Evanescent (21 page)

“Anderson,” I whisper, looking up her last
name as if thumbing through a phonebook. I take a seat, settling in
for the night.

“No such luck?” A disembodied voice grumbles
from across the table.

“Shit!” I bounce back in my chair. “You’re
going to kill me one day. You know that?” I scoot back in, pissed
at the dark-haired demon slowly materializing before me.

Edinger sits with his signature haughty
sneer, his deceptive smiling eyes.

“I would never kill you, Wesley. I’ll always
be on your side, forever.”

Makes me wonder why.

“Okay then”—I slide the oversized
coffee-table read in his direction—“tell me what you know. What
Celestra helped Laken pry into my mind tonight. And if she is one
herself, you’d damn well better fess up. I don’t like being left in
the dark.”

If Laken has any Celestra in her, I wouldn’t
need to venture into the wickedness that resides in the Tenebrous
Woods. I could turn a blind eye like the rest of my kind and put my
focus where it belongs—on Laken herself.

For a moment I imagine myself loving off her
neck, how fucking erotic it would be filling my mouth with that
salty explosion.

“Turn down the volume on the erotizing would
you?” He grumbles while expertly dotting his finger just under a
name. “This one. Here’s the mother of your culprit.”

I spin the book my way and pull it in.

“Michaella Duff.” It sounds foreign on my
tongue. I’m pretty sure I’ve never heard it before.

“Nee, Duff,” he growls. “Perhaps you’re more
familiar with her married name?”

A cold chill rips through my body as Edinger
takes me the long way around the proverbial block.

“What’s her married name?”

“Flanders.”

Laken

Late in the night, after the entire homecoming
debacle is over, Coop drives us to his house in thick, sobering
silence. A sturdy green sign reads,
Welcome to Heaven
as we
drive the final few miles past the dimpled dogwoods with their
fiery red leaves.

Cooper looks so damn handsome in his suit
with his hair gelled back, his warm cologne pulling me in like
fingers. I’m still wearing my red dress, my sky-high heels, but I
tossed some clothes in my backpack for the morning which I don’t
normally do. I could have changed, but something in me wanted to
impress Coop with my formal wear, my geisha-like makeup that
crosses the border between glam and transvestite. I’m craving Coop,
calling out to him like a lost child in hopes for his stray
attention.

We could have left earlier if it wasn’t for
Jen. She was so distraught over the “duel for her affection” she
couldn’t see straight, so I helped her down to her haunted suite.
She conked out before her head hit the pillow and good thing
because I was close to slapping her silly for letting the
histrionics carry on a little too long. I don’t think I’d lose my
mind like she did if two boys were fighting over me. I try to
envision a scuffle between Wes and Coop. I get lost for a moment in
the imagery of angry faces, tangled limbs, split lips while the
room erupts in expletives. Something sensual enlivens in me at the
thought of the two of them going at it on my behalf.

“So”—Coop nods in my direction as we make
our way through the white picket fence—“everything go okay with Wes
tonight? You looked like a beauty queen—still do.”

A warm rush filters through me as I blush
head to toe. Coop knows how to make me feel like a princess.

“Thank you. And it went fine,” I say as we
make our way up the porch. It feels great like this with Coop,
coming home with him night after night. His bed feels more like my
own than the one waiting for me at Austen House. “I saw you talking
to Wes earlier. Anything you want to share?” I’m almost afraid to
ask.

“He was feeling me out.” Coop opens the door
and lets us in. “He was playing it cool but started asking about
Grayson. He wants us to go on a ‘double date.’” Coop mouths the
words with a silent laugh. He takes up my hand and electrocutes me
with a jolt of excitement. Coop leads us through the dim lit house
as if we were on some covert mission.
So I guess it’ll be you
and me, and him and Grayson,
he teases.
You think they’ll
make out in front of us?

Ha, ha. Very funny
. The thought of
watching Grayson rub up against Coop all night makes me want to
vomit.

Coop pulls me in and gives a remorseful
smile. His cologne sweeps over me, seducing me in ways I could
never imagine. Coop rakes his breath over my cheek. For a second
our eyes lock, and I’m not sure what the next moment will
bring.

“I’m not into Grayson,” he rasps it out in a
hoarse whisper.

I wonder if I should reciprocate and say the
same about Wes, but my lips seal themselves together instead.

Coop presses his hand in the small of my
back as he leads us deeper into the house. A nightlight glows from
the kitchen, and it affords the entire downstairs a suburban
romantic appeal.

A shadow appears in the living room. “You’ve
brought a guest.”

I jump behind Coop nearly taking out his
shoulder.

“Dad.” His voice increases in volume and
rocks me out of the quiet fantasy world we were spinning through a
moment ago.

“Hi, Dr. Flanders.” I maneuver next to Coop,
more than slightly embarrassed. This can’t look good. “I have the
DNA samples,” I say it boastfully as if that were my sole purpose
for being here—as if I always wore a short lace dress on my
scientific dealings after midnight.

“Perfect.” Dr. Flanders says it rather
sternly as he adjusts his wire-rimmed glasses. He’s wrapped in a
blue flannel robe with his house slippers on, and it makes me
uncomfortable to see him this way. “Come with me,” he says as he
leads us to the back office.

He flicks on the small desk lamp, and the
room illuminates enough to make me squint. I glance up at the wall
where the family portrait hangs and take in his mother with her
fair coloring, her smooth easy smile. I want to memorize her. I
want to recognize her if I somehow end up in those Celestra
tunnels.

