the stomach.

I keep an eye out for Kresley, Grayson and her ever-expanding bosom, or Wes. It saddens me that I’ve lumped him in with the tributes to silicone, but I’m pretty sure it would arouse his suspicion as much as it would theirs as to why I’m headed home with Coop, the demigod of the football field, while I resume my role as the philandering cheerleader. I might be accused of offering a private routine in the nude, or a far worse offense—tricking him into believing my insanity.