She reaches back and touches my cheek. “I don’t want to miss a moment with you either, Coop.”
But we’re going to miss a lot of moments.
In fact, this might be the last one we ever get to share.
When the sun finally yawns to life, we head downstairs, and I make us a big breakfast—pancakes, eggs, bacon, the works.
Afterwards, Laken sits on the couch, braiding Marky’s hair while I catch up on the college football draft on my laptop. It all feels so natural, so easy—right. To me it seems pretty clear we should be together, and if last night was any indication, she feels the same way. I’m hopped up on the fantasy that there’s some other way to get our families out of the tunnels without losing one another for a lifetime. Not that she still wouldn’t choose Wes, but my ego likes to think otherwise.
“Will you come again tomorrow?” Marky doesn’t waste any time in setting up our next meeting.
“Yes, I will.” Laken glances over at me. “I might even bring some special guests if you don’t mind. My sister should be in town, and she’s just your age.”
“Really?” Marky squeals, straightening in her seat. “I can’t wait! I’d better go clean my room, or she’s going to think I’m a huge slob.” She shoots up the stairs like a missile.
“You are a slob,” I shout after her half-heartedly.
“She is not.” Laken swats me with a pillow.
“You want to do a crossword puzzle?” I pick up my dad’s infamous book of brain strain off the table.
“I thought you’d never ask.” She pats a seat beside her. “My life is complete now.”
I fall next to her on the couch, and her hip grazes against mine. We solve the first three without a hitch before freezing out on an eleven-letter word for a Ned Buntline hero. Laken looks it up on her phone.
“It’s Buffalo Bill.”
“Mmm, I think you’re right, but then four across make no sense whatsoever. Something tells me this is going to take forever.”
Laken runs her finger over my hand then right down the pencil as if it were a phallic extension. “I’m good with slow. There are some things in life you just shouldn’t rush.”
My body throbs hot and ready to love her just as slow and long as she’d like.
A pair of steady footsteps make their way over.
“Coop?” Dad calls as he emerges from his office.
“Right here.”
Laken’s hair is rumpled. She’s still wearing her shiny red dress from last night. I’m pretty sure this reeks of “spent the night,” and I cringe at the thought of my dad tossing condoms at us like he did a few weeks back. Although this is one time I wouldn’t have minded impregnating anyone. It would have been my one and only chance to have a mini-Cooper running around even if he were being raised with Wesley playing the fatherly role. My stomach turns just thinking about it.
“I finished running those tests.” He stops short once he spots Laken, and his eyes bug out before he employs something just this side of a smile. “Good morning. Did you stay the night?” That smile glides right back off.
He likes to get to the point, I’ll give him that.
“I’m sorry.” Laken shrinks three inches.
“No, please don’t apologize.” He holds up a hand. “Everything okay?” He looks genuinely worried for her, and this warms me. I like the fact my father cares about her welfare. Laken already feels like family to me in so many ways. We would have been perfect together. A small voice inside me insists we still can be—that we will.
“Everything’s great,” she says it soft, less than convincingly, and my father, wisely, doesn’t press the issue.
“What about the blood tests?” I’m eager to find out if there’s any news.
“I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “Without a hint of what I’m looking for, the angelic bloodlines all add up to the same five factions.”
Shit. “Thanks anyway.” I nod for him to take off, hoping he’ll take the hint, but it’s Laken who shifts.
“I’d better get going.” She stands and picks her shoes up off the ground. “It was nice seeing you again, Mr. Flanders.” She offers a shy smile before heading to the car.
I walk her out to Jen’s glossy red SUV, and she leans against the door looking a lot like an open flame against a blazing inferno. I hate this. I hate knowing that the next time I see her she’ll have been defiled by Wes and his inherent hard-on for her—only in his case, he’ll actually get some relief. I hate that it won’t be me with Laken. That I’ll never get a chance to show her how much I love her just the way I want.