“Laken?” Dr. Flanders blinks in my
direction. “Would you like to give me the samples?”

“Oh yes,” I say, pulling the plastic bag
from my backpack. “It’s mostly hair, and I stole her
toothbrush.”

Neither Dr. Flanders nor Coop seems that
impressed with my hygienic heist.

I study Dr. Flanders as he hems and haws
over the articles before placing them in a small, white bin.

“I’ll run a complete panel and have the
results to you as soon as possible. Have you noticed anything odd
about her in general?”

“She’s the spitting image of Hattie Tobias,”
I say. “Hattie’s ghost.” I’m quick to correct.

Dr. Flanders stares pensively past the two
of us before nodding. “We’ll know soon enough.” He presses out the
impression of a dull laugh. “What’s going on here?” He directs the
question to Coop.

“It was homecoming tonight.” Coop leans back
and takes a deep breath. He’s still in his suit jacket. His teal
tie, that matched Grayson’s monstrosity of a dress, hangs from his
neck like a noose. “I thought we’d chill out, maybe watch a
movie.”

Dr. Flanders doesn’t appear amused. His lips
twist while needling Coop with an aggressive stare. “Marky’s
apprised me of the ongoing situation. Turns out, Laken’s been
spending quite a bit of time here—mostly early morning hours from
what I understand.” He amps up the sarcasm and suddenly I’m eyeing
the exit.

Shit.

“Cooper sleeps on the floor,” I say it so
fast it sounds like a lie. I wonder if that’s how I’ll say it to
Wes when he finds out.

Guilt crushes me like a pile of stones lying
over my chest.

I bet Dr. Flanders thinks all kinds of
inappropriate things are going on upstairs.

An image of Coop’s naked body writhing over
mine flies through my mind—his teeth grazing over my shoulder, the
curve of his bare back, his shin flexing as he pushes into me—it
plays on a loop and I can’t shut it off.

“Laken?” Dr. Flanders knocks on his desk. “I
asked if you’re using protection.”

“Protection?” An image of a shotgun bounces
through my mind until I realize that’s not the kind of self-defense
he’s referring to.

Crap. We just went there.

He frowns into Coop before dipping into his
medical bag and producing a pair of small foil packets.

Condoms!
Ack
! Shit, shit, shit!

Everything in me wants to jump out of the
chair, my skin
—
the
window.
Is this Dr. Flanders’ way
of giving us his carnal blessing? By offering us parting gifts for
the evening?

Just sitting next to Coop makes me feel
dirty now.

“They’re not mine.” It comes out dry as he
looks to Coop. “They’re from the convention. They’re stunt condoms.
They light up, heat up, vibrate, what have you.” He gives an
exasperated sigh. “I don’t know what they do and please do not give
a report in the morning,” he says, rising from his seat.
“Goodnight.” Dr. Flanders moves swiftly out of the room. His
footsteps resonate in soft thumps down the hall, and I hold my
breath until all traces of him are no longer audible.

“Stunt condoms?” I say, stymied by his
father’s strange spontaneous PSA equip with circus-worthy
prophylactics.

Coop swipes them off the desk in one easy
move and gives a wicked grin.

“I guess it’s time to get to bed.”

Cooper Flanders looks as if he were hewn
from limestone, that his face was blessed by God and his heart was
made of gold so pure it flowed throughout his body in its molten,
liquid form. It’s no wonder Coop glows, inside and out. He’s
remarkable and kind, and deep down I know he can never be mine.

“Why so sad?” he says, pausing from
unbuttoning his dress shirt. He barricaded the door to his room as
if locking it could never be enough, and I blushed at the
implications, although I’m still convinced they’re platonic.

I shrug, unwilling to share how unfair
everything feels at the moment. How a little part of me wished I
were Grayson Evans earlier this evening.

“You never saved that dance for me.” It
comes out so ridiculous, I bury my head in his pillow. I watched
him with Grayson every chance Wes happened to look away. And, sadly
for Wes, I wished I were with Coop more than a few times
tonight.

The soft hum of music fills the room. He
switches off the lights, and my insides tighten at the thought of
dancing in the dark with Coop of all people.

“
Coop!
You so don’t have to do this.”
My heart melts as he lures me over with the tug of my hand. “We’ll
wake Marky.”

“She’s dead until seven.”

My fingers, clasp over his, my hand lands
soft over his chest and to my surprise it’s bare.

“You’re not wearing a shirt.” I try to hold
back the budding smile from forming on my lips. I take him in like
this, lost in the shadows, his skin expanding, smooth and hard as
granite. “I think you’re underdressed.”

“Oh really?” He smolders into me. “I think
you’re
overdressed
.”

I tip my head back and laugh.

The curtains are stretched wide, allowing
the streetlight to spray the room with a touch of night magic. Coop
bites down on his lip, and a fire spreads through my body, warm and
alive, all for Cooper. I glance down at the curves of his chiseled
abs, the flat wall of his chest a mile wide. He presses his hips to
mine and my insides explode with heat.

Here we go.

My body quivers as I increase my grip over
his fingers. His touch ignites an inferno ripping through every
intimate part of me. I don’t remember the last time Wes made me
feel this way, and everything in me wants to cry. I shouldn’t feel
this way about anybody else—especially not Coop.