Evanescent by Addison Moore
“Is this a part of your Celestra ability?”
Coop sweeps the ground with his eyes—doesn’t acknowledge or deny it.
Maybe this is what Wes meant by an ability the Celestra have that they’re not aware of? I wouldn’t put it past Coop to have already tapped into it.
“I know exactly where I want to go,” I say it slow and seductive.
“Where’s that?” He lowers his lids, and my stomach bites with heat. Cooper Flanders has the hottest bedroom eyes on the planet, and right about now I’m feeling pretty damn lucky to be in his line of vision.
“Cider Plains, Kansas,” I say without hesitating. “Take me to the cemetery, Coop.”
Cooper
A dismal fog greets us among the tombstones and overgrown weeds. The Cider Plains Cemetery isn’t the most glamorous place to spend the rest of your coffin-dwelling days, but, then again, the boarders will never know.
“Who are we looking for?” I could guess, but I’d rather not.
“Wesley Parker.” His name comes from her low, out of breath.
It’s just north of midnight with the moon straddling overhead like a spotlight. Laken looks like an ethereal goddess whisking through the haze in her cheer uniform, her face scrubbed clean from the glamour girl look she was sporting earlier.
“He’s right here.” She kneels at a headstone, and I come around to get a look.
Wesley Adam Parker, In our Hearts, In God’s Arms
Laken bows over the plot for a very long time. I rub my hand over her shoulders and pull her in until I’m holding her, wiping away the silent tears that fall for a boy who only ceased to exist emotionally.
“What can I do to make this better?” I’d do anything to stop this river of pain from ripping her apart.
Laken looks up through muddied lashes with a new resolve. “Get a shovel.”
A dry laugh pushes through me as I press a kiss against her cheek.
“I knew we were going there,” I whisper. “I’ll be right back.”
It takes less than ten minutes to get a pitchfork and a shovel from the back of the facility without a hint of high-tech security to worry me.
“You brought one for me?” She hops to her feet. Her face pleasantly surprised as if I brought her a slice of pizza.
“Nope—just something to break up the dirt. You just sit back and enjoy the view. I’ll have this done in minutes.”
“Minutes?” She balks snatching up the pitchfork. “I’ll break up the dirt for you. We’re a team, remember?”
If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was flirting with me right here over Wesley’s empty grave.
“What do you think we’ll find?” She stabs the earth with a vengeance as if the soil itself were responsible for the carnage the Counts turned their lives into.
“A box, no box—don’t have a clue.” I pitch a few shovels full of dirt and make a nice dent in our grave robbing endeavor, only we won’t be stealing anything—more like sealing Laken’s sanity.
“And what if we find him?” She kicks down the pitchfork and twists it clockwise before plucking it out of the ground in a fit of frustration.
“Laken,” I say it soft as a breeze, pulling her close to me. “Whatever we find, it won’t change what we already know.” I warm her in my arms. “You’re Laken Stewart. The Counts tried to feed you another reality, another time and place, and you beat them at their own game. You’re too amazing for them to hold back.” I press a kiss into her temple and hold it there a good long while. I don’t want to let go. I’d do anything to move my efforts south to her lips if she let me.
“At least something good came out of it.” Laken tightens her grip around my waist and looks up at me through her lashes. “I met you.”
Our eyes lock, and our breathing streams around us in a rush of heated fog.
Laken said she didn’t want to be the girl that ran around kissing two different boys. That she wanted to wait and finish things off with Wes, but the rest was open-ended.
“Here.” I help her out of the sinking ditch. “Give me another ten minutes, and I’ll have this done. We’ll have you back at Austen House before you know it.”
Laken sits on the edge of the withered lawn and watches as I unearth one of Ephemeral’s finest sons.
“Coop?”
I glance up as the fog blurs her out like a dream.
“I don’t want to go home just yet. Tomorrow is Saturday—everyone sleeps in until at least three. I don’t think anyone will miss me. How about one more day?”
A red blinking light, down the street, catches my attention.
“There’s a motel at the corner. You can show me around in the morning if you want. Might spook the crap out of people, though.” I hold her gaze and don’t let go.
“The motel on the corner sounds perfect.” She bites down a smile. “But no, I don’t want to show you any other part of Cider Plains,” she says it quiet, depleted of energy. “I just miss sleeping in the same room as you. Just knowing you’re near makes me feel safe—better than safe. You make me feel like I’m with family, Coop, and I need that.”
My heart soars. Family is exactly how I feel about Laken and not in the sisterly sense. At least I hope I haven’t just been relegated to a brotherly status. No, I think she means something deeper, something far more sacred than a blood bond could offer—something with lifelong implications that involves sharing each and every day—mapping out the unknowable future together.
“I feel the same way, Laken.” We hold our gaze, neither of us breathes—we just lose ourselves in the beauty of the moment. And a part of me wonders what exactly might happen tonight in that motel room.
I sift through the soil like pushing through a wall of concrete until the shovel thumps against something hard.
“You did it.” She lies on her stomach and hangs over the edge of the brimming hole.
