Ephemeral (The Countenance) (20 page)

Her eyes widen. “That’s pretty.” She paints a coat of white carefully over each finger on her left hand. “I’m going to make polka dots.” Bottles of red, blue and yellow sit nearby with the lids undone.

“Can I help?”

She nods eagerly and holds out a small, plump hand. I paint the nails on her right hand, but really it’s the bittersweet joy of holding her pillowy flesh that makes me want to help her—my desperation to be near—
in
, Lacey’s world.

If Lacey were here, she would love Marky. Lacey was always socially starving no matter how many play-dates she had or Scout meetings we took her too. Her world revolved around friendship, people, and one of those people happened to be me.

Cooper reappears just as I’m applying blue dots to her left hand with meticulous precision.

He stops at the base of the counter, and I catch a glimpse of his face as it flushes with color. He gives a slight nod as if to say thank you.

“You want something to eat?” He offers. “I make a great peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”  

“Really? I’m great at eating them.” I bite down a smile as I move to her other hand.

“Sounds like you’re perfect for each other.” Marky stretches out the words in a concerted effort to embarrass her brother.

I finish dotting her nails with blue polish, and Marky pulls her hands back to inspect my work.

“Thank you!” She jumps off the chair and runs over to Cooper, waves her nails in his face like a prize.

“You want another color?” I offer. “I can do red?”

She bounces back to her seat, and lets me apply microscopic red dots to both hands.

“How about yellow?” I reach for the bottle before she can answer.

“No thanks. I like red, white, and, blue. You think you can come next week? I want lightning bolts. My friend’s mom does really cool stuff on her nails. It looks messy when I do it myself.”

“Marky,” Cooper reprimands, while putting the jelly back in the fridge.

“He can’t keep me away.” I wrinkle my nose when I say it. Her entire face lights up as she lunges into me with hug. I take in the sweet strawberry scent from her hair and pat her small back while trying desperately to ignore the hiccup of pain searing through me.

“I gotta do free reading.” Her lips curl to the side as she looks to her brother. “You can have some alone time with your new girlfriend.” She enjoys the dig before snatching a paperback off the counter and bolting upstairs.

Cooper shakes his head. “Don’t listen to her. She’s nine. If you’re not careful, she’ll have you volunteering your services like some full-blown salon.” He sets down a glass of milk and a yellow, scalloped plate with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich set neat in the center.

“You cut off the crusts,” I marvel. I can take it or leave it, but this is my favorite.

He catches my gaze. There’s a smile his eyes hold for me as his dimples wink with anticipation. 

“Old habits die hard, sorry.” He sits next to me and starts in on his meal.

“I love your house.” I take in the peach tile counter, the border wallpaper printed with fruit that repeats its pattern all the length of the kitchen. It’s a real person’s home. This house could easily exist in Cider Plains. “At Austen House it’s like eating in a fancy hotel—silverware and china every meal. I miss this,” I say, running my finger around the rim of a tall blue glass.

“I’ve got a sink full of dishes you could wash if you miss that?” He bites into his food with a grin.

“That I don’t miss. I used to work at a diner. I’ve washed enough dishes to last me a lifetime.”

Cooper’s eyes wander to the counter then back again. “What was that, some kind of social experiment?” He washes down his sandwich with a few gulps of his milk.

“No, I—” I stop myself from telling him anything else about the real me. Instead, I change the subject. “That girl, Casper—she didn’t run away, and I don’t think Wes had anything to do with it.”

“I heard she took off with some guy.” He places down his glass, examining me like an animal he’s yet to determine he can fully trust.

“I don’t believe it.” I let my words hang in the air—let him witness my rebellion to the system in bite sized portions before dislodging the truth like a truck full of bricks. “Wes say’s I fell out of a tree house.” I touch my temple trying to stave off the headache already brimming to life.

