chapterforty-two
chapterforty-three
chapterforty-four
chapterforty-five

chapterone

“Ever—wait!”
Damenreachestowardme,graspingmyshoulder,hopingtoslowme,tobringmebacktohim,butI

keepmovingforward,can’taffordthedelay.Notwhenwe’resoclose,almostthere.

Theworrystreamingoffhimlikerainfromawindshield,notdimmingintheleastwhenhepicksup

thepace,matchesmystride,andlaceshisfingerswithmine.

“Weshouldheadback.Thiscan’tbetheplace.Nothingaboutitlooksremotelythesame.”Hisgaze

travelsthedistancefromthedisturbinglandscapetomyface.

“You’reright.Nothingaboutitisremotelythesame.”Ihoverattheperimeter,mybreathcomingtoo

quick,myheartbeginningtorace.

TakingamomenttosurveymysurroundingsbeforeIhazardastepforwardagain.Onesmallstride

followed by another, until my feet sink so deep into the mud-laden earth, the tops of them vanish
completely.“Iknewit,”Iwhisper,thewordsbarelyaudible,thoughIdon’tneedtospeakforDamento
hearme,it’sjustaseasytocommunicatetelepathically.“It’sexactlylikethedream.It’s…”

Helooksatme.Waiting.
“Well,it’sjustasIexpected.”Iglancetotheside,myblueeyesmeetinghisdarkones,holdingthe

look, wanting him to see what I see. “All of this, everything you see here, it’s like… it’s like it’s all
changedbecauseofme.”

Hekneelsbesideme,fingerssplayedonmyback,runninghispalminslowcirclesupanddownthe

pathofmyspine.Wantingtosoothe,torefuteeverythingIjustsaid,butchoosingtoswallowthewords
instead. No matter what he says—no matter how good and solid an argument he may wage—he knows
better.KnowsalltoowellthatIwillnotbeswayed.

Iheardtheoldwoman.Heheardhertoo.Sawthewayherfingerpointed,thewayhereyesstared

accusingly—listenedtothehauntingtuneofhercreepysongwithitscrypticlyricsandlingeringmelody.

Thewarningintendedsolelyforme.
Andnowthis.
IsighasIgazeuponit—Haven’sgrave—sotospeak.ThespotwherejustafewweeksbeforeIdug

deepintotheearthtoburyherbelongings—allthatwasleftofher—theclothessheworewhenIsenther
soulintotheShadowland.AspotIheldsacred,hallowed—nowtransmuted,transformed.Theoncerich
earthturnedtoawet,soggymushwithnosignoftheflowersI’dmanifested,nolifeofanykind.Theair
nolongershimmering,nolongerglistening,virtuallyindistinguishablefromthedarkpartofSummerland
I’dstumbleduponearlier.Sobleak,soforebodinginbothitsfeelandappearance,DamenandIarethe
onlycreatureswillingtoventureanywherenearit.

Thebirdskeepingtotheperimeter—thecarpetofnearbygrassshrinkingbackonitself—providing

alltheevidenceIneedtoknowit’schangedbecauseofme.

Like fertilizer sprinkled onto a small patch of weeds—each immortal soul I’ve sent to the

Shadowland has tainted and infected the Summerland. Creating its opposite, its shadow-self—an
unwelcome yin to Summerland’s yang. A place so dark, so dreary, and so contrary, magick and
manifestingcannotexist.

“Idon’tlikethis.”Damen’svoiceisedgy,ashiseyesdart,eagertoleave.
AndwhileIdon’tlikeiteither,whileI’mjustasreadytoturnaroundandneverlookback,it’snot

quiteassimpleasthat.

It’sonlybeenafewdayssincemylastvisit,anddespiteknowingthatIdidwhatIhadto,thatIwas

leftwithnochoicebuttokillHaven,myformerbestfriend,Ican’tseemtokeepmyselffromreturning,
fromaskingforgiveness—forgivenessformyactionsaswellashers.

And that short amount of time is all it took to go from light to dark—to grow murky, muddy, and

barren—whichmeansit’suptometodosomethingtostopitfromspreadingevenfurther.

Fromgettinganyworse.
“Whatexactlydidyouseeinthedream?”Damen’svoicesoftensashiseyesporeoverme.
I take a deep breath and sink my heels deeper, the pockets of my old worn jeans dipping into the

mud,butnotreallycaring.Icanmanifestaclean,newpairjustassoonaswe’reoutofhere.Myclothes
aretheleastofmyconcernsinthefaceofallthis.

“It’s not a new dream.” I turn and meet his gaze, seeing the flash of surprise that crosses his face.

“I’vehaditbefore.Alongtimeago.

Just before you decided to leave me on my own, so I could decide between you and Jude.” He

swallowshard,flincheseversoslightlyattheunpleasantmemory,whichmakesmefeelbad,itwasn’tthe
pointIwastryingtomake.“Backthen,IwassureRileyhadsentit.Imean,sheappearedinit,andshe
seemed so vibrant and… alive.” I shake my head. “And, well, maybe it was her, maybe it was just
wishfulthinking,aresultofmymissingher.But,justaftershe’dgottenmyattention,Irealizeditwasyou
shewantedmetosee.Youwerethepointofthedream.”

Hiseyeswiden.“And…”heprompts,jawtightening,poisedfortheworst.
“And…it’slikeyouweretrappedinthistall,glass,rectangularprison,andyouwerefightinglike

hell to escape. But no mater how hard you fought, you couldn’t break free. Even though I tried to help,
triedtogetyourattentionsowecouldworktogether,it’slike…likeyoucouldn’tseeme.Iwasrightthere
ontheotherside,withonlytheglassbetweenus,andyet,Imayaswellhavebeeninvisibletoyou—you
hadnosenseofmypresence.Couldn’tseewhatwasrightthereinfrontofyou…”

Henods.Nodsinawaythattellsmehislogicalside,thesidethatlikestidyexplanationsandeasy

solutions,israringtotakeover.

“Classicdreamscapescenario,”hesays,browslantedwithrelief.“Seriously.Soundstomelikeyou

thinkI’mnotpayingyouenoughattention—thatIdon’treallylisten—ormaybeeven—”

Butbeforehecangoanyfurther,Icutitrightthere.“Trustme,itwasn’tthekindofdreamthatcanbe

foundinsomeDreamInterpretationOne-oh-onebook.Intonight’sdream,justlikethedreamIhadbefore,
whenyourealizedyoucouldn’tfightit,whenyourealizedyouweretrappedforever,well,yougaveup.
Youjustdroppedyourfists,closedyoureyes,andslippedaway.SlippedintotheShadowland.”

Heswallowshard,triestotakeitinstride,butit’snouse.He’sclearlyasshakenasIwaswhenI

dreamedit.

“Andthen,justafterthat,everythingdisappeared.AndbyeverythingImeanyou,theglassprison,

thestage—allofit.Theonlythingleftwasthisgloomy,damppatchofearth,alotliketheonewe’rein
now.”Irubmylipstogether,seeingthescenesoclearlyinmyheadit’sasthoughI’mimmersedinit.“But
thatlastpartwasnew.Imean,itwasn’tintheoriginaldream.Still,thesecondIwokeIknewthatnotonly

werethetwodreamsconnected,butthattheywereconnectedtothisplaceaswell.IknewIhadtocome
here.Hadtoseeformyself.SeeifIwasright.I’mjustsorryIdraggedyoualongfortheride.”

Myeyesgrazeoverhim,takinginhisbed-ruffledhair,thesoft,wrinkledT-shirt,theworn-injeans—

clothesgatheredinahurry,inhaste,justsecondsbeforeImanifestedthegoldenveiloflightthatledus
bothhere.Feelinghisstrong,capablearmsslidingaroundme,thewarmthofthemremindingmeofjusta
fewhoursearlierwhenweslidbetweenthesheets,tuckedourbodiestightlytogether,andsettledinfor
thenight.

Back when our only immediate concern was that of Sabine and how she would handle the second

weekinarowthatI’dfailedtogohome.

Howshe’dhandlethefactthatItookheratherwordwhenshewarnedmenottocomebackuntilI

soughtthekindofhelpshe’sconvincedthatIneed.

AndwhileI’venodoubtIneedhelp,especiallyinlightofallthat’sbeforeme,unfortunatelyit’snot

thekindofhelpSabinemeant.It’snotthekindofhelpthatcanbefoundinaprescription,apsychiatrist’s
couch,oreventhelatestself-helpbook.

Itrequiressomethingmuchgreaterthanthat.
Welinger,thetwoofusgazinguponHaven’sgrave.Damen’sthoughtscarefullymeldingwithmine,

reminding me that no matter the consequences, no matter what lies ahead, he’s there for me. I had no
choicebuttodowhatIdid.

By killing Haven, I saved Miles. Saved myself. She couldn’t handle the power, pushed every last

limit.Mymakingherimmortalbroughtoutawholenewsideofher—onethatwedidn’texpect.

Butthat’swhereDamenandIdiffer.I’mmoreinclinedtobelievewhatMilessaidjustshortlyafter

I’dsparedhimfromher.ThattherewasnothingneworsurprisingaboutHaven’sdarkside,it’dalways
beenthere,sheexhibitedsignsallalong.But,asherfriends,wefoughttoignoreit—chosetolookpastit,
toseeonlythelight.AndwhenIlookedintohereyesthatnight,sawthewaytheygleamedwithvictory
whenshetossedRoman’sshirt—mylastremaininghopeofgettingtheantidotethatwillallowDamenand
metobetogether—intotheflames,well,therewasnodoubtinmymindthatherdarksidehadcompletely
extinguishedthebetterpartofher.

AndasfarasDrina’sdeathisconcerned,well,itwaseitherkillorbekilled.It’sassimpleasthat.

Roman’stheunfortunateone—butstillanaccidentpureandsimple.Amisunderstandingofthemosttragic
kind,I’msureofthatnow.IknowinmyheartthatJude’sdisastrousinterferencewasanacthecommitted
solelyinmybestinterest.Hisintentionsweregood.

Isawitunfoldinhishead.
Werisetoourfeet,slowly,solemnly,alltooawarethattheanswersweseekwon’tbefoundhere,

thatourbestbetistostartattheGreatHallsofLearningandseewherethatleads.Andwe’rejustaboutto
gothere,whenwehearit.Thetunethatcausesustofreeze:Fromthemuditshallrise

Liftingupwardtowardvastdreamyskies
Justasyou—you—youshallrisetoo…
Damen grasps my hand tighter, pulls me closer, as we turn to face her together. Taking in the long

wispsofhairthat,havingescapedtheconfinesofthebraidthattrailsdownherback,floatfreelyaround
her crumpled, ancient face, making for an eerie silvery halo effect, while her rheumy, cataract-clumped
eyessettleonmine.

Fromthedeepanddarkdepths
Itstrugglestowardthelight
Desiringonlyonething
Thetruth!

Thetruthofitsbeing
Butwillyouletit?
Willyouletitriseandblossomandgrow?
Orwillyoudamnittothedepths?
Willyoubanishitswornandwearysoul?
Sherepeatsthetune,emphasizingtheendofeachverse.Hervoicerisingasshesings,“Rise—skies

—too—depths—light—thing—

truth—being—it—grow—depth—soul—soul—soul—” repeating the last part again and again, her

eyes moving over me, analyzing, observing, even though they appear to be sightless, as her gnarled,
bumpyoldhandsliftbeforeher—cupping,rising—herfingersslowlyunfoldingasasprayofashspews
forthfromherpalms.

Damen’sgriptightens,flashingheraharshmeaningfulglareashewarns,“Stayback.”Maneuvering

infrontofme,whenheadds,“Stoprightthere.Don’tcomeanycloser.”Hisvoicelevel,sure,containing
anunderlyingthreatthat’simpossibletomiss.

But if she heard, she pays him no notice. Her feet keep moving, shuffling forward, while her eyes

keepstaringandherlipscontinuetoutterthetune.Stoppingjustshyofus,poisedrightattheveryedgeof
the perimeter—the place where the grass ends and the mud begins—her voice suddenly changing,
lowering, when she says, “We’ve been waiting for you.” She bows low before me, bending with a
surprisingamountofagilityandgraceforsomeonesoaged,so…antiquated.

“Soyou’vesaid,”Ireply,muchtoDamen’sdismay.
Don’tengageher!hementallywarns.Justfollowmylead.I’llgetusoutofhere.
WordsI’msuresheoverheardwhenhergazeswitchestohim.Thesun-bleachedblueofherclumpy

oldirisespracticallyrollingintheirsocketswhenshesays,“Damen.”

Thesoundofitcausinghimtostiffen,ashementallyandphysicallypreparesforjustaboutanything

—anythingexceptwhatcomesnext.

“Damen. Augustus. Notte. Esposito. You’re the reason.” Her wispy hair lifts and twirls in a

manifestedbreezethatswirlsallaround.

“AndAdelina,thecure.”Shepressesherpalmstogetherashergazepleadswithmine.
Iglancebetweenthem,unabletodecidewhichismoredisturbing:thefactthatsheknowshisname

—hisfullname,includingoneI’veneverheardbefore,alongwithonepronouncedinawayI’venever
heardbefore,orthewayDamen’sfaceblanchedandhisbodystilledthemomentsheblamedhim.

Nottomention,whotheheckisAdelina?
Buttherepliesthatswirlthroughhisminddielongbeforetheycanreachhislips,haltedbytheliltof

hervoice,saying,“Eight.Eight.

Thirteen.Oh.Eight.It’sthekey.Thekeythatyouneed.”
Iglancebetweenthetwoofthem,notingthewayhiseyesnarrow,hisjawgrinds,mutteringastring

ofundecipherablewordsunderhisbreathashegripsmyhandtighterandattemptstoheaveusbothoutof
themud,awayfromher.

But despite his warning me not to look back, I do anyway. Glancing over my shoulder and staring

rightintothoserheumyoldeyes,herskinsofragile,sotranslucent,itappearstobelitfromwithin,her
lipssoftlyyieldingasshesings,“Eight—eight—thirteen—oh—eight.That’sthebeginning.Thebeginning
oftheend.Onlyyoucanunlockit.Onlyyou—you—you—Adelina…”

Thewordslingering,haunting,taunting—chasingusallthewayoutofSummerland.
Allthewaybacktotheearthplane.

chaptertwo

“We can’t just ignore it.” I turn, peering right at him, knowing I’m right just as sure as I know he

won’tseeitthatway.

“Surewecan.Infact,Ialreadyam.”Hiswordscomingmuchgrufferthanheintended,promptingthe

apologythatsoonbloomsinhishand—asingleredtulipwithacurvinggreenstem.

HeoffersittomeandI’mquicktoreceiveit,bringingittomynose,allowingitssoftpetalstobrush

againstmylipsasIinhalethebarelyperceptiblescentheplacedthereforme.Watchingashepacesthe
widespacebetweenthebedandthewindow,hisbarefeettraversingthestonefloors,totheplushrug,to
thestonefloors,andback.Awareoftheconflictthatplaysinhishead,knowingIneedtomakemycase
quicklybeforehehasachancetobuildoneofhisown.

“Youcan’tjustturnyourbackonsomethingbecauseit’sweird,orforeign,or,inthiscase,grossly

unpleasant.Damen,seriously,trustmewhenIsaythatI’mjustascreepedoutbyherasyouare.Andyet,
Irefusetobelievethatherfindingusoverandoveragainissomemeaningless,randomevent.There’sno
suchthingascoincidenceandyouknowit.She’sbeentryingtotellmesomethingforweeks.

What with the song, and the pointing, and the…” My body twitches in an involuntary shudder I’d

preferhenotsee,promptingmetosinkontothebedandrubmyhandsovermyarms,chasingthegoose
bumpsaway.“Anyway,it’sclearthatshe’stryingtotellussomething,giveusaclueofsomekind.And,
well, I think we should at least try to determine what that might be—don’t you?” I pause, giving him a
chancetorespond,butallIgetisthestubbornslantofhisshoulders,thefirmtiltofhishead,andalong,
lingering silence as he stares out the window with his back turned to me. The sight of it practically
beggingmetoadd,“Imean,whatcouldithurttotrytofigureitout?Ifsheturnsouttobeasoldandcrazy
andsenileasyouthink,then,fine.Whatever.Noharmdone.It’slike,whybotherworryingaboutafew
daysofwastedtimewhenwe’restaringdownaneternity?Thenagain,ifitturnsoutshe’snotcrazy,wel
—”

Notgettingachancetofinishbeforeheturns,hisfacewearinganexpressionsodarkandstormyI

can’thelpbutflinch.“Whatcouldithurt?”Hismouthgoesgrimashiseyesfixonmine.“Afterallthat
we’vebeenthrough—didyoureallymeantoaskthat?”

I kick my toe against the rug, feeling far more serious than he realizes, far more serious than I’m

prepared to let on. Instinctively knowing deep down inside that the scene we just witnessed bore way
more meaning than he’d care to admit. The universe is not at all random. There’s a definite reason for
everything.AndI’venodoubtinmyheart,inmysoul,thatthatseeminglycrazy,blindoldladyisoffering
acluetosomethingIreallyneedtoknow.

ThoughIhavenoideahowtoconvinceDamenofthat.
“Isthisreallyhowyouwanttospendourwinterbreak?Sleuthingaftersomedementedoldwoman’s

riddle?Tryingtotrackdownadeepermeaningthat,inmyhumbleopinion,doesnotexist?”

Betterthanthealternative,Ithink,thoughIrestrictthewordstomyhead.RememberingSabine’s

face the night after I’d finally returned home in the wee hours of the morning—just after sending my
formerbestfriendtotheShadowlandandtheimpromptumemorialthatfollowedinSummerland.Theway
shelookedatme,herrobecinchedtightlyaroundher,herlipscolorlessandgrim.Buthereyeswerethe
worst—the normally bright blue irises eclipsed by the deep lavender circles that spread just beneath.
Staringatmewithahorriblecombinationofangerandfear,hervoiceharsh,thewordsmeasured,well
rehearsed,whenshegavemethechoicebetweengettingthehelpshe’sconvincedthatIneedorfinding
anotherplacetolive.SureIwasjustbeingobstinatewhenInodded,circledback,andmademywayout
thedoor.

MademywayovertoDamen’s,whereI’vebeeneversince.
Iclearthethoughtfrommyhead,tuckingitawaytoaplaceI’lllaterrevisit.Knowingthatatsome

point I’ll have to deal with our issues head-on, but for now, this situation with the dark side of
Summerlandclearlytakesprecedence.

Ican’tallowfordistractions,notwhenIstillhaveonemoregoodpointtomake.SomethingIknow

he’dhopedwouldgounmentionedthemomentInoticetheflashoftroublethatcrosseshisface.

“Sheknewyourname,”Isay,dismayedbythewayhecasuallyliftshisshoulders,triestowaveit

away.

“She hangs out in Summerland, a place where knowledge is plentiful. There for the taking.” He

quirksabrowashismouthtugsupattheside.“I’msureit’sallthereintheGreatHallsofLearningfor
justaboutanyonetofind.”

“Not just anyone,” I state. “Only the worthy.” Having experienced its opposite firsthand,

rememberingthenot-so-long-agotimewhenIwascountedamongtheunworthy,whentheGreatHallsof
LearningbarredmefromenteringuntilIpulledmyselftogether,andgotmygoodmojo—as Jude would
say—backontrackagain.AterribletimeIhopetoneverrevisit.

Damenlooksatme,andwhileit’sclearhehasnoimmediateplanstosurrender,it’salsoclearhe’s

allforfindingacompromise.Thissortofdefensivenessandevasivenessisgettingusnowhere.Weneed
action.Weneedtoformaplan.

“SheknewyouwerecalledEsposito.” I eyeball him carefully, wondering how he’ll try to squirm

outofthat.“Yourorphanname,”Iadd,referringtothenamethatwasimposedonhimbackwhenhewas
mortal,justafterhisparentsweremurderedandhe,leftalonewithnoonetocareforhim,becameaward
ofthechurch.

And though he’s quick to reply, saying, “Again, more information that’s available to anyone who

seeksit.Amountingtonomorethananunhappymemoryofalong-agopastIprefernottodwellon.”He
chasesitwithasigh,asuresignthatthefight’sseepingoutofhimalongwithhisbreath.

“Shealsocalledyoubyanothername.Notte?”Ilookathim,mygazemakingitclearthatwhilehe

may prefer to brush it off and move on to other subjects, I’m not quite through with this one. I need
answers.Realandsolidanswers.Ashrugandquirkedeyebrowdon’tbegintoqualify.

He turns away, but only for a moment, before he’s back to facing me. And the way his shoulders

slope,thewayhishandssinkdeepintohispockets,thewayhisjawsoftensinsilentresignation—well,it
makes me feel bad for pushing it like this. Though the feeling doesn’t last long, it’s soon overruled by
curiosity,asIcrossallmylimbsandwaitforhisreply.

“Notte.”Henods,givingthenameabeautiful,ItaliantwistIcouldn’tmanageifI’dtried.“Oneofmy

names.Oneofthemany,manysurnamesIwentby.”

Ilookathim,notallowingmyselftoblink,notwantingtomissathing.
Watchingthepathofhislongleanbodyasheswallows,rubshischin,crosseshislegsattheankle,

and settles back against the window ledge. Taking a moment to mess with the shutters, gaze out at the
pool,themoonlitoceanbeyond,beforesnappingitshutandturningtome.“ShecalledmeAugustustoo,
which was my second name—my middle name. My mother insisted on one, though they weren’t so
commonatthetime.And,sinceyouandIfirstmetinAugust,onAugusteighthtobeexact,well,Ilater
adopted it as a last name, changing it a bit to match the month, thinking there was some kind of deeper
meaningbehindit.Thatitsomehowconnectedmetoyou.”

I swallow hard, my fingers fiddling with the crystal horseshoe bracelet he gave me that day at the

track,alittleoverwhelmedbyasentimentIdidn’texpect.

“But, you have to understand, Ever, I’ve been around for a very long time. I had no choice but to

changemyidentityeverynowandagain.Icouldn’taffordforanyonetocatchontomyabnormallylong
lifespan,aswellasthetruthof…whatIam.”

Inod,everythinghe’ssaidsofarmakesperfectsense,butthere’smore,muchmore,andheknowsit.

“SohowfarbackdoesthenameNottego,anyway?”Iask.

Heshuttershiseyes,rubsthelids.Keepingthemclosedwhenhesays,“Allthewayback.Backtothe

verybeginning.It’smyfamilyname.Mytruesurname.”

I steady my breath, determined not to overreact. My mind swimming with so many questions, the

mostprominentbeing:Howthehelldidtheoldladyknowthat?Soonfollowedby:Howthehelldidthe
oldladyknowthatwhenIdidn’tevenknowthat?

“There was no reason to mention it.” He addresses the thought in my mind. “The past is just that

—past. Over. There’s no reason to revisit. I much prefer to concentrate on the present, right now, this
momentintime.”Hisfaceliftsalittle,ashisdarkeyeslightuponmine.

Glintingwiththepromiseofabrandnewidea,hemakesamoveinmydirection,hopingI’llagreeto

thedistraction.

HisprogresssoonhaltedwhenIsay,“Youdon’tseemtomindrevisitingthepastwhenwegotothe

pavilion.”AndwhenIseethewayheflinches,Ichidemyselffornotbeingfair.

Thepavilion,thebeautifulgifthemanifestedformyseventeenthbirthday,istheonlyplacewherewe

cantrulybetogether—well,keepingwithintheconfinesoftheeventsofthetime.Butstill,it’stheonly
placewherewecantrulyenjoyskin-on-skincontact,freeofthefearofhimdying,freeofanyworriesof
invokingtheDNAcursethatkeepsusseparatedhereontheearthplane.Wejustchooseascenefromone
ofourpastlives,mergeintoit,andenjoygettingsweptawaybythelush,romanticmoment.AndIfully
admittolovingiteverybitasmuchashedoes.

“I’msorry,”Istart.“Ididn’tmean—”
Buthejustwavesitaway.Havingreclaimedhispositionatthewindowsillwhenhesays,“Sowhat

is it you’d have me do, Ever?” His gaze making up in kindness what the words seemed to lack. “Just
wherewouldyouhavemetakeitfromhere?I’mwillingtotellyouanythingyouwanttoknowaboutmy
past.I’llgladlydrawupatimelineofeverynameIwaseverknownby,includingthereasonIchoseit.
Wedon’tneedsomecrazyoldladyforthat.It’snotmyintentiontohideanythingfromyou,ordeceiveyou
inanyway.Theonlyreasonwehaven’tgoneoveritbeforeisbecauseitjustseemedsounnecessary.I
muchprefertolookforwardthanback.”

The silence that follows has him rubbing his eyes and stifling a yawn, and a quick peek at his

bedsideclockrevealswhy—it’sstilldeepintothemiddleofthenight.I’vekepthimfromsleep.

Ireachout,offeringmyhandasIpullhimclosetome,towardthebed.Smilingatthewayhiseyes

lightupforthefirsttimesinceheawoketomethrashingandkickingmywayoutofahorriblenightmare.
Quicklyovercomebytheswarmofhiswarmth,thetingleandheatonlyhecanprovide.Hisarmssliding
around me as he pushes me back—back onto the blankets, the rumpled pillows and sheets, his lips

sweepingtheridgeofmycollarbonebeforedustingmyneck.