“I guess this is really goodbye.” Her lips quiver.
“I won’t say it.” There. I may be powerless in every other way, but I’ll be damned if I’m saying goodbye.
“Then I guess I’ll see you later.” She nods because I know she’s referring to the reunion she plans on providing between my mother and me.
“Come here.” I wrap my arms around her, tighter than necessary, so tight I can feel her struggle to breathe, so I relent. Instead, I press a kiss to the side of her head and land my mouth directly over her ear because I want her to hear the words I’m about to say, and not for a moment think she imagined them. “I will always love you, Laken Stewart.” You will always be mine.
She pulls back and bites down over a smile because I didn’t bother hiding that last sentence by way of some mental barricade. I want her to cherish those words like my heart cherishes her.
Forever and ever, I will always love you, I say as I pull her in one last time.
Sometimes life just sucks. This is one of those moments. I have a feeling there are going to be a whole lot more of them coming my way in the very near future, unless, of course, I do something drastic.
And I plan to.
As soon as Laken takes off, I hunt down Edinger and find him in his hellhole of an office. It’s dark, and cold, and, in every way, this place has the appeal of a dungeon.
He looks up, bleeds his soulless grimace. “It took you long enough.”
I slam my palms down on his desk and lean over the expanse. “What the fuck is the blood marker of a Fem?”
“NSO.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Your father will know.” He wrings his hands. His dark hair creates a shadow over his eyes. “I’ll give you a hint, I’m paired with a Count.”
“Figures.” I drill him a new one with all of my hatred. “I want to stop that Ensign meeting tonight. Laken doesn’t belong with Wesley, both you and I know it.”
“I’m not a liar anymore?” He looks amused as a crooked grin frames his face. “You no longer believe I’m luring you in the wrong direction?”
“No. You hate the idea of Laken and Wes. And I don’t give a flying fuck why. Just help me stop Laken from becoming his Essential.”
“It’s not that easy. She must choose you.” He mock shoots me with his finger. A dull laugh rattles from his chest as if he’s enjoying the hell out of this.
“She will. Help me, Edinger. I swear I’ll do anything.”
“Anything?”
“Yes, anything.”
Wesley
All night I waited for Laken to come back. I knew where she went as soon as I saw her take off in Jen’s car. She needed him just one more night, and it kills me to think what they might have been doing.
Instead of sleep, I opted for the stacks and immersed myself in the ancient manuscripts, with enough leather-bound editions to reconstruct the body of an entire cow. I prayed over those monolithic texts for an answer, a clue, any remote sign of who Demetri’s son might be. It’s ironic that I’m losing my mind trying to help Laken find an out when the alternative lands her in my bed tonight and forever. But I know in my heart this isn’t how I want her, forced and desperate. I need Laken to want to be with me, and I think, with just a little more time, she’ll be right there—right there with me, right there with the Counts. I can’t justify what they’ve done, but I can’t
deny the miracles they’ve given us either.
“Come on,” I whisper in frustration as I slip the pages through my fingers, faster and faster, before slamming the book shut. “Fuck!” I bark it out, leaving my own voice to echo around the tiny chamber. It’s dark as shit in here, with nothing but a scarcely lit chandelier up above. The lights explode to a nuclear brightness before letting off a loud snap and thrusting the room into darkness. “Lights,” I shout into the black expanse. “Right now.” There’s no doubt in my mind this is Edinger’s work. I’m so ticked, if he shows I might actually figure out how to kill a Fem.
I hold my hand out and demand a fire to blaze before me as a perfect representation of my anger. A single flame rises from the center of the table.
“Nice.” I huff. “Now give me a damn clue as to what or who your son is.”
The room shakes in a series of violent jolts, and a book falls from the top shelf, knocking me over the head before landing on the table.
The Book of Powers, a Guide and Reference Manual.
