Evanescent

by Addison Moore

  The air outside slices over my bare thighs as I bolt from Austen House, still in my cheer uniform.

  I run all the way past the ridge and catch a glimpse of the two of them as they make their way into the first layer of the thicket.

  “Flynn!” I scream, but the wind cups its hand over my mouth and buffers him from my warning.

  “Laken,” a familiar voice booms from behind.

  I’d know that voice anywhere—Coop.

  I’m relieved to see Cooper as he jogs up beside me. He wraps an arm around my waist as if it belonged there, and a part of me believes it does.

  “Let’s get out of here.” He darts a quick glance behind me.

  “No.” I pull him along. “We can’t stop.” We dive deeper into the thicket. A narrow seam of moonlight dots a path through the maze of tree trunks. “I’m glad it’s you.” My voice quivers as we speed past branch after branch. “I might have aborted the entire mission if it were Wes—and then Flynn would be in knee-deep with the Fen-emy.”

  “What are you talking about?” He interlaces our fingers and gives me a tug, reluctant to keep up with my fervent pace.

  “I’m talking about Flynn, alone in this forest with Hattie the lying Fem.”

  Cooper slows to a crawl before we get any deeper into the haunted woods.

  “I’m not losing sleep to save Masterson’s ass.” He tries to catch his breath.

  “Then maybe you’ll lose sleep to save mine,” I say, jogging out a few more feet in a rather stupid show of bravado.

  I glance back to see if Coop is falling for it, and he is.

  “Laken.” He picks up my hand and reels me in.

  Coop washes over me with that magnetizing stare. Those hypnotic grey lenses of his are having their way with me, I can tell. Heat rises from our bodies. I can feel the fire of this special brand of lust we share percolating into something out of control, something I might never want to stop.

  “Who the hell cares if Flynn gets eaten alive by an entire coven of Spectators?” His heated breath rakes against my cheek, and a choking sound emits from my throat. “It’s bound to happen eventually.”

  For a moment I’m not sure if he’s talking about Flynn’s untimely demise or the two of us exploding from this powder keg of wanting.

  “Flynn’s a smart boy.” Not really, but it was say that or kiss Coop.

  He gives my hand a squeeze, and his cheek cinches up the side.

  Crap.

  Everything in me relaxes as I give a little laugh.

  Coop and I have no secrets, and I like it this way.

  It’s magic like this with Coop. He takes the evil, the wickedness of these woods and transforms them into something good. That’s the best part about you, Coop. You’re always protecting, always looking out for me no matter what. And you wash away all the fear in the process.

  He pulls me in and looks lovingly into my eyes before the smile dissipates from his face. “You didn’t hear me.”

  “No, I guess not. I heard your voice, but the words sounded like murmurs.” It sounded like a waterfall of erotic moans, and now I’m dying to know what he said.

  He gives a sly grin. “Were you able to hear me at the game tonight?”

  “Barely. It’s cutting out—although, I heard plenty from Wesley. Toward the end of the night it just sort of fizzled.”

  “Anything happen that you think I should know about?” His features glow a pale shade of silver under the anemic stream of moonlight. “Stuff that had to do with Celestra…”

  Coop lets the words hang in the air as if they were a mere suggestion, as if I could tell him anything I wanted about my time with Wes.

  “He talked about these mysterious woods,” I whisper. “Some strange place where he’d like to take me. He confessed to having a secret, and I think he’s ready to share that final step with me.”

  “Tenebrous Woods,” Coop whispers it low, under his breath. “It’s what the Counts call the Celestra tunnels. I’ve heard of it. Thought it was a myth up until I met you.” He brings my hand to his lips and presses in a scorching kiss. A part of me burns for his lips to land in other places, every place.

  Coop glances up, the whites of his eyes shining like glints of a broken mirror.

  “He’s says he’s going to take me there.” I’m quick to lead us back to the topic at hand. Although, somehow mentioning Wes right now feels like a pox has landed over a special moment.

  “Do you know when?” Coop shakes his head and drinks me in as if there were a different conversation going on entirely.