Mineathisear,nipping,tuggingthelobe,voicebarelyawhisper,Isay,“You’reright.Thiscanwait

untilmorning.Fornow,Ijustwanttobehere.”

chapterthree

AftertwosolidweeksofwakingupinDamen’sbed,wrappedinDamen’sarms,you’dthinkI’dhave

grownusedtoitbynow.

Butnope.
Notevenclose.
ThoughIcouldgetusedtoit.
I’dliketogetusedtoit.
Usedtothesolidassuranceofhisbodysnuggledtightlyaroundmine,thewarmthofhisbreathatmy

ear…

Butasofnow,I’mnowherenear.
I’malwaysalittledisorientedatfirst.Requiringahandfulofmomentstopieceittogether,takestock

ofthisnewsetofcircumstances.

Determinemylocation,mysituation,andjusthowIcametofindmyselfhere.
Andit’salwaysthatlastpart,thathow-I-got-herepart,thatneverfailstodeflateme.
Whichisneveragoodwaytogreetanewday.
“Buongiorno,”Damenwhispers,hisvoicealittlescratchy,unused.Choosingtostarteachmorning

with one of the many languages he speaks, today settling on his native Italian, pushing his face into the
curtainoflongblondhairthatspillsdownmyneck,whileinhalingdeeply.

“Buongiorno,yourself,”Isay,thewordsmuffled,spokenstraightintotheplush,down-filledpillow

myfaceisburrowedinto.

“How’dyousleep?”
Irollontomyback,pushmyhairoutofmyeyes,andenjoyanice,longmomentofsimplyadmiring

him. Realizing that’s yet another thing that I’m still not quite used to—the look of him. The pure and
startlingbeautyofhim.It’saprettyawe-inducingsight.

“Okay.”Ishrug,stealingamomenttoclosemyeyessoIcanmanifestsomemintyfreshbreathbefore

Icontinue,“Imean,Idon’trememberit,sothatmustbeagoodsign,right?”

He lifts himself off the sheet, settling his weight onto his elbow while resting his head against his

palmtobetterseeme.“Youdon’trememberit?Noneofit?”heasksinavoicethat’sridiculouslyhopeful.

“Well,let’ssee…”Ifakeponder,indexfingertappingmychin.“Irememberyouturningoffthelights

andslidinginbesideme…”Isneakapeekathim.“Irememberyourhands…oratleastthealmostfeelof
yourhands…”Hisgazeblurseversoslightly,asuresignhe’srememberingtoo.“AndIseemtovaguely
remember the almost feel of your lips… but, like I said, the memory’s pretty vague so I can’t be too
sure…”

“Vague?”Hegrins,eyesflashinginawaythatmakesitalltooclearjusthowwillingheistorefresh

mymemory.

I return the smile, though it soon fades when I say, “Oh, and yeah, I seem to remember something

aboutalate-night/early-morningimpromptuvisittoSummerland,andthecrazyoldladywhereweburied
Haven’s belongings, and how you, somewhat reluctantly, agreed to help me uncover the meaning of her
crazy, cryptic message.…” I meet his gaze again, and yep, it’s just as I thought. He looks as though I’d
openedaspigotanddumpedaloadofcoldwaterrightontohishead.

He turns on his back and stares at the ceiling, engaging in a moment of deep, thoughtful silence,

beforehesitsup,swingshislegsovertheside,andfightstountanglethesheetfromhisknee.

“Damen—”Istart,unsureofwhatfollows,butit’snotlikeitmatters,he’squicktofillintheblanks.
“Iwashopingwecouldspendourwinterbreakdoingotherthings.”Hemovestowardthewindow

wherehestops,looksatme.

“Whatkindofthings?”Inarrowmygaze,wonderingwhatotherthingstherecouldpossiblybe.
“Well,forstarters,don’tyouthinkit’stimewesettledthiswholethingwithSabine?”
I grab the pillow from his side, and plop it right over my face. A move I recognize as being

incredibly ineffective, not to mention immature, but at the moment, I don’t care. I mean, if I don’t even
wanttothinkaboutSabine,thenIthinkit’ssafetosaythatIreallydon’twanttotalkaboutSabineeither.
Butthereheis,attemptingtochataboutmynumber-one,off-limits,completelytaboo—oratleastforthe
momentanyway—subject.

“Ever…”Heplucksatthepillow,butIjustgripittighter.“Youcan’tleaveitlikethis.It’snotright.

Youhavetogobackthereeventually.”

Hetugsonemoretimebeforesighingandretreatingtohisplacebythewindow.
“Youkickingmeout?”Ilowerthepillowtomybelly,turnonmyside,andwrapmyarmsaroundit,

asthoughit’llshieldmefromwhatevercomesnext.

“No!” He’s quick to shake his head. Fingers raking through his tangle of hair, making sense of it,

pushingitbackintoplace.Gazingatmewithalookofoutrightastonishmentwhenhesays,“WhywouldI
dothat?”Hishandreturnstohisside,settlesbyhisleg.“Ilovegoingtobedwithyou,justasmuchasI
lovewakingupwithyou.Ithoughtyouknewthat?”

“Areyousure?”Iventure,readingthedismayinhisgaze.“Imean,it’snottoofrustrating?Youknow,

the two of us sleeping with each other, without being able to really and truly sleep with each other?” I
pressmylipstogether,feelingtheheatrisetomycheeks.

“TheonlythingIfindfrustratingisyoutryingtohideunderapillowinordertoavoidtalkingabout

Sabine.”

Iclosemyeyes,allowingmyfingerstomindlesslypickatthepillowcaseseam,awareofmymood

shifting, changing, slipping to the opposite side of his, and hoping I can stop it before it goes too far,
dividesustoomuch.

“There’s nothing to say. She thinks I’m crazy. I think I’m not. Or at least not in the way that she

thinks.” I peer at him, trying to insert a little levity, but it slides right past him. He’s taking this far too
seriously.“Anyway,she’ssoentirelysoldonheropinionthatmyonlyrealchoiceistoagreewithit,or
goaway.That’sthechoiceshepresentedmewith.Andyeah,whileIfreelyadmitthatithurts,hurtsina
way that goes pretty dang deep, there’s still this part of me that can’t help but think maybe it’s for the
better.Youknow?”

Hiseyesnarrow,thinking,weighing,beforehefoldshisarmsacrosshischest,causinghismuscles

totwitchandthensettle.“No,Idon’tknow.Whydon’tyouexplainittome?”

“Well,it’slikeyoualwayssay:I’llhavetosaymygood-byeseventually—soonerratherthanlater.I

mean,accordingtoyou,that’sprettymuchagiven,right?Sowhat’sthepointofmakingpeace,ofinsisting
onhangingaroundforafewmoremonths,whenI’llhavetosplitsoonanyway?Yousaidsoyourself;it

won’tbelongbeforeshecatcheson—beforeeveryonecatcheson.She’llseethatneitheroneofushas
aged,notevenaday.Andsincethere’snologicalwaytoexplainsomethinglikethat,andsinceSabine’sa
personwhoexpectsnothinglessthanabsoluteblack-and-whitelogic,well,there’sreallynotmuchmore
tosayonthesubject,isthere?”

Weexchangealook,andalthoughI’vehitallthepoints,includingtheonesthatoriginallycamefrom

him,it’sclearheneedsmore.

He’sstillnotconvincedofwhyIshouldn’tgetoutofbed,marchmyselfoverthere,andtrytomake

peace.Whichmeanshe’seitherbeingincrediblystubborn,orI’vefailedtomakemycase,orboth.

“It’slike,whydelaytheinevitable?”Iswallowhardandhugthepillowagain.“Imean,maybethis

wholethinghappenedforareason.

YouknowhowI’vebeendreadingthegood-bye,andso,nowthatthishashappened,maybeit’lljust

makeiteasier—maybethisisjustthesolutionI’vebeenlookingforallthistime—maybethisislikea
giftfromtheuniverse?”Thewordscomingsoquickly,Ipausetocatchmybreath,thoughonelookinhis
eyesmakesitclearhe’sstillnotridingtandemwithme.SoIdecidetoswitchgears,tryanotherapproach,
hopingthisonemightworkalittlebetter.“Tellme,Damen,tellmeforreals,inallofyouryears,withall
of your arrivals and departures, so to speak, did you never once pick a fight, or even use a fight as a
reasontoleave?”

“OfcourseIdid.”Heavertshisgaze,fingerspickingatthewaistbandofhisblackcottonbriefs.“On

morethanoneoccasion,Iassureyou.Butthatdoesn’tmeanitwastherightthingtodo.”

Ifallquiet,havingnothingmoretoadd.Squintingasheturnstoadjusttheshutters,welcomingadull

slantoflightfromwhatappearstobeaverygray,sunless,mid-Decemberday.

“Maybeyou’reright.”Hestudiesthescenery.“Maybethiswillmakeforthecleanestbreak.It’snot

likeyoucantellherthetruth.It’dbelikefueltoherfire.Shewouldn’tacceptit.Andifbysomemiracle
shedid,well,then,she’dbequicktocondemnit.Andtheworstpartis,she’dberight.WhatI’vedone—
whatI’vemadeyou—it’sunnatural.Itgoesagainsteverylawofnature.”Hepauses,turnsbacktome,a
lookoftrueregretmarringhisgaze.“Ifthere’sonethingI’msureof,it’sthatwearenotlivingthelifethat
was intended. Our bodies are immortal, true, but our souls clearly are not. Our lives flaunt the most
fundamentallawsofnature.Wearetheoppositeofwhatweweremeanttobe.”

Istarttospeakup,starttosaysomething,iffornootherreasonthanthefactthatIhatetoseehimthis

way.Buthewon’tletme.He’sfarfromfinished.Stillgotafewmorepointshe’sdeterminedtomake.

“Ifnothingelse,theShadowlandhasassuredmeofthat.Youwerethere,Ever,twiceifIremember

—the first time, through me, and more recently, because of Haven. So tell me, can you deny what I’ve
said?Canyoudenythatit’strue?”

I take a deep breath, thinking about that horrible day when Haven slammed her fist right into my

throat. Right into the sweet spot—my fifth chakra—the center for a lack of discernment, misuse of
information,andtrustingallthewrongpeople.Onesolidpunchwasallittooktokillme,toendme,to
sendmecrashing,reeling,spinningintothathorribledarkoblivion.Theabyss.Thehomeforimmortals’
souls. Remembering how I’d swirled through the blackness, lost in the void, taunted by a never-ending
stream of images of all my past lives. Forced to relive the mistakes that I’d made, all the misguided
decisions,thewrongsI’dcommitted—feelingothers’painasintenselyasmyown.Findingmywayout
onlywhenthetruthwasfinallyrevealed.SparedfromaneternityofdeepisolationwhenIwasleftwith
nodoubtinmymindthatDamenwasTheOne.

Mysoulmate.
Myoneandonlyforallofeternity.
The sudden revelation along with my complete and total declaration, acknowledging the truth of

Damenandme,ofourlove,istheonlythingthathealedme,absolvedme.

Theonlythingthatfreedmeoftheburdenofmyweakchakra.
TheonlyreasonI’msittingherenow.
Inod,havingnothingtoadd.HeknowswhatIsaw,whatIexperienced,justasclearlyasifhewere

there.

“It’sjustyouandme,Ever.Wehaveonlyeachother.Aprospectthatmaybemoreappealingtome

thanyou,butonlybecauseI’vegrownusedtoalonewolfexistence.”

“We have Miles,” I say, quick to remind Damen how he’s now in on our immortal secret. “And

Jude.” My breath stalls, still feeling a little weird about mentioning him in Damen’s presence, despite
them recently deciding to bury the past and start fresh. “So, it’s not like we’re totally without friends,
right?”

Buthejustshrugs,reflectingonthepartIfailedtomention,thepartthat’stoopainfultoutter.The

fact that someday, Miles and Jude will be old and gray-haired, eating early-bird dinners and looking
forward to a rousing game of shuffleboard, while Damen and I will be exactly the same, completely
unchanged.

“IguessIjusthatetoseeyouandSabineenditthisway,”hefinallysays,gazelikeanunexpressed

sigh.“Butmaybeyou’reright,maybeit’sasgoodawayasany.Seeingthatit’sinevitableandall.”

Itossthepillowasideandreachforhim.Ihatewhenhegoesdarklikethis,whenhisthoughtsturn

inward and he starts blaming himself. I’ll do anything to change the subject, to erase it completely. But
he’salreadyturned,missingthegesture,soIdropmyarmbacktomysideandpickatthecomforter.

“Okay,so,barringasit-downpowwowwithSabine,whatelsedidyouhaveinmind?Youknow,for

ourwinterbreak?”Iask,hopingtochasethisdarkcloudaway.

Ittakeshimamomenttorespond,tolifthimselfabovethedespair.Butwhenhedoes,it’ssoworth

it.Thesmilethatlightsuphisfaceinstantlybrightenswhatoncehadthemakingsofadark,drearyday.

“Well, I was thinking we could do something spontaneous, maybe even a little bit crazy. I was

thinkingwecouldactuallytryhavingalittlefunforachange.Yourememberfun,don’tyou?”

“Vaguely.”Inod,awillingplayerinthisparticulargame.
“I thought we could take a vacation somewhere…” He shoots me a sly, mysterious look before

paddingtowardthecream-coloredleatherchaiseattheoppositesideoftheroom.Reachingforthedark
silkrobehe’dabandonedalongthearmsometimelastnightandquicklyslippingiton.Hisbodymoving
sofluidlyit’sasthoughhemeltedrightintoit.

Istudyhimcarefully,wonderingifhe’dsincerelybeenplanningsomethinglikethatallalong,orif

he’sjusttryingtoenticemewithaplanhemadeuponthefly.

“But…”Hepauses,securingthesashinawaythatleavesitdippinglowagainsthiships,therobe

hangingopenandloose,allowingforawideswathofbarechestanddefinedabstoremainondisplay.

I slide my back up the headboard while lifting the sheet to my chin—his state of near nakedness

making me extremely aware of my own. Still not used to living as a couple, living so intimately, the
morningalwaysleavesmefeelingmorethanalittleshyandinhibited.

“Ever,Iknowhoweageryouaretogetrighttothebottomofallthethingsthatarebotheringyou.

And,likeIsaidlastnight,I’mwillingtohelp…”

Ilookathim,bracingmyselfforthefull-onbruntofhishonedandpolishednegotiationskills.Ican

practicallyseethecasehebuildsinhiseyes.

“So,I’mwillingtogiveitoneweek.I’llgiveyouonefullweekofmynonstop,undivided,crazy-

old-lady-code-crackingattention,andthen,whenthatweekisup,ifwehaven’tgottenanywhere,well,all
Iaskisthatyouacceptthedefeatgraciouslysowecanmoveontomymuchbetter,muchbrighter,much

funnerplan.Whatdoyousay?”

Ignawattheinsideofmycheek,takingamomenttogathermyreply.“Well,Isaythatdepends.”
He looks at me, shifting in a way that loosens the robe ever so slightly. Expanding the view. Not

playingfair.

“Dependsonthisplanofyours.”Ikeepmygazefixedonhiseyes.“IneedtoknowwhatI’mgetting

into—whereyou’replanningtotakeme.Ican’tjustblindlyagreetoanyol’thing.Ihavemystandards,
youknow.”Ilookaway,lookdownatmyhands,refusingthesightofhim,thewholegloriousbountyof
him,andchoosetofocusonmycuticlesinstead.

Hearinghimlaughinreply,thesoundofitlikeadeep,joyousroarthatfillsuptheroom,fillsupmy

heart.Happytoknowthatthedarkmomentfromamomentagoisforgottenfornow.

Turning and making his way into the bath, the words drifting over his shoulder when he says, “A

vacation.Justyouandmeandsomegloriousexoticlocation.Arightandpropervacation,Ever.Farfrom
everyone,andeverything.Avacationinaplaceofmychoosing.

That’sallyouneedtoagreeto.Leavethedetailstome.”
Ismiletomyself,lovingthesoundofthatandtheimagesitspursinmymind,butI’mnotaboutto

reveal that, so to him I just say, “We’ll see.” The words drowned out by the sound of gushing water
comingfromhisoversizedshower.“We’llseeaboutthat,”Iwhisper,temptedtojoinhim,knowingthat’s
exactlywhathewants,butwithonlyaweektocrackthecode,Iheadforhislaptopinstead.

chapterfour

“Findanything?”Damenrubsatowelagainsthiswethair,riddingitofexcesswaterbeforetossingit

asideinfavorofaquickcomb-throughwithhisfingers.

Ipushawayfromhisdeskandswivelafewinchestowardhim,rollingthechairbackandforthand

fromsidetosideasIsay,“Iranseveralsearches—ranthosenumbersshementioned,thinkingitmightbe
adate,oracode,oralinktoanimportantpassage,orhymn,orapsalm,orapoem,or…something.”I
shrug.“Ievenranthatnameshementioned,Adelina.Butnothingcameup.SothenIranasearchonthe
numbersandthenametogether,butstillnothing.Oratleastnothingthatseemsevenremotelyconnectedto
us,anyway.”

He nods, disappears into his walk-in closet for a moment, then reappears wearing a clean pair of

jeansandablackwoolsweater.

WhileIoptforthefareasier,somewhatlazyapproachofmanifestingmyownsetofclothes,which

turnouttobeprettysimilar.

Exceptthatmysweaterisblue.Helikesmeinblue.Bringsouttheblueinmyeyes,hesays.
“So, where do we start?” He lowers himself onto the chaise and slides on some shoes—black

TOMSslip-ons,oneofthefewthingsheactuallybuysanymore—butonlybecausepartoftheproceedsgo
tocharity.

Gone are the handcrafted Italian leather motorcycle boots he wore when we met. It’s now cheap

rubber flip-flops in the summer, TOMS in the winter. Aside from his opulent, oversized, multimillion-
dollarmansion,andtheshiny,black,fullyloadedBMWM6Coupethatsitsinthegarage(acarIpretty
muchforcedhimtore-manifestandkeep),hissomewhatrecentvowtolivesimpler,lessflamboyantly,
moreconscientiously,andlessmaterialisticallyappearstobeoneheplanstokeep.

“Forthenextweek,I’mallyours.”Herisestohisfeet,takingamomenttoshakeouteachlegand

settlethehemsofhisjeans.

“Only for the next week?” I stand before the framed full-length mirror that leans against the wall,

tryingtoconvincemyhairtodosomethingotherthanjustlieflatagainstmyhead.Butaftermanifesting
somecurlsandwavesthatdon’treallydoitforme,Ireturnittothewayitwasandsettleonalowloose
ponytail.

“WhileyouandIhavenoexpirationdate,thislittleprojectofyoursdoes—asyouclearlyagreed.

So,tellme,wheredowestart?”Helooksatme,awaitsfurtherinstructiononhowtoproceed.

Icheckoutmyprofile,smoothingmyhandsoverthestraywispsofhairthatinsistonspringingout

from the sides, thinking I should try something else, that I’m not quite pleased with the reflection that
staresback,whenItakeadeepbreathandforcemyselftoacceptit.

WheneverIlookatme,allIseearethingsI’dliketochange.
WheneverDamenlooksatme,allheseesisagloriousgiftfromtheuniverse.

Somewhereinthemiddleliesthetruth.
“C’mon.”Iturnawayfrommeinfavorofhim,knowingwehavenotimetowaste,thatabusyweek,

aweeklikeI’veplanned,canfeellikeonlyaminuteortwowhenit’sallsaidanddone.

Graspinghishandinmine,westandsidebyside,thetwoofusenvisioningthatsoftgoldenveilof

shimmeringlight,theonethatleadsustoSummerland.

Weskipthevastfragrantfieldofglisteningflowersandpulsatingtrees,choosingtolandatthefoot

of the broad swath of steps that leads right up to the Great Halls of Learning. Pausing a moment, our
thoughtssilenced,eyeswide,lookinguponitwithsuchaweourbreathhaltsrightinourthroats.

Taking in its beautiful elaborate carvings, its grand sloping roof, its imposing columns, its

impressive front doors—all of its vast and varied parts rapidly shifting, conjuring images of the Great
PyramidsofGizamorphingintotheLotusTemple,whichtransformsintotheTajMahal,andsoon.The
building reshaping, reforming, until the world’s greatest wonders are represented in its ever-changing
façade.

Admittingonlythosewhocanseeitforwhatittrulyis—anawe-inspiringplacecreatedoflove,and

knowledge,andeverythinggood.

Thedoorsspringopenbeforeus,andwehurryupthestairsandintothelargespaciousentryfilled

with the most brilliant warm light—a luminous showering radiance that, like the rest of Summerland,
permeates every nook and cranny, every corner, every space, allowing for no shadows or dark spots
(exceptfortheonesofmymaking)anddoesn’tseemtoemanatefromanyoneplace.

We move among white marble columns that appear to have been lifted right out of ancient Greek

times, along multiple rows of long, carved wooden tables and benches crowded with priests, rabbis,
shamans,seekersofeverykind,including:Jude?

The moment his name appears in my mind, he lifts his head and looks right at me. Thoughts are

things, consisting of energy of the purest kind, and here in Summerland they can be heard by just about
anybody.

“Ever…” He lifts a hand to his forehead, smoothing the area just above his spliced brow before

moving to the tangle of long bronze dreadlocks he pushes away from his face. “And Damen…” His
expressionremainsinscrutable,unreadable,thoughit’sclearhe’sworkingprettyhardtokeepitthatway.

Herisesfromhisseat,alittlereluctantlytomyeye.ButwhenDamenmovestowardhimwithagrin

thatlightsuphisface,Judedoeshisbesttomatchitwithoneofhisown,allowinghisdimplestospring
intoplace.

Istayput,watchingthetwoofthemengageintheusualpalm-smacking,back-slapping,male-greeting

ritual.TryingtoreadthemeaningbehindJude’sreddenedcheeks,nottomentiontheflashofchagrininhis
aqua-greengaze.

Imean,eventhoughheandDamenhavecalledatruce,eventhoughhe’snowinonprettymuchallof

our biggest secrets and has no plans to spill them, even though I’m absolutely certain that his uncanny
abilitytothwartallmybestplansisnotatallcalculatedonhispart,butthatsomethingelse,somehigher
force,isdrivinghimtodoit,toalwaysinterfereattheabsoluteworsttimepossible—Ican’tstopfrom
hesitating,can’tovercomemyreluctancetogreethim.

Butitonlytakesamomentformetorecognizethathesitationforwhatitreallyis.
Guilt.
Goodold-fashionedguilt.
Nomore,noless.
Thekindofguiltthatcomesfromsharingalong,somewhatconvoluted,andattimesquiteromantic

pastwithsomeone,andyet,intheend,alwayschoosingsomeoneelse.

NomatterhowhardJudetried,IalwayschoseDamenoverhim.Andjustveryrecently,I’vedoneso

again.

Yet despite my knowing I made the best choice, the right choice, the only choice, despite my

instinctivelyknowingthere’ssomeoneelseoutthere,someonewho’smuchbettersuitedforhimthanme,
Judedoesn’tquiteseeitthatway.

Heglancesbackandforthbetweenus,hisgazeultimatelysettlingonmineinawaythatcausesan

unmistakablewaveofcool,languidcalmtoflowthroughmybody—aphenomenonI’veexperiencedonly
withhim,inthislifeaswellastheothersbeforeit.Andtryashemighttostaydistantandneutral,it’s
impossibletomisstheflashoflongingthatplaysinhisgaze—asmallseedofhopehestillisn’tfreeof.
Even though it’s over in a second, even though he’s quick to replace it with something else, something
containingfarlessache,somethingfarmorebenign,Itakeamomenttomanifestabrightshiningnightstar
overhishead,wishingonceagainthathe’llsoonfindtheonepersonintheuniversewho’smeantjustfor
him,who’sfarbettersuitedthanIcouldeverbe.

ThenImakeitdisappearbeforetheycanseeit.
“Whatbringsyouhere?”Iforceasmileontomyfaceandkeepitthereuntilitstartstofeelreal.
Heshuffles,rocksbackandforthonhisheelsashishandsfumbleattheloopsofhisjeans.Sorting

through his thoughts, carefully weighing his options, deciding between complete or partial honesty, and
goingwithcompletewhenhesays,“Ijustlikeithere.Ican’thelpit.ThoughAvawarnsmenottooverdo
it,Ijustcan’tseemtostayaway.”

“Summerlandislikethat.”Damennods,asthoughhecompletelyunderstands,asthoughhe’sactually

struggled with the same temptation himself. And who knows, maybe he has and we just haven’t gotten
aroundtocoveringthat.“Thelureisprettygreat,”headds.

“It’sachoretoignore.”
“Areyouresearchinganythinginparticular?”Istrivetokeepmyvoicelight,conversational,despite

risinguponmytoestryingtogetaglimpseofthetablethewasstudyingwhenwecamein.Buthe’stoo
smartforthat,andisquicktoeraseitthemomentheseeswhatI’mdoing.