“Book of Powers. This thing is the size of a dictionary. You think I’ve got all day? You ever think of cutting to the chase?” I roar it out annoyed as hell that I have to comb through this monolithic text looking for clues. I open the cover and inspect the table of contents. Celestra, Countenance, Levatio, Deorsum, Noster. “Interesting how Celestra always comes first, don’t you think?” I call out to Edinger who begins to materialize in vapors.
I’m not that impressed. I’ve done it on a few occasions after I’ve had a good infusion. Come to think of it, I’ve done it on others without a good infusion, but, then again, that Celestra blood is some powerful shit. Skyla’s blood, in particular, is nothing to mess with.
“Celestra.” I skim the boring descriptions and peruse the bullet points of their powers. “Strength, speed”—basic—“dermal contact telepathy.” The touch and listen intercom system, got to love it. “Time travel.” Done. “Wait…” A dull laugh huffs from me. “They forgot one. Where’s the shape shifting?” Oh, come on. I knew 99.9 percent of Celestra were dumb as fuck for not being able to figure that one out. “Hey, Edinger? I found a typo. You might want to go back and kill off your editor with some horrific exploding bowel disease because he goofed, big time.” I flip the pages until I come upon the Countenance bullet point of powers. Wouldn’t it be a kicker to find out I’ve had this gift all along? And here I was, lauding Celestra for how wonderful they’ve been to me. I thumb down the list, strength, speed. Boring as table salt. Figures. Even Levatio can levitate and teleport. How the hell did a group as powerful as the Counts get the shaft when it comes to abilities?
“I don’t get it.” I toss my hands in the air and wait for Edinger to ignite the rest of the room on fire—to drop an entire stack of encyclopedias on my head all at the same time, but nothing happens.
I flip back to the table of contents and note something at the bottom I hadn’t seen before. Fems, Sectors, Powers, Principalities, Virtues, Dominions, Thrones, Cherubim, Seraphim, Archangels, Angels.
I turn to the back and land on Fems. A gruesome picture of what can only be described as a botched up dog with fire coming from his mouth and large black wings that hover over his head like two sharpened sickles.
The skin on the back of my neck prickles at the sight. Fems don’t really look like anything, but I guess if you got down to the nasty details and had to give it a face, this about sums it up. I scan over the ancient babble until I get to the synopsis.
Fems are an order of created beings, fully equipped to help mankind and nephilim alike. They choose to side with Countenance and have requested to do their bidding in exchange for an alliance with the Countenance people. Fems are most widely known for their ability to take the form of different creatures, properties such as water and earth, and even humans.
“Great,” I moan. “Nothing I didn’t know.” I flip the page to the section reading, Sectors in beautiful font script as if even the manner in which their letters were formed needed to maintain a brand of beauty. “Never met a Sector—never want to.” I gloss over their basic list of duties and strengths—side with Celestra, fight evil to the skin of the eyetooth, comely, reflective mimicking, have a tendency to vibrate in tune with the universe when content. “Celestial purring.” I’m almost amused. That seems to be the only real difference between the Fems and Sectors. I scan the list. Wait a minute… I flip the page back and examine the list of abilities the Fems hold.
“Hey,” I bark it out to Edinger. “It looks like the author made a mistake. They forgot to add shape shifting to the Sectors.”
Demetri materializes into the room, slow, becoming his own shadow at first. “Sectors do have the ability to morph into the likeness of another, thus the reflective mimicking.”
“Same difference.”
“Not true,” he growls.
“Doesn’t matter. There are other details missing like the fact that Celestra can shape shift—they can morph into a ball of air, the creature from the Black Lagoon, or a jellyfish if they feel like it. The book isn’t accurate because you forgot to put it in here.”
“You are correct about one thing.” His lips widen into a manufactured smile. “I am the author that penned the book.”
“Figures.” I shut the cover and slap my hand over it. I bear into Demetri’s hollow, black eyes. “It’s useless, just like you.”
