I pluck another dirty bomb out of the duffle bag and toss one into the common room without thinking twice.
“Wait—I hear something.” Fletch takes off for the kitchen while I pluck the pin on another one and send it flying upstairs.
“We need to go!” I shout over the choking moans.
“I need help! Jen’s turned. She just bit through Jax Easton’s skull.”
I head over in time to see a small stampede topple Fletch and the girls over. Jax Easton’s blood spills across the floor in long, crimson blades.
Fuck. I pick up my rifle and pluck a few off on the outskirts, scaring the shit out of a few more before knocking them out, too. A butcher block full of knives catches my attention. I pull out the longest one I can find and start hacking my way through the mountain of walking corpses, severing their heads off at the neck. Two jump on my back trying their best to take a bite out of my skull. I buck them off and don’t hesitate putting some shrapnel in their skulls.
“Wes!” One of the girls screams my name from the bottom of the pile, and it sounds like Carter.
“Shit.” I kick the crap out of the Spectators one by one then pump their heads full of lead before moving on. “Strong little fuckers,” I say as I make my way to the final layer of long deceased crap. “Fletch, get up!” I roar as I pluck one off him. The Spectator’s eye is already gone. Her lid is inverted, exposing nothing but a bloodied mess.
Shit, it’s Carter. I slash my way through the final layer of soon-to-be corpses until I come upon Jen nursing a thick carbuncle of a wound over her neck—Jax by her side, foaming at the mouth.
Both Jax and Carter start to twitch. Fletch sits up, his face sliced to ribbons.
“God.” My voice cracks. “They bit you!” I put my hand out to help him up, but his body seizes right along with the girls. “Shit.”
They’re all turning, and there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop it.
I do the only thing I can think of—kick them into the pantry and barricade them inside.
The only thought floating through my mind, as I walk boldly through a crowd of Spectators, is why the hell aren’t they after me?
My blood runs cold. My body is still numb from the shock of witnessing my friends turn into a pile of Spectator crap, and I’m not sure whether or not to be pissed at myself because I didn’t have the balls to put them out of their misery.
I bump the shoulder of a tall, grey Spectator with his torn up suit, his tie wrapped around his neck like a noose.
“Look at me!” I roar into his gruesome face with his nose cleanly swiped off, nothing but a black hole staring back at me. “You fucking shit!” I scream it at the top of my lungs. “Why aren’t you coming after me?” I latch onto the loose skin of his arm and give a squeeze until his brittle bones crumble beneath me. He gives a roar and slaps me in the eye with his fingers before staggering off.
I have a feeling I know why they couldn’t care less about me. I’m a fucking Fem that’s why. I stare down at my hands as they glow an eerie lavender from the veiled moon up above. There’s nothing remotely human about me, and they sense it.
“Wesley!” Laken calls my name from behind.
I bullet over and pull her into the woods away from the chaos and into the irony of the forest that was once deemed too dangerous. Sleepy Hollow has become the refuge, Ephemeral the deathtrap.
“Laken.” I pepper her face with kisses before pulling away, holding her shoulders as I examine her in this anemic light—not one bite, not one hair out of place. Laken looks as if she’s ready to step back onto that dance floor with me. “You okay?”
“I’m fine and you?” She cups the side of my face with her hand.
“Where’s Coop?” I look over her shoulder because I know for a fact he’s not far behind.
“He’s at the boulders waiting for Flynn. As soon as I saw you, I came running. He watched me all the way down.”
“Good.” I draw her in and plant a kiss over her head. “I need to get you back. Have him take you to the Transfer. It’s the safest place to be. I can handle this on my own.”
“What are you handling?” Her voice rises in a panic as she takes in the rifle strapped to my chest. “What are you doing, Wes?”
“I’m taking the bastards out before they kill us all.”
“Don’t you see that’s how this whole thing started?” She plucks at me as if she’s trying to lure me to the boulders, and for a second I wonder if it’s me they want to toss into the Transfer. “We don’t need to kill them. We can call a truce.”