WhichiswhyI’msoshockedwhenhesays,“Honestly,Iwasdoingalittleresearchonyou.” His

eyesburnonmine,causingDamen’stonarrow,tryingtodeterminejustwhatthatmeant.Iglancebackand
forthbetweenthem,scramblingforsomethingtosay,butJudebeatsmetoit.“Iwastryingtofigureout
whyIalwaysseemtogetinyourway.”

Ipause,mythroatgonesuddenlydry,forcingmetoclearitbeforeIcanspeak.“Anddidyoucometo

any conclusions?” I ask, pretty much everything about me, my voice, my stance, my expression, my
demeanor,projectingloudandclearthatmyinterestinthissubjectknowsvirtuallynolimits.

He shakes his head, his face wearing an apology words can’t express. “No, or at least nothing

concrete,”hesays.

Myshoulderssink,asasighescapesmylips,andIcan’thelpbutthinkhowniceitwould’vebeenif

Judecould’vedoneallofmyhomeworkforme,butit’sneverthateasy.

“Thoughtherewassomething…”
He’sgotmyfullattentionagain,Damen’stoofromwhatIcantell.
“It’s not anything that I saw per se, it was more a thought that kept coming to me. One I couldn’t

chaseaway.”

“That’showSummerlandworks.”Inod,alittletoovigorously.“OratleasttheGreatHallsanyway.

It’snotalwaysconcrete,youknow.

It’snotalwayssomethingyoureadorexperience.Sometimesit’sjustapersistentthoughtthatrefuses

toleaveuntilyoupayitsomenotice.”

Henods,curlshisthumbsaroundhisbeltloopsandglancestowardDamenandme.“Anyway,while

Iknowthis’llprobablysoundjudgmental,IthinkyouknowbynowthatIdon’treallymeanitthatway,
but,well,Ican’thelpthinkingthatallofyourproblems,allofyour…obstacles…wel…Ican’thelpbut
thinktheyallstemfromyourimmortality.”

HesneaksaquickpeekatDamen,andIdothesame.BothofusknowingDamen’sresponsiblefor

thestatethatwe’rein—bothofusknowinghe’salltooawareofthat.

“WhatImeanis,yourwholethingwiththeelixir,and,well,whateverelseisrequired,it’snotlike

I’muponthedetails,butstill,mypointis,it’sjustnotnatural,youknow?We’renotsupposedtoreach
physicalimmortality—that’swhatthesoulisfor.Thesoulistheimmortalpartofus.Itrecycles,overand
overagainfromwhatI’veseen,butitneverdies.We’remeanttostrivebeyondthephysicalworld,not…
not settle for it and only it…” He winces, but now that he’s started, he knows he has no choice but to
finish. Besides, it’s not like we can’t hear it in his head, hear the words reeling toward us as he says,
“You’renotsupposedtoembracethephysicalworldasthoughit’sthelaststop—asthoughthat’sallthere
is.”

Ifallquiet.Damendoestoo.BothofusmarvelingathowJude’swordsprovideanall-too-familiar,

somewhateerieechoofwhatDamensaidalittleearlierbackinhisroom.

AndIcan’thelpbutwonderifthere’sareasonforthat—ifI’mmeanttohearit.Imeanreallyand

trulyhearit,andmaybeevendosomethingaboutit.

MaybeI’mmeanttopayitsomeseriousnotice.AsopposedtowavingitawaylikeI’mmostinclined

todo.

Jude squinches his face, reducing his eyes to two narrow slits of the most brilliant blue-green—a

sliveroftemptingtropicalseathat’dbesoeasytowadeinto.“AndIthink…maybe…well,Ithinkthe
karma you’ve accumulated from making that choice is keeping you from experiencing…” He shuffles,
fumbles,finallypullingittogetherenoughtosay,“Well,Ithinkit’skeepingyoufromexperiencingtrue
happiness.Realbliss.IfyouknowwhatImean.”

Oh,IthinkIknowwhatyoumean.
Isigh.Damensighstoo.Thetwoofussoundinglikeachorusoffrustrateddiscontent.
“So, anything else?” I lift my brow, realizing the words sounded far brusquer than intended and

tryingtosoftenthetonewhenIadd,“Imean,anyinsightonhowtogetaroundallofthat?”

Jude’s mouth grows grim in a way that fades his normally brown skin to an edge of white that

outlines his lips—lips I’ve kissed once—twice—I can’t be too sure, there’ve been so many lives the
threeofushaveallshared.Hisfacefullofsinceritywhenhesays,“Sorry.

That’sallIgot.So…anyway,I’llleaveyouguystoitand…”
Hestartstomoveaway,clearlyeagertowrapitupandmoveonwithhisday.AndwhileDamen’s

stilllostinthought,lostinadarkcloudofblame,Ireachout,fingerscatchingJude’sbicepasIpullhim
backtomeinashowofbrutestrength,apleadinglookinmyeye,andahastilyreleasedthoughtItook
absolutelynotimetoconsider,notimetoedit.

Damenlooksatme,havingbeenyankedrightoutofhisownthoughtstofocusonmine.Thedistinct,

somewhatalarming,morethanalittleembarrassingsoundof:No,don’tgo!thatswirledthroughmyhead,
swirledthroughtheroom,beforeIcouldstopit.

“Um,whatImeanis,youdon’thavetoleaveonouraccount…”
Damen squints, regarding me with great interest. The same goes for Jude. Resulting in two sets of

lifted brows, one spliced, one perfect in every conceivable way, while the eyes that lie beneath are
centeredonme.

KnowingIneedtofinishthethoughtbeforetheybothcometosomehorribleconclusion,onethat’ll

bringusfullcircleagain,Isay,“WhatImeantwas,doyoureallyhavetoleave?Now?”Ugh.Irollmy
eyes at myself. What the heck is wrong with me? Bad to worse doesn’t even begin to describe it, and,
unfortunately,Judeseemstoagree.

“Well,IthoughtI’dleaveyoutoyourprivacy,maybeexploreabit,meetupwithRomy,Rayne,and

Ava.”Heshrugs,thegestureshowingthefullstateofdiscomfortI’veputhimin.

“They’re here?” I glance all around though I don’t expect to find them. It’s more an attempt to get

aholdofmyselfthananythingelse.

Judeshootsmeanoddlook,thoughhe’squicktochaseitwith:“No,they’rebackontheearthplane,

why?”Hisbrowdrops,hismouthflattens.“Ever—what’sthisabout?”

Damen’senergyradiatesbesideme,andIknowhe’sthinkingthesamething.SoItakeadeepbreath,

takeamomenttocarefullymeeteachoftheirgazesasIforcethewordsfrommylips.“Listen,I’vegota
little…researchprojectI’mworkingon.And,sinceI’veonlygotoneweektogettothebottomofit,”I
shoot Damen a pointed look, “I thought, well, if you don’t mind, I, I mean, we—” My gaze holds onto
Damen’s, pretty much begging him to trust me on this. “Well, in light of the time constraints and the
insightsyoushared,Ithoughtwecouldreallyuseyourhelp.Ithinkyourperspectivecouldcomeinreally,
reallyhandy.Butofcourse,it’suptoyou…”

Judeglancesatus,weighing,considering,choosingtoaddresshiswordstomewhenhesays,“Fine.

I’min.It’stheleastIcandoforbunglingthewholethingwithHavenandjustabouteverythingelsewhere
you’reconcerned.Sotellme,wheredowebegin?”

chapterfive

IslideinbesideDamen,myleftkneepressedsnuglyagainsthisright.Thesightofitshieldedbythe

thick wooden tabletop, sparing Jude from the view. No need to rub his nose in it. Make him feel any
worsethanhealreadydoes.

Still, it’s not long before he rises from his place just across from us, mumbling something about a

newtacthe’dliketotry,somethingthatjustsprangtomind.Thoughdespitetheexcuse,it’sprettyclear
he’slookingforescape,longingtogosomewhereelse,somewhereofferinglessproximitytoDamenand
me.

IpeeratthelargecrystalglobethathoversbeforeDamen,tryingtomakeouttheimagesitunfolds.

ButfromthisangleallIgetisacolorfulblur.Toreallyseeit,youneedtositdirectlyinfrontofit.Still,I
can tell by the way Damen observes it, shoulders slumped, head bent forward ever so slightly, breath
comingsteadyandslow,thatwhateverhe’swatching,it’snothingofinterest,nothingthat’llleadustothe
infoweneed.Infact,ifanything,itappearstobelullinghimtosleep.

Frowning at the tablet before me that’s providing about as much hope as Damen’s globe, I push it

awayindisgustandglanceallaround.Desperateforalittlehelp,fromsomeone,orsomething—I’mnotat
allpicky,I’lltakewhatIcangetatthispoint,butnohelpappears.Everyoneremainsimmersedintheir
business,theirownpersonalquest,payingnonoticeofme.Anddespitemyclosingmyeyes,despitethe
streamofquestionsthatflowsfrommymind,despitemyobviouspleaforassistancethatringsloudand
clear,theGreatHallsmakenoattempttoaddressit,noattempttowhiskmeawaytojusttherightroom
likeit’sdonesomanytimesbefore.

Otherthangrantingadmittance,theGreatHallsofLearningseemtobeignoringmetoday.
I try to sit still, try to concentrate, meditate, go to that nice quiet space—but I’m too restless, too

agitated,andIcan’tseemtofocus.

Mymindstormingwiththekindofthoughtsthatmakeitimpossibletofindanypeace.Imean,how

amIsupposedtorelaxandconcentrateontheflowofeachpassingbreath,whenI’malltooawareofthe
tickingclockthatpracticallyhangsovermyhead?Aconstantreminderofjusthowrapidlymyone-week
deadlineisshrinking,inchingclosertotheend.

Peeking once again at Damen’s globe spinning before him, I can’t help but feel glum, defeated,

allowingmymindtotraveltoaplaceI’dpreferthatitdidn’t.

Aplaceofdoubt.
Second-guessing.
Extremereservation.
The part that wants to believe, quickly overruled by the question of which would be worse: to be

rightaboutmyhunch—ortotallywrongineveryway?

WoulditbebettertobesolelyresponsiblefortheappearanceofthemurkypartofSummerland—to

betheobjectofthecrazyoldlady’shopeaswellasherscorn?

Orisitbettertobewayoffbaseaboutitall,deadwrongineverysense?Which,inessence,would

lightenmyloadandfreemeoftheburden,thehugeresponsibilityofitall.

WhatifthatoldladyreallyisjustsomedementedSummerlandinterloperlikeDamenclaims?
What if the dream I was sure Riley sent bears no greater meaning than the one Damen’s already

convincedof—apatheticcryfrommysubconsciousformoreattentionfromhim?

WhatifI’mjustwastingourtime?Misusingaweekthatcouldbemuchbetterspent?
And,evenworse,whatifI’mactingjustselfishenoughtodragJudeintoittoo,whenit’ssopainfully

obvioushowuncomfortableitisforhimtobearoundDamenandme?

IswallowhardandglanceatDamen,knowingit’stimetocryuncle,timetomanifestadufflebag

stuffedwithalltheusualvacationessentialssothatwecanscramoutofhereandheadofftowhatever
destinationhewants.Justbecausewehaveaneternitytogetherdoesn’tmeanIshouldsowillinglywaste
evenafewdaysofit.Butfirst,there’sjustonelastthingIwanttotry,andI’llneedtogotothepavilionto
doit.

Hemeetsmygaze,thosedark,heavilylashed,almond-shapedeyesstaringrightintomine,hislips

partinginawaythatpromptsmetoleantowardhim,placingmyhandonhisarmwhenIsay,“Damen,I
haveanidea.”

Hisglobehalts,vanishes,andbythelookinhiseye,he’sclearlyrelievedtobefreeofit.
“Whydon’tyougofindJudeandtellhimtoquitlooking,thatIchangedmymind,Idon’twanthimto

wasteanymoretime,whileIheadforthepavilionandwaitthereforyou.”

“Thepavilion?”Hesmiles,eyesshiningwithpromise.
Inod,takingamomenttokisshisforehead,hisnose,hislips,beforepullingawayandsaying,“And

hurry!”

chaptersix

Hedefinitelyhurried.
Icantelljustbylooking.
Usuallyhe’ssoeverything-in-its-placeperfect—theposterboyforultimatecool,calm,andcomplete

andtotalcollectednessnomattertheoccasion.But,standingbeforemenow,withhisfaceslightlyflushed,
hishairfallingintohiseyes,hisclothestheslightestbitdisheveled,well,onanyoneelseitwouldhardly
beworthnoticing,butonDamen,it’sasuresignofeageranticipation.

“Well this was unexpected. Welcome. In fact, more than welcome, don’t get me wrong, but still

unexpected.”

Ihaulmyselfupfrommyslunked-downpositiononthebig,white,marshmallowy couch. Clearing

myfaceofdisappointment,IstruggletoreplaceitwithaneagernesstomatchDamen’sown—anactthat
provestobenoeasyfeatafterjusthavingfailedatmylast-ditchidea.

Still,it’stimetomoveon,I’msureofthatnow,soIforceasmileontomyface,onethatstartstofeel

realthemomentIseethefreshlypickedtulipDamenholdsinhishand.Hisfacelightsupwithagrinthat
growsinintensityashemovesclosertome,coveringthedistanceinlessthanahandfulofsteps,hisbody
appearinglikearapiddarkbluruntilthenextthingIknowhe’splacingthetulipontomylap,settlingin
besideme,andglimpsingtheremoteIstillgrasp.

“DidyoufindJude?”Iask,wantingtocovertheseriousaspectsbeforewegettoodistractedbyour

pasts.

Henods,scoochescloser,allowshisarmtoslidearoundme.
“And?Didhefindanything?”
Damenlooksatme,theslightshakeofhisheadtheonlyanswerIneed.
Buteventhoughitleavesmefeelingsomewhatdeflated(okay,maybemorethansomewhat),Idon’t

sighorgroanoranythingofthesort.Infact,Idon’tdomuchofanythingtoletonjusthowthenewsaffects
me.

Partofmeknowingit’sallforthebest—justwhenDamenandIaredoingsowell,fullycommitted

to each other like never before—just when he’s ready to whisk me away on some wonderful, exotic,
romantic(stillundetermined)vacation—well,thelastthingIneedistothrowawrenchintoourcurrent
stateofbliss—especiallyafterallthatwewentthroughtofindourselveshere.

The last thing we need is for me to lead us all off on some crazy wild-goose chase, steadfastly

ignoringtheobvious,theglaring,impossible-to-ignorefactthatallsignsclearlypointtomebeingwrong.
Wellawarethatthisisoneofthosetimeswhenit’sbesttobewrong,thatbeingrightwouldonlyendina
batchofextremeunpleasantness.

Yep,partofmeknowsexactlythat.
And,asfortheotherpart,well,it’sjustgonnahavetolearntocryuncle.

“So,whichonewillitbe?”Damenasks,wastingnotimeinstealingtheremote.
Inarrowmyeyes,frowningathiminaplayfulway.Rememberingthelasttimehedidn’tswipeitin

time,allowingmetopushaseriesofbuttonsthatrevealedatragicyetultimatelyhopefulslavelifehe’d
hopedtokeephidden.

“It’snotbecauseofthat,”hesays,misreadingthefrownandtryingtohanditrightback.Wantingme

toknow,innouncertainterms,thatIreally,trulyhaveseenitall,witnessedallofmylives,nomatterhow
bad.

ButI’mquicktowaveitaway,everythingI’vetriedsofarhasfailed,soI’mhappytolethimtake

overfromhere.

My gaze level on his, unable to keep the flush from rising to my cheeks when I say, “How about

London?”Iblush.Ican’thelpit.NomatterhowfrivolousandshallowImight’vebeen,I’mreallyquite
fondofthelifeIoncelivedasthebeautiful,dark-haired,spoileddaughterofaBritishlandbaron.Iguess
becauseIwassountroubledbackthen,sofreeofburdens.MyuntimelydemiseatDrina’shandswasthe
onlydarkspotonthatentirehorizon.

Damensquints,fingerspoisedoverthebuttons.“Areyousure?London?NotAmsterdam?”Helooks

atmewithanirresistiblepuppydoggaze.

Mylipsquirkinresponse,knowingexactlywhyDamenalwayswantstorevisitAmsterdam,despite

hisclaimthatit’sbecausehegetstopaint(artbeingalovethattrailssecondtome),Iknowbetter.Iknow
it’sbecausehegetstopaintmeasabarelyclothed,veryflirtatious,completelyimmodest,titian-haired
artist’smuse.

Inodmyconsent,thinkingit’stheleastIcandoafterallthattimeIspentboringhimtodeathinthe

GreatHallsofLearning.Andit’sjustamatterofsecondsuntilthescreenflashesbeforeusandhegrabs
holdofmyhand,risingfromthecouchashequicklyleadsmetoit.

ButjustlikeIusuallydo,Iskidtoastoprightbeforeit.FromwhereIstand,itappearstobeahard,

heavy,forebodingslab—thekindthatwouldgladlyrewardyouwithamajorconcussionforbeingfoolish
enoughtoeventrytomergeintoit.Givingnovisiblesignthatit’ssomethingthatyieldsenoughforoneto
slipinto.

And,justlikeheusuallydoes,Damenlooksatmeandsays,“Believe.”
SoIdo.TakingadeepbreathandclosingmyeyesasthoughI’mabouttodiveintoaverydeeppool,

Ipressmybodyagainstit,continuingtopushuntilwe’reclearontheotherside—untilwe’reonewiththe
scene.

ThefirstthingIdoisburymyhandsdeepintomyhair.Threadingmyfingersthroughthestrandsand

smiling at the soft silky feel of it. I love this hair. I know it’s vain, but I can’t help it, I do. Its color
consistingofthemostbeautifulblazingred,likeariotoussunsetwithjustahintofgoldtraipsingthrough.
And when I gaze down at my dress, or, more accurately, the barely there slip of flesh-colored silk that
drapesandswirlsallaroundme,precariouslyheldtogetherbyalooseknottiedatthebackofmyneck,
well,I’malwaysnewlyamazedbytheamountofconfidenceittakestowearsomethinglikethis.When
I’mhere,dressedasher,Idon’tfeeltheslightestbitshy.

ButthenI’mnolongerseventeen-year-oldEver—she’sbeenreplacedbynineteen-year-oldFleur—a

beautifulDutchgirlwithnodoubtofherbeauty,nodoubtofherself.

Nodoubtofthebottomlessloveshiningintheeyesofthedarklyhandsomeartistwhostandsathis

easelandpaintsher.

I move through the field of tulips, gracefully, easily, enjoying the feel of the soft, silky petals and

stems brushing against me, stopping in just the right spot and turning toward him, holding the pose he’s
askedmetokeep.

My gaze moving among the flowers to the cloud-streaked sky, pretending to be preoccupied,

captivated by the bounty of nature that surrounds me, when really I’m just waiting for the inevitable
momentwhenhe’llabandonthepaintingforme.

I allow my eyes to light onto his, permitting only a ghost of a smile when I see the way his brush

trembles—asuresignthatit’sjustamatterofsecondsbeforeheditchesthepleasureofcapturingmeon
canvasforthepleasureofcapturingmeinhisarms.Icanseethehunger,thesmolderingblazeofdesire
thatflaresinhisgaze.

And it’s not long before he sets his brush aside and makes his way toward me. His gait slow,

controlled,butcompletelydeliberate,thefireinhiseyesheatingtowhereIcanfeeltheirwarmthfrom
whereIstand.PretendingtobesoabsorbedintheposeI’veyettonoticehisnearness,thetingleandheat
thatflowsthroughme,intome,allaroundme—aflirtatiousgamewebothliketoplay.

Butinsteadoftakingmeintohisarms,hestopsjustbeforeme,faceuncertain,fingersquiveringashe

reachesintohispocketforthesmallsilverflask.Theonecontainingthestrange,red,opalescentbrewhe
often drinks. His eyes continuing to burn into mine, though along with the usual blur of need, there’s
somethingnewlurkingbehindit—somethingasimpossibletoreadasitistodeny.

Hisfingersshakeashegraspstheflask,liftsitinoffering.Hisbodyurgingmetotakeit,totasteit,

as his tormented gaze tells a whole other story. Belying a secret battle that wages within, until finally,
overruledbyanunnamedfear,hisexpressionchangestooneofabitterresolutionsobrutal,hereturnsthe
flask,andreachesformeinstead.

His arms circling, clasping me tightly to his chest, his body emitting such love, such reverence, I

close my eyes and sink into him. Sink into the feel of his touch, of his lips meeting mine—lost in the
wonderful, floaty, weightless feeling of being with him. Like skimming through clouds, surfing over
rainbows—wearegravitydefying,boundless.Thetwoofuslockedinthekindofdeeplylingeringsoulful
kisswecannolongermanagebackhomeontheearthplane.

Kissing in a way that, while much better than what we’re capable of back home, also bears the

restrictionsofwhattranspiredbefore.

His fingers creep upward, slipping into the flimsy silk knot at my neck. Just about to release it,

releaseme,whenI(she!)makeasmallsoundofprotestandpushhimaway.And,well,atthatmoment,I
can’thelpbutcurseher.

StupidFleur.
StupidgirlIusedtobe.
Imean,ifshewassodangconfident—socarefreeandsureofherself—thenwhydidshestophim

justwhentheygottothegoodpart,justwhentheywereaboutto…

Overcome with annoyance that the decisions I made then continue to haunt me today—determining

whatwe’recapableof,justhowfarwe’repermittedtogo—myfrustrationgrowssogreat,thenextthingI
knowI’mhurledrightoutofthescene.

Rightoutofcharacter.
RightoutofbeingFleur,andbacktobeingme,Ever.
Istandthere,eyeswide,gaspingforbreath.Amazedtofindmyselfstillpartofthescenery,ableto

observeallthatgoesonbeforeme,thoughnolongerclaimingoneofthestarringroles.

IhadnoideaIcoulddothis.NoideaIcouldwillfullyreducemyselftoanonlooker.Hadnoidea

suchathingwasevenpossible.

ButwhileI’mstandingheregawkingatthewonderofitall,Damenremainscompletelyoblivious.

Toocaughtuptonotice.Tooimmersedinthemomenttorealizethatthegirlhetrieshisbesttounwrapis
now,well,unoccupiedforlackofabetterword.

“Damen,” I whisper, though he fails to turn, fails to realize she’s just an empty, soulless shell.

“Damen,”Irepeat,abitharsherthistime,butsheesh,enoughalready.It’slikewatchingyourboyfriend
makeoutwithsomeoneelse,eventhoughthatsomeoneelseusedtobeyou.Butstill,it’stooweirdfor
comfort.It’sfreakingmeout.

He pulls away grudgingly, reluctantly, turning to me with a look that can only be described as

completeandutterconfusion.Adeepcrimsoncreepingfromhisnecktohischeekswhenherealizeshe’s
just spent the last several seconds engaged in the Summerland equivalent of a pre-teen girl practicing
kissingonapillow.

Hiseyesdartbetweenus—betweenthemoving,living,breathing,realversionofmestandingbefore

him,andtheunoccupiedandthereforesomewhattranslucentversionofFleurathisside.Andwhileshe’s
stillaboutasalluringasitgets,hercurrentstateofsuspendedanimationwithhereyesallsquinty,lipsall
puckered,hairallaskew,well,Ican’thelpbutlaugh,realizinghedoesn’tseeitquiteinthewaythatIdo
whenhefailstolaughtoo.

“What’sgoingon?”Damenfrowns,readjustingtheloosecottonshirtheworeinthattime.
“I’msorry—Ijust…”Ilookaround,doingmybesttosmotherthelaugh,knowinghe’sembarrassed

enoughasitis.“IguessIjust…”Ishrugandstartagain.“Well,I’mnotexactlysurewhathappened.It’s
like,oneminuteIwasgoingthroughthemotionsandthenextIwassofrustratedwithherforpushingyou
awaymyfrustrationpropelledmerightoutofthescene,rightoutofher.”

“And how long ago was that? How long have you been standing there watching?” he asks, when

whathe’sreallywonderingisjusthowembarrassedheshouldbe.

“Notlong.Really.”Inodvigorouslyinhopeshe’llbelieveme.
Henodstoo,obviouslyrelieved,hiscolorreturningtonormalashereachesforme.
“I’msorry,Ever.Ireally,trulyam.EverythingI’vetriedsofarhasfailed.Ican’tseemtodetermine

Roman’santidotenomatterhowhardItry.”Hegazesatmewithafacefullofdefeat.“AnduntilIcan
comeupwithsomeotheroption,somethingIhaven’tyettried,well,I’mafraidthisisasgoodasitgets
forus.Butifit’sbecomingasourceoffrustration,thenmaybeweshouldstopcominghere—oratleast
forawhileanyway?”

“No!” I look at him, shaking my head, that’s not at all what I meant, not in the least. “No, no,

that’s…”I’mquicktowaveitaway.“It’snotlikeIwasn’tcaughtupinthemomenttoo,becauseIwas.I
wasenjoyingherflirtatiousgamejustasmuchasyouwere.And,trustme,I’massurprisedasyouthat
thishappened.Imean,whileI’vedefinitelyhadtheoccasionalthoughtthatseemedoutofcharacter,thisis
the first time one of those thoughts has knocked me right out of character. I didn’t even know this was
possible—didyou?”