A wild thought occurs to me, and my muscles stiffen, my jaw clenches tight. One of the first things Edinger told me when he took me under his wing was that he would never lie to me, that he was bound by some strict celestial moral code not to fabricate one piece of shit.
I flip through the pages of the book, furious as a hurricane, losing myself in the pages until I’m ready to vomit.
“It can’t be true. This is just another one of your party tricks.” The room starts to fade, the table feels as if it’s spinning, and I might literally be sick right here over this very book that appears to have changed my life. “How is it that I have the ability to morph with my body?”
“You’re a smart boy, Wesley. You’ll figure it out.” His eyes, his nose, his mouth, every last part of him lights up with the hint of a wicked grin.
“But the only creatures in this book that can do those things are Fems. You always told me that it was a Celestra ability.” My voice shakes as I get the words out.
“I never told you that.” He cocks his head to the side. “You simply chose to believe it.”
A choking sound gets lodged in my throat as I recall all the times I’ve shifted into another form with ease.
“It’s not true.” I shake my head ready and willing to puke my guts up for weeks.
“But it is true.” He runs his fingers over the book. “I left an inscription to my son—a dedication at the beginning of the book.”
Our eyes lock. This is a moment which Demetri Edinger will not forget because I plan on instilling a fierce punishment for choosing to dick around with me on this of all days.
I whip open the book and flip past the first few pages, thick and heavy, until I finally land just shy of the beginning. I slowly move back and stop cold when I see it.
To my son, Wesley, I lay the entire foundation of my being at your feet. It is you I long to bow to.
I glance up at Demetri. Our eyes fixate over one another, and then he does the unthinkable. He lowers his head into his chest, leans forward and bows—to me.
I shoot out of the library like a missile and run past the towering statue of Asterion, past a group of cheerleaders, past the remnant from the football team, past the clergy who visits on Sunday, and straight into the woods.
I pick up a branch large enough to be a battering ram and run like hell until the scent of rotting corpses lights up the air—a sure sign of a Spectator. I barrel in the direction of the putrid odor and let out a cry that rips from the deepest part of me, the part that once believed I was innocent and pure, the part that believed the God of Heaven was monitoring me—setting
me apart for a good work, but now, this afternoon I learned the exact opposite is true. I’m a bastard in the truest sense—a spawn of the devil himself—Demetri Edinger.
A group of slow moving corpses, stiff with their partial states of rigor, come upon me from the south. I let out a shout before committing the world’s most efficient slaughter of the glorified zombies since they became a nuisance and crawled under our skin.
I stand there for a minute, staring at their blank faces, their gaping mouths, and I’m almost sorry I took them out in the first place.
Demetri stains the forest with his ugly mug. “Careful, you might just start a war.”
“Maybe I want to.”
Maybe I want to start a whole damn apocalypse.
8
Don’t You Forget About Me
Laken
The windows inside my dorm room rattle as Jen peers out at the velveteen night sky.
“Unusual,” Jen whispers. “Dry storm.” She shakes her head at the iron-grey sky. “Haven’t had one of these in a very long time.”
“What the hell is a dry storm?” I ask, trying to pull down the hemline on this white lace disaster Jen has stuffed me into.
Carter sighs as if I’ve exasperated her. “It’s all the fun of a real storm without all that annoying rain.” She comes at me with a blush brush and dusts my face until she replicates a third degree burn over my nose and cheeks.
“Let’s go!” Jen gives a wild clap, and I take one final look in the mirror. This is it. I’m leaving for the event where I’m to sacrifice the rest of my days, and my vagina, both of which I thought I might give to Coop one day. Funny how life works—I pined for Wes the second I got here, and yet the universe thrust another perfectly good boy in my path. Now I’ll probably be pining for Coop the rest of my life for the simple fact I know I can never have him. My stomach sours because I know that it’s far more complicated than that. I hate my heart for fracturing into two even pieces, each with its own devotion to a different boy. Life isn’t supposed to work that way, at least not according to romance novels.