Ephemeral (The Countenance) (41 page)

The front desk at Austen House sits unmanned.

Jen was so emotionally trashed this morning she didn’t even bother flinching when her alarm went off, so it’s no surprise when I see she’s abdicated her post as den mother for the day.

Coop and I stride in as though it were perfectly normal. The house is still lit up heavy with the scent of bacon and maple syrup. We duck into the kitchen and down the basement stairs, into the belly of Austen House without a hiccup.

I take up Cooper’s hand, now that we’re out of public view, and interlace our fingers—glancing up at him to gauge his reaction. Something in me craves the security, the comfort he offers by way of believing the things I tell him. Cooper’s faith in me is the exact safety net I need in this delusional world.

He gives a gentle squeeze and offers the undercurrent of peaceable smile. 

“One more thing,” I say as we turn down the endless stream of corridors. “I saw these, we’ll, I guess they were hallucinations—that or ghosts.”

Cooper stops midflight and backs me against the wall as he takes me in. His soft breath falls against my cheek, I can feel the warmth of his body radiating over me, pulling me with its magnetic charge.

“I didn’t sign up for ghosts.” His lids hover low as he scours me with his silver eyes, memorizing the landscape of my features. Cooper has a way of looking at me without it feeling strange or intrusive. It feels intimate, enticing.

“I didn’t either,” I say, making a concerted effort to even out my breathing.

His gaze intensifies. The world stills around us. It’s happening again. He pulls in just a little bit closer. Another half-breath and his lips will cover mine. I wish I could say that I didn’t want him to—that I wasn’t dying for him to try.

“Come on,” I say, pulling him quickly down the hall. If I had hesitated, just one more moment, I couldn’t live with myself knowing what I had done to Wes. It was different kissing Cooper the first time when I thought it was a dream. He initiated it. And this time, I want it as bad as he does.

The musty smell of mold and stagnant water intensifies. We come upon the room full of long rusted pipes that splay out like tree roots—a dripping puddle beneath the largest one in the back.

“They were scary—creepy,” I whisper. “They had these dark eyes, and they were frail, gaunt, their hair was falling out. They were having a conversation—more like demonic chanting. I heard the names Hattie and Amelia, and as soon as I screamed, they disappeared, that’s when I saw the door.”

“And you went in? Just like that?” Cooper seems equally amused and appalled by my moronic sense of bravado.

“Of course, I went in.” I pierce his gaze with my own and hold it a second too long. “I thought I might see
you
there.” I try to amend my reckless behavior by stroking his ego. “Besides, I recognized the halls,” I whisper, speeding us down the last aisle.

Shit.

A solid brick wall has erected itself in place of the old wooden door. The destination no longer exists. I press my hands against the barricade in defeat.

“It was here.” I take a step back and evaluate my surroundings. “Swear to God it was.”

Cooper doesn’t say anything just gives me a look that suggests I might be generously sharing my delusions.

“Come on,” he whispers, “we’re missing first.”

“It was here, Coop. There was a door, and it led to that place.” I shake my head in frustration.

“You said it was late. You were probably exhausted and went down another hall. It’s like a labyrinth down here.” His kind eyes wince as he tries to offer me the out.

“No, it was real.” I can’t lose Coop. If I wanted someone who would doubt my ability to tell the truth, I would have brought Wes. “I found this room and there were all these floating bodies in these giant blue vials.”

His eyes round out. A quick smile springs to his lips.

“You were there.” He breathes with a flicker of excitement.

“You know about the room?”

“It houses dead Counts.” He gives a quick nod.

“What are the bodies for?” I can feel the silence pressing in around us.

“I’ve wondered the same thing, Laken.” He stares into me in earnest. “But after meeting you, I think I know.”

41

The Bond

“Second generation Spectators,” Cooper says, picking up both my hands. “They didn’t kill off the project.” He cocks his head back. “Too many Counts gave their lives in hopes of resurrection. The Counts want to proliferate their numbers, they don’t want them to dwindle.”

“So you think the bodies are sitting in some kind of processing center?” I ask, leaning against the basement wall of Austen House.

“I’ve wandered those rooms for months. I’ve seen the turnover of a body in as little as one day, and some bodies never leave. There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason. For sure, it’s not a revolving door. If you did end up in one of those tubes a few months back, you’re lucky to have made it out as fast as you did.” He brushes along my cheek with his thumb as though he were envisioning me there, suspended in blue formaldehyde.

I catch his hand and hold it.

“Casper might be in there,” I say. I’d hate to think she might be bottled up like a science experiment, and certainly won’t bring up the possibility to Flynn, but we can’t rule it out.

“No.” He shakes his head, solemn. “For sure don’t mention it to Flynn.”

“You heard me,” I press out a smile.

“Sorry.” Coop ignites with a lust-filled look in his eyes as if he were indulging in me as we speak. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s okay.”