“It’s too late for that,” I say it as restrained and kind as possible because who the hell knows what bullshit Flanders has been feeding her. “Look, I’m not trying to be the big, bad Spectator killer. I’m just trying to protect you.”
“And I appreciate that.” She dips down on her knees as if she’s pleading before she ever asks a thing. “But I beg of you, Wes, don’t kill them. They never asked to be like this. They just need our help.”
The moon escapes the prison of clouds and shines its benediction over Laken. Her sweet features smooth over, her lids slit to nothing as if she were seeing me for the very first time and is disappointed.
I walk her over to a scrub oak and toss down my bag, remove the rifle from my chest and drop it to the leafy pillow next to it.
“What is it that you want from me, Laken? Name it, and I’m going to give it to you.”
Her eyes glint into mine like twin shards.
“Tell me who or what you really are, and why the hell you want the Spectators wiped off the map. You’re not just a Count, are you Wes?”
Laken knows.
And now everything has changed forever.
11
Dark Side of the Heart
Laken
Wes walks me deeper into the woods as the fog cloaks us with its ultraviolet rays, cool and sticky. Cooper gave me less than ten minutes before he said he’d be here. He doesn’t trust Wes, not with the Spectators, for sure not with me.
“I think we need to talk.” Wes drips his warm hand down my back like heated honey, and not one thing feels scary or irregular about him. It just feels like us, the old Wes and Laken. I study his face in the shadows, his thick lips, those dark, even brows. Wes holds a beauty that most men wish they had, and my heart thumps, painful and hard, as if a giant were hammering on my chest.
“Tell me everything, Wes.”
He pulls me in, and I warm myself against his body, wishing the world would melt away—leave us alone for once.
“Laken”—his voice remains smooth and calm—“you know.”
“I do know.” The wind dies down, the moans and screams muffle for a moment as if the universe were responding to the revelation. “How long have you known?”
“I found out a couple weeks ago.” It comes out low, despondent as if he could hardly believe it himself.
“We can ignore it.” I pull back and catch his gaze in the coffee-filtered light. “We can still be us, Wes. As soon as we stop this madness, we can just walk away. We’ll denounce the Counts, and you can forget all about the fact you’re part Fem.” I cup his face in my hand and feel the bristle of his five o’clock shadow. Something in the pit of my stomach yearns to have him right now over the serpentine floor of these haunted woods.
“It’s not that simple, Laken. We can’t just walk away. Edinger will never let me go. This is done. We’re Counts.” It comes out loud, menacing as if he were shoving it down my throat. “Our blood is strong, and it will remind us of our lineage every single day for the rest of our lives.”
“Then we’ll side with Celestra. I don’t want any part of the wickedness that goes along with the Counts, Wes. And you can’t tell me you do, either.” There’s a panic swimming through my voice, stretching out far into the past all the way back to Cider Plains then spiraling out into the unknowable future.
“Side with Celestra.” His entire body sags when he says it, and, in that moment I realize it’s
an impossibility for him. “Laken, we need to serve as Counts.”
“Why?” I shake him by the shirt. “Why are you so fucking devoted?”
Wes grips me with Goliath strength while the night slithers around his features like leeches. “Because that’s who we really are, Laken. We belong to this. You can run, but it will always be inside you. You can never escape who you truly are.”
There are some moments in life that define you, a birthday, a graduation, the day you realize the love of your life died a long time ago—that the day you buried him was truly the final goodbye. My heart fractures like porcelain with too many shards floating between us, and we decide it’s best not to move.
I wish I could disappear—that I could somehow magically morph us back to Cider Plains, and that this would have been a nightmare. Our lives come back to me in snatches—our first kiss under the heady Kansas sky. Wes handing me one poor boy bouquet after another, and me writing love poems to him over the back of each leaf. Those long, hazy days Wes would sketch me by the river, the lake, the barn. It goes on and on, and it’s only when I spot a lone tear running down his face do I realize he’s the one sponsoring the memories.