Helooksatmeandshrugs,alwaystoocaughtupinthemomenttohaveevenbotheredwiththinking

aboutit.

“But still, now that we’re here…” I pause, wondering if I should really go through with this, then

decidingIhavenothingtolose.“Well,thereisapointIwantedtomake,somethingthatrecentlycameto
me.”

Hewaits,waitsformetostopwiththeprefacingandgettoitalready.
I press my lips together and gaze all around, trying to organize my thoughts, gather just the right

words.Ihadn’tactuallyplannedonbroachingit,hadnointentionofgoingthere,andyet,that’snotenough
tostopmefromturningtohim,thewordsrushingforthwhenIsay,“I’vebeenthinking—okay,I’mnotsure
howtosaythis,but,youknowhoweverytimewecomeherewechoosebetweenmylives?”

Damennodspatiently,thoughhisgazebetraysjusttheopposite.
“Well,there’s a partof me thatcan’t help thinking: Whydo we alwayschoose between my lives?

WhatifbeingDamenAugustusNotteEspositowasn’tyourfirstlife?”

Hedoesn’tgape,doesn’tgawk,doesn’tflinch,shuffle,fumble,ormumbleoranyofthenervouslittle

time-stallingmaneuversIwould’vegladlybetmymoneyon.

Nope,hejustcontinuestostandthere,hisfaceacompleteblank,devoidofexpression,asthoughhe

hasnothoughtsontheideaIjustraised.LookingasthoughI’djustspokeninoneofthefewlanguages
he’snotquiteproficientin.

“Right before you got here, I used the remote to punch in the numbers—you know, eight, eight,

thirteen, oh, eight? I though it might be an important date or something—a time when we both lived
before.Andeventhoughnothinghappened,still,Ican’thelpthinkingit’saveryrealpossibility.Imean,
we both know I lived as a Parisian servant named Evaline, right? And a Puritan’s daughter named
Abigail;aspoiledLondonsocialite,Chloe;theartist’smuse,”Ipointdirectlyather,“Fleur;andtheyoung
slave girl, Emala—but what if you weren’t always Damen? What if you were once, a long time ago, a
verylongtimeago,someoneelseentirely?”

Whatifyoureincarnatedtoo?
Leavingthatlastbitunspokenbutknowinghehearditjustthesame.Thewordsswirlingallaround

us in a way that can’t be ignored, even though it becomes immediately clear that Damen has every
intentionofdoingjustthat.

His stiff shoulders and shadowed gaze are pretty much polar opposites of my glowing face and

thrummingbody.AndtryasImighttotemperit,it’snouse.I’msoovercomewiththeexcitementofthis
new idea—this perhaps undiscovered possibility—that I can practically feel the energy shimmering
aroundme.AndifIhadanaura,noimmortalsdo,butifIdidhaveone,I’mprettysureitwouldbeshining
themostbeautiful,brilliantpurplefleckedwithlotsandlotsofsparklygoldbits,becausethat’sexactly
howIfeel.

It’showIknowthatI’mright.
But,apparentlyI’mtheonlyonefeelingit.WhichmeansIwatchinjaw-droppingdismayasDamen

turnsandleavesmeinafieldofblazingredtulipswithoutasinglepartingword.

IpopoutofSummerlandandappearbackatthehouse,findingDamenlookingvisiblydeflatedashe

slumpsonthecouch.

Iglancedownatmyself,noticinghowtheflimsyslipofsilkisinstantlyreplacedwiththejeansand

bluesweaterfrombefore,justasDamen’sflowywhiteshirtandblackpantsaretradedfortheclotheshe
chosethismorning.

Buteventhoughhisclothesaretransformed,hismood,unfortunately,isnot.AndasIsurveyhisface,

searchingforahintofkindness,anopeningofsomekind,Igetnothingmorethanastonygazeinreturn.So
Iheadforanearbywallandparkmyselfthere,vowingtoleanagainstitforhoweverlongittakesforhim
tomakethenextmove.Unsurewhatangershimmore—mybreakingfreeofthescene,ortheideathathe
might’velivedbefore.Butwhicheveritis,it’sobviouslyunleashedsomekindofinnerdemonofhis.

“Ithoughtwe’dmovedpastthis,”hefinallysays,hisgazelandingonminebutonlybrieflybefore

he’spacingagain.“Ithoughtyouwerereadytomoveonandhavealittlefun.Ithoughtyourealizedyou
weren’tgettinganywhere,thatyouwerewrongaboutSummerland,thedarkdrearypartofit,theoldlady
—allofit.Ithoughtyoujustwantedtomakeastopinthepavilionsowecouldhavealittlepast-lifefun
beforeweheadedoffonvacation.Thentheminutewefinallystarttohaveagoodtime,youchangeyour
mind.WhatcanIsay?I’malittledisappointed,Ever.Truly.”

I wrap my arms around myself, as though they’ll ward off his words. It’s not like I was trying to

disappointhim;thatwasn’tatallwhatIintended.Still,Ijustcan’tshaketheideathatunravelingtheold
woman’sriddlewillleadtoahappier,brighterfutureforus.WhichisallIreallywant,andIknowthat’s

allhereallywantstoo—despitethedownermoodthathe’sin.

ButIdon’tsayanyofthat.MostlybecauseDamen—mysoulmate—theloveofmylives—isalways

theoneIcancountontodiffusemyemotionallandmineswellbeforetheyhaveachancetoexplodein
ourfaces.SotheleastIcandoisreturnthefavor.

Helooks at me,still clearly unhappy.So I keep myvoice purposely softand mellow, relaxing my

bodyandholdingmyhandsoutbeforeme,fingerssplayed,palmsopeninagestureofpeacewhenIsay,
“Are you upset because I stopped the scene and popped out of character? Or are you upset because I
insinuatedyoumight’velivedbefore,assomebodyelse?Or—orboth?Andifit’sboth,whichisupsetting
youmore?”

Iwaitforhimtorespond.Bracedfortheworst,bracedtohearjustaboutanythingatthispoint,and

yetstilltakenbysurprisewhenhesays,“Thiswholethingisridiculous.Imean,aprevious life? Ever,
please.I’vebeenaroundforoversixhundredyearsalready,doesn’tthatseemlongenoughtoyou?”

“O—kay…”Idragouttheword,intentonmakingmypoint,butknowingIneedtotreadcarefully,

this whole subject has clearly hit a nerve. “And I’ve popped in and out of existence for four hundred
years…thatweknowof.”Inod,knowingit’ssuretoupsethimbutithastobesaid.

“Thatyouknowof?”Helooksatme,choosingtotakethatpersonally.“Youthinkthere’smorethat

I’mhidingfromyou?Anotherslavelifeperhaps?”

“No.” I shake my head, quick to refute it, wanting desperately to diffuse it. “No, not at all. I was

actually thinking more along the lines of there being other lives that—that we’re not aware of. I mean,
Damen, seriously, you’ve got to at least admit the possibility. I mean, what? You think the world just
sprangupallaroundyouthedayyoucameintotheworldasDamenAugustusNotte?Youthinkyouwere
somenewlyhatchedsoulwithnopast?Nokarmatopayoff?”

His brows draw together as his eyes grow dark, but his voice remains calm, even, when he says,

“I’msorry,Ever.Sorrytotrumpyourideawiththetruth.Butthefactis,asoulhastostartsomewhere,to
be‘newlyhatched’asyoucallit.Sowhynotthenandthere?

Besides,ifthere’dbeenanotherlife,anearlierlife,Iwould’veknownaboutitbynow.Iwould’ve

seenitintheShadowland.”

“So,you’retellingmeyoudidn’t?”I’munwillingtoletitgo,despitetheundeniablepointhe’sjust

made,despitethesteamrunningoutofme.

“Ididnot.”Henods,facesolemn,resolute,determinednottogloatwiththevictoryofwinningthis

one.

I sigh, close my eyes, and shove my hands deep into my pockets. Recalling my own trip to

Shadowland,theblurofimagesthatplayedoutbeforeme—allaroundme—neveronceseeinganything
thatwasn’texpected—nopriorlivesIwasn’talreadyawareof.

NootherversionofmethatwentbythenameAdelina.
Nothingthattookplaceintheyear1308.
MylidsliftingonlytofindDamenstandingbeforeme,hisgazesoftandgentle,pressingabundleof

tulipsintomyhand.ThewordsI’msorry,writteninanelaborateboldpurplescriptthathoversbetween
us.

Metoo,Iwritejustunderneath.Ididn’tmeantodisappointyou.
“Iknow,”hewhispers,hisarmsmovingaroundmeasIclosemyeyesandleanintothehug,savoring

thefeelofhisbodyagainstmine.“AndIknowI’mgoingtolivetoregretthis,butyoucanhaveyourweek
back.Really.InvestigateyourheartoutandI’lldowhatIcantohelpyousearch.Butwhentheweekis
over,Ever,you’reallmine.I’mmakingsomeseriousvacationplans.”

chapterseven

“WhenIagreedtohelpyousearch,Ithoughtwe’dbeintheGreatHallsofLearning.Whatarewe

goingtodohere?Setupcampforthenextsixdays?”Helooksatme,faceaghastbytheverythoughtofit.
Having assumed his days of roughing it, of going without the things he’s grown accustomed to, like
magick,andmanifesting,nottomentionindoorplumbing,weresolidlybehindhim,he’smorethanalittle
dismayedtofindhimselfhere.“Whatifshedoesn’treturn?Whatthen?”Hesettlesinbesideme,hisbody
heavingalittlemoreforcefullythannecessary,oratleastitseemsthatwaytome.Hismovementscausing
the plastic tarp to sink and shake, resulting in a disgusting slurping-type sound as the ground burps and
settlesbeneathus.

Asoundthatsetsmeoffinafitofgiggles,Ican’thelpit.Buthejustshakeshisheadandrollshis

eyes,totallyandcompletelyoverit.

Havingbeensmartenoughtomanifesttwobigplastictarps—onetositon,andonetoshieldusfrom

theconstantonslaughtofrain—alongwithafewotheressentialsjustbeforereachingthispoint—thepart
ofSummerlandwheremagickgoesunrecognized,andmanifestingdoesnotexist—Ican’thelpbutthink
weshould’vemadesomethingmore—likeafullyloadedRVperhapsthatwecould’veparkedofftothe
side.Still,I’mdeterminedtomakethebestofit,towaititoutuntiltheoldladyshowsupagain.

AndshebettershowuporI’llneverlivethisonedown.
The ground continues to sink and slosh every time one of us makes even the slightest adjustment,

forcingmetoswallowawholenewsetofgigglesandreturnmyfocustoDamenwhenIsay,“Insteadof
worryingaboutwhatyou’lldoifshedoesn’tcome,maybeyoushouldstartthinkingaboutwhatyou’lldo
whenshedoescome.Imean,afterall,isn’tthatwhywe’rehere?”

He looks at me, swipes a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his forehead when he says,

“Honestly,Ever?TheonlyreasonI’mhereisbecauseI’veswornmyeternalallegiancetoyou.Youknow
that part about ‘for better or worse’? I figure this must be the worse part, which means it can only get
betterfromhere.”

Iglanceathim,temptedtomakesomecrackaboutusnotbeingmarried,butdecideit’sbetternotto

pushmyluck,soIletitdrop.

“So what are you going to do? If she comes, I mean?” Damen leans back and gazes up at the tarp

hangingoverus,nomagick,nomanifesting,nothingbettertodo.

“I’m going to confront her head-on. I’m going to ask her to stop speaking in riddles and get to the

point.I’mgoingto—”

Helooksatme,waitingtohearmore.Butthereisnomore.That’sasfarasI’vegottenwiththeplan.

SoIfoldmyhandsinmylapandenditwiththat.

“Okay,andbetweennowandthen?”Heliftshisbrow.
I look at him, my face a blank until I remember the duffle bag I’d manifested earlier. I run off to

retrieveit,droppingitbeforehimandwatchingashesitsup,perksup,andpeersinside.Rifflingthrough
asupplyofmagazines,acoupleofpaperbacks,adeckofplayingcards,someboardgames,andseveral
chilledbottlesofelixir.

“Idon’tgetit,”hesays,seemingalittleconfusedbythestash.“What’sallthis?”
“It’salittlesomethingIliketocall,‘makingthebestofanotsogreatsituation.’”Inod,holdingmy

breathwhenhehesitates,stills,thendecidestogowithit.Liftingthetopoffaboardgameandgoingabout
themotionsofsettingitup,Isettleinbesidehim.

Stretching my legs out before me until they’re nearly even with his, glancing all around, on the

lookoutforher,butseeingonlytheusuallandscapeofgrayskies,drenchedearth,andarainthatrefusesto
stoporslowdown,Ipleadasilentwishforhertoshow,soonerratherthanlater,thenreturnmyfocusto
Damen,motioningforhimtotakethefirstroll.

chaptereight

Threegames,onenap(Damen,notme),andtwoandahalfbottlesofelixirlater,sheappears.
And I mean, she just—appears. Like, one minute it’s just us, no sign of anyone else, and the next

she’sstandingbeforeus,thoseancienteyesfocusedonmeasthoughthey’dneverleft.

“Damen!”Ispareamomenttoglanceathim,seeingthewayhestirsinhissleepandstartstoroll

over.Igrabholdofhisleg,givingitone,twogoodshakesasIrepeat,“Damen—wakeup!She’shere!”

Sayingitasthoughthemeresightofherholdsthepromiseofsomethinggreat—likeI’djustspotted

Santawithasleighfullofpresentsandafleetofflyingreindeer.

Damenboltsupright,allowinghishandaquickswipeofhiseyes,clearingthesleepbeforereaching

forme.Adelaythatcauseshimtomisscontact,thechancetopullmebacktohim,asIhaulmyselftomy
feetandmakemywaytowardher.HavingnoideawhatI’llsay,butI’vewaitedtoolongintherainto
misstheopportunity.

“You…”shebegins,herarmslowlylifting,thoughI’mquicktostopherrightthere.Noneedtogo

intofull-onchantmode,notwhenwe’veallhearditbeforeandreallydon’tneedtohearitagain.

“Aboutthat…”Istandbeforeher,carefultokeepacushionofafewfeetbetweenus,eventhoughat

her advanced age I’m pretty sure she’s ill equipped to harm me in any real way. “I’ve heard the song,
memorizedthelyrics,andtrustme,Imeannodisrespect,butdoyouthinkwecouldjustcommunicatein
English?Or,atleastthekindofEnglishI’musedto,thekindthatactuallymakessense?”

Myeyestraveloverher,takinginthesilverwispsofhair,thestartlingeyes,theskinthatappearsso

fragileandthinitlooksasthoughitmightsnag.Searchingforareaction,somesignthatshetookoffenseat
my words, but unable to find any response other than a rheumy old gaze that switches to Damen as he
claimsthespacebymyside.Hisshoulderssquared,legssteady,feetplacedjustso,readyinghimselfto
springintoaction,dowhateverittakestodefendmefromthisstrangecentenarianshoulditcometothat.

Athoughtthatseemssosillyonthesurface,Icouldeasilyburstintoyetanotherfitoflaughterifthis

wasn’tsoserious.

Iriseuponmytoes,well,asmuchasonecanwhenknee-deepinmuck,rememberinghowoneofthe

lasttimesIsawher,MisaandMarcosurprisedmebysteppingoutfrombehindher,butfromwhatIcan
see,todaythey’renothere.

Sofarit’sjustDamen,thecrazyoldlady,andme.And,fromwhatIcantell,shedoesn’tseemthe

slightestbitsurprisedtofindusbothwaiting.

I’m about to speak again, determined to move this thing forward and get what I came for—

determinedtoclearmyconscienceoftheoverwhelminglynaggingdoubtthatDamenmightberightafter
all—that this is all some sort of cruel cosmic joke—that I’m being played in the very worst way—that
there’snowayeitherofuslivedbefore—whenshelooksatmeandsays,“Adelina.”

That’sit.Shejustsays,“Adelina.”Thenlowersherlidsandbowseversoslightly,herpalmsheld

fasttothecenterofherchest,themovementdirectedatmeasthoughsheistheworshipperandI’msome
kindofhalloweddeity.

“Um,see,thethingis,”Istart,unsurehowtorespondtosuchanawkwardgestureandeagertomove

pastit,pretenditdidn’thappen.

“Ihavenoideawhatyou’retalkingabout.MynameisEverandthisisDamen—”Damenshootsme

alookofabsolutehorror,unhappyatbeingpulledintoit.SoIshoothimafrown,takingamomenttotack
onaneyerolltogoalongwithit,returningmyfocustoherwhenIadd,“Asyoualreadyknow,”shooting
Damen another quick look, reminding him that his identity is hardly a secret where she’s concerned. In
fact, she seems to know all about him, or at least his full name anyway. “And, I have no idea who this
Adelina is, or what she could possibly have to do with me, so maybe you can fill me in, what do you
think?”

“IamLotus,”shesays,voicelikeawhisperashergazelightsonmine.
O-kay,notexactlywhatIasked,butstillprogress.Iguess.
“Damenisthereason.”Herheadturnstowardhim.“Yourloveisthesymptom.”Sheglancesback

andforthbetweenus.“Butyou,Adelina,arethecure.Thekey.”Shesettlesonme.

Ohboy.
Just because I keep myself from sighing, doesn’t mean I keep myself from thinking: Here we go

again—morecrypticramblingsthatmakeabsolutelynosense.

“Listen, here’s the thing, like I just said, my name is Ever, not Adelina. In fact, I’ve never been

Adelina.I’vebeenEvaline,Abigail,Fleur,Chloe,andEmalabutneverAdelina.Yougotthewronggirl.”

Isighandturnaway,annoyedbythegame.CatchingaglimpseofreliefinDamen’sgaze—aglimpse

thatsoonturnstorage—whentheoldwomanstepsforwardandgrabsaholdofmysleeve.

“Hey—”Damen’svoiceissharp,butLotusignoreshim,hergriptighteningonmyarmasshepeers

atmeintently.

“Please. We’ve waited so long. Waited for you, Adelina. You must return. You must make the

journey.Youmustfindthetruth.It’stheonlywaytoreleasethem.Releaseme.”

“WhereareMisaandMarco?”Iask,thoughIhavenoideawhy.Maybeit’sbecausethey’retheonly

thingsthatfeeltangibleandrealinthisotherwisesurrealscene.

“Therearemanywhoawaityou.Thejourneyisyours.Yoursandonlyyours.”
“Whatjourney?”Iask,voicetremblinglikeasob.“I’msorrybutnoneofthismakesanysense.Ifit’s

soimportantformetodothis,eventhoughI’mnotAdelina,thenmaybeyoucanquitwiththepuzzlesand
explainitinawaythat’llmeansomethingtome.”

“The journey back.” She bows her head again, leaving me with a view of silvery hair with no

discernablepart.

“Backtowhere?”Iplead,faceflushingwiththemakingsofhysteria—andknowingIneedtodialit

downanotch,ormaybetwo.

“Backtothebeginning.Tothesceneyou’veyettosee.Backtoitsveryorigin.Youmustseeit.Learn

it.Knowit.Allofit.Though,youmustbewarneditisonlythestart.Thejourneyislong,arduous,butthe
reward very great. The truth begets true happiness—but only the pure of heart may seize it.” Her gaze
switchingtoDamenassheadds,“Thejourneyisyoursandyoursalone,Adelina.Damenisnotwelcome
there.”

Damencutsin,havingheardmorethanenough.“Listen,”hesays,“Idon’tknowwhatyou’retryingto

doherebut—”

Hisangerhaltedbythesurprisingsightofherpalmrising,followedbytheshockofitpressingtohis

cheek. It’s like, one minute he’s yelling, a good two feet yawning between them, and the next, she’s

practicallypressedupagainsthim,herrheumyoldgazeboringintohis,transmittingsomething,somekind
ofmessageormemorymeantonlyforhim.

Iwatch,fascinated,wonderingjustwhatitisthattranspiresbetweenthem.Knowingonlyonething

forsure,thatwhateveritis,it’scausinghertoglowinawaythatpromptsastreamoflighttoradiateall
around.Thecolorspectrumsointense,it’sasthoughitoriginatesfromsomewheresodeep,itcan’thelp
butseepoutwarduntiltheglimmersurroundsher.

Butwhilesheglows,Damendoestheopposite.Hisnormallytall,leanformappearstodarkenand

shrinkuntilhe’sbarelyashellofhimself.

“DamenAugustusNotteEsposito,”shesays.“Whydoyoudenyme?”
Iwatch,startledtoseehimsoflusteredhe’sunabletorespond,unabletofindhisownvoice,much

less fight his way out of whatever it is that she shows him. Just about to intervene when he shakes his
head,straightenshisspine,andyankshimselfrightoutofherspell,pullinghimselftogetherenoughtosay,
“You’recrazy.You’rewrongandyou’recrazy.AndwhileIhavenoideawhatyourdealisorwhatyou’re
trying to do here, I do know you better stay away from Ever. Far, far away, do you hear? Otherwise, I
can’tbeheldresponsibleforwhathappenstoyou,regardlessofhowoldyouclaimtobe.”

Butifheexpectedhertobackofforrunawayscared,well,hemust’vebeenjustassurprisedasI

was to see her smile instead. The two of us watching her face brighten, her cheeks widen, her lips
spreadingandliftingenoughtodisplayastartlingarrayofteeth—startlinginthatagooddealofthemare
eithergraying,yellowing,orentirelymissing.

Herattentionshiftingasshemovesfromhimtome,takingmyhandinhersoftpaperydryone,her

wordsconfidentandsurewhenshesays,“Hisloveisthekey.”

Ilookather,releasemyselffromhergrip.“IthoughtyousaidAdelinawasthekey?”
“Itisoneandthesame.”Shenods,asifthatmadeanysense.“Please.Pleaseconsiderthejourney.It

istheonlywaytoreleaseme.

Toreleaseyouaswell.”
“The journey back—back to the beginning?” I say, sarcasm blooming. “And just where does this

journeystart?Wheredoesitend?”Ilookather,noticinghowshestillappearslitfromwithin.

“Thejourneybeginshere.”
Shepointsdownatourfeet,ormaybethemud,Ican’tbetoosure.I’mmoreconfusednowthanI

waswhenthisstarted.Butwhenoureyesmeetagain,Iknowtheinstructionisliteral—thejourneybegins
intheverymuckwherewestand.

“Anditendsinthetruth.”
AndbeforeIcansayanotherword,beforeIcanbegforalittlemoreclarification,Damenswingshis

armaroundmywaistandpullsmeaway.

Hurling the words over his shoulder, not bothering to look back when he says, “No one’s going

anywhere.Don’tbotherusagain.”

chapternine

“Sowhatdoyoumakeofit?”Avaswingsherwavyauburnlocksoverhershoulderandlevelsher

browneyesonme,loweringherselfontooneoftheoldplasticfold-upchairsJudedraggedintohisoffice
inanattempttoaccommodateusallinthisimpromptumeeting.

“Whatdoyouthinkitallmeans?”
IventureaglancetowardDamen,who,havingrefusedachair,choosestoleanagainstthewall,arms

crossedbeforehim,facebearingalookthatreadsloudandclear:Ithoughtwewerethroughwiththis?I
thoughtIwarnedhertostayaway?Ithoughtyousaidyouweremerelyplanningtoswingby,pickupa
bookortwo,andbeonyourway?

Meeting it with one of my own that says: You promised me a week and I’m holding you to it—

unless,ofcourse,youwanttotellmewhattheoldwomanshowedyou?

Hefrowns,looksaway,justasIfiguredhewould,soIturnawayfromhiminfavorofAva.
“Ihavenoideawhatitmeans,”Iadmit,doingmybesttopretendIdidn’tjusthearDamensigheven

thoughthatwasclearlyhisintent.

Judeglancesbetweenus,hisgazecautious,correctlysensingthere’stroubleinparadiseandwanting

nothingmorethantosteerclearofit.Still,sincehealsopromisedtohelp,hetakeshisplacebehindhis
desk,tiltshischairwayback,andpretendstobelostindeepthoughtashestaresintospace,whenreally,
he’sjustdreamingofbeingsomeotherplace.Summerlandwouldbemybestguess.

“So,shethinksyou’reAdelina,orthatyouwereAdelina,or…whatever…”Milesfrowns,tapping

his pen against the pages of the leather-bound journal I gave him before he left for Florence, busying
himselfwithintensenotetaking,tryingtomakesenseofit,whileIbusymyselfwithtakinghimin.Noting
howhisfreshlycuthairmakeshimappearalotmoreliketheoldMilesagain,theonewhosowillingly
befriendedmeonmyfirstdayofschool,thoughthebabyfatheshedwhenhewenttoactingcampinItaly
isclearlygoneforgood,transforminghimfromcomfortablycuteto,well,really,reallycute.

“Yeah.”Inod,stillnotusedtotalkingaboutthissoopenly,oratleastnotwithhim.
Eventhoughhe’sallcaughtuptospeed,prettymuchinformedofallthemoresordiddetailsofour

livesthankstobothRoman’sinterferenceandthefactthathewastherethenightIkilledHaven.Caughtin
hersnare,eyesabouttopoprightoutofhishead,asshewentaboutthebusinessoftryingtochokehimto
death.