Wes shoots through my mind—how he doesn’t withhold his touch to ensure my privacy, and a slight wave of anger smolders through me.

“I doubt Casper is in one of those tubes, Laken.”

“You think those creatures ate her?” God, this is for sure the worst-case scenario.

“I think she’s very much alive.” Cooper’s eyes catch the light and glow an unearthly opalescent. “Turns out the blood bank houses its supplies in the basement of Flanders Institute.” He gives a crooked smile. “I ran the tests myself. Casper Masterson had enough Celestra blood in her body to make every Count in the country sit up and pay attention. Why waste good Celestra blood when you could harvest her when the time was right?”

“Celestra,” I whisper.

“Too valuable to kill.”

“They took her.”

I tremble my way through Tuesday.

On this night, in less than a few hours, I will officially graft myself into the anatomy of the Countenance—pledging allegiance as one of their own.

I stand in the closet admiring the strapless dress Jen all but tossed at me to wear for the event. I run my fingers over the butter-soft satin. The fabric is the most vibrant shade of purple I have ever laid eyes on with a black lace sash that ties on the side.

I do a quick change and step back into the room, motioning for Jen to help zip up the back.

“I love the color,” I say stupidly as she violently secures the zipper, just missing my flesh by a hair.

To say that Jen has been a little bit stabby lately is like suggesting the surface of the sun is a little bit warm. Since her mishap with Blaine, Jen has officially, and rather dramatically, sworn off all creatures that happen to have a procreative organ dangling from their body.

In fact, she continues to patrol her post as the keeper of the gate with the new psychotic attributes she’s managed to amass, no thanks to her animosity for all things male. In addition to hating the people of the penis, she’s picked up the habit of accusing every girl at Austen House of hosting the opposite gender in our rooms at regular intervals. You would think the word “brothel” was emblazed on the sign out front, the way she threw accusations around.

“So you’re really not coming?” Even though Jen is virtually a stranger to me in this twisted world, we already share a bond, that of sisters, and on a night like this, I’d love her by my side, especially since Coop is off the guest list.

Cooper is starting to feel more like family than anyone here—sadly that includes Wes and Fletch at the moment. I guess Fletch and I were never that close, but Wes—I could die a thousand deaths just thinking of the chasm that’s pulling us apart emotionally.

“Can’t.” Jen plops back on her bed and stares off in a vegetative state. “I need to confront Jax.”

“Do me a favor and put off your blowout until I get back.”

“I don’t know if I can.” The words come out as more of a growl. “It’s eating me up inside—I just want to claw her eyes out. I’ve never hated anyone like this before.”

That’s exactly how I felt the day I confronted that tramp Tucker was cheating on me with. I was rabid. I wanted to see blood, leave a permanent mark across her face by way of my fingernails—a hammer.

“She’s a man stealer.” Her eyes glaze over. “She’s Jax the relationship jinx.” Jen leans in as though I should acknowledge this clever putdown.

“Man
eater
,” I correct. It’s more like Jumping Jax as in jumping Blaine’s bones, or Blow Jax, Jaxing off, I could think of a million—all valid nicknames Jen could never come up with on her own because Jen is about as corrupt as cotton candy. 

My cell gives a soft buzz. It’s a text from Wes.

I’m here
.

“That’s my ride. Wish me luck.” I give her hand a quick squeeze.

I hope that ceremony is all she’s doing with Wes. It’s girls like her that give the rest of us a bad name—steal our boyfriends when we’re not looking.
Jen averts her eyes as she lets the thought pass.

“You’ll be fine.” She pulls a history book out from her backpack and traces the flag on the cover absentmindedly. In Jen’s twisted mind, I’m just as much to blame for Blaine’s carnal wanderings as Jax is.

“I hate seeing you like this,” I whisper as I head toward the door. “I swear to you, not all guys are like Blaine. He’s just not the one.”

Jen stares into me with those hollow pools of blue as if I had just suggested the sun, the moon, the stars—they were a hoax all along.

“He’s the one.” She sharpens her tone. “I just need to make sure those around me understand.”

“Okay.” I shrug. “We’ll load up our socks with soap and trash Jax in her sleep.”

I stand and catch my reflection in the mirror. My hair falls in soft, caramel waves down my back, and the dress glows like a lavender star. It all feels more prom than it does cult-like gathering, but nevertheless, Wes is waiting.  

I offer Jen a brief wave as I head out the door.

I’m off to swear into the demonic council of not-so-angelic hosts that have hijacked my everything.

Go figure.

Wes drives for miles through the heavily shadowed backwoods.

“How far does the city stretch?”

“
County
,” he corrects. “It spans a good way. Ephemeral sits on the outskirts of Trinity County.” He pulls into a clearing with at least ten other cars and trucks already there. “I thought we’d show a little late. Make a dramatic entrance. That way you wouldn’t get nervous just standing around. Fletcher has the catch.”