Ephemeral

by Addison Moore

  “What’s the catch?” I ask getting out of the car.

  Wes comes around and holds me just shy of the curtain of ebony pines. A light fog mists over my bare shoulders, making me wish I had one of those wool coats from the closet.

  “It’s a surprise.” He takes up both my hands as a gentle cast of light kisses him from above. “I went out at sunrise and captured it for you.”

  “You did?” I tug at his hand. In its own demented way, Wesley’s love for me shines through this eternal nightmare.

  “I did.” Wes gives a shy grin, and my stomach bottoms out. He pulls back and takes me in head to toe. “God—you’re gorgeous, Laken. You outshine the dress, the stars.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper. God, I love Wes.

  He takes a breath and leans in. Wes drags his lips slow across mine like a trail of lingering fire. He lights up the night with a passion-laced kiss that demonstrates the sentiments of the bulge he has growing against my thigh.

  “I love you so much.” The words expire from him with an indelible ache. “You ready to do this?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Wes leads us through the woods to another clearing. Candles encircle the vicinity in a blaze of delicate glory.

  At least a dozen people stand around a large, flat stone all wearing the same long hoods.

  “No way.” I pull Wes back. “You didn’t say anything about all this freaky shit. I’m not doing this. Take me home.” My legs start in on a violent tremble. In less than three seconds of being exposed to their linear brand of madness, I’m shaking like a dog at the vet.

  “It’s okay,” he whispers, rubbing my arm in an effort to calm me. She can’t leave. This means everything. We’ll never be able to delve deeper if she doesn’t take the first step.

  I squeeze my eyes shut from the trauma of it all. “Let’s just get it over with.”

  Wes pulls me into the circle and hands me a thick robe. It feels soft, succulent as velvet. The inside is lined with cool satin, and a mean shiver runs through me as it slithers down my body.

  A tall man with his face sunk in shadows steps forward and sounds a gavel against the stone. It goes off with a high-pitched thud that vibrates through my bones long after he’s tapped the cursed rock. He removes his hood, and only then do I see its Blaine. No wonder Jen didn’t want to come. Instead of a blood bonding, it would have been a blood bath. Blaine would be the altar sacrifice.

  “Remove your hoods,” he instructs, solemn as a priest. “Tonight we welcome sister Laken as she commits her soul to the Countenance and becomes one with us in spirit and community. A fellowship offering is welcome at this time.” He sweeps his hands across the dark expanse, smooth like a magician.

  Hoods pull back simultaneously, and the circle begins to shift in a clockwise manner.

  “Welcome,” a light female voice invokes, cloaked in a veil of fog. For a moment, I wonder where I’ve seen this shadowed face until I realize the dark hair, those pristine grey eyes belong to Fallon. So, this is how we bond—over blood. Figures.

  Carter comes up next. “This is so freaking exiting! I think after the game Friday, we should totally do something insane in your honor.”

  Oh, we’re doing it, I want to say. And, frighteningly enough, it’s going down right now.

  I nod as she passes.

  A few guys I recognize from class come into the circle and greet me, then Flynn.

  “I thought you didn’t come to these kinds of things,” I whisper.

  “I want you to know that I support you.” His eyes dart from me to Wes. “In every single way.” He cuts the air with the knife of his words. Flynn wants Casper back, and he’s here at the “howling session” to prove it.

  It’s a relief to see a friend among questionable allies—enemies. Odd that I classify Wes as an enemy even though he isn’t.

  Fletcher is next.

  “Good job showing up late to your own party.” He growls the words out. “I have a quiz in Trig in the morning.”

  I can always count on Fletch to make me feel better.

  The circle stops its rotation, and the hoods return to their proper upright positions. It’s intimidating like this, in a group of costumed people. Innately, it feels wrong, and everything in me says I should run all the way to Coop and move in with him.

  Fletcher reaches under a bush and produces a flapping creature that rips the cry of a small child from its lungs.

  What in the hell?