Another five minutes stroke by as I pry off the burial vault. It takes all of my Nephilim strength to push back the cement casing until finally revealing a casket—deep mahogany with a high-gloss veneer. Gold plates embellish the edges, and then it all hits home. Laken was there when they buried him. She saw someone, who was more than a friend, go into the ground and got back half the package in an alternate reality.
“This is it,” I say, trying not to choke up over Wes of all people.
Laken sinks down next to me. The cool of night wraps itself around me like an ice bath as I wipe the sweat from my brow.
I reach down and crack it open a few good inches—no stench as far as I can tell.
“Go ahead, Coop.” Laken grips my shoulder, digging her nails into my flesh. “Open it all the way. Quick like a band aid.”
“Quick like a band aid,” I say, yanking back the lid so hard I nearly throw my shoulder out.
Laken screams and buries her head in my chest.
“Shit.” I bend back trying to distance myself from the sight.
The moon sprays down its gentle beams, and we carefully return our gaze to the boy lying peacefully in the casket. Wesley lies in state with his hands crossed over his chest, a dehydrated rose, black as night tucked between his fingers.
“What the hell is going on?” Laken turns to examine him. “That can’t be Wes.” Her voice quivers, but there’s an underlying layer of anger ready to supersede any fear that might be lurking in her.
She leans in and touches his face.
“He feels…” She runs her fingertips over the outline of his features as if she were loving him, as if she were about to bend over and give him a heartfelt kiss. “He feels like rubber.”
I want to tell her that’s because he’s a corpse, that most of them do because I’ve seen my fair share in Ezrina’s den of horrors, but something’s not right.
“Did he have a twin?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “Not that I know of.”
I reach down and touch my finger to the back of his hand, before picking up on the strange texture of his doughy
I pinch his fingers between mine and give a hard squeeze.
“It’s wax,” I say, plucking off three of his digits like snapping a candy cane.
Laken lets out a tiny scream before examining the hollow sticks.
“Nice work.” I pitch his falsified fingers back into the casket.
“Are you serious?” She picks up his hand and examines the hole in his limb. “They’ve thought of everything—leaving no casket unturned.” She grabs onto my waist, and we sway over the supersized ball of wax while Laken tries to make peace with the fact she mourned over a decoy for the last few years.
She lets out a ragged breath and takes in the bizarre sight one last time before slamming the lid shut.
“Let’s get out of here,” she says as we climb onto the lawn.
I jump up beside her, and she takes one last glance at the tombstone of the boy she once knew.
“It’s too bad he’s really gone in the truest sense.” She lets out a breath that buries us in a thicket of fog.
“I’m sorry, Laken.” I slip my arm around her waist as we head out of the cemetery on this cool, Halloween night. I wonder how sorry I really am that Wesley Parker has morphed into the power hungry Count who takes blood from prisoners as if they were his personal possessions.
Nope. I’m not too sorry.
I plant a kiss over the top of Laken’s head.
It’s time to check into the Cider Plains Motel and hold the girl I love all night long.
Laken says I make her feel safe, like family—I plan on making her feel those exact things for the rest of our lives.
A grey-haired gentleman with a goatee and a beer to keep him company tosses me a key in exchange for thirty dollars. Laken waits outside, in the off chance he recognizes her. She says Cider Plains is the size of a thimble and didn’t see the use in killing any more of its residents. At the rate the Counts are picking them off, the entire town might be renamed the Cider Plains Cemetery.
“You know”—she skips ahead, pulling me along by the hand—“I have an ex-boyfriend I’d like to torment sometime.”
I give a little laugh as I pause at the door to our room—number 15.
“You mean, other than the one you just tried digging up?” I insert the key and freeze.
Shit. Did I just call Wes her ex-boyfriend? Way to kill a night.
“Sorry, Laken.”
“No, it’s okay.” She presses her hand against my back. “I know what you meant.”
We step inside, and I latch all three of the metal chains behind us in an effort to bolt us in for the night. Laken turns on the lights revealing a dingy room, orange carpets, a pea green bedspread with a rotary phone tucked on the nightstand.
I was sort of hoping it was a lights out, straight to business kind of night, even if the sum total of business consisted of holding her next to me. Holding Laken all night long is more than enough—for now.
“We did it.” She beams a killer smile and crosses her wrists behind my neck. “I got into the tunnels, Coop. Now, we’re just a few small steps from finding our families.”
“You did great.” I pull back my cheek. “But I have a confession.”
“What’s that?” She licks her lips as if what I were about to say were sexual in nature, and I wish it were.
“I scored a supervising spirit.”
“You did?” She grips my shoulders and gives a congratulatory shake.
“Yeah, actually it’s a long, sordid story, but I managed to get into the woods myself tonight.”
“Coop!” She pulls me to the bed in her enthusiasm and hops into my lap like a habit. “Tell me everything.”
“Here’s the thing.” I exhale hard looking down at the threadbare carpet. “I can’t get into too many details, or I’ll have my frequent flier miles revoked, but it’s nothing that will hurt you—in fact, I made a special trip to the tunnels just to make sure nothing happened to you.”
Her mouth falls open. She cups the side of my face with her tender hand, and it takes everything in me not to pull her lips down over mine.