Bykillingher,Isavedhim.Andbydoingso,Ilostallhopeofevergettingmyhandsonthatantidote.
Still,I’ddoitagainifIhadto.He’soneofmyverybestfriends,andhedidabsolutelynothingto

deservethatfromher.

“I have no idea who she is.” I frown. “All I know is that the old lady calls herself Lotus, and is

convinced I’m Adelina.” The words mumbled in a way that makes it sound as though I was talking to
myself.

YankedfrommymireofconfusionwhenRomyandRaynepipeupandsay,“Weneedtostartatthe

beginning.”

Ilookatthem,soperplexedbyitallthatIdon’tevenknowwherethatis.ButbeforeIcanrespond,

theyspringforthfromtheirchairs,rushdownthehall,andintothestore.Returningjustafewmoments
later,theyreclaimtheirseatsandpeeratthebookthey’veproppedopenonRomy’slap.

Rayne’s voice piercing the silence when she leans over her twin sister, her huge brown eyes

wideningunderherdarkfringeofrazor-slashedbangsasshesays,“Okay,yousaidhernamewasLotus,
right?”

Inod.
“So,accordingtothis,thelotusflowergrowsoutofthemud,strugglingthroughthemucktomakeits

waytowardthelight.And,onceitreachesthatlight,itblossomsandgrowsintosomethingextraordinary,
somethingvery,verybeautiful.”

Isuckinmybreath,realizingwemayhavejustmadealittleprogressatlast.Mud,muck,crazyold

ladynamedLotus—itallfits,butwhatdoesitmean?

“It’s a symbol for awakening,” Ava says, interrupting Rayne, who was about to speak again.

“Awakeningtothespiritualsideoflife.”

“But it also represents life in general,” Jude says, bringing his chair forward, settling his elbows

onto his desk, and pushing his dreadlocks off his face as he gazes at us. “You know, overcoming the
hardshipsandstruggleslifebringsinordertoblossomintoyourtrueself—thebeautifulbeingyouwere
destinedtobe.”

He looks at me when he says it, and there’s nothing I can do to stop the flush from rising to my

cheeks. I know all too well about Jude’s hardships and struggles, having seen them firsthand the day I
pretendedtoreadhispalmsoIcouldprovemypsychicprowessandsecureajobinhisstore.Isawit
unfold as clearly as though I was standing right there alongside him. Gifted with psychic abilities his
parentsworkedhardtodeny,helosthismotheratayoungage,onlytohavehisgrievingfathershovea
gun in his mouth and soon follow. Abandoning Jude to a series of intolerable foster families until the
cycleofabusebecamesounbearablethestreetseemedlikeamuchbetteroption.Hislifesavedtheday
Linafoundhim,sawthepromiseinhim,andmanagedtoconvincehimthathewasn’tafreak,butrathera
uniqueandgiftedsoul.Thatthelimitedviewsofothersshouldhavenobearingonthepersonhealready
was,themanhe’dbecome.

AndnowLina’sgonetoo.
Ipressmylipstogetherandlookathim,wonderinghowhe’shandlingthat,ifit’swhyhe’sspending

somuchtimeinSummerland,orifthat’smoreduetome—hisattempttogetoverthechoicethatImade.

Hisgazemeetsmine,holdingforonlyamoment,butstilllongenoughformetowishIcouldlove

him.Hedeservestobeloved.ButmyheartbelongstoDamen.Despiteourcurrentconflict,I’venodoubt
heandIaremeantforeachother.Thisisjustaminorroughpatchwe’llgetthroughinnotime.

“Theyalsomakeforaprettypopulartattoo,”Judecontinues.“Peoplewho’veovercomehardtimes,

struggledtheirwayoutofthemucksotospeak,liketousethemasasortofmarkerofhavingsurvivedthe
journeyandcomeouttheotherside.”

“Doyouhaveatattoo?”Rayneasks,eyeswideningassheleanstowardhim,practicallyfallingout

ofherseatwithexcitement.

“Oneortwo.”Henods,facebearingtheslightesthintofasmile.
Shegapes,hardlyabletobelieveheplanstoleaveitatthat,causinghertoask,“So,whatarethey?”
“One’sanOuroboros.It’sonthesmallofmyback.”
AndeventhoughIcanfeelhisgazeflitmyway,Ideflectthelookentirely.I’veseentheOuroboros.

Oh,yeah,thatonedidnotgounnoticed.

“AnOuroboros?”Shesquints,glancingatheridenticalsister,whomirrorsherineverywayexcept

fortheclothing.Romyfavorspink,Rayneprefersblack,andsometimes,whenthey’renotaround,Irefer
tothemasGood&PlentybecauseitmakesDamenlaugh.“Ithoughtthatwasevil,”sheadds.

“It’snotevil,”Damensays,decidingtocontributesincehehasvirtuallynochoicebuttobehere’til

it’sover.“It’sanancientalchemicalsymboloflife,death,rebirth—immortality.”Heliftshisshoulders,
gazingaroundtheroombutsettlingonnooneinparticular.“Awholeslewoftheologieshaveadoptedit
againandagainthroughouthistory,allofthemattributingtheirownmeaningstoit,butit’snotevil.

Although Roman and his rogues adopted it and made it seem that way, on its own, it bears no ill

will.”Henods,meetsthewallagain,hisspeechhalted,oratleastfornowanyway.

“O-kay…”Raynesmirks.“IfIeverhavetowriteatermpaperonit,I’llgostraighttoyou,butfor

now,backtothetattoos.”Sheshakesherhead,fallingjustshyofrollinghereyes.Hercompleteandtotal
adorationofDamenistheonlythingthatspareshimfromthat.

“What’stheotherone?”sheasks,turningbacktoJude.
“TheotheristheJapanesesymbolforthelotusblossom.Ithoughtanactualflowerseemed…wel…

alittlegirly.”

Shepeersathim,browarchedhigh.
“I was younger, less evolved, what can I say?” He lifts his shoulders and swipes a hand over his

hair.

“And—so—where’s that one?” she ventures, but Jude just flashes his palm and shakes his head,

terminatingthatparticulartopicrightthenandthere.

RayneturnstoAva,shootingheradark,angryglare,hereyesnarrowingevenfurtherwhenAvajust

laughsinreply.AndfromwhatIcanhearofthethoughtsswirlingbetweenthem,Rayne’sbeenbeggingfor
atattooforthepastseveralweeks,andcan’tunderstandwhyshe’sforcedtowaitanotherfiveyearsuntil
she’s eighteen. Having been around for three centuries already, the majority of which was spent in
SummerlandlivingasarefugeefromtheSalemWitchTrials,shedoesn’tseewhyhertimeservedthere
can’tberecognizedhere.

Butit’shardlymyargument,soItuneoutjustasquicklyasItunedin,morethanalittleeagertoget

backontrack.

“Soanyway,whataboutthesong?”Milesasks.“Howdiditgoagain?Somethingaboutrisingfrom

themudtowardthesky,orthedreamysky,or…orsomething?”

“Fromthemuditshallrise,liftingupwardtowardvastdreamyskies,justasyou—you—youshall

risetoo,”Ising,myvoiceechoingthesametuneLotusused.

“Soobviouslyshethinksyou’relikethelotusflower,”Romyadds,whilehertwin,stillmiffedabout

thetattoo,andneverhavingbeenafanofminedespitetherecentbearhugshegavemeinSummerland
afterseeingI’dsurvivedHaven’sattack,slumpsdowninherseatandlevelshersteelygazerightonme.
Clearly doubting the truth of such a thing, and choosing then and there to side with Damen, thinking for
suretheoldladyhasgottobecrazytoseethatkindofpromiseinme.

“Andtherest,howdiditgo?”Milesprompts.
“Fromthedeepanddarkdepthsitstrugglestowardthelight…”
“Again,lotusflower.”Romynods,tappingthepageofthebookwithherpinkpaintednail,seemingly

pleasedwithherself.

“Desiringonlyonething—thetruth!Thetruthofitsbeing.”
“Your destiny.” Ava nods. Dashing any hope that she just might know what that is when she adds,

“Whateverthatmayturnouttobe.”

“Okay,and…”Miles’sheadbobsashispenracesacrossthepage,writingitalldown.
“Um,okay…”Istall,tryingtorememberwhereIleftoff,whereitgoesfromthere.“Ohyeah,thenit

goes:Butwillyouletit?Willyouletitriseandblossomandgrow?Orwillyoudamnittothedepths?
Willyoubanishitswornandwearysoul?”

“So basically you’re the lotus blossom, or, at least the keeper of the lotus blossoms, and you’re

either gonna let them fulfill their destiny and bloom, or, more likely, you’re gonna screw it all up and
damnthemtothedepths.”

“Rayne!”Avascolds.
But Rayne just shrugs, claiming, “What? It’s not like I said ‘damn’, the song did. I was merely

repeating.”

“That is not what I meant and you know it. Your intent far outweighs your words.” Ava’s face

darkens.

“Sorry,” Rayne mumbles, and though she looks at me when she says it, it was clearly for Ava’s

benefit.

“Youknowwhatthisremindsmeof?”Damensays,promptingusalltoturn,surprisedtohearhim

speak up again. “It reminds me of 1968 when the Beatles released the White Album after their stay in
India.Everyonewastryingtointerpretthelyrics,searchingforsomekindofdeepermeaning,and,asit
turnedout,mostofthemwerewrong—someofwhichendedintragicresults.”

“CharlesManson.”Judenods,leaningbackinhisseatagain,hisfingerspickingattheancientMayan

symbolonthefrontofhisT-shirt.“Hethoughttheentirealbumcontainedanapocalypticmessage,calling
foraracewar,andheusedittojustifykillingthewealthy,whichheandhisfamilyoffollowersdid.”

Ishudder.Ican’thelpit.Thewholeideaistoocreepy.Still,that’shardlywhatwe’redoinghere,

andI’veaprettygoodideaDamenknowsit.

“While that may be all well and true,” I say, carefully avoiding his gaze, “there’s definitely a

message here. And, according to Lotus anyway, there’s also a journey that only I can make.” Then,
surprising just about everyone, including myself, I look right at Jude when I say, “All that time you’ve
spentinSummerland,allthattimeyou’vestudiedyourpastlives—our past lives—have you ever seen
oneIdon’tknowabout?Onethatsurprisedyou?OnewhereIwasnamedAdelina?”

Iholdmybreath,allowingmyselftoexhaleonlywhenheshakeshisheadandsays,“Sorry,no.”
“Okaythen.”Damennods,divorcinghimselfofthewall,signalingthatthismeetingisnowofficially

adjourned.“Ithinkwe’vecoveredaboutallthatwecanhere,no?”

AndeventhoughIwanttoprotestthattheansweris,indeed,no,Ijustnodandgowithit.
PartlybecauseIknowhe’sonlydoingwhathethinksisright.TryingtoprotectmefromLotus,the

darkpartofSummerland,andheck,maybeevenmyself.

Andpartlybecause,well,he’sprobablyright.Thereprobablyisnomoretodohere.Eventhough

I’mreluctanttoadmitit,itappearswe’veuncoveredallthatwecan.

Oratleastfornowanyway.
Asfortherest—well,I’mhopingit’llrevealitselfsomewherealongthejourney.

chapterten

“Areyougoingin?”
Damenstandsbesideme,rightbesideme.HisbodysoclosetomineIcanfeelhisswarmoftingle

andheat,hiswarmbreathbrushingsoftlyalongthecurveofmycheek.

“No,”Iwhisper.“I—Ican’tdoit.”Iswallowhard,wrappingmyarmsaroundmyselfasIcontinue

topeerinside.Feelingliketheworstkindofcreepystalkerforstandingouthereinthedark,spyingon
SabineandMunozinsteadofjustgoingaroundtothefront,openingthedoor,andgoingintojointhem
likeanormalpersonwould.

ButI’mnotnormal.
Notevenclose.
And that’s pretty much what keeps me crouching out here in the dark, on the wrong side of her

window.

If you’re not going in, can you at least tell me what we’re doing out here? The words thought

insteadofspoken,hedoesn’twanttoriskbeingheard.

I’msayinggood-bye.Isigh.I’mpreparingforafuturewithouther.
ThoughI’mfacingthewrongwaytoseehisexpression,Icanfeelthewayhisenergyshifts,theway

itbroadensandexpandsuntilitswallowsusboth.Providingawonderful,warm,hug-likeembracethat
lingerswellpastthepointwhenhisarmcatchesupandfollowssuit.

“Ever…”hewhispers,handsclaspedatmywaist,lipspushingthroughmycurtainofhairtolandon

my cheek. And even though it seemed like something might follow, he chooses to end it right there.
Allowingthekisstodowhatwordsfailto.

Wehuddletogether,watchingasthehappycouplepicksattheremainingscrapsofdinner.Eachof

themurgingtheothertoclaimthelastsliceofpizzabeforeSabinewavesherhandandreachesforher
wineglassandMonozlaughsanddigsin.

But despite their playful attitude, it’s not hard to locate the glint of remorse in Sabine’s gaze, the

flickerofdefeatathavingtakenachance,issuedanultimatum,onlytofailattheonethingthattrulymeant
somethingtoher.

Alookthat’salmostenoughtorousemefrommypositionatthewindowsoIcanhurlmyselfinthere

andshowherthatallisokay,allisforgiven.

Almost,butnotquite.
Instead, I remain right in place, observing their date. She still in her suit, which, coupled with the

pizza,signalsalatenightatwork;whileMunozisdressedfarmoreinformally,wearingapairofbroken-
injeansandalong-sleevedwhiteshirtwiththecuffsrolledhalfwaytohiselbows,enjoyingalittletime
offfromschool,usinghiswinterbreaktoworkonhisbook.

Theonehewasabouttogiveupon.

TheoneItoldhimwouldbepublishedsomeday.
Well, at least some good came of my abilities. They may have alienated Sabine, but at least I

managedtoconvinceMunoztonotgiveuponhisdream.

AndI’msolostinthethought,andDamen’ssolostintheactofcomfortingme,thatneitheroneofus

ispreparedforMunoztoburstthroughthesidedoorwithanoverstuffedtrashbaginhand.

“Ever?”Hestandsbeforeus,Heftybagdanglingbyhisside,squintingasthoughhestoppedtrusting

hiseyesthemomenttheylandedonme.

Iflashmypalm,mygazepleadingwithhistokeepquiet,keepthenewstohimself,keeponheading

forthetrashasthoughhedidn’tseeusstoopedbeneaththewindowsill.

Butit’salottoaskofsomeonewho’sbeensearchingforyou.Andwhilehemakesforthetrashcan

anddropsthebagin,he’squicktocirclerightbacktowhereDamenandIstand.

“Wherethehellhaveyoubeen?”Hiswordstakemebysurprise,mostlybecausetheydidn’tcome

outnearlyasangryastheycouldhave.Theysoundedmorelikeahugesighofrelief.

“I’mstayingatDamen’s,”Isay,asthoughthatsomehowcoversthefullextentofmyabsence.“And

Sabine’s fully aware of that since Damen called to tell her as much.” I glance at Damen, glimpsing the
waveofshockthatplaysoverhisface.Hedidn’trealizeIknewthat.

“Sabine’sbeenworriedsick.You’vegottogointhere—you’vegottoletherknowyou’reokay.”He

glancesbetweenus,hisbrainstilltryingtocatchupwithwhatheseesbeforehim.

“YouknowIcan’tdothat.”Myvoiceisflat,matteroffact.“Andyouknowwhy.Infact,youknow

waymorethanyoushould—waymorethanIeverintended.”Isighandshakemyhead,rememberingthe
day, just a few weeks before, when, in a frantic rush toward a disaster I didn’t foresee, I manifested a
bouquetofdaffodilsandablackBMWrightbeforehiseyes.Basicallyshowinghimrightthenandthere
thatthefullextentofmyweirdness—mypowers—gofardeeperthanthepsychictelepathheknewmeto
be.Hesawmerunlikethewind,makethingsappearwheretherewasonceonlyair—andI’mprettysure
thataftergettingovertheshockofthat,heprobablystartedwonderingjustwhatelseImightbecapable
of.Oratleastthat’swhatIwould’vedoneifourpositionswereswitched.

“Are you part of this too?” Munoz asks, shifting his focus to Damen as though looking for a nice

convenientplacetodumpalltheblame.

“Iamthereason,yes,”Damensays,withouthesitation,nopauseofanykind.
And I can’t help but gape, so startled by the words, the way they echoed what Lotus said earlier.

Wonderingifthat’swhathemeant,orifit’sjustacoincidencethathiswordsmirroredhers.

Munoz ponders, tries to make sense of it. He was headed in one direction when Damen went in

another,andnowhe’sforcedtocatchup,oratleastmeetsomewhereinthemiddle.

“Ialwaysthoughttherewassomethingverystrangeaboutyou,”Munozfinallysays,hisvoicelow,

almostdreamy.

Damennods,andI’venoideahowhetookthat,hisvoice,likehisface,givesnothingaway.
“It’salmostasthoughyou’renotfromthistime,”Munozadds,asthoughmusingtohimself.
“Iamnotfromthistime.”Damenlooksrightathim,thereplysosimple,sodirect,sounexpected,it

takesmybreathaway.

Munoz nods, taking the answer in stride, acting as though he just might believe him when he says,

“Andso,whichtimeareyoufrom,then?”

“One of your favorites.” Damen’s lip curls, allowing for a ghost of a smile. “The Italian

Renaissance.”

Munozgulps,nods,andglancesallaroundasthoughheexpectstofindfurtherexplanationplantedin

thegarden,floatinginthepool,ormaybeeventapedtothelidofthebarbeque.Processingthestatement

withmorecalmthanIeverwould’veexpected,actingasthoughhe’snotatallsurprisedtofindhimself
havingsuchaseriousconversationaboutsuchapeculiarsubject.

“So,alchemyisrealthen?”heventures,hittingthebull’s-eyeinawaymostpeoplefailto.
Imean,whenitwasmetryingtopindownDamen’sstrangeness,Iwentstraightforvampire.Miles

didtoo.ButapparentlyMunozisnotnearlyasinfluencedbythecurrentpopculturephenomenon,andso
heshotstraightforthetruth.

“Alchemyhasalwaysbeenreal,”Damenadmits,hisfacecontrolled,voicesteady,givingabsolutely

nohintastohowmuchthisiscostinghim—thoughIhaveaprettygoodidea.

Forsixcenturieshe’sfoughttokeepthetruthofhisexistenceasecret,onlytomeetupwithmeinthis

lifetime and watch the whole thing unravel like a moth-eaten sweater. “Real, yes—but not always
successful.” Munoz’s eyes light on Damen, considering him in a whole new way, as Damen nods in
agreement.“Andyou,Ever?”Munozlooksatme,tryingtoseemeinawholenewwaytoo.Butdespite
allofmyunmitigatedweirdness,I’mclearlyaproductofthemodernworld,there’snogettingaroundit.

Ishakemyhead,liftmyshoulders,andleaveitatthat.
“Wow.There’sjustsomuchtotalkabout—somuchIwanttoaskyou—”
IpeeranxiouslyatDamen,hopingMunozwon’tlaunchintoawholestringofinquiriesthatDamen,

forwhateverreason,willfeelcompelledtoanswer.

But,asluckwouldhaveit(somethingIhaven’thadmuchoflately,butI’llhappilytakeinanyform

thatitcomes)Sabinesavesmebycalling,“Paul?Everythingokayoutthere?”

Hesucksinhisbreathandglancesbackandforthbetweenus.AndsinceIcan’triskspeaking,can’t

risk having her hear my voice coming from just outside her window, I settle for shaking my head, and
shootinghimadeep,pleading,meaningfullook.

Overcome with relief when he says, “Yeah, I’m… fine. Just enjoying the night, doing a little

stargazing,searchingforCassiopeia,youknowhowIliketodothat.I’llbeinsideinasecond.”

“Should I join you?” she asks, her voice lowered, seductive, leading straight into something I so

don’twanttowitness.

“Nah,it’sprettycoldouthere.HoldthethoughtandI’llmeetyouinside,”heanswers,muchtomy

relief.

Hegivesusathoroughonce-over.Hislipspartingasiftosaysomethingmore,butIjustshakemy

head,closemyeyes,andquicklymanifestabouquetofdaffodilsIurgehimtogiveher.

“WhatamIsupposedtotellher?WhatshouldIsay?”hewhispers,castingacautiousglancetoward

thewindow.

“I’dpreferyounotsayanything,notmentionitatall,”Itellhim.“But,ifyoufeelyouhaveto,then

justtellherIloveher.TellherI’msorryforallthetroubleI’vecaused,andtonotspendanothermoment
feeling guilty about anything she might’ve said out of frustration and anger. I know it sounds cold, and
probablyprettyawfulfromyourpointofview,butpleasejusttrytotrustmewhenIsaythatit’sbetterthis
way. We can’t see each other again. It’s impossible, she won’t accept it, and there’s just no way to
explain.”

Then before Munoz can react, before he can take a stance, make a promise one way or another,

Damensqueezesmyhand,pullsmealongthestonepath,andoutthesidegate.

ThetwoofusfadingintothenightuntilMunozcannolongerseeus.
Thetwoofusrefusingtolookback,knowingit’sbettertolookforward,towardthefuture,thanto

longforapastthat’sgoneforever.

chaptereleven

Since it’s our last night together—or at least our last night for an indeterminate amount of time

anyway—I’mhopingtodosomethingspecial.

Somethingmemorable.
SomethingthatDamencanlookbackonwithasmile.
Andyet,itprobablyshouldn’tbetoomemorablesinceIcan’taffordforhimtocatchontothefact

thatI’mwithholdingsomethingI’mnotquitewillingtomentionjustyet.

While I made up my mind to set off on Lotus’s journey not long after having left Summerland,

Damen’snotexactlycluedintothatfact.

And since getting him clued in will no doubt lead to an argument of mammoth proportions, I’m

hopingtokeepthenewstomyselfuntilIhavenochoicebuttoshareitwithhim.

Sowhilehebusieshimselfwiththebusinessofbrushinghisteethandgettingreadyforsleep,Islip

between the sheets and try to come up with something with which to surprise him. But a moment later,
whenhepausesinthedoorwaylookinglikeagloriousvisionwrappedinbluesilk,thebestIcandois
gulp,stare,andmanifestasingleredtulipthatfloatsfrommyhandtohis.

Hegrins,closesthedistancebetweenusinlessthanahandfulofsteps,andslidesinbesideme.His

fingerssoftlytracingthelineofmybrowashepushesmyhairfrommyface,gathersmeintothecrookof
hisarm,andsettlesmesnuglyagainsthim.MycheekpressedhardagainsthischestasIclosemyeyesand
losemyselfinthehumofhisheartbeat,thealmostfeelofhislips,thewayhishandsplayacrossmyskin.
Tossing my leg over his, I anchor him to me, concentrating on his essence—his energy—his being—
determinedtobrandeverylastdetailofthismomentontomybrainsoitneverslipsaway.

AndeventhoughIwanttospeak,tosaysomethingmeaningfulandsignificant,somethingtomakeup

for anything bad that might’ve passed between us earlier, with the way his hands smooth and soothe—
withthewayhisvoiceisreducedtoafaintmurmurthatplaysatmyear—it’snotlongbeforeI’mlulled
awayfrommywakingstateandintoadeepdreamlesssleep.

Iwaituntilmidmorningtotellhim.
Wait until the showers are taken, the clothes donned, and we find ourselves downstairs in his

kitchen, sitting at the breakfast table, enjoying some chilled bottles of elixir while Damen scans the
morningpapers.

IwaituntilIhavenomoreexcusestodelaywhatIknowmustbesaid.
It’scowardly,Iknow,butIdoitanyway.
“So,whatisthis?Daytwoorthreeofyourweekofresearch?”Helooksup,foldshispaperinhalf,

and flashes me an irresistible smile as he tilts the bottle to his lips. “Because I think I lost track.” He
wipeshismouthwithhishand,thenhishandonhisknee.

Ifrown,tippingmybottlefromsidetoside,watchingtheelixirsparkandflareasitracesuptothe

rimthenbackdownagain.Gnawingmylip,tryingtofigureoutjustwheretostart,thendecidingit’sbetter
to dive in, that there’s no reason to delay the inevitable when all paths ultimately lead to the same
destination.Idiscardtheusualpreemptivepleasof:Pleasedon’tbemad,or,justasineffective:Please
hearmeout,infavorofthecleanlystatedtruth,saying,“I’vedecidedtogoonthatjourney.”

Helooks at me,face lifting, eyesbrightening, the sight ofit filling mewith instant relief—a relief

that’sshortlived,vanishingthemomentIrealizehemistookmyuseoftheword“journey”forthevacation
he’splanning.

“Oh, no, not… not that,” I mumble, feeling about this big when I see his face drop. “I meant the

journeythatLotusreferredto.ThoughifthingsgoasIwellasIhope,thenweshouldhaveplentyoftime
forthattoo.”MyhandsflopinmylapasItrytoforceasmileontomyface,butitdoesn’tgetveryfar.It’s
afalsemoveonmypart,andheknowsittoo.