Wes sweeps his lips over my cheeks, christening my nose, my eyelids, running that petal-soft mouth of his over every inch of my skin until he finds my lips. We linger in that tragic kiss as if it were our first and last all rolled into one. It’s our first kiss as something just this side of enemies, our last kiss as lovers who never quite got there.
Wes tucks his heated hands under my dress, relaxing his fingers into my thighs as his kisses become more urgent. It used to feel right kissing Wes, and now it just feels like darkness where there once was a beautiful blue sky, light for miles that swam in my heart until we were drunk off our affection. I pull back, burying my hands in his chest.
“Laken.” He presses a searing kiss just shy of my ear. “We can be strong together. Our children would be superior to any other being on this planet. We can lead the Countenance, and, when we do, we can right all the wrongs.”
“You mean free Celestra?” Here it is, everything we are—who we could be hinges on this one answer.
His eyes flit to each of mine. “We need their blood. They can never be trusted.”
Apparently neither can Wes. My heart sinks with all of gravity, crashing down to the core of the fiery earth—everything Wes and I were burns right along with it.
His arms travel over my body, monstrously heavy as if this simple act were enough to claim me.
“I’m not interested in fighting Celestra,” I say. Especially when they’ve done nothing wrong.
A dark laugh curls from his throat. “You’re either a lover or a fighter.” Wes looks at me with those lawn green eyes, and my stomach melts on command. He leans in close, and his breath rakes over my cheek. Wes wants me. My body throbs just knowing this might be our final exchange—the last time I let his lips edge so close to mine.
“I’m caving,” I whisper.
“Cave.”
Shit. This is so not going to end well.
Where the hell is Coop?
The thunder of a thousand Spectators descend upon the forest, causing Wes and I to pull apart.
“Laken!” Coop darts into the vicinity and eyes Wesley’s arms locked around my waist like twin cobras.
I bolt toward him and fall into his embrace, safe. Coop feels like home. He always has.
“We need to go.” Coop cups my face with an urgency I’ve never seen in him. “We need to get Flynn to the Transfer right now. If Ezrina can change him back—hell, if we can bring Kara and Richard here, we might be able to end this insanity tonight.”
“Let’s go.” I turn back to Wes. “Help us.”
“I will.” He straps his rifle over his chest and picks up the bag at his feet. “I’m going to stop this insanity my way.”
“No!” I lunge over and clasp onto his chest, tugging as if I were begging him to spare all of those innocent Spectator lives because I am. “Please. Let’s try this first.”
His jaw tightens as he looks over my shoulder to Coop. And, for the first time, I see a level of hatred in his soul that I didn’t think Wesley was capable of. I’ve hurt him. I think maybe, deep down I may have killed him.
Wes plunges a kiss onto my lips and pulls back with his eyes fastened over mine, tight as a noose, and I can’t help feeling like I’ve just had the chair kicked out from beneath me.
“Laken”—he threads his fingers through my hair and studies me with a remarkable sadness—“come with me.”
I glance over to Coop who’s standing a good distance away with his back turned to the two of us—always protecting, always guarding. He’s looking out for me even now. Even if I did choose to go with Wes, I know for a fact Coop would still be there looking out for my best interests. The ways Cooper cares for me are unchanging. But I could never turn my back on the Spectators—on Celestra—and step into this realm of wickedness with Wes. It’s incomprehensible what he’s doing—unforgivable.
I break away from Wesley’s stronghold, pulling his hands off my waist as I take a full step back.
“I’m not going with you.” The words flutter from my lips like bats in flight. My entire body sighs with relief now that they’re gone.
Wesley’s eyes fill with water for a moment as he blinks back tears.
“This is the time in our lives where we need to decide who we are.” His chest fills with a breath as he repeats the very words Jones spoke to us. His hand comes to rest on my cheek again. “I will love you unconditionally, Laken Stewart. One day—you’ll come back to me. And when you do, you’ll find me still waiting.” He taps a gentle kiss over my lips. “My love burns bright for you. Always has—always will.”