  Wesley places his hand over the back of my neck in an effort to calm my nerves. A few more minutes and we’ll be bonded forever. He lingers his gaze over mine as he gives the thought.

  A spray of beautiful blue-green feathers glint in the dull light.

  Great. I’m going to kill one of the most majestic creatures known to man—a peacock.

  “No real harm comes to the bird,” Wes says before heading over to retrieve something just beyond the stone.

  He doesn’t even bother to hide the fact he’s listening in. I suppose he thinks I’m chalking it up to intuition, the fact he “knows” me so well. In reality, the more he listens in on my private thoughts, the more I’m put off by this new and unimproved version of him. Never mind that I’m still insanely in love with Wes, my Wes. It’s just that standing in this bizarre circle of candlelight, playing Halloween dress-up for no good reason, has me feeling pissy.

  Wes comes at me with a foot long machete.

  “Lay your hand flat against the stone,” he says it soft like an apology.

  I place my left hand out.

  Wes carefully inserts the blade between my first and second fingers just enough to cut the skin and evoke a drop of blood, if that. He wields the knife over the bird and, with far less mercy and plunges the blade into its abdomen. I watch in horror as it lets out a wild shriek before he releases it behind me.

  “And now it’s time to recite the Holy Creed, Oremus.” Blaine bows his head.

  Wes takes up my hand and gives a gentle squeeze as the crowd starts in on the nefarious chant.

  I am an immortal.

  Flesh and bones and such as these are not tethered to my soul.

  In this world and outside its bounds, I stand shoulder to shoulder with my brothers.

  This pledge is delivered from my heart.

  With one another and with God,

  We shall conquer and hold down our enemies until they are beneath us like a footstool.

  In accordance to the hierarchy, so shall it be for one—so shall it be for all.

  “In the name of our most holy Master, welcome Laken.” Blaine leads the applause.

  Someone lets out an ear-piercing whistle. I look up in time to see Fletcher removing his fingers from his mouth.

  “You’re one of us now.” Wes pulls me in, wraps his warm arms around my waist and gives a gentle kiss.

  “I am one of you,” I whisper.

  Only, I’m really starting to regret this.

  42

  The Surprise

  Wednesday, during first period, Cooper passes me a note. On a rudimentary level, I find this sweet as I clasp onto it, that is, until, Mr. Edinger blinks into existence and snatches the folded square right out of my hand.

  “This,” he shouts to the rest of the class as he holds the note in the air, “must pertain to our dissection of Flaubert’s classic. Who’s in agreement with me?” His dark hair gleams under the punitive florescent lighting. “Let’s see what we have here.” He unravels the paper while leaning up against his desk. “I think you are hot. Hope to find you in my stocking Christmas morning.” He leers over at the two of us with a look of feigned surprised.

  The class erupts in a fit of laughter.

  A bite of heat explodes under my arms. I’m going to kill Cooper.

  “I jest.” Mr. Edinger gives a dismissive wave.

  Perfect. On top of errant information about to be revealed to twenty-six Ephemeral Asses, I have a faculty-based joker on my hands.

  It could say
anything. It could announce to the world that I’m a Count. It could go over in detail how much pleasure was evoked the night I rubbed his neck raw with my teeth, took in his blood so I could hear his thoughts, hear him say that he’s falling in love with me.

  Mr. Edinger clears his throat as he glares down at the note pinched between his fingers. “I have a surprise for you.” He reads every word with the utmost drama.

  A collective ooh circles the room. I sink in my seat a little waiting for the fallout.

  Mr. Edinger twists his lips with disapproval. “And what, pray tell does this surprise entail, Mr. Flanders? The G-version, please.” He lifts his chin awaiting Coop’s response. Obviously he’s a little more than amused by our folly.

  Cooper takes an uncertain breath. He shifts in his seat before answering.

  “I’m tutoring, Laken.” He clears his throat. “Helping her out with a paper.” He turns just enough to glance back at me. “The surprise is, I finished going over the rough draft a week early, so she can be done by Friday and enjoy her weekend.”