“God, Coop,” she whispers. “You didn’t sell your soul to help me, did you?”
I press out a dull laugh and turn my face into her palm with a kiss.
“No. I promise you, no soul selling took place. Now, tell me what happened when you went inside.”
“There was this girl”—she jabs a quick glance out the window—“she’s beautiful, her name was, Skylar?” She searches her memory as if it were just out of reach.
“Skyla,” I nod. “I met her when you left.”
“Coop.” She grips my hands. “She knew me.”
“How did she know you?”
“She said she found me in the Transfer. That she tried to save me, and it didn’t work.”
“She tried to save you?” I search Laken’s face as if it might have the answers. “Laken, she said she knew me, too.”
“From that lab? The Transfer?”
“She didn’t say, but if that were true I’d remember her.”
Laken wraps an arm around my shoulder with her lips a breath away from mine.
This is it, do or die. I push in just a hair, and see if she’ll bite.
Come on, Laken—bite, just this once.
I try to hide the lewd grin begging to take over. In a minute, there will be something in my jeans a hell of a lot harder to hide especially with her nestling over it.
“Um…” She glances down and clears her throat. “Maybe you can use that supervising spirit of yours, and we could go and ask Skyla a few questions?” She presses her lips together while sinking a glance at my mouth. “Then, of course, we can come right back, and we could figure the rest out later.” Her chest pumps in and out like she just sprinted for miles.
“The rest out later,” it surges from me barely audible, heated, just this side of insane. I take in a breath, trying to break out of my hormonal stupor. “Yes. Let’s do this. They mentioned a place called Paragon.”
“Wes says they’re two years from the future.”
“Okay.” I glance around the room, Edinger said to think about it and believe—he’d do the rest.
Edinger? Laken laces her fingers through mine. I should have figured. I won’t say a word.
I give a faint smile and touch my thumb to her cheek. You’re so damn beautiful. One day I’m going to make you mine.
Laken lowers her lashes, and her cheeks explode a dark shade of crimson.
I think I’m already yours, Coop.
My heart thumps wild. I do a mental freeze-frame of Laken with the blush on her cheeks just for me, and my spirit skyrockets.
“Are you ready to go to Paragon?” I bring her hand to my lips and press in a kiss.
She gives a slight nod. “Skyla Messenger, here we come.”
Wesley
The night drags on like some warped dream. I scour the campus for any signs of lingering Spectators, but mostly for Coop or Laken before heading back to Austen House. The scent of vanilla lies thick in the air and reminds me of Laken, the sweet smell of her hair. I know every last part of her. I could sketch her with my eyes closed right down to the very last curve of her effortless smile if I wanted. I’ve memorized her completely.
Moans emit from the couch, and my stomach lurches. Swear to God, if I find Coop trying to get lucky with her, I’m going to rearrange some body parts. I swoop over and spot Jen and Blaine getting busy, and my entire person sighs with relief. Blaine’s got his mouth planted over hers as if he’s trying to shove a sword down her throat.
I rattle a bowl of Halloween candy, and they snap to attention.
“Still no sign of her?” Jen makes a face. “I’ll kill her as soon as she gets in. Are you sure she’s with Cooper?”
I couldn’t help but share my theory. It felt like I had my heart yanked out of my ass on more than a few occasions tonight. Worst Halloween ever.
“I’m sure.”
“Sorry, man.” Blaine pinches his eyes as if he’s trying to stay awake. “There are other fish in the sea.” My brother’s attempt to calm me with his dime store analogy makes my stomach turn.
“There better not be for you.” Jen bites him on the nose playfully. “Sometimes there’s just one person, and you need to let them go to see if they’ll come back on their own.”
“And sometimes”—Blaine raises his brows, never taking his eyes off hers—“you need to fight like hell to make sure you stay together.”
Fight like hell.
I speed out into the night. Cooper Flanders is about to have one hell of a fight because I’ll be damned if I lose Laken, and I mean that in the most literal sense.
“Edinger dammit, do your thing,” I shout into the powder white fog. “I’m desperate,” I tone it down to a whisper. “I need to see Laken.” I’ve asked him for favors before. I’ve begged him for things and have been denied, but I swear I’ll be eternally grateful if he comes through this time.
I close my eyes and think of her—imagine where she’s been, what she might be doing. The ground shifts beneath me. I’m already despondent by what I might see when I arrive.
Only in my nightmares is she going at it with Coop. And at the rate my nightmares have been playing out, it wouldn’t surprise me to see just that.
Blaine’s words come back to me like a cliffside echo. I need to fight like hell.
I’ll never let Flanders win her heart while I still have breath in my body, or I’m not Wesley Paxton.
My back lands hard on soggy soil as if a giant picked me up and tossed me to the ground.
“Thanks a lot.” I groan as I stagger to my feet. A light veil of fog drifts by like smoke. It’s damp and cold, and for a second I think maybe I’m still at Ephemeral.
A row of crosses erect themselves from out of the ground, then a series of bulbous granite half-moons, each with their own inscription.
“Holy shit.” I take a step back at the strange sight. A freaking cemetery? This is Flanders’ destination date?