“He said I was in a medically induced coma for weeks. That I’m having trouble remembering things.” I pause to take him in. He has an open face, clear, honest eyes, and a smile that makes me feel unreasonably safe. He lives in a normal house and does the dishes because it’s a part of life, not some dormitory-induced punishment. He has a sister just like Lacey and a long-dead mother. Everything in me wants to tell him what happened to me—who I really am.

“Is that what you’re here to talk to my dad about?” He dips his chin, lingers over my words with great appreciation.

“Yes. That, and I seem to have had one hell of a realistic dream while I was in that coma.”

His features darken. He settles in a faraway look, as if a thought just came to him.

A comfortable silence sets in as we lock eyes and dare one another to make the next move.

“Would you want to share any of that?” It comes out apologetic as if he wants to know, but doesn’t want to pry. “It’s okay if you don’t. I just thought if you wanted to, maybe.” He pauses, licking his lips as he takes me in. “You could talk to me if you want to.”

“No, it’s okay.” Wes pops in my mind and I hesitate. “Maybe just keep it between me and you? The last thing I want is to be known as the town lunatic.” I might already be.

Cooper presses out a quiet smile. “There are too many people vying for that position. I doubt you’d make the cut.”

There’s something warm and reliable about him. It’s as if I could confess to the most heinous crime, and he would find a way to sympathize.

I start in slow about Kansas, how I thought I had another family, my mom, Lacey, the flat country, lime green grass as far as the eye can see, round bales of hay that dot the landscape, the ripe scents of farm life that I miss so much. I tell him about Fletcher and Wes drowning at the lake, their funeral—my nonexistent father.

I pause long enough to let it all soak in, watch as his somber eyes drag lethargic across my face.

“Wes says I’m a Count.” I watch his reaction, but he doesn’t even blink. Obviously if he knows about Spectators and Fems, he must be in the know of all things Nephilim.

“Noster.” He holds his hand out and I shake it, warm and strong. “Nice to meet you.” It comes out sarcastic, playful at the same time.

Noster. I think that’s the faction Wes told me to run from.

A tiny laugh vibrates through me at the idea of running away from Cooper.

“So, tell me.” I take a breath. “Do you think I’ve lost it?”

“That wasn’t just a dream, was it, Laken?” He leans in as if coercing me to admit it.

“No.” The air charges around us, magnetizes us together in some inexplicable way. “I was dead, and now I’m here.”

19

Blood Count

Dr. Flanders is a patient man who listens with careful attention while I relay every last detail I believe to be true.

Cooper and I sit in his home office with its dark-stained walls and peacock feathers elongating from a vase in the corner. I’m captivated by their luminescent glow. Their overgrown eyeballs stare blankly out at the room, preciously textured like the wings of a butterfly.

A family portrait of happier times hangs to the left—a picture printed on canvas mounted in a gilded frame, nothing too ornate. The gold wood gleams with pride, catching the reserve of light in the tiny cloistered office. A gorgeous blonde sits by the doctor’s side with the two kids, a much younger Cooper and Marky seated dutifully below. I can only assume the blonde is Cooper’s mother.

Dr. Flanders gazes out at some invisible horizon just past my shoulder, pondering the insane scenario I’ve landed before him.

“There have been whispers of resurrections for years. The Counts are infamous for their enigmatic behavior, especially when it comes to preserving their own kind.” He connects his fingers at the tips. “I’ve seen evidence of failed attempts, never one as bright and lively as you.” His dark hair and furry brows are a sharp contrast to Cooper who radiates light from his being like the sun. It’s obvious Cooper gets his looks from his mother. His sister’s dark beauty derives from their father.

“I’ve been resurrected?” The words pull from my lips like the long drawn-out note of a xylophone, too high and clear to be taken seriously. “It’s some kind of bodily extortion, and now they want my mind. Someone’s gone through an awful lot of trouble to get me to believe in this world. They’ve even doctored pictures of me doing moronic things I would never do, like cheerleading.”

