Ephemeral (The Countenance) (23 page)

“I said you wouldn’t turn into one, but that doesn’t mean others won’t.”

“Is it because I’m a Count? Angels can’t morph into those things?”

“Something like that.” He gives an unconvincing smile.

I take my hand back and cradle it in my lap.

I have a feeling Wes knows a lot more than he’s letting on.

Little does he know I’m ready to infiltrate camp—find out exactly what the hell he and the rest of the Counts are hiding.   

22

A is for Apostate

Once the date from hell with Wes culminates, I try my best to sneak back into Austen House. I loathe the thought of rousing Jen from her official duties as gatekeeper of the condemnation station. I’m in a severe state of freaking dishevelment and out way past curfew. Lucky for me, Jen’s got her back turned to the door and is busy having a chortling orgasm into the phone. I’m betting it’s Blaine, the love of her life, who also finds time to humor Jax, most likely on her back. Everything about Blaine is a well-spring of fornicating fodder that I don’t have time to properly delve into at the moment.

I bolt upstairs so fast I don’t even acknowledge the fact that Grayson and Kresley have broken out into a choir of insults from the couch.

The door to my room sits slightly ajar. Anywhere else in the world this would have been cause for alarm. The idea of theft seems to exist everywhere but here. Ironic since this place would be a thief’s paradise. No locks plus no limits to the plethora of treasures equals a big-time felonious win. I’ve never seen an embarrassment of riches so vastly displayed the way I have at Ephemeral. It’s surreal, like they’ve ransacked Rodeo Drive, only no one really cares. And sadly, I have no desire to shop or run out and attach myself with all of the latest and greatest in fashion or technology even though I have three credit cards in my faux wallet that assure me I wield the proper authority to offer a generous boost to the economy.

I want Lacey. I want to go into the Goodwill store with her and hem and haw over how far we can stretch ten bucks. Moments like that were priceless, something the socialites of this haunted establishment will never understand.

The door gives as I kick it gently with my shoe. I find Flynn sitting at Casper’s desk gazing into her laptop. He offers a brief grunt and doesn’t bother to look up.

A muffled cry for help strangulates from out of the closet, and I peer in to find a familiar-looking girl with a shock of black hair trying to unwrap herself from one of Casper’s sweaters. Carter is behind her with a suede jacket wrapped around her person.

“What are we doing?” Really, I’m only half interested. They can loot the place nightly, and I’d find it mildly amusing.

“Flynn says we should each take something to remember her by.” Carter cinches the cinnamon colored coat around her waist. The fur sways soft at the collar as she holds her hands out for approval.

“That’s kind of sick.” I don’t mean for it to sound judgmental. You hear about people wanting mementos of the dead all the time, but something in me wants to
find
Casper, not try on her jeans.  

“Yeah, well if she doesn’t come back, you get the rest.” She dips her fingers into the bevy of flocked hangers.

I trek over to my bed and flop onto the mattress. A loose branch the size of a pencil spikes out from under my arm, and I pluck it away before closing my eyes.

“Laken, you know, Fallon.” The introduction bubbles from Carter as if this were a party. 

“Nice to meet you. I don’t want to sound rude or anything, but can you guys please leave?” Their names are beginning to nauseate me. It’s only then I remember I’ve already vomited once in the forest, and a reprisal seems to be brewing in my stomach. “Like now?”

“Laken!” Carter and her friend break out in laughter.

“I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m not feeling good.” I decide to support this theory by retching. My unenthusiastic performance successfully chases both Carter and Fallon out the door as if there were a Louboutin shoe free-for-all being conducted in the commons area.

“You met up with a Spectator, didn’t you?” Flynn looks me over with a causal inspection.

“Are you a Count?” Obviously if he can deduce the most illogical conclusion, which ironically falls under the category of the truth, then he must be one of the sinister devils—angels—apparently same difference where the Counts are concerned.   

“I’m in the effing know,” he assures with a spark of arrogance.

“What are you?” Seems a strange question to ask people, but since we’re playing fast and loose with the definition of people, I feel it’s one hundred percent appropriate and necessary. I’m beginning to think it’s the first “logical” question I should ask anyone.   

“Little bit Count, mostly Deorsum.” He gets back to the computer.

“Is that how you get all those girls to do your will?” I huff it out incredulous at the idea.

“Doesn’t work on everyone.” A grin blooms on his face as he casts a quick glance in my direction. “Some people are impervious to my powers of persuasion.”

“Yeah well, don’t feel bad. A lot of people are wishing I were a little more gullible these days.”

He buries his nose back into the laptop.

“What are you looking at?” I ask.

“Clues,” he says, “old emails. There’s some guy in Texas she had it hot for.”

Texas. A stilted rumble of laughter gets locked in my chest. Maybe Kansas was too obvious.

“You ever believe her?” My head throbs in rhythm to my heart, and my vision begins to blur. I’m sure an aneurism is pretty high on my body’s to-do list.

“She told you?” Flynn comes over and glides onto the bed like he was sliding into home. His eyes glint like shards.

“Yes.” I hesitate a moment. “And I believed her.”

“Well then you’re a bigger nut than she was.” He lies on his back and places his arms behind him like a pillow. “She liked that version of life because she didn’t like this one.”

I wonder if that’s true for me?

“What if I told you I have the same delusions?” I toss it out there like a bad theory—watch as the colors in the room melt together in a grey blur as I drag my eyes across the ceiling.