Heturnsaway,seeminglyspeechlessatwhatIjustsaid.Butbythewayhisfingersgriphiselixir,by

thewayhisjawtightensandclenches,Iknowhe’satnolossforwords,he’smerelyattemptingtogather
andsortthem.Hewon’tstaysilentforlong.

“You’reserious.”Hefinallyfacesme.Thewordssoundingmorelikeastatementthantheaccusation

Iexpected.

Inod,quicktochaseitwithanapology.“AndI’msorry.Iknowyou’reprobablynotveryhappyto

hearthat.”

Helooksmeover,arranginghisfaceinawayIcan’tread.Hiswordscareful,measured,whenhe

says,“No,Ican’tsaythatIam.”Thetoneexhibitinganenormousamountofself-controlhisenergycan’t
seem to mimic. Even though he has no visible aura, I can feel his vibration. I can feel his pulse
quickening.

Hestartstospeakagain,butbeforehecangettothewordsIflashmypalmandstophimrightthere,

saying,“Listen,Iknowwhatyou’regoingtosay,trustmeIdo.You’regoingtotellmeshe’scrazy,thatit’s
dangerous,thatIneedtoignoreherandmoveon,togiveyousomemoretimetofindawayforustobe
abletotoucheachotheragain…”Ipauseforabeat,notallowingenoughtimeforhimtorespondbefore
I’matitagain.“Buthere’sthething,it’snotjustaboutusbeingtogetherinthewaythatwewant.It’sabout
mydestiny.

My fate. My reason for being—the reason I keep coming back, being born over and over again. I

havetogo,there’sreallynochoice.

And while I know you don’t like it, and while I know you won’t like it no matter how good an

argumentIwage,I’mwillingtosettleformeregrudgingacceptance.Basically,I’llsettleforwhateverI
canget.BecauseDamen,whilethere’sdefinitelyagoodchancethatshe’sstark-ravingcrazy,there’salso
justasgoodachancethatshe’sontosomethingreal.AndIjustknowinmyheartthatthisiswhatIneedto
—no,scratchthat,IknowinmysoulthatthisiswhatI’mmeanttodo.It’slikeshesaid,it’sadestinyonly
Icanfulfill.AndwhileIwishyoucouldjoinme,whileIwishthatmorethananything,shemadeitvery
clearthatyoucan’t.And…”Igulp,thelumpinmythroatlikeahot,angryfireball,butstillIpushpastit
andadd,“AndIjusthopeyoucanfindawaytoacceptthat,evenifyoucan’tgetaroundtosupportingit.”

Damennods,takinghistimetoformulateareply.Thrustinghislegsoutbeforehim,crossingthemat

theankleashisfingerstracetherimofthebottle.“So,whatyou’retellingmeisthatnothingIcansayor
dowillstopyoufromgoingthroughwiththis?Fromsettingoutonyourown?”

I lower my gaze, thankful that our conversation has steered far from the screaming match I

envisioned,andyetinsomewaysI’msurprisedtorealizeit’sworse.Impassionedarguingisprettyeasy
tohurdleonceenoughtimehaspassed,butthis,thissortofgrudgingacceptanceIthoughtI’dbehappyto

get,well,itleavesmefeelingsad,lonely,anddepressinglybleak.

“Andwhendoyouplantoheadoffonthisjourney?”
“Soon.” I nod, forcing myself to look at him when I add, “Pretty much now. No reason to delay,

right?”

Heburieshisfaceinhishands,spendingafewsilentmomentsrubbinghiseyes,doinghisbestto

avoidme.Andwhenhedoeslookupagain,hestaresoffinthedistance,pastthemeticulouslylandscaped
yard, past the pool, past the ocean beyond, to some troubling mental landscape viewable only to him,
carefullyshieldinghisthoughts.

“Iwishyouwouldn’tdothis,”hesays,thewordssimplebutheartfelt.
Inod.
“Butifyouinsist,thenIinsistongoingwithyou.”Helooksatme.“It’stoodangerous—too…”He

frowns,pusheshishairoffhisface.

“Toovague,toouncertain—Ican’tjustletyoutrotoffintothemuckonyourown.Ever,don’tyou

see?You’remywholeworld!Ican’tjustallowyoutoheadoffonsomecrazyoldlady’sjourney!”

His eyes meet mine, showing me the full extent of his determination. But I’m determined too, and

Lotus’sinstructionswerecrystalclear:It’smyjourney—mydestiny—Damenisnotwelcomethere.AndI
can’thelpbutthinkthatthere’sareasonforthat—Ican’thelpbutthinkthatmaybethistime,it’suptome
toprotecthimbyinsistingIgoitalone.

AndI’mjustabouttosayasmuchwhenhereachesacrossthetable,reachesformyhand,andsays,

“Ever…”Hisvoicecrackinginawaythatforceshimtoswallow,clearhisthroat,andstartagain.“Ever,
whatifyoudon’treturn?”

“OfcourseI’llreturn!”Ipracticallyjettisonoutofmychair,slidingallthewaytotheedge,hardly

believinghe’deventhinksuchathing.

“Damen,Iwouldneverleaveyou!Sheesh,isthatwhat’sgotyousoupset?”
“No,”hesays,voicesteadiernow.“Iwasthinkingmorealongthelinesof:Whatifyoucan’t come

back?Whatifyougettrapped?Lostinthemuck?Whatifyoucan’tfindyourwayout?”Hisstrickengaze
meetsmine,andit’sclearthathe’salreadyexperiencingsomeimagined,futurelossdespitethefactthat
I’mstillhere,stillsittingbeforehim.

Butit’snotlikeIdon’tgetit.Infact,Icompletelyunderstand.
Havinglostmesomanyprevioustimes,he’sterrifiedatlosingmeagainjustwhenhewassurehe

hadmeforeternity.Thesheerdepthofhisemotionrobbingmeofbreath,leavingmespeechless,humbled,
withnoeasyreply,noeasywaytocomforthim.

“Itwon’thappen,”Ifinallysay,hopingtoconvince.“YouandIaremeanttobe.It’stheonlything

I’mabsolutelysureof.AndwhileIhavenoideawhattoexpect,IpromiseI’lldowhateverittakestofind
mywayback.Seriously,Damen,nothingcankeepusapart—oratleastnotforlong.Butfornow,Ihaveto
go.AndIhavetogoitalone,Lotuswasclearaboutthat.Soplease,pleasejustletmedothis,pleasejust
letmeseewherethisleads.Ican’trestuntilItry.AndwhileIknowit’salottoask,Ireallywishyou
wouldtrytounderstand.Andifyoucan’tdothat,thenIwishyou’datleasttrytosupportme.Canyoudo
that?”

But even though my voice practically pleads with him to look at me, to respond in some way, he

continuestositinsilence,lostinhisownmentalscenery.

Choosingtotakeawildleapoffaithandhopinghe’llcomealongfortheride,Iadd,“Damen,Iknow

howyoufeel,believemeIdo.ButIcan’thelpthinkingthere’smoretoourstory.Anentirelifetimewe’re
bothcompletelyunawareof.Ithinkit’stheclue,ormaybethekey,asLotusputit.Thekeythat’llleadus
tothereasonbehindalloftheobstacleswe’vebeenplaguedwithforallofthesecenturies,includingthe

onewefacenow.”

But,likeIsaid,itwasaleap.
AleapthatlandsflatonitsfacewhenDamenrisesfromhisseat,movesawayfromthetable,and

looksatmebriefly.Hisgazebleak,hisvoicecold,clipped,tellingmehe’samillionmilesawaywhenhe
says,“SoIguessthat’sitthen.Yourmindismadeup.InwhichcaseIwishyouallthebest,andIlook
forwardtoyourreturn.”

chaptertwelve

“Yousureyoudon’twanttocomein?”
I shake my head, meeting Jude’s gaze for a moment before shifting my focus to the barren winter

stemsthatonceborethebeautifulpinkandpurplepeoniesthatlinedthepathfromthedrivetohisdoor.

“So,you’rereallygoingthroughwiththis?”
I nod. Realizing I should probably try to answer at least one of his questions verbally, but at the

moment,I’mfeelingfartoochokeduptospeak.Unabletokeepmymindfromreplayingthatlastscene
withDamen—his final words,what he saidabout the possibility ofmy not returning,getting lost in the
muck,unabletofindmywayback.Thewayhepulledmeintohisarmsjustafter,stoppingjustshortof
stormingoutoftheroomtocirclebacktome,hisbodymovingtowardminealmostagainsthiswill.His
embracesowarm,soall-encompassing,soloving,so…brief,itservedasacompleteandtotalcontrast
forhiswords,whichwerenothingshyofcoldandperfunctory.

And even though I could sense his inner struggle, even though I recognized the signs of someone

striving to detach from an outcome they’re convinced can only end in heartbreak, I couldn’t help but
expectsomethingmore.

EventhoughIknewIhadtogoitalone,eventhoughIinsistedthejourneywasmineandminealone,

Istillthoughtforsurehe’datleastescortmetoSummerland.

Pushingthethoughtfrommymind,Iresolvetofocusonthepresent—onthespacewhereJudestands

beforeme,thetwoofusflankingeithersideofhisdoorway.

“So where’s Damen, then?” He peers at the empty space to my right then eyeballs me carefully.

“He’sgoingwithyou,right?”

Ilowermygaze.Alltooawareofthehorriblewaymythroattightensasmyeyesstarttosting—the

usualwarningsthatafloodoftearsisinthemaking,butIstopitrightthere.Iwon’tletmyselfcry.

Nothere.
NotinfrontofJude.
NotforsomethingI’veelectedtodo.
Finally pulling myself together, I say, “It’s just me. This is something I’ve got to do alone. Lotus

madethatabundantlyclear.”Liftingmyshouldersasthoughit’snobigdeal,andhopinghe’llbuyittoo.

Heleansagainstthedoor,handsshoveddeepintohisfrontpockets.Andfromthelookofhisquirked

mouth,andfromtheslantofhissplicedbrow,it’sclearhe’sdoingjusttheopposite,tryingtodetermine
whatcouldbegoingonbetweenDamenandme.

Butthat’snotwhyI’mhere,soI’mquicktowaveitaway,myeyesmeetinghisasIsay,“Listen,Ijust

wantedtostopbyandsaythanks.

Thanksforbeingsuchagoodfriendtomethroughoutallofthese…lifetimes.”
He frowns and looks past me, focusing on the street just beyond, emitting some kind of sarcastic

sound,acrossbetweenagruntandagroan,beforehesays,“Ever,youmightwanttosaveyourgratitude
forsomeonewhodeservesit.Noneofmyactionshaveprovedtobetheleastbithelpful.Infact,it’spretty
muchtheopposite—I’vemadeeverythingworse.SeemsI’vegotareallybadhabitofmessingthingsupin
aprettybigway.”

Since there’s no point denying it, I’m quick to agree, though I’m also quick to add, “Still, I’m not

convincedthat’syourfault.Ifanything,I’mprettysureit’syourdestiny.”

Hetiltshishead,scratcheshisstubble-linedchin.“Mydestinyistomessupyourlife?”Heshoots

measkepticallook.“I’mnotreallysurehowIshouldfeelaboutthat.”

“Well, no, not just that. I’m sure there are much better things in store for you—things that have

nothingtodowithme.WhatImeanis,maybethat’sourcombineddestiny,youknow?Likemaybeyouand
Ikeepmeetingthroughoutallofthesecenturiesforareasonneitherofushaseverthoughtofbefore…”I
peer at him, trying to get a read on how that went over, but his head is leaning in a way that causes a
tangleofdreadlockstofallsideways,obscuringhisface.“So,anyway…”Ipause,startingtofeelmore
thanalittlefoolishforhavingcomehere.“I’mhopingthejourneywillrevealthatandmore.”

“So,thisisitthen?”Hepusheshishairaway,allowinghistropicalgazetolightonmine.
“Lookslike.”Itrytosmile,butjustbarelymakeit.
He nods, body jerking ever so slightly, like he’s holding something back—caught in a struggle

betweensayingwhathewantsandwhathisbettersensewillallow.Finallysettlingonthelatterwhenhe
says,“ThenIwishyouGodspeed.”

Hemovesawayfromthedoor,movesasthoughhejustmightembracemebutchangeshismindatthe

verylastsecondanddropshishandstohissides.

Andbeforethemomentcangetanymoreawkwardthanitalreadyis,Ibreachthespacebetweenus

andhughimtightlytome.

Holdingtheembraceforamoment,amomentthatfeelssomehowsuspended,thenIpullawayand

endit.AwareofthewaveofJude’senergy,hisusualcallingcardofcool,calmserenitythatcontinuesto
floodthroughme.

Holding,lingering,strangelyenduring,asImakemywaytowardmycar,andheadformynextsetof

good-byes.

AfterstoppingbyMiles’sonlytolearnhewasn’thome,IswingbyAvaandthetwins’onlytofind

they’regoneaswell.ThenIstopbyHaven’soldhouse,theoneshesharedwithherlittlebrotherAustin
andtheirparents.Parkingonthestreet,seeingaFORSALEsignstuckinthelawnandanopenhousein
progressasalonglineoflooky-loosstreaminandout.

And I wonder if her parents even realize she’s gone, that she’ll never return. Or, if they’re still

looking past her, all around her, everywhere but at her, just like they did when she was still here. And
sinceI’malreadymiredinadeeplybluemood,IdecidetodrivebySabine’s,butthat’sallthatIdo.I
don’tstop.Idon’tgoinside.Ialreadysaidasilentgood-byelastnight.

Andwithnofurtherreasontodelay,Icruisedownthenextstreet,abandonmycaratthecurb,close

myeyes,andmanifesttheportalthatleadsmetoSummerland.Landinginthevastfragrantfieldwithits
pulsatingflowersandshiveringtrees,andstealingamomenttoenjoythepure,unadulteratedsplendorof
itall—theunmitigatedmassofbeauty,love,andeverythinggood—beforeIfindmywayoutandventure
towarditsoppositeside.Theplacewherethetreesareallbarren,flowersdon’tgrow,andmagickand
manifestingdonotexist.

MysuspicionsconfirmedthemomentInoticethethintrailofmuckleadingfromHaven’smemorial

allthewaytothedarksideIfirststumbledupon.

It’sgrowing.
Encroaching.
ButeventhoughI’mnotatallsurprisedtoseeitlikethat,Ihavenoideahowtostopit.Noideawhat

I’lldoonceIarrive.AndthoughItriedtomentallypreparemyselfforjustabouteverypossibilityofwhat
Imightfind,IfailedtopreparemyselffortheoneIstumbleupon.

Istop,myeyeswideinwonder,jawpracticallydroppedtomykneeswhenIseeJude,Ava,Romy,

Rayne,and…Miles?—standingtherewaitingforme.

TheonlypersonwhocouldmakethisreunioncompleteisDamen,butsadly,he’sabsent.
“Howdid…”MyvoicetrailsoffasIgapeatMiles,thebiggestsurpriseofthemall.
“Well, it took some doing, more than a few tries for sure, but between the four of us pooling our

energy and Miles’s own fervent desire to see you off on your journey, in the end, we managed to pull
through.”

“Ihopeyouatleastshowedhimaroundthenicerpartsfirst.”Icringe,thinkinghowhemust’vefeltto

gothroughallthatonlytostepthroughthebeautiful,shimmeringveilandintosuchadark,dreary,bleak
place.

“Later,”Avasays.“Wewereintoobigofahurrytocatchyoubeforeyouleave.”
“But—why?” I glance at Jude, correctly assuming he called them, convinced them all to meet me

here,justafterIlefthimstandinginhisdoorway.

“Because you deserve a proper send-off,” Romy says, nudging her sister hard in the gut until she

nodsinreluctantagreement.

“I—Idon’tknowwhattosay.”Iswallowhard,warningmyselfnottocryinfrontofthem.
“Youdon’thavetosayanything.”Milesgrins.“YouknowI’mmorethanabletohandlethetalking

forallofus.”

“True.”Ilaugh,stillgettingusedtoseeinghimhere.
“Oh,andwebroughtgifts.”Avanodsexcitedly.
Itrytolookpleased,thoughthetruthisIhavenoideawhatI’lldowiththem,orifI’llevenbeable

to bring them where I’m going—wherever that is. The thought extinguished the moment Rayne steps
forward,motionsformetolowermyhead,anddrapesasmallsilvertalismandanglingfromatanleather
cordaroundmyneck.

I grasp the pendant between my forefinger and thumb, lifting it to where I can better see it, unsure

howI’msupposedtointerpretthemessagebehindit,especiallyconsideringitcamestraightfromher.

“AnOuroboros?”Igape,myvoicesharp,mybrowraisedinquestion.
“It’sfromRomyandme,”shesays,eyeswideandserious.“It’sforprotection.Damenwasright.It’s

notatallevilandwe’rejusthopingit’llremindyouofwhereyoustarted,whereyou’llendup,andwhere
wehopeyou’llfindyourselfagain.”

“Andwhere’sthat?”Iask,myeyesneveroncestrayingfromhers.
“Backhere.Withallofus,”shesays,hervoicefullofsincerity.Herdualnature,herabilitytorunso

hotandcold,especiallywhereI’mconcerned,issoconfusingIcan’tseemtogetagriponher.Reminding
me of the old man I ran across that time in Summerland, the one who insisted the twins bore opposite
personalitiestotheonesI’vegrownusedto.ClaimingRaynewasthequietoneandRomythestubborn
one,andIcan’thelpbutwonderjusthowoftentheyplaythisgame.

Before I can formulate some kind of reply, Ava comes forward and hands me a small shiny

crystallinestonemadeofablue-greensobrilliantitremindsmeabitofJude’seyes.

“It’s cavansite,” she says, studying me closely. “It enhances intuition and psychic healing. It also

promptsdeepreflection,inspiresnewideas,helpsridoneselfoffaultybeliefs,andaidsininducingthe
memoriesofone’spriorlives.”

Oureyesmeetandholdassheshootsmeameaningfullook,andIcan’thelpbutwishDamenwere

aroundtohearthat.

Inod,slipthestoneintomypocket,andturntowardJude.NotbecauseI’mexpectingsomethingfrom

him,butbecauseIcantellbythewayhisauraflares,thewayhisenergyradiates,thathehassomethingto
tellme.

“I’mcomingwith,”hesays.
Isquint,unsureIheardhimcorrectly.
“Seriously.That’smygift.I’mmakingthejourneywithyou.Youshouldn’thavetogoitalone.Idon’t

wantyoutogoitalone.”

“But—youcan’t,”Isay,thewordsslippingoutbeforeI’veevenhadachancetostopandconsider

them.Butforsomereason,itseemsliketherightthingtosay.IfDamencan’tgo,thenJudecan’teither.
Besides,there’snoneedtoinvolvehiminthisanymorethanIalreadyhave.“Trustme,Iappreciatethe
sentiment.Really,Ido.ButLotus’sinstructionswereclear—Ineedtodothisalone.Withoutyou,without
Damen,withnoonetorelyonbutmyself.It’smydestiny,onlyIcanmakethejourney.”

“ButIthoughtourdestinieswereentwined?Yousaidsoyourself.”
Ipause,unsurehowtoreply.Glancingfromthetwins,toMiles,andthenovertoAvaandbackto

Jude,abouttoreiteratewhatIjustsaid,whenIsenseher.

Lotus.
She’shere.
Iturn,mygazeinstinctivelyfindinghers,noticinghowshelooksevenolderthanthelasttimeIsaw

her, more delicate, frail, somewhat feeble even. Her movements slow but determined, her slim frame
stoopedslightlyforward,herhairfreedfromthebraidshenormallywears,lefttohangloosearoundher
shoulders in long silvery wisps. The waves floaty, springy, providing the usual halo effect—its color
blending into skin so pale it makes the blue of her eyes pop like two startling chunks of aquamarine
droppedintoasnowy-whitelandscape.AndunliketheothertimesIsawher,thistimesheleansheavily
onto an old carved wooden walking stick. Her fingers wrapped around the curved handle, arthritic
knuckles blanching and bulging. Yet her face still lifts as she makes her approach, her rheumy old eyes
takingmeinasherlipscurlindelight.

“Adelina.”Shebows,stoppingjustafewfeetshyofme,hergazefixedonmineasthoughshe’syet

tonoticeIhavecompany.“Youareready?Readytomakethejourney?Readytoreleaseme?”

“IsthatwhatI’mdoing?”Istudyherclosely,herwordsplantingaseedofdoubtthathasmesecond-

guessingmypurposealloveragain.

“We’vebeenwaitingforsolongnow.Onlyyoucanmakethejourney,onlyyoucanrevealthetruth.”
“Butwhyonlyme?”Iask.“Whycan’tDamencome—orJude?”
“Please,” she whispers, voice low and throaty, pressing her left palm to her heart as she bows

towardme,athingoldbandshewearsonherringfingerglintinginawayIcan’tmiss,andIwonderif
she’salwayswornit,andifso,whyIfailedtonoticeituntilnow.“Youmustchoosetobelieve.”

Forthefirsttimesinceshearrived,Iglancebacktowardmyfriends,seeingthemlookinguponher

withsuchaweandreverenceIcan’thelpbutwonderiftheyseesomethingImiss.

ButwhenIturntoLotusagain,Iseeitasclearlyastheydo—thebeautifulgoldenglowthatemanates

deepfromwithin,growingandexpandinguntilitglimmersallaroundher.

“Youarereadythen?”Shelooksatme,herfacesoluminousIjustnod,unabletoresist.
Liftingonegnarledoldfinger,shebeckonsformetofollow—totakethefirststeptowardadestinyI

can’tyetimagine.

Iturnbacktomyfriends,turntowavegood-bye,onlytofindMiles,Ava,andthetwinswavingback,

andJudestandingrighttherebehindme.

AndjustasI’mabouttoexplainyetagainwhyIneedtogoitalone,Lotusstops,glancesoverher

shoulder, and takes him in as though seeing him for the very first time. Her eyes moving over him as
thoughshesomehowrecognizeshim,takingmebysurprisewhenshewaveshimforward,invitinghimto
joinus.

“Thisisyourdestinytoo.Theanswersyouseekarenowwithinyourreach,”shesays,hervoiceboth

sageandtrue.

I glance between her and Jude, wondering what the heck that might’ve meant, but she’s already

turnedback,andfromthelookinhiseyes,he’sjustasconfusedasIam.

Sheleadsusthroughthemuck,throughaforestofburnt-outtreeswithcruelbarrenbranchesbearing

notraceoffoliagedespitetheconstantsupplyofrain.HerfeetmovingwithsurprisingsuretyasIstruggle
tokeepup.Keepingmyeyesgluedtothebackofherhead,notwantingtolosesightofher,awareofthe
slip-slopofJude’sfeetashetrudgesbehindme.

AndeventhoughI’mgratefulforthecompany,Ican’thelpbutthinkitshouldbeDameninstead.
Damenshouldbemakingthejourneyalongsideme.Damen,whowantedtocome,wantedtokeepme

safe—despitethefactthathedisagreedwithmycominghereinthefirstplace.

HavingJudeherefeelswrongineveryway.
Wepushon,followingLotusforwhatfeelslikemiles,andI’mabouttoaskhowmuchfartheritis,

whenwereachit.

IknowitthemomentIseeit.
The landscape is basically unchanged, the ground is still muddy, the rain still falls, and the

surroundingareaisasdrearyandbarrenasever—butstill,there’sjustnodenyingit.Theairisdifferent.
Cooler. The temperature dropped so low I wish I’d worn something a little heavier than an old pair of
jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. But even more noticeable is the way the area just before us seems to
glistenandglow—toglimmerandgleam.Lookinglessliketheshimmeringveilthatmarkstheportalto
Summerland,andmorelikeachangeinatmosphere.Thespaceturnedsuddenlyhazy,swirly,allowingfor
onlyablurofshapes,amerehintofwhatmightliebeyond.

Lotusstops,liftsherhandtoherbrow,andsurveysthescene,asIstandrightbesideher,andJude

besideme,wonderingifhe’llinsistoncontinuingnowthatwe’rehere.

IturntoLotus,hopingforsomesortofinstruction,advice,aheads-up,wordsofwisdom—willingto

settle for just about anything she’s willing to give, but she just points straight ahead, motions for me to
keepmoving,tomakethatbigleapbetweenthespacewhereIstandandthegreatunknownjustbeyond.

“ButwhatwillIdowhenIgetthere?”Iask,practicallyreducedtobegging.
ButinsteadofaddressingmesheturnstoJudeandsays,“Goforward.Learn.Youwillknowwhenit

istimetoreturn.”

“But…I’mgoingwithEver…aren’tI?”Heglancesatus,hisfaceamaskofconfusionthatmatches

myown.

Lotusgesturesimpatiently,gesturesahead,andasIfollowthedirectionofhercrookedoldfingers,

I’mforcedtoblinkafewtimestotakeitallin,toseewhatshesees.

Still,despitemyefforts,allIgetisablurryhologram.Likeashadowymiragethatcouldrepresenta

villageanditspeople,butcouldjustaseasilybesomethingelseentirely.

“Yourjourneysbeginhere.Whereitendsisforyoutodiscover.”
Judegraspsmyhand,determinedtosupportme,togowithme,butI’mnotreadyjustyet.

MuchasIcareforJude,Damenrulesmyheart.He’stheoneIwantbesidemeonthisjourney—on

anyjourney.