  “Nice save.” Mr. Edinger folds his arms across his chest completely unimpressed. His milky-blue eyes look more cataract than they do summer sky, but he has a charm about him even if he is an asshole. Sort of reminds me of Tucker, plus thirty years. I twist my head into him a moment. I thought I distinctly remembered him having brown eyes the day he passed out the books. I remember thinking they were the color of root beer.

  I sit up straight in my chair.

  Then again I was with Coop and Cooper has a way of distorting the world by way of his cuttingly handsome features.

  Mr. Edinger continues, “Might I suggest the next time you decide to pass parchment, you wait until you’ve long cleared the threshold of my classroom. Detention awaits you both. Collect your slips at the end of class.” He offers a placid grin. “Consider it a note from me to you—a surprise of sorts.”

  A titter of laughter rumbles through the class. Grayson catches my eye. She cuts me a death stare—the curve of a malevolent smile sliding up her cheek.

  Just great. Mr. Edinger and Grayson didn’t believe the lie, I doubt Wesley will either.

  After, a solid hour of mentally entertaining what the fallout might be for Wes and me over the incident, which shall forever be known as paper-gate, the bell rings. Coop and I head up simultaneously to retrieve our time-out brand of punishment.

  “Be prompt.” Mr. Edinger raises his chin with a greasy smile. “I have a date with Ms. Paxton.”

  “Good luck with that.” Cooper takes his slip, and I take mine.

  Isn’t Ms. Paxton is seeing Jones?

  That’s terrible. Why would she want to go out with wicked Mr. Edinger? He’s a textbook moron compared to my sweet uncle. There must be a disconnect somewhere. I bet Ms. Paxton has a purely platonic meeting in mind, clearly he’s misunderstood. Sometimes people just hear what they want.

  I wait until we’re out in the hall before pulling Cooper under the stairwell.

  “So what’s the surprise?” I’m breathless at the prospect. He has a charming way about him, something altogether lovely in form and inner beauty. Coop is a god among men, second only to Wes. Something shifts in me at the thought of putting Coop second, like maybe he’s not—that he could never really be second to anyone.

  He picks up my hand. Sorry about that. I’m afraid I made things worse. From now on I’ll wait. His eyes linger on mine a moment too long, inciting a soft roll in my stomach.

  “You have something you want to share?” It comes out sweet as a child’s poem.

  “I thought maybe we could get together later.” Coop sweeps his gaze over me with hope.

  “After detention and cheer, I have a two-hour shift at the library.”

  He glances at the floor in disappointment.

  “Can you come by the library?” I ask hopeful.

  “Sure.”

  He pulls back and gives my fingers a gentle squeeze. It feels natural like this with Cooper like I could hold his hand forever.

  “Maybe sometime this week you can give me a ride to the mall with Marky?” I suggest. “She volunteered your services.” The warning bell goes off for second period.

  There’s a sadness with Coop. I can feel it pulsating off him in waves whenever we’re together. Underneath that flirtatious banter he wants something deeper, richer.

  “Sounds great.” He expresses it with a palpable sorrow. “So how did it go last night?”

  And there it is, his grief, his heartache all somehow intrinsically linked to me pledging over to the Counts—to Wes.

  “It went off without a hitch. Somewhere out there is a severely wounded peacock in my name. It was twisted.”

  “Counts usually are.”

  “So…” I pull him deep into the dim-lit corner. “I’m one of them now.” It comes out with a quiver. All I really want is curl up with him and forget the world.

  Cooper gives my hand a squeeze before wrapping his arms tight around me.

  “You’re not one of them, Laken. You’ll never be one of them.” He bears into me with a look that slices through my soul, and my heart thumps wild in my chest. “You’re too good.”

  It doesn’t take long for word of mouth, a.k.a. Kresley, to get back to Wes.

  During our nutrition break, Wesley holds me under a spreading Maple with its leaves shagging out all over the navy lawn. A thicket of grey clouds pull across the sky, threatening and heavy, in one bland sheet.