“Do you?” He knocks into my leg with his knee.

“Maybe.”

My cell goes off. I swear if I had worn anything other than my uniform that actually has a zipper in the liner, I would not be holding this phone right now.

It’s a text from Cooper.
100 percent.

“What’s that mean?” Flynn stares up at the cryptic message. He has a boyishness about him that assures his harem will be outfitted quite nicely for a very long time to come.

“It means I’m a Count.”

“Pure?” He blinks into me. “It’s impossible to find pure bloodlines anymore.” He inspects me with a renewed interest. “You pledging?”

“Yes, I’m pledging. I’m going in. I’m going to prove to you, and Wes, and everybody else I’m not a raving lunatic, and neither was Casper.”

“You really believed her.” The hard line of his jaw cinches—like admitting it is just as foolish an endeavor.

“Yes. And, I believe my truths, too.”

“Then I’m going to help you,” he growls.

“Why?”

“Because I need to know either way if she was right.”

“She was.”

In the morning the world glows like a lamp illuminated through tissue paper.

Jen joins me for breakfast. She navigates me toward a barren nook in the back of the dining hall—makes me wonder if she’s about to recite a bunch of metaphors deeply rooted in her vast knowledge of all things cheer. And oddly enough, in this reality, that might be just what I need to unlock the secrets to the universe.

“Blaine called, said you were in an accident with Wes. Are you okay?” A pale sheet of hair drapes over her eyes, blinding her momentarily.

“I’m fine. I have a dozen bandages wrapped around the lower quadrant of my leg to prove it.” The bruises are gaining momentum, turning a violent shade of red, but I’m choosing to ignore them.

“So, why the sudden interest in Wesley?” Her eyes flare out. “Rumor has it he’s only into you because you’re easy.”

“What?” I lean in over the table. “I’m guessing this tidbit came to you via the Kresley express.” I take a moment to openly glare at her from across the dining hall. “I’m not easy.” Truth is, if Wes wanted me to I’d lie naked on the senior lawn for him.

“She says you’re not a virgin.” She hisses the words out in jags. She might as well have accused me of being a terrorist, as though the national security of our country had the power to rise and fall with my zipper.

“I’m not.” I really don’t want to get into descriptives, semantics, and, least of all, sexual labels, with of all people, Jen. Nor did I come down to breakfast with the intention of pissing her off with the depressing state of my slightly used vagina. I just want to slog down this oatmeal that looks and tastes like recycled cardboard and tell Cooper that yes, in fact, Wes Parker—Paxton or whoever the hell he is can indeed read my freaking mind.

Her spoon slides out of her mouth involuntarily at the thought of my carnal state.

“Are you kidding me?” She squints into me with a death stare.

“I shit thee not.” I take a swig of my O.J.

“Laken! Don’t joke about something like this. If word gets around, your entire reputation will be a stake.”

“At stake from what? The truth?” I gawk at her. Jen’s special brand of naïveté is harder to swallow than this melted toilet paper I’m forcing down my throat. “I’m sorry but the last time I checked, sleeping with someone was not a major violation of societal morays. And, by the way, that’s not why Wes is with me.” I lean in. “We’re in love.”

“Did he say that?” Her eyes spin in that weird hypnotic way they do in cartoons. Jen and her bizarre range of real-life emoticons are really starting to freak me out.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, he did. He said he’s always loved me.”

Old Wes is trying to break free from the death grip the Counts have on his cranium. He can feel our love stretching back before the time of his death—back to the only existence I wish he ever knew.  

“Laken.” She tilts her head before encapsulating a pathetic expression that mimics the tragedy mask you see in theatres. “He means like a friend. He’s just using you.” She buries her face in her hands and groans. “Don’t you get it? That’s why he dumped Kresley so fast the second you set foot on campus. Because he knows what happened at Rycroft.” Her mouth remains open as if to testify to the severity of my hormonal misgiving.

“Not true.” I wand my spoon at her. “Wes and I have an undeniable connection. And what the heck happened at Rycroft that was so freaking bad?”

“You’re not funny, you know that?” She snaps. “And speaking of that den of immorality, what happened to that kid you were seeing? You seemed to think you and he had a pretty good connection, and we both know how that turned out.”

“No, actually only one of us knows how that turned out,” I correct. And, oddly, that person isn’t me.

“Okay, so maybe you didn’t fill me in on every detail, but I know for a fact while you were with him you swore up and down he was the one.”

“And, that’s precisely why I gave it away.” I dot her nose with the tip of my spoon.

“To that kid?” She looks horrified. “I thought for sure it was Wes. Do you know what this means?” Clearly, she could vomit at the revelation.

“That I’m doomed to roam the earth with the letter A attached to my chest?” I bet she’ll have it monogrammed to each of my uniforms before evening.    

“No.” Her crystalline eyes dart to the ceiling. “Technically you’re a fornicator, not an adulterer, but believe me you’re headed in the right direction.” She snatches my hand with her iced fingers. “It means you’re going to have
two
reproductive partners.”

“Reproductive?” I bounce back in my seat at the insanity that is Jen. “You mean like at the same time?” Clearly I’ve been rattled around by one too many partially deceased corpses because I can’t follow this carnal maze of a conversation. For sure I wasn’t trying to reproduce with Tucker in any way, shape, or form.