Lotus touches my arm, presses a small silk pouch into my palm. Curling my fingers around it, she

says,“Everythingyouthinkyouneedisinhere.Youdecidewhatthatmeans.”

“But how? How will I know? How will I—” I start, a million unanswered questions storming my

brain.

Notgettingveryfarbeforeshelooksatmeandsays,“Trust.Believe.Itistheonlywaytoproceed.”
She nudges me forward, nudges me with a surprising amount of strength. And I can’t help it—I

glance back again. My eyes scanning the area, desperately seeking Damen, as if the sheer force of my
longingwillmagicallytransporthimhere.

Butnotfindinghimanywhere,Isquaremyshoulders,tiltmychin,andtakethatfirststep,Juderight

besideme,myhandgraspedinhis.

The two of us moving tentatively toward something we can’t quite make out, thought it’s not long

beforewe’repulledalongbytheirresistibleforceofit—likeawhirlingmassofenergy,avortexthat’s
suckingusin.AndI’mjustabouttomergeintoit,whenIfeelit.

Thatfamiliarswarmoftingleandheat.
Soonfollowedbytheplaintivecryofmynameonhislips.
Iturn,catchingtheflashofpaininhiseyeswhenheseesmewithJude,assumesI’vereplacedhim.
IdropJude’shand,watchinghelplesslyasJude’sswallowedintothewhirl,whileIstrivetohold

on,tostraddletwoworlds.

Myfingersgrasping,yearning,reachingforDamen,andthoughhemovesfast,it’snotfastenoughto

keepourfingersfromjustbarelygrazing,thetipslightlybrushingasourgazebrieflymeets.Andthenext
thingIknow,Ican’tstopit.

I’myankedoutofhisreach.
Lostintheswirl.
Hurtlingintoanunknownplace—intoanunknowntime.
AwarethatDamenishere—somewhere—butunabletofindhim.
Alreadymakingthetripback.
Wayback.
Backtotheverybeginning.

chapterthirteen

“Adelina!”
Thevoicethatcallstomeishushed,whispered,takinggreatcaretobeheardonlybyme.
“Adelina,mysweet,pleasetellmeyouhavecomeforme!”
I move away from the corner, out of the darkness and into the fading stream of light just beyond.

Fighting to keep my tone calm, stoic, I say, “I have come for you, Alrik.” Bowing low before him, my
hands buried in the folds of my skirt so he can’t see them shake, desperate to hide my excitement, to
appearrespectable,ladylike,sedate.

ButthemomentIliftmyhead,themomentIseethewayhisdarkbrowneyeslightonmine,hisgaze

partiallyobscuredbythetumbleofdarkwavesthatfallpasthisheavyfringeoflashes,pasthisstraight
nose, along the curving angle of his beautifully sculpted cheekbone—when I see the way his long, lean
formfillsthedoorway—myfacebetraysme.

Mygazesparks,mycheeksflush,andmylipsbegintoquiverandcurl,unabletocontainthesurgeof

extremepleasureandjoythemeresightofhimbrings.

Andifhisexpressionisanythingtojudgeby,thenheclearlyfeelsthesameway.Icantellbytheway

hepausesinthethreshold,thewayheliftshistorchhigh,allowingthelighttospilloverme.

Allowinghiseyestodevourme.
Icantellbythewayhisbreathgrowslabored,thewayhisjawtightens,thewayhisgazecloudswith

desire—webearthesameeffectoneachother.

Andwhenheclosesthespacebetweenusinahandfulofstepsandhugsmetightlytohim,whenhe

coversmyfacewithhiskiss,hislipscapturingmine,fusing,melding,exploring—allofmydoubtsslip
away.Ifocusonlyonthis.

Here.
Now.
Myentireworldshrinkinguntilnothingelseexists.
Nothingotherthanthecrushofhislips,thewarmthofhisskin,andtheswelloftingleandheatthat

alwaysmanagestofindmewheneverhe’snear.

Refusingtothinkaboutafuturethatcanneverbeours.
Refusingtothinkaboutsuchcruelthingsasclassandpositionandobligationandthestrangegameof

chancethatbirthorderbrings.

Refusingtothinkaboutthefactthatdespitethedepthofourlove,wecanneverbelongtoeachother

in the way that we want. A truth that was decided long before we had a chance to meet, our futures
determinedbyothers,notus.

DespitethefactthathelovesmeandIhim—wewillnevermarry.
Can’tmarry.

He’sbeenbetrothedtoanothersincehewasaboy.
Onewhosefamilyboastsfarmorewealththanmine.
Onewhohappenstobemycousin,Esme.
“Adelina,”hewhispers,mynamelikeaprayeronhislips.“Oh,Adelina,tellmeyouhavemissed

measmuchasIhavemissedyou.”

“Yes, m’lord.” I pull away quickly, the bliss of a few moments before rudely smothered by the

realitywefindourselvesin.RemindingmeofwhoIam—apoorrelationtothedistantcousinhe’llmarry;
whoheis—thefuturekingofourtinycitystate;andwherewebothstand—inanempty,darkenedstallin
hisstable,theairthickwiththesmellofhorsefleshandhay,apileoffreshlylaidstrawatourfeet.

“M’lord?”Hequirkshisbrow,allowinghisdarkeyestograzeovermeuntilmeetingmyblueones,

leaving me to wonder if he sees the same things in mine as I see in his: disappointment, doubt, and a
ferventbutfutiledesiretochangethestatusquo.“Whatisthis?Isthathowyouseemenow,aslord?”

“Well,aren’tyou?Inprincipleanyway?”
It’scheeky,Iknow,butit’salsothetruth.Ihappentoknowhelikesthataboutme,thefactthatIdon’t

playtheusualgames,especiallywherecourtshipisconcerned.I’mneithersilly,norflirty,andsometimes,
Itendtoveerfarmoretowardtomboythangirly.ButI’mforthright,direct,andItrymybesttotellitlike
itis.

Itrymybesttolivewithoutregrets.
He cups my face in his hands, traces his finger from my temple to my chin, where he presses his

fingerandlifts,forcingmyeyestomeethis.“Whatisthereasonforallthisformality?Youactasthough
we’vejustmet.Andeventhen,ifmemoryserves,youwerehardlyformalthatday—youpushedmeright
intothemud,face-firstnoless.Yourmannerswerecertainlylacking,thoughyoumanagedtomakequite
animpression.I’mcertainIhavelovedyoufromthatverymoment.Coveredheadtotoeinmuck—Iknew
rightthenmylifewouldneverbethesame.”

Asmilesneaksontomyface,rememberingthemomentasclearlyashe.Meatten,hethirteen,I’d

been staying with much wealthier relatives and paid him a visit with my spoiled cousin Esme, who so
enjoyedlaudingherwealthoverme,alwayscomparingherfancydressestomymoredrabones;shewas
becomingachoretotolerate.Andso,annoyedwithherconstantpreeningandprancingandbraggingwith
noendinsightabouthowhandsomeherfuturehusbandwas,howwealthy,andhowwonderfulitwould
bewhenshewasmadequeenandI’dbeforcedtobowdownandkissherfeet,well,Ijustcouldn’ttakeit
anymore,soImarchedrightuptohim,caughthimoffguard,andpushedhimstraightintothepond,thenI
turnedtoherandsaid,“Stillthinkhe’shandsome?”andwatchedhercryandscreamandrunofftotell
someonewhatI’ddone.

“Itwasapond,”Isay,lookingrightathim.
“A very muddy pond.” He nods. “It never quite came out of my clothing. I still have the shirt that

bearsthestain.”

“And,ifIremembercorrectly,Ipaidagrandpriceforthat.Iwassenthomeimmediately,andEsme

neverinvitedmetovisitagain.

Which,cometothinkofit,reallywasn’tmuchofapunishmentatall,wasit?”
“Andyet,youfoundyourwayback.Oratleastbacktomeanyway.”Hisarmscirclemywaist,ashis

fingerstraipseupanddownmyspine.Thefeelofitsocalmandsoothing,it’sallIcandotostayfocused,
onpoint,tonotsuccumbtohisspell.

“Yes,”Isay,myvoicebarelyamurmur.“Areyougladofthat?”Knowingthatheis,butit’salways

nicetohearthewordsspokenaloud.

“AmIglad?”Hethrowshisheadbackandlaughsinawaythatexposesagloriouscolumnofneckit

takesallofmywillnottokiss.

“ShallIshowyouthelevelofmygratitude?”
Hekissesmeagain,atfirstplayful,aseriesoflightpecksandnips,butthenitgrowsdeeper,much

deeper.ButeventhoughItrytorespondwiththeusualfervor,somethingisoff.Andhesensesittoo.

“What has happened since we last met? You are different. Has something occurred to change your

feelingsforme?”

Iforcemygazeaway.Forcemyselftobreathe,tospeak.ButthespeechIrehearsedasImademy

wayoversuddenlyescapesme.

“Adelina,pleasetellme—doyounolongerloveme?”
“No!Ofcoursenot!It’snothingofthesort!Howcanyouevensaysuchathing?”
“Thenwhat?Whatterribleeventhasyourefusingme?”
Igatherthewords,struggletomovethemfrommyheadtomylips,butIcan’tdoit.Can’tsaywhat

needs to be said. So, like a coward—a word that has never been used to describe me—I gaze down
instead.

“IsitRhys?Ismybrotherbotheringyouagain?”Hisjawtightensashiseyesbegintoblaze.
Butbeforeitcangoanyfurther,I’mquicktoshakemyhead.
HisbrotherRhysisfairofhairandevenfairerofface—hisobviousouterattractionsgoingalong

way to belie a much darker inside—the fact that he’s ruled by a long string of jealousies he can never
overcome.

Second in line not just for the crown—the chance to rule his father’s small Iberian kingdom—but

also for his father’s attentions, only to learn that the girl whom he loves, my spoiled cousin Esme, is
destinedforhisbrother—theonewho,inRhys’sopinionwasbornintoeverything,yetdeservesnothing.

AndwhileI’vetriedtogazeuponRhyswithcompassion,iffornootherreasonthanthefactthatwe

sharesomethingincommon—we’rebothbeingkeptfromachanceattruehappiness—beingkeptfromthe
oneweloveduetopolitics,finance,andtraditionswejustbarelyunderstand—mysympathiesweresoon
thwartedbyhisundeniablemeanstreak,andhisabjectcrueltytowardme.

Asthoughit’smydoing.Asthoughit’smyfaultthatAlrikisbetrothedtotheoneRhysloves.
AsthoughIwouldn’tchangethatifIcould.
AsthoughIwouldn’treverseit,switchupthebirthordersothatIcouldlivehappilywithAlrik,and

hecouldlivehappilywithEsme,andwecouldalllivehappilyeverafter—preferablyfarapartfromeach
other.

Butalas,thatisnottobe.
Foronething,EsmehasnointerestinRhys.ShelovesAlrik.Shecan’twaittobemarried.
Foranother,sometimes,whenI’mtryingveryhardtobelogicalandreasonable,Iremindmyselfthat

whileI’venodoubtAlriklovesme,lovesmeinthewaythatIlovehim,I’mnotsureIfullybelievehim
whenheclaimshehasnointerestinthecrown.

It’shisbirthright.Asthefirstbornson,ashisfather’sheir,it’swhathe’sbeendestinedforeversince

hecameintotheworld.Toturnhisbackonallthat,well,itseemslikeasacrilege.

“Adelina,pleasedon’tlooksosad.”Alrik’slipssweepmyface,desperatetobrightenmydarkening

mood.“NotwhenIhappentohavethemostwonderfulsurpriseforyou.”

Ilowermygaze,assuringmyselfIcandothis.ThatI’mreally,trulyreadytogothroughwithit,then

Imeethiseyesandsay,“AndIhaveoneforyou.”

Itakeadeepbreathandgathermystrength.Virtueisn’tsomethingonegivesawayeasily,notwithout

marriage,oratleastthepromisethereof.Andifwordgotout,well,there’snodoubtitwouldruinme.
Andyet,Idon’tcare.Idon’tcareaboutrulesandconventionsthathaveeverythingtodowiththehead

whilesteadfastlyignoringtheheart.

Ican’tcareaboutafutureIcan’tevensee,muchlessimagine.
AllIknowforsureisthatAlrikwillmarryEsme,and,eventually,someonewillmarryme.There’ve

been offers. Serious offers. But for now anyway, I refuse to entertain them, no matter how much my
parents may beg and plead. Even though I fully expect to one day lie with my husband in our marriage
bed,eventhoughIexpecthewillbeagoodandkindmanwithmuchtorecommend,Iknowinmyheart
thatIwillneverlovehiminthewayIloveAlrik.

Thekindofloveweshareonlycomesonceinalifetime—andforsome,noteventhen.
Andit’sforthisreasonalonethatI’mpreparedtoriskitall.
IfIdonothingelsewiththislifeIfindmyselfin,Iwanttoexperienceloveinitsabsolute,deepest,

truestform.Otherwise,Ijustcan’tseethepointingoingon.

“Youfirst,”hesays,eyesglintingwithanticipation,ashegraspsmyhandsinhis.
Iliftmychin,liftmyarmstocirclearoundhim,myhandsclaspedathisneck,lookingstraightinto

hisdarkeyeswhenIsay,“I’vedecidedthatIamreadyandquitewilling…tomakemyselfyours.”

Hisbrowsmerge,atfirstnotquiteunderstandingthemeaningbehindmywords.Buthesooncatches

on,reactinginawayIdidn’texpect.AsmanytimesasIrehearsedthisscenarioinmyhead,notoncedidI
imaginehe’dreplyinaburstofuncontrolledlaughter.

Deepandheartylaughter.SodeepandheartyI’mafraidsomeonewilloverhear,findussequestered

inhere.

Then,justasquickly,hepullsmebacktohim,coversmyfacewithhiskissonceagain,lipspressing

softlyagainstmyfleshashesays,“MydearestAdelina,thereisnoneedforyoutosacrificeyourvirtue
whenyouaresoontobemine.”

Ipullaway,stareintohiseyes—mygazeincredulous—hisresolute.
“I—Idon’tunderstand,”Istammer.
“Wearetobemarried.”Hesmiles.“YouandI.Justlikewe’vedreamed.It’sallbeenarranged.Just

you and me and a member of the clergy. I’m sorry it won’t be grand, the kind of wedding befitting my
future queen, and I’m sorry your family can’t be there to witness our union, though I’m sure you
understandtheneedforgreatsecrecy.Butsoon,verysoon,oncewordisoutandmyfatherhasnochoice
buttoacceptwhatI’vedoneandallowbothhissonstoforgeafuturewiththeonestheylove,well,then
we’llhavethegrandestpartyyou’veeverseen.Adelina,Ipromiseyouthat.”

Myeyessearchhisface,wishingIcouldmatchhislevelofelation,butI’mleftwithfartoomany

questionstoevenattemptthat.“Buthowwillwedothis?Wherewillwedothis?And,moreimportantly,
Alrik,yourfatherwillkillyou!”

ButAlrikjustlaughs,erasingthenotionwithanimpatientwaveofhishand.“Killhisfirstbornson?

Never!Myfatherwilladapt.Andwhenhemeetsyou,getstoknowyouaswellasIdo,well,hewon’tbe
abletoresistlovingyoutoo—you’llsee!”

ButeventhoughI’dlovetobelievethat,Ican’t.I’mlessidealisticthanAlrik.Havingmadedowith

farlessfortuneandprivilege,I’veexperiencedfirsthandsomeofthemoresearingdisappointmentslife
brings.

Butbeforewecandiscussanyfurtherthere’sashuffleoffootsteps,theunmistakablesoundofboots

trudging along the long dirt path that runs between the stalls. Stopping just outside of ours, it’s soon
followedbyaswiftknockonthedoorandadeepmalevoicethatcalls,“Alrik?Youinthere?”

“I am,” he says, lips still kissing me, covering every square inch of my face, before exploring the

deepsquarenecklineofmydress.

“Andyoumaycomein.ThoughIwarnyou,Iamnotalone,Iamenjoyingsometimewithmybride.”

Istarttopullaway,feelingembarrassedbythispublicdisplayandlongingfortheshadowedcorner

again.ButAlrikwon’thaveit,andhepullsmebacktohim.Crookinghisarmtightlyaroundmywaistas
Heath comes into the room, bows deeply, and barely taking a moment to venture a glance at us, says,
“M’lordandEsme.”Hisbackstraighteningagainonlytorevealalookofpurehorrorthatplaysacrosshis
face. “Oh, Adelina, forgive me. I misspoke. I assumed…” His face heating to a thousand degrees,
allowing the words to trail off from there. Having nowhere to go with that, no elegant way to take the
wordsback.

EvenworseisthefactthatHeathhasonlyveryrecentlyaskedformyhand—somethingknownonly

toHeath,myparents(whoscoldedmetoanunbelievabledegreefordenyinghim),andI.Luckily,Alrik
hasn’taclue.Ifhedid,hecertainlywouldn’tbewelcominghisoldestanddearestchildhoodfriend,his
father’smostfavoredknight,inthewayheisnow.

MyeyesgrazeoverHeath,takinginhiscoarse,golden-brownhair,hisstartlingblue-greengaze,his

lean,muscledform—feelingterriblyguiltyathisfindinguslikethis,knowingmylifewouldbesomuch
simpler if I could just force myself to return his affections. But that’s like saying if it weren’t for the
existenceofthesunyou’dbesatisfiedwithanonslaughtofraineveryday.

Theheartknowsnologic,andrarelycorrespondswiththebrain.
WhenAlrikispresent,everyonedims.
AndashandsomeandkindandwellintentionedasHeathis,hebecomesnearlyinvisiblewhenhe’s

nexttoAlrik.Itmaysoundcruelonthesurface,butit’sthestonecoldtruth.

“Nonsense,myfriend!”Alrikcries,notatallbotheredbyHeath’sglaringfauxpas.“Comejoinus!I

sentforyouforareason,Iwantedyoutobethefirsttohearourhappynews—AdelinaandIaretobe
married!”

“Sir.”Hebows,mostlyoutofrespect,butpartlytohideanexpressionthatisclearlyconflicted.And

bythetimehestraightensagain,he’sbackincontrol,thoughhestillmakesanefforttoavoidlookingat
me.

“Itrustyouwillkeepthisunderwrapsuntilitistimetoreveal?”
“Andwhenwillthatbe,sir?”
“Tomorrowwewillmarry.Andthedayafterthat,Iwillsharemyjoywiththekingdom.Butfornow,

I must go. I have some last-minute details to attend to. So, may I trust you to escort Adelina, my future
bride,safelyhome?”

“Ofcourse,m’lord.”Hebowsoncemore.Butthistime,whenIremovemyselffromAlrik’skiss,I

catchHeathpeeringatmeinawayIcan’tread.

HisfacebearingalookIcontinuetoponderlongafterhe’sexchangeditforanother,moremalleable

one.

A look I continue to guess at as we make our way out of the stables and into what’s left of the

daylight.

A look that while I still can’t define, manages to linger—the sheer insistence of it leaving me

profoundlyuneasy.

chapterfourteen

Werideinsilence.OrratherIride,Heathwalksalongsidemewiththereinsheldlooselyinhand,

thetwoofuslostinourownmentallandscapes.Andthoughhe’shadplentyofopportunitytoaddressme,
it’snotuntilwe’venearlyarrivedwhenhechoosestospeak.

“Doyoulovehim?”heasks,thewordssimple,direct,asthoughwe’dbeenengagedinthesortof

conversation that naturally brought us to this point. And though he strives to mask the pain behind the
statement,hefailsmiserably.Icanfeelhisdespairfromuphere.

I press my lips together and look away, wishing I could refuse to answer. Most females would.

Claiminggreatoffensetohavetheirheartquestioned,theirprivacytrespassedupon,thatitcouldhardly
beconsideredhisbusiness,andsoon.

ButI’mnotlikemostfemales.Idetestthatsortoffalsity,thatsortofgame.
Besides,Heathiskindanddecent.Iowehimsomethingbetter,anhonestanswerattheveryleast.No

matterhowmuchithurts.

Afterall,we’vesharedakiss.
Orrather,severalkisses—aseriesofkisses,ifyouwill.
Kissesthat,fromwhatIcantell,cametomeanmuchmoretohimthantome.
Iwasmerelyexperimenting.Tryingtoseeifmyheadcouldinfluencemyheart.Wantingtoseeifall

kisseswerelikeAlrik’s.Hisbeingthefirstleftmewithnoneothertojudgeby.Andthoughitwasnice
kissing Heath, while it left me feeling soft, and calm, and serene—like floating on a luxurious raft in a
beautiful, tranquil blue sea—it still couldn’t compete with Alrik’s rush of warmth. His swarm of tingle
andheat.

Though unfortunately, it wasn’t until my experiment failed that I realized Heath’s intentions were

entirelydifferent.Hewasn’ttestingthewaters.Hewasexpressinghisinterestinme.

AndthoughmylifewouldsurelybeeasierifIcouldreturnhisaffections,Ijustcan’t,anditwould

becrueltopretendotherwise.

Itakeadeepbreath.Allowhimtoliftmeoutofthesaddleandontotheground,whereheplacesme

gentlybeforehim.Hisfacemereinchesfrommine,handsstillgraspingeithersideofmywaist,thefeelof
themresultingintheusualstreamofcalm,coolenergyI’vecometoassociatewithhim.

“Yes,”Isay,tryingtosoftentheword,butnomatterhowit’sspoken,Iimagineitfeelslikeadagger

tohim.“Yes,Idolovehim.”Isigh,feelingtheneedtofurtherexplainwhenIadd,“Ican’thelpit.It’s
just…unexplainable.It’sjustoneofthosethings.”

“Youdon’thavetosayanymore.Really.Youowemenoexplanation.”Hiseyesboreintomine,his

gazebetrayinghiswords.He’sdesperatetounderstand,desperatetomakesenseofit,desperatetoknow
whyIchoseAlrikoverhim.

Itrytosmile,butonlymakeithalfway.Myvoicesoundingthin,unstable,whenIsay,“Oh,I’mnotso

sureaboutthat.ItfeelslikeIdooweyouanexplanation,or…something.”

Hishandsgrowwarmer,hisgazedeepens,andbeforeitcangoanyfurther,hemovesaway,themove

soabruptit’samomentbeforeIadjust.

“Adelina,”hesays,voicelowandsweet,loadedwithareverencehe’sreservedjustforme.“You

areawareofmyfeelingsforyou,soIwon’tboreyouthere.Butplease,allowmetospeakasyourfriend
whenIsayIhavegreatcausetoworryaboutyourandAlrik’splan.”

Notmyplan,Alrik’splan.Ireallyhadnopartinit.Still,it’snotlikeIdeniedhim.It’snotlikeIsaid

no. Then again, I don’t remember saying yes either. I’d barely gotten a chance to ask a few questions
beforeHeathbargedinandputanendtoourdiscussion.ThoughIchoosenottosharethatwithhim.

“Foronething,themostobviousthing,thekingwillbefurious.Alrik’smatchtoEsmewasplanned

long ago. No one’s ever fooled themselves into thinking it was a matter of the heart—except maybe
Esme…”Hemuses,gettingbacktothepointwhenheadds,“Butthereismuchtoconsider,muchmoneyat
stake. As it happens, Alrik’s family desperately needs Esme’s money if they are to continue their rule.
And,asifthatwasn’tenough,well,thenthereisEsmeandherfamilytoconsider.Theywillgladlyhand
overaverylargedowryifitmeanstheirdaughtermaysomedaywearthecrown.AndthoughIdon’tclaim
tobewellversedinEsmeherself,havingonlymetherahandfuloftimes,Idothinkit’ssafetoassume
that she’ll be quite furious when she discovers what you two have done. And I’ve a feeling her anger
could prove to be even more frightening than the king’s. There’s something about that girl—something
untamed,somethingthatknowsnolimits,noboundariesofanykind.”Heshakeshishead,handsfumbling
byhissides.“Andthen,ofcoursethereisRhys,who,well,I’msurehewillbetheonlyone,otherthan
youandAlrikthatis,whowillbeoverjoyedbythenews—athoughtwhichisfrighteninginitsownway,
is it not?” His voice lifts in question, though his face remains the same, solid, fixed, with no hint of
amusement.

“While it may free him to pursue Esme, his doing so will only anger her sister. As I’m sure you

know,FionahasbeeninterestedinRhysforsometimenow.”

IblinkatHeath,strugglingtotakeitallin.EventhoughIwaswellawareofthetriangleofjealousies

andattractionsI’mimmersedin,it’sstillquitestartlingtohaveitsoplainlylaidout.

“Whatatangleloveis,”Iwhisper,almostasthoughspeakingtomyself.ThenmeetingHeath’sgaze,I

ask,“SowhatdoyouproposeIdothen?HowwouldyousuggestIchoose?”

“Iwouldsuggestyouchooseme.”Hesighs,thesoundasbereftasthelookinhiseyes.“Iwillknow

goinginthatyouwillneverlovemelikeyoudoAlrik,andIwillacceptthat.IwillalsodoallthatIcan
tomakeyouhappy.Ipromiseyou,Adelina,Iwilldedicatemyentirelifetoseeingthatyouarewellcared
for,content.”