“They’re here.” Coop runs over and shoves the Ruger in my hands for protection. “We need to go.”
Wes bears into me with those blazing green eyes, heavy with sadness. “I’ll hold them off.” He pulls a small silver grenade from his bag.
The stench of death encapsulates us, the silence disrupted by the sound of heavy groans. Arms and legs, bedraggled clothing spring to life all around us like an entire sea of grey vomit.
“Jen, Jax, Carter, and Fletch have been bitten.” Wes digs through his bag before adjusting the ridiculously huge assault weapon strapped to his chest. “I’ll move them to boulders for you.”
“Bitten?” I stagger back, and Cooper pulls me in, stabilizing me in every way.
Wes glares out at the Spectators. “Get her out of here, Coop.”
Wes doesn’t look at me. He simply walks deep into the crowd of long-dead Celestra and Counts, undeterred by their stench and desire to kill, completely unafraid.
I stand there, immovable as stone as I watch the boy I once loved fade into all of the nothingness that evil has to offer.
Coop picks me up and runs us the hell out of there—through the thicket of Spectators who snatch at our bodies, their limbs thumping over ours with an unnatural aggression. Cooper flies us through the lecherous crowd, seamless as a poltergeist. We bullet all the way to the boulders, and find Jen, Jax, Carter, and Fletch next to Flynn and Hattie. Coop and I bind them in with our arms, and the world flashes into a brilliant white light as we fall straight down into the Transfer.
Richard and Kara sit in the Count emporium with its liquid coffins on display while playing a game of cards.
“Who’s winning?” Coop slaps his hand over Richard’s back, and they rise to greet us.
Jen and Carter gag as they stare at one another in their newly petrified states—Carter with her missing eye, Jen with her teeth bucking dramatically as if she tried to chew her way out of lockdown. Jax flails around like a wild, bloodied beast. But it’s Fletch who has the rage of a thousand madmen in his eyes, his lips and jawline already eerily deformed. He looks hungry, and judging by the weight of his stare—my brain will satisfy quite nicely.
Ezrina hobbles over in her ragged cloak, her Dowager’s hump much hi
gher than her head.
“Too many.” She ratchets it out in an echo.
I don’t waste time getting right in her shredded face. “Take your time—get it right. We have a war on our hands in the event you didn’t notice.” I shoot a look to Richard and Kara who stand before us in perfect health. “You did it before. Please, I beg of you. Do it again.”
She takes in a breath, and her body rises and falls as if it were an ill-fitting costume. “It will take time.”
“How about the rest?” Coop’s eyes widen at the prospect of helping the Spectators, and it endears him to me even more. My heart has already melted over his. I knew it deep down that first day in the woods that Coop was special, and now I know why. It was Cooper who I was truly meant to be with all along.
“Leave them.” Ezrina pushes Jen’s paper-white locks away from her face, and my sister flinches with fear.
I touch my hand over Jen’s. “I promise you, Ezrina will fix this.” I turn to the old hag, pleading. “You had better.”
Coop and I take Richard and Kara and head back to that horrible place Ephemeral has become—the ugly monstrous place it’s always been.
A cloying darkness blinks around us. We find ourselves at the boulders once again, only this time two sickly girls wait for us, their scalps balding in patches, their skin emaciated to the bone, their eyes dark and sunken.
Kara lets out a cry and clasps her tiny hands over my waist, her face buried deep in my chest.
“Kara?” Hattie steps forward.
“You are scaring them!” I snipe.
Hattie and Amelia morph into the beauty queen versions of themselves. Their thick, gold locks cuff neatly under their faces. Their heavy wool skirts flounce around as they come in close.
“Richard! Kara!” Amelia cries out.
Coop and I exchange looks. Those are the first words we have ever heard from Amelia, and I’m betting now that her family is back, they won’t be the last.