“I saw you cheer today.” Cooper ticks his head at me as though he’s caught me in a lie.

“That’s because they’re forcing it down my throat,” I’m quick to counter, not wanting to get into Jen’s ban on civil liberties. “Look—Casper, the girl that disappeared? I told her everything the first night I got here, and she said the same thing happened to her.” I look from Cooper to Dr. Flanders for traces of sympathy but I’m met with stone-cold stares instead.

“She said she died in an accident, and she had this new family, and—” I stop midflight and lean back in the chair. Maybe I should’ve stuck with Wesley’s idea, kept my mouth shut to begin with—told them about the fictitious view from the tree house instead.

“I’d like to run some blood tests.” Dr. Flanders forehead ignites in three hard lines. His wire-framed glasses catch the light as he refers to a piece of paper. “Laken, these tests will let you know whether you’re a Count or anything else for that matter. I can have the results within an hour or two.” He glances over at the computer monitor. “I’ve accessed your medical file.” He taps the screen, orienting me to it. “It’s all here in detail from the moment you were admitted until discharge, every blood pressure reading, every medicine prescribed. It’s by the book.” He gives a forlorn smile. “According to these documents, you fell a good twenty feet and sustained a nasty contusion at the base of your cerebellum, in addition to a laceration above the temple.”

“So you think Wes is right? I hit my head?” It’s like having Lacey die right in front of me. I might crawl into the forest myself and let the Spectators and Fems play tug-of-war with my limbs. I’d rather dissolve into nothing than live in a world where my family doesn’t exist.

“I’m saying that although nothing is impossible, the alternate world you’re speaking of is highly improbable,” he whispers it soft, apologizing with his tender knit brows. The pull of remorse tugs on his lips. “I’m sorry, Laken.”

“I guess it’s better I know the truth.” And I’m damn sure it’s not the one they’re artificially supplying me with. “But I can still find out if I’m a Count, right? The blood test?”

“Yes.” He rises. “I’ll be right back.”

I wait until he leaves the room before leaning into Cooper.

“Looks like I’m back in the running for town loon.” I try to sound light, but really it comes out a pathetic admission.

“I wouldn’t put anything past the Counts, Laken.” He picks up my hand and cups it between both of his—toasty as if he just warmed them by the fire.

“You believe me?” A spark of hope rises at the prospect of not being psychotically insane.

“I think there’s only one way to prove it, and it’s not the blood test.” He gives a slow blink.

“What’s that?”

“Root yourself in their organization.” He takes in a breath that stretches for miles. “See what they’re up to firsthand. Know them, become them.”

“You want me to be a spy?” Truthfully, I find the entire idea completely lackluster. As much as I detest the thought of cheer or anything else that requires physical exertion, when it gets right down to the nuts and bolts of it, I’m flat-out lazy.

“If they took your brother and you, what’s to stop them from taking your little sister?”

I prick him with a hard look. He’s relying on the fact I miss Lacey. He knows how much he’d miss Marky, and he saw me out there with her. I’m vulnerable, susceptible to every bad idea that might come my way, and now he has me right where he wants me because, of course, I might just be damned if I say no.

“And what if they’re clean—angelic as can be?”

“You’ll have a lovely bond to share with your boyfriend.” The lines around his eyes harden at the thought.

“You don’t like Wes, do you?”

He twists his lips. Cooper stares into me a moment before answering. “I find him questionable.” He shakes his head. “I usually don’t waste time shooting off brain cells in his direction.” He stares past my shoulder. There’s a history, a story there. I’m getting the feeling he won’t tell me everything.

Dr. Flanders walks in with something that looks like a tackle box. He sets it down on the desk and plucks it open until it’s arranged in a series of stair-step trays. He cleanses the inside of my arm with rubbing alcohol, polluting the room with its mildly offensive odor. He threads two empty vials between his fingers with the dexterity of a magician before injecting me with a needle.