“Heath…”Ishakemyhead,wishinghehadn’tjustsaidthat.
“I’msorryifI’vemadeyouuncomfortable,butI’dneverforgivemyselfifIdidn’tatleastexpress

myconcernsandtrytoofferyouawayoutofwhatIfearwillonlyendintrouble,ifnotheartbreak,for
nearlyallinvolved.”

Inod,hiswordslingering,swirlingwiththecurrentinmyhead,andtheworstpartis,there’snota

singlethingtorefute.Hisworriesmimicmyown.

Still,Ilookathimandsay,“Andnowthatyou’veexpressedyourconcerns—whatnow?”
“Now,Ibidyougood-byeandwishyoumuchhappiness.”Hebowslowbeforeme.
And before he can rise, I leave him. Pressing my lips briefly to the crown of his head, pushing

againstthecoarsegolden-brownstrands,beforemakingmywaytowardmydoor.Musingtomyselfthat
no matter what happens, come tomorrow, I will never look at my house, my life, or Heath, in the same
wayagain.Iwillbechangedinamostprofoundway.

AwareoftheweightofHeath’sgazestillhovering,hiscool,calmenergystreaming,lingering,asI

makemywayoverthestoopandinsidethehouse.

chapterfifteen

It’s a pebble at my window that wakes me. One sharp tap, followed by another, and then another,

untilI’mfullyrousedfrommysleep.

Ireachformydressinggownandpullittightlyaroundme,stealingamomenttobrushaquickhand

overmyhair,beforeImoveforward,eagertoseewhoisthere.

Expectingjustaboutanyone,excepttheonewhomIfind.
“Rhys?”Isquint,takinginhisdeepblueeyesandgolden-blondhair.“Whatisit?”Myheartbeatsin

triple time as a swarm of possibilities overcome me—each one worse than the one that came before.
Alrik’shadanaccident—Alrik’stakenill—Alrik’schangedhismindaboutme…untilIfinallygathermy
witsenoughtoask,“IsitAlrik?Isheallright?”

Rhyslaughs,laughsinawaythatlightsuphisface—laughsinawaythatmakeshimirresistibleto

femalesofallages,allstations—everyonefrommatrons,toprincesses,tothelowliestchambermaids—
everyoneexceptme,thatis.

“Trustme,yourpreciousAlrikisfine.Justfine.Likeabitchinheathecan’twaittoseeyou,which

iswhyhesentmetofetchyouandbringyoutohim.”

“I don’t believe you,” I say, the words coming before I’ve had a chance to properly vet them, but

oncespoken,IfindIdon’tregretthem.

“Alrik would never send you—or at least not to fetch me. He’s well aware of your cruelty, Rhys.

Thedemeaningwayinwhichyouenjoytreatingme.”

Rhyssmiles,runsahandthroughhisglossygoldenwaves,blueeyessparklinginthedarkashesays,

“Iwillneitherdeny,norapologizeforthat.Infact,Ifullyadmittobelievingthatmybrotherisanidiotfor
choosing you when he could have the lovely, bewitching Esme instead. But then, as it turns out, my
brother’sidiocyisnowworkinginmyfavor.Becauseofhisbizarreattractiontoyou,Esme,mybeautiful
flame-hairedgoddess,isfreeformetopursue.Andso,itseems,underthecircumstances,mybrotherand
Ihavecalledforatruce.Andashebusieshimselfwithhisduties,hehassentmeforyou.Socomenow,
yourmarriageawaits.Don’tmakemewakeyourwholehouse.”

“Now?”Iblinkintothedarkness,surehemisspoke.
“Yes, now. It’s all very cloak and dagger—top-secret business. So come, grab what you need, get

yourselfdressed,andcomearoundbacktowheremyhorsewaits.”

Butdespitehisinstructions,Iremainrootedinplace,refusingtobudgefromthewindow,knowing

betterthantotakeRhysathishighlyunreliableword.SurethatifAlrikweretosendanyoneforme,it
wouldbeHeath,notRhys,thebrotherhedoesn’ttrust,thebrotherhedetests.

Rhyssighs.Sighsandshakeshishead.Reachingintothepocketofhisovercoatwhenhesays,“Fine.

Here.Readitandweep.Butwhateveryoudo,makeitfast.I’dliketogetbacktomyownbedatsome
point.I’veaplumplittledairymaidwarmingmysheetsatthisverymoment.”

Suppressing an irresistible urge to roll my eyes, I pretend to ignore that last part and watch as he

deftlyclimbsthetrellisjustoutsidemywindow,bodymovingswiftly,catlike,thrustingthefoldedpaper
intomyhandashepercheshimselfontheledge.

Istepaway,pullmygowntighteraroundme,thenpushmylonggoldenhairovermyshouldersoit

hangs down before me. Trying to deflect the way his eyes hungrily roam me, pausing everywhere they
shouldn’tandnotbeinggentlemanlyenoughtomakeanyattempttohideit.

RecognizingtheredwaxsealAlrikalwaysusestomarkhiscorrespondenceonhisnumerousletters

tome,Iunfolditquickly,smoothoutthecreases,andread:

MydearestAdelina:
Ifyouarereadingthisnow,it’sbecauseyourefusedtotakeRhysathisword.
Goodforyou!
Once again, you’ve done me proud. Though, just this once, I ask that you trust him. It seems my

brother and I have finally forged some common ground and now find ourselves working together—
workingforourowngreatergood,sotospeak.SoitiswithaneasyheartandaclearconsciencethatI
beseechyoutogowithhim.

UnabletolocateHeath,IfoundmyselfinneedofanallyandturnedtoRhys,correctlyassuminghe’d

bedelightedbythenewsofoursecretlymarrying,or,ashe’smorepronetoputit:“Alrik’sridiculously
romantic, foolhardy blunder.” But laugh as he may, I’m afraid the joke is on him, for he will never
experiencethekindofloveyouandIhavefoundineachother.

Still, despite his making fun, he is sharp enough to understand that my marrying you frees him to

pursueEsmeandultimatelytopursuethecrown,andprobablythepositionas“Father’sfavoritesonand
heir” that I once occupied as well. But none of that matters in light of what I now stand to gain—the
abilitytofulfillmylong-helddreamofalifelivedwithyou.

Sonow,Iawaityou,mydarling—mybride—mywife!
Pleasehurrytome!
Yoursalwaysandforever—
Alrik
“So,whatdoyouthink?Doesitpassthetest?”Rhysloungesontheledge,onelegdanglingintomy

room,theotherbent,proppedontheshelf,servingasarestforhishands.

Iglancebetweenthenoteandhim,havingtoadmitthatitwascertainlywrittenbyAlrik’shand,and

clearlynotunderduress,soItakeadeepbreathandnodmyconsent.

“Good,” Rhys snaps, reaching toward me and snatching it back. Shoving it deep into his pocket

withoutfirsttakingthetimetoproperlyfoldit,helooksatme,tellsmetohurry,thenhurtlesrightoutmy
window,rightoutofsight.

chaptersixteen

“Climbonup.”
Ilookathim.FrowningasIsay,“Upthere?Withyou?”
“Unless you prefer to walk.” His shoulders rise and fall as though he’s prepared to let me do just

that.

“Whydon’tyouwalk and I’llride?” I placemy hands on myhips, vowing totell Alrik aboutthis

later.

“Nope,notachance.”Heshakeshishead.“Foronethingit’sdarkout.Foranotherit’scold.And,

foranother…”Heprolongsthepause,makingmewaitforit,asthoughIactuallycare.“I’mnotallthat
bigonactingnoblyorgentlemanly.EspeciallywhenIdon’texpecttogetanythingoutofit.Though,ifI
weretogetsomethingoutofit,thenImayreconsider.”

Igazeupintothoseglintingblueeyes,thehaughtyarcofhisgolden-blondbrow,theflashofwhite

teethintheblackenednightsky.Asightthatleavesmostgirlsfeelingfaint,weakintheknees,readyto
succumbtohiseverywhimandneed—butforme,itjustmakesmystomachturn,makesmefeelasthough
Imightheave.

“IsthishowyouflirtwithEsme?”Iask,knowingIshouldn’tengagehim,butit’snotlikethatstops

me.“Ifso,Ican’timaginewhyshe’drejectyouinfavorofyourbrother.Tellme,Rhys,hassheseenthis
oh-so-charmingsideofyou?”

I wait for his reply, expecting him to get mad, to say something cruel about my looks, my family’s

lowstatusandlackoffinances,butinsteadhejustlaughs,hissmilegrowingwiderwhenhesays,“Nah,
withEsme,it’sallpompandshow,andnothingbutthedeepestcourtesyandrespect.Youhavetoknow
howtoplayagirllikeher.She’sgreedy,superficial,andvain.Theonlythingsheseesinmybrotheris
what’ssoontobemine—thepowerofhisposition,and,moreimportantly,thecrown.We’realotalike,
EsmeandI.Weweremadeforeachother.Webelong together. She and I are twin souls, and someday
she’llrealizeittoo.”

Icontinuetogazeathim,fishingaroundforsomekindofsarcasticreply,buttheonesIcomeupwith

die right on my lips. What he said is remarkably true. They are shallow, and vain, and extremely
narcissistic—andhisabilitytorealizethattruthrevealsanamazingamountofself-awarenessandinsightI
neverwould’veexpected.

“Sohowlongareyouplanningtostandtherelikethat?”heasks,voicebored,thumbstappingagainst

thehornofthesaddle.

“Whydidn’tyoubringacarriage?”Iask,stillnotwillingtoridetandemwithhim,thoughclearlymy

optionsarelimited.

Watching as he heaves a deep sigh and springs from his mount until he’s standing before me, a

smatteringofinchestheonlythingthatseparatesus.

“Becauseacarriageattractsfartoomuchnoticeatthishour,”hesays.“Remember,thisissupposed

tobeasecret.WhichmeansIdidn’tthinkyou’dwanttoletyourparentsinonthefactthatyou’reeloping
—evenifitiswiththelocalroyalty.ButI’mafraidifyouinsistoncontinuingtodickerlikethis,well,
therewillbenoneedforsecrecyasthewholedamnvillagewillsoonbeinonyourtryst.Socomeon,
Adelina,whatdoyousay?Youstillplanningtopushagainstme,orareyoureadytosubmittothepathof
leastresistance?Beagoodgirlandhopup—Alrikiswaiting.”

Iswallowhard,swallowmypride,andnodmyconsent.Bracingagainstthefeelofhishandsatmy

waistasheliftsmeuphighandgetsmeallsettled,beforehehopsuphimselfandwarnsmetoholdon
tightorrisktumblingoff.Somethingwhichheseemstoenjoyalittletoomuch—somethingIdomybest
nottothinkabout.

We ride for miles. Ride for so long that at one point I allow sleep to claim me. Awakened by the

soundofRhys’svoiceatmyear,softandsurprisinglytenderwhenhesays,“Hey,Adelina.Youcanwake
upnow.We’rehere.”

Irousemyselffromhisshoulder,brushmyhandovermyeyes,myhair,andtakeinmysurroundings,

trytogetafeelforourlocation,butit’snotoneIrecognize.

“It’sahuntinglodge,”hesays,lipsticklingattheveryedgeofmyear.“It’sourhuntinglodge,Alrik’s

andmine.Andwhileit’snowherenearasgrandasthepalace,Iwillsayit’snotbadeither.Ithinkyou’ll
find it surprisingly comfortable. I know that many, many, many of my conquests have greatly enjoyed
themselveshere.”

Yep,he’sbacktobeingRhysagain.
“WhereisAlrik?”Iask,yankingfreeofhim.
ButI’vebarelygottenthewordsoutbeforeawhisperedvoicesays,“Iamhere.”
Hereachestowardme,carefullycatchingmeasIslidefromthehorseandintohisoutstretchedarms.

His body so warm, so comforting, that for a moment his awful brother is all but forgotten, until Alrik
breaksawayandsays,“Brother,thankyou.Ioweyouforthisone.”

ButRhysjustlaughs,turnshishorsearound,andglancesoverhisshoulder.“Forgetit.Yourbridefor

thekingdom—”Heshakeshishead.“Hatetosayit,brother,butI’mafraiditisIwhowilloweyouonce
your little honeymoon is over and you realize your folly. I just hope you’re not foolish enough to try to
collect once you’ve sullied your bed. And while I wish you much happiness and joy and all that, I’m
afraidImustreturn.MysweetlittleSophiesurelyhasmybednicelyheatedbynow.”

“Stillbeddingthechambermaids?”Alrikcalls.
OnlytohaveRhysreply,“Dairymaid,brother,dairymaid.Trytokeepup!”
Hishorsegallopsoff,takingRhysalongwithhim,asAlrikpullsmetowardthelodge,lipsbrushing

mycheekashesays,“Iapologizeforhim.Iwashopinghe’dspareyoufromthatbrandofcrudeness,but
perhapsthatwasjustfoolishonmypart.Still,allthatreallymattersisthathebroughtyoutome.Hedid
as I asked, and you’ve arrived safely.” He gazes down at me with a face filled with so much love and
devotion, I swallow everything I was about to tell him about just how crude his brother really is, not
wantingmywordstomarhisexpression.

“Actually, I slept through most of the journey, if for no other reason than to tune him out,” I say,

findingacompromisethatsucceedsinmakinghimlaugh.

“Thenyouarenottired?Youarenotlongingforbed?”Hiseyesglintonmine.
Igazefromhimtothestill-darkenednightsky,tothedoorhe’sproppedopenthatleadstoarusticyet

sumptuousroomjustbeyond.

“Oh,I’mfeelingquiterested.”Ismile.“ButIhavenoobjectiontobed.”

chapterseventeen

Afteranhourortwoofgiggling,cuddling,andwhisperingtoeachother—makinggrandplansforour

new life together, a life that begins tomorrow afternoon, Alrik and I fall to sleep. He still fully clothed
(minus his boots of course), me stripped of the dress I arrived in, stripped down to the same dressing
gownhisbrotherfoundmein.

Alrik’sarmistossedaroundmywaist,anchoringmetightlytohim.Ourbodiesconforming,pressed

sosnuglytogetherIcanfeelthebeatofhisheartatmyback,therustleofhisbreathatmyear.AndI’m
determinedtosinkintothefeelofit,topushasideanystrayworries,anylingeringfears,infavorofthis
momenttogether.Eagerfortomorrow,whenourexchangeofvowswillallowustoloveeachotherfreely,
openly—no longer relegated to vacant horse stalls, or secluded spots in the forest that surrounds my
parents’house.Nolongerforcedtopullourselvesbackjustwhenthemomentbecomestrulyheated.

It’sachangeIlookforwardto.
Butthosearethekindsofthoughtsmyconsciousmindisalltoohappytodwellon,themomentIfall

unconscious my guard slips and a long list of worries seeps in. Manifesting themselves in the strange
languagethatonlydreamsspeak,immersingmeinableakandforeignlandscapewhereAlrikisnowhere
nearandadarkhoodedbeingchasesme.

Iracethroughbramblesandbushes.Iraceformylife.Wincingagainstthestingofsharpthornsthat

snareatmyskinandtearatmyclothing—leavingmetattered,battered,bruised,butstillIraceon.

Yet,nomatterhowfastIrun,it’snotfastenough.
Ican’tseemtoescapeit.
Can’tescapethedarkhoodedbeingthat’scomingforme.
Bearingdownonme.
Claimingme.
Endingme…
Iboltupright,ahorrifyingscreampiercingmysleep.NotrealizinguntilAlrikboltsuprightbeside

meandpullsmetightlytohischestthatthesoundcamefromme.

“Adelina!Mydarling,mysweet,areyouokay?Whathashappened?Wassomeonehere?Speakto

me,please!”Hishandscupmycheeks,makingmefacehimashestaresintomywide,frightenedeyes.

“I—” I blink rapidly, taking a moment to pull away, to gaze around the room, as I fight to get my

bearings, to remind myself of where I am, who I am, but still haunted by the horrible visions I saw, as
thoughthedreamhascontinued.

Alrik leaps from our bed, reaches for the torch and shines it on every corner of the room. Finally

assuredthatnooneelsehasjoinedus,hereturnstomysideandsays,“MysweetAdelina,relax.Itwas
onlyadream.”

He murmurs a stream of sweet words in my ear—promises, declarations of love, a steadfast

assurancethatitdoesn’tmeananything—thatI’mperfectlysafe—thatIwillnotbeharmedinanyway.

ButIknowbetter.
Knowthereisnosuchthingasjustadream.
Mydreamsarenotthekindotherpeoplehave.
Mydreamshaveanuncannywayofcomingtrue.
Propheticmymothercallsthem.Warningmefromayoungage,whenIfirststartedhavingthem,to

neverspeakofthemagain—todomybesttoblockthemout,lestanyonefindout.Itwillwreckyourlife,
she’dsaid.Thatsortofthingisdeeplyfrownedupon.

Buttonight,I’venochoicebuttotellAlrik,towarnhimoftheterriblethingyettocome.I’vehad

thisdreambefore,manytimessinceIwasagirl.ThoughthisisthefirsttimeI’vecometorealizewhatit
means.

Thatthetimehasnowcome.
From the warm, safe shelter of his arms, I allow my eyes to sadly roam his face, my voice low,

nearlyawhisper,asIsay,“Wewillneverbemarried.”Ilookathim,makingsureheunderstandsthatmy
softenedtoneshouldnotbelietheintensityofmywords.“Iwon’tmakeittotheceremony.”

Alrikbalks,shakeshishead,searchesforawaytocomfortme.“That’spreposterous!”hesays.“It

was merely a nightmare, nothing more. It means nothing, absolutely nothing—or at least nothing more
thanaperfectlynormaldisplayofpre-marriagejitters.Ourlivesareabouttochangeinaverybigway—
weareabouttoembarkonthelifeofourdreams.AndwhileIknowyou’reexcited,Isuspectyou’realso
a tiny bit frightened as well, and this is how that sort of fear often chooses to manifest itself. But my
darling, my sweet Adelina, please know that you have nothing to worry about. I won’t let anything bad
happentoyou.Notnow,notever.Doyouhear?Youwillalwaysbesafewithme.”

Inod.Swallowhard.Wantingmorethananythingtobelievehim,forhiswordstobetrue.
ButdeepdowninsideIknowdifferent.
He’swrong.
Deadwrong.
Hedidn’tseewhatIsaw.
Doesn’tknowwhatIknow.
Didn’tfeelthecoldhandofdeathasitgrabbedholdofmyfleshandrefusedtoletgo.
“Kissme,”Isay,seeingthewayhisfacesoftens,falselybelievingit’sover.
“Kissmeandmakemeforget.Makeitgoaway,”Iurge,knowingthisisit,myoneandonlychance

toexperienceourloveinitsabsolute,truest,deepestform.IfIcan’tconvincehimnow,well,thenit’sa
loveI’llneverknow.

“Kissmeasthoughwehavealreadytakenourvows.KissmeasthoughIamalreadyyourbride.”
Iloosenthetiesofmygown,allowingittofallawayfrommybodyasmygazeholdsonhis.Aware

of his quick intake of breath, his tightening jaw, his widening eyes. Gazing upon me in wonder. Gazing
uponmeasthoughhe’sneverseenanythinglikeitbefore.

But I know differently. Having heard most of the stories, I’m well aware that I’m hardly his first.

Thoughnotquitearakelikehisbrother,he’sknowntohaveenjoyedhisshareofwillingpartners.

Butthethoughtdoesn’tbotherme.Ifanything,Ifinditreassuring.Outofallthegirlsthathe’sbeen

with,outofallthegirlshecouldstillbewith,hechoosestobewithme,andonlyme,foraslongasour
heartsshallcontinuetobeat.

Nomatterwhathappenstome,nomatterwhatthefuturemaybring,I’venodoubtthatinAlrik’sown

heartIwillalwaysremainhistrueintendedqueen.

“Adelina,areyousure?”heasks,hisbreathcomingfasterasmyfingerscreeptowardhisshirtwith

thesoleintentionofriddinghimofit.

He’stryingtoprovideawayout,tosparemefromdoingsomethinghefearsI’llregret.Anattemptto

dotherightthing,tobenoble,gallant,butthewordsbearnomeaning,he’saseagerasIam.

I press my finger to his mouth, only to remove it a second later and replace it with my lips. “You

were married to me the day I pushed you into the pond, and I was married to you the day you sent me
flowers in response. Red tulips. Who would’ve thought?” I smile, pausing long enough for my lips to
explorehisearlobes,hisneck,asmyhandsroamthegloriousexpanseofhisnewlybaredchest.

Hishandsomefacehoversbeforeme,ashepushesmebackontothepillows,backontoourbed,his

lipsmovingoverme,kissingeveryinchofbaredskin,kissingmeinplacesIneverwould’veimagined.
Fingersmovingquickly,deftly,removingthesparselayerofclothingstandingbetweenus,thetaskfinally
completed,hesays,“Adelina?”

Inod,havingneverfeltmorecertain.
Thenakiss.
Asigh.
Andthereisnogoingback.
Ihavedonethis.
Wearedoingthis.
Ourbodiesmovingtogether—melded,fused,connectedasone.
Andit’severybitasgloriousasIdreameditwouldbe,ifnotmore.

chaptereighteen

“Mydarling,”Alrikwhispers,turningontohissideandpeeringatme,hissightaidedbythestream

oflightsneakinginthroughthewindowsandcreepingupfromunderthedoor.“Didyousleep?”

I murmur something inconsequential, not wanting him to know that I didn’t. That I couldn’t risk

ruining my perfect night, the love that we made, with yet another dream that heralds the grim reality of
whatI’llnowface.

“Howdoyoufeel?Anyregrets?”Heshootsmeaworriedlook.
“Regrets?”Ishakemyheadandgrin,pressingmylipstohisforehead,theplacebetweenhisbrows.

Capturingastraylockofhairinmyfingersandsmoothingitawayfromhisfacetobetterseehim.“What
couldtherepossiblybetoregret?Areyoureferringtothesecondtime?Ormaybethethird?”

He smiles, maneuvers his body until it’s covering mine once again. “I was thinking more like the

fourth?”

“Fourth?”Isquint,asthoughtryingtorecall.“Idon’tseemtorememberafourth?IsitpossibleIwas

sleeping?”Ibatmyeyesflirtatiously,awareofhishandsalreadyatwork,alreadywarmingme,asIlift
my arms to his neck and bring him back to me, voice softly teasing when I say, “Perhaps you should
refreshmymemory…”

When it’s over, he shows me where to wash and dress, shows me the wardrobe stuffed with new

gownshebroughtjustforme.TellingmetochoosewhicheveroneIwantfortoday’ssecretceremony—
that they’re all beautiful, all elaborate, all appropriate enough for the woman who will one day be his
queen, then he leaves, mounts his horse, and gallops away. Promising to send a maid to help me dress,
something he’d failed to think of before—promising to return just as soon as all the other last-minute
arrangementsaretakencareof.

Itakemytimewashing,marvelingathoweverythingcanlookthesameontheoutside,whileinside

everything’schangedinanirreversibleway.Nomaterwhathappensfromhere,atleastInowknowwhat
it’s like to be loved so fully, so thoroughly, so utterly and completely, it’s as though the strength of our
love has also strengthened me. And that, along with the warm assurance of a freshly drawn bath and a
brightandsunnynewday,leavemefeelingabitsillyforgivingsomuchcredencetolastnight’sdream.

Alrikwasright.Iputfartoomuchimportanceonwhatwasprobablynothingmorethanafewdeeply

harboredworriescomingtolifeinmydreams.

Still, I don’t regret my decision to lie with Alrik, not for a minute. If anything, I look forward to

relivingtheexperienceashiswife,wonderingifitwillfeelanydifferent.

Iprolongmybath,waitforthemaidtoarrive,butwhenI’vewashedallIcan,whenmyfingersand

toes grow all wrinkled and prune-like, I decide to dry myself and make liberal use of the variety of
creamsandpowdersAlrik’sleftformyuse.ThenIslipbackintomydressinggownandattempttopick

outsomethingtowearfortheceremony,hopingthemaidwillshowsoontohelpmedress.Whatwithall
the layers and ties and things that are meant to cinch impossibly tight, it’s impossible to clothe oneself
withoutsomeassistance.

AndI’mjustworkingonmyhair,riddingitofsnarlsandtangleswhilewonderinghowIshouldwear

it—knowing Alrik likes to see it left long and loose, flowing in soft golden waves that fall around my
shouldersandtumbletomywaist,butknowingthatasfarasthemarriageisconcerned,itwouldprobably
befarmoreappropriatetowearitbraidedorpinnedinsomecomplicatedmanner—whenIhearaknock
atthedoorandquicklymovetoanswerit,hopingit’sthemaidandthatshe’sgoodwithhairtoo.

BarelyhavingachancetomovepastthedressingtablewhenIseeshe’sletherselfin.And,farfrom

thelady’smaidIwasexpecting,IfindmycousinEsmeinstead.

“Well,wel…”Herbrilliantgreeneyesburnuponmine.Takingmeinwithagazesosearing,sohate

filledandangry,ittakesamomentformetogathermyself,getmybearings.“Itseemstherumoristrue.
Justlookatyoustandingthere