  “Heard you scored detention.” There’s a touch of hurt in his eyes, and I don’t like where this might be going.

  “Cooper.” I shake my head. “I guess he wanted to tell me about some breakthrough therapy his dad has in store for me. Probably involves a key, a kite, and a lightning storm.” I try to steady my thoughts in on the lie, not giving anything away subliminally. It’s like holding a wall of granite up with one arm tied behind my back. An impossible task that’s physically depleting in every way.

  “Great,” he whispers, lacking any true enthusiasm behind it. Looks like good old Coop can’t get enough of my girlfriend. His dimples implode at the thought. “Hopefully the new treatment will be just what you need.” He scans over me as if searching for the answers he’s really looking for. “We still have to celebrate your indoctrination.”

  “Sure. Carter wants me to join her at Kettles Saturday night—if it doesn’t pour.” I glance up at the sky. “She invited us to go out with her and Jackson.”

  “For sure.” He dips into a nod. “I’ll bring extra blankets so we don’t freeze.” His dark hair swoops over his eyes, and my stomach bottoms out. Everything about Wes melts me to the point of incapacity.

  “I’ll keep you warm.” I push a kiss to his lips. The thought of snuggling up on the beach with Wes is a stroke of brilliance. I should bake Carter a cake for suggesting the idea.

  “I like the sound of that.” He returns the favor with heartfelt vigor. There’s a slight patina of sorrow in Wesley’s kisses like he knows something is off and who’s responsible for it.

  I back up and pull my hands around his shoulder, safe away from his skin, turning off the live stream from my private thoughts. This new version of Wes seems impervious to his old life in every way but the sweetness remains, the artist, the lover I long to make my own. He’s in there. Some things are impossible to change.

  “And who knows?” I press my lips together. “I might just have my memory fully restored by then and we both know what that means.” Maybe if I offer up the most intimate part of me—that will lead him back to who he really is. He could find himself while discovering every part of me.

  “I’m getting the idea it’s not coming back so quickly.” A small rumble of laughter trembles from his chest. “Are you sure you want to give yourself to me like that?” There’s an uncertainty in his eyes as if there were some mistake, and I would wake up to the fact Wes Paxton wasn’t the boy I wanted to be with.

  “Are you kidding?” I study him intently. Wes and his seri
ous eyes, his gorgeous blessed-by-God features that practically demand girls worship at his feet. “You’re the only guy I’ve ever loved. The only one I’ve ever wanted. If I could trace out each day with you by my side, I’d live a very happy life.”

  “Well, then,” he says, picking up my hands and interlocking our fingers with the most serious intent, “I plan on making you very, very happy.”

  Wes bears into me those bright green sirens and doesn’t say a word.

  Every day I’m going to fight to get you back, Laken. There’s not another day of your life I plan on missing. And, I’ll trash a thousand Cooper Flanders who try to get in my way.

  43

  Stacks

  “The classics are all upstairs.” Wes concludes his tour of the grand library after I spent a rather uneventful detention session with Coop.

  The Roman colonnades that run across the interior mimic the ones at the Anderson estate. Beveled crystal chandeliers dot the ceiling in rows. High up on the walls, each stained glass window tells its own peculiar story. The relief work at the top of the rotunda spans an entire angelic history. I could lose myself for hours just lying beneath the muted colors, trying to decipher the story behind the imagery, decode the secrets whispered through the gilded fresco.

  “The Ephemeral library is by far one of the most majestic places I’ve ever been,” I confess, still enamored by the regal beauty that encapsulates us.

  “I’ll have to rectify that.” He gives a shy smile that suggests something I can’t quite put my finger on.

  “What?”

  “Our families went to Spain two summers ago.” There’s a marked sadness in his tone. “I sketched you by the river, and you said it was the most beautiful place you’ve ever seen.”

  It’s becoming painfully clear I’ll never be able to fake any memory of my well-doctored past.

  “I’d like to see that sketch sometime.”