  “I’m guessing soon.” I hold his stare for a moment before dusting the ground with my gaze. “I sweetened the pot for him.”

  “Got it.” He’s says it low, filled with disappointment. “Is that what you want? Wait—don’t answer. It’s none of my business.”

  “I sort of feel like it is your business.” I look up at him. “I’ll be honest, I don’t know what I want. As much as I tell him it’s the only way to pull me back into his world—I wonder if it’s the only way to bring him back to mine. Maybe if he loved me deeply, intimately, he would wake up and realize who he really is.”

  “The one that you love.”

  I tighten my grip over Coop’s hand as if we were about to drift apart in an angry sea. I can feel his heart getting crushed under the weight of Cider Plains, and I hate it.

  “I’m sorry,” I rasp. “I never set out to hurt you. I swear it.”

  “I know.” He steps in until we’re just a breath away. I feel faint, dizzy being this close to him, wanting him in a way that I thought was reserved exclusively for Wesley. He touches his cheek to mine, and my soul, my body swims with an erotic elation.

  Off in the distance, the murmur of voices catapult into the night.

  “Let’s do this,” he whispers. Coop leads us out in the direction of the voices until we come up on Flynn and that thing parading around as Hattie. Another girl pops up alongside them, deformed and bedraggled, and I gasp.

  “Shit!” I bury my face into Coop’s chest at the sight of the decomposing girl. I steal a quick glance before slowly taking her in. She’s a bona fide, partially resurrected, once-upon-a-person about our age with clothes shredded to pieces from the natural wear and tear that only several decades could bring. Her dark hair is splayed out like cotton candy, and she looks as if mud baths were a part of her normal routine.

  My natural inclination is to take Flynn and Coop by the hand and run the hell out of this demented den of the ungrateful dead, or kill both Hattie and her little monster before they kill us.

  “She’s here’s to help.” Flynn holds out a hand in the event Coop is motivated to beat me to the slaughter.

  “Which one?” I say it sharp, my voice resonating boldly through the woods. “Because neither of them is human.”

  Flynn shakes his head. “This one.” He slaps his arm over the Spectator’s shoulder, and her collarbone spears out as a jagged white shard. “Dude.” Flynn backs up heavy with remorse. “So sorry.”

  “How’s it going to help us?” Coop asks, not giving the Spectator any gender-related dignity. I suppose compartmentalizing them is necessary since he’s been assigned to slaughter the malfunctioned scientific ventures. The Counts are morons for trying to immortalize themselves to begin with. Although if they hadn’t, Wes wouldn’t be here and neither would I.

  “She’s going to help us locate Hattie’s family,” Flynn says, glancing back at the decomposing being like he’s truly smitten. “She’s got the low-down on the who’s who of Spectator society—says she can locate the right people for the right price.”

  “And what price might that be?” I’m almost positive US currency holds as little value in the Spectator underground as it does in the real world.

  Flynn cuts a glance from me to Coop, the whites of his eyes reflecting like beacons. “She wants a cure. She’s agreed to undergo any experiment necessary to make her normal again.”

  “How old was she when they did
this to her?” I walk around her in a slow circle, mostly inspecting her for weaponry.

  “Sev-un-teen,” she grunts, barely discernable. “Ma name is Pearl.”

  Cooper

  Pearl.

  I blow a stiff breath from my lungs as I scrutinize the walking corpse with her hair waving in the breeze like threads unraveling from a sweater. She seems harmless enough with her large bruised eyes, her lips split in three places. Her fingers have reduced to bone, making her look older than the seventeen years she proposed.

  A horrible sadness grips me as I inspect what the Counts are capable of. Pearl is a walking example of why the Countenance needs to be stopped. This could easily be me one day, Marky. And now they want the Spectators eliminated for simply being an inconvenience. All that the Spectators want is their lives back. The Celestra involved were never allowed to choose whether or not they wanted to be resurrected. They were simply murdered and brought back to life like some D minus science experiment.

  “Do you belong to Countenance?” I ask point blank. I’m not sure if it’ll matter to Ezrina, the troll-like creature who works for the Counts, but in the end I’d like to know whom I’m dealing with.

  “Celestra.” She glances down as if it were a defeat to mention it.

  “Even better.” Laken wraps her arm around my waist from behind, using me as a shield in the event the creatures in our presence decide to go ape shit.

  “I like the idea of saving a Celestra rather than a Count,” she says. The words vibrate over my spine like an erotic Morse code. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” She whispers hot in my ear.

  “We’ll take her to the Transfer tonight.” I give a slight nod. “Flynn, why don’t you take Hattie back to Austen, and we’ll meet up with you guys in the morning. Good work, man.” I add that last part with sincerity and hit him with a knuckle bump.

  If Ezrina has the ability to restore Pearl to her former glory then it might spare me of having to eradicate an entire race, not to mention, it would free the Tobias family.

  Coop, Laken presses into me, still peering from over my shoulder. I may have tried to kill our fake friend Hattie earlier by way of cooking utensils.

  It takes everything in me to hold back the laugh brewing in my chest.

  “Apologize,” I cough it out. The last thing we want is for the Fem to know we’re onto her.

  Laken steps out from behind just as they head back toward the dorms.

  “Hattie, Flynn?” Her voice sounds fragile, still apprehensive as to what it might mean.

  Hattie steps forward. She drops Flynn’s hand as if getting ready for a street fight.

  “I’m sorry about freaking out in the kitchen earlier.” Laken clears her throat. “I thought maybe you were trying to take advantage of Flynn. He’s a good friend of mine, and I don’t want to see him get hurt. Take it easy on him, would you?”

  Flynn balks at the idea. He damn well knows she’s a Fem because I told him so myself. It’s this kind of dicey behavior that highlights the fact he never should have been dragged into this to begin with. I think it’s heroic he’s trying to find his sister, but he’s more of a liability at this point. I could get Casper out of the tunnels without his help.

  “You don’t have to worry about me hurting anybody, Laken,” Hattie growls. The words drill through the air more like a threat than an assurance. “I’m here to help, and once you see that, maybe you’ll trust me just a little bit more. I want my family back as much as you do.”

  Flynn takes up her hand, and they speed from the vicinity as if the entire forest were about to go up in flames.

  “Pearl,” I say unsure of whether or not I want to proceed. I’d much rather take Laken back to the house even if means risking a lecture from my dad. “We’re going to take you to the lab where they did this to you.”

  “Ezrina,” she gurgles, sounding like an injured dog in the process.

  “Yes, Ezrina. She’s going to try and fix this for you. Are you okay with that?” I take a step toward her. She’s small in stature. Her bent frame makes her look far more fragile and older than she really is. I’ve taken on Spectators twice my size before and have managed to end up on the winning side of the battle every single time. Although, all it would take is one good bite, and everything changes forever. A first generation Spectator has the ability to damn me to their unfortunate lifestyle. Wes and Laken are second gen. Laken is welcome to bite me every night of the week if she wants.

  “How do we get down to the Transfer?” Laken’s chest pumps with adrenaline.

  I shake my head. “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you—just follow me, and trust you’ll survive.” I pull her in gently and press a kiss against her forehead. I would never hurt you, Laken. I love you.

  “I trust you.” She gives a furtive nod with fear spreading wide over her features.

  Can you hear me? I ask.

  Laken doesn’t answer, just blinks into me while trying to control her breathing.

  Looks like this might end up a magical night after all.

  I was once told that hauling yourself off the Matapeake cliff was one of the most efficient entries into the Transfer as far as this end of Connecticut is concerned. That usually doesn’t work for me for two reasons, one, it’s a fifty minute drive with no traffic, and two, I’m usually hauling unwilling Spectators or their carcasses at the time. The second best way to get to that alternate dimensional plane is to run like hell into the boulders that cluster at Diamond Peak just north of the woods on campus. A clearing stems from the forest over to the colossal wall of granite, affording a nice little runway.

  “When I say go, haul ass like you’ve never done before.” I give a quick wink to Laken, while pulling her in by the hand. I’ve strapped Pearl over my shoulders, cinching her ankles and wrists together with my fingers. I’ve yet to bring a Spectator to the Transfer willingly, and yet I don’t think she could keep up even if I tried to pull her.

  “This is so messed up.” Laken shakes her head at the impending target as the moon sprays the stones a glorious, luminescent blue.

  “Ready, go!” I shout as we cut through the clearing, the wind slices through our clothes, sharp as knives.

  I catch a glimpse of Laken just shy of the boulders. She twists her face away from the prospective doom and squeezes her eyes shut tight.

  The granite vibrates and hums as we enter in through the strange portal. We slip in through a warble of air, thick as syrup as we land feet-first in the slick white halls of the lab.

  “It worked!” Laken pulls me into an embrace with her lips brushing over my cheek.

  “We made it,” I say, lowering Pearl to her unsteady feet. “You okay?” I bow into her and examine the fear in her eyes as if her final moments were on the horizon, and they might be.

  “Okay.” She nods, darting her head every which way as if anticipating an apocalypse.

  “As far as I can tell, this is the main hub of the Transfer.” I take up Laken’s hand, ready and willing to give her the tour. “There’s a mansion out on the east side and a series of hills and rivers that snake throughout the terrain. I’ve found three waterfalls and a lake. The inhabitants aren’t too fond of Nephil-humans, so I don’t venture outside the lab, too often.”

  “Lakes and rivers? Waterfalls and mansions? Sounds magical.” Laken bounces on her toes as if excited to see it.

  “It’s not magical—demonic maybe. It’s more haunted than it is romantic, but if you want”—I tick my head toward Pearl—“after, I can show you around.”

  “I want.” Laken tenderly clasps our fingers together. “I want to know the things you know. I never want there to be secrets between us.” She glances down a moment. “It’s funny because I keep saying that to Wes—and with you, I really feel like you hear the things I say. That you’ll keep your word and expose me to your world without hesitating.” She swallows hard. “I don’t know why the truth is so hard for some people.”

  I shake my head. “I can’t
say I’m too sorry, Laken. I’ve never been that impressed with Wes. You deserve better.”

  Laken glances up. Her eyes widen with surprise at my brazen putdown of the love of her life.

  “This way,” I whisper before I say something else that lands me in a bed by myself tonight. I lead Pearl and Laken down hall after hall until we hit an open room that’s cavernous in nature with a set of steel beds lining the center. The putrid stench of death fills the air like a gas. It makes Pearl’s scent seem like a floral bouquet on a summer afternoon.

  “Cooking something up for dinner?” I tease as we make our way over to the old bat hunched at the counter.

  Ezrina turns around, and Laken lets out a gasp.

  Ezrina has a wild appeal in general. I suspect she’s used to the gasps and screams. Her orange hair sprays out like some demonic Bozo, her skin looks poorly stitched together, and she’s wrinkled and haggard beyond recognition of ever being human. Her crooked frame outshines that of Pearl’s in the I’m-so-much-more-damn-scarier-than-you department.

  “Visitors?” Her voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard, and to add to the misery, it has a knack for echoing.

  “You know Laken and Pearl. They’ve both been victim to your resurrection methods, one less successful than the other.”

  “The Counts!” She lifts her hand to me as if she’s ready to smack me, and I yield to her twisted logic.

  “I know it’s not you. It’s the Counts.” I shake my head a moment. “We need Pearl here spit shined and ready to go with a brand new version of herself in time for the weekend. She’s got a hot date.” I wink over at Laken. I’ve never had a serious conversation with this battle-ax, and I’m not about to start now.

  Ezrina puts down the wicked tool she’s wielding and circles around Pearl. She pulls the Spectator’s hair back and inspects her neck for signs of trauma.

  “Can be done,” she gravels.

  “You can do this?” Laken steps into her, indignant at the possibility. “You can fix all these poor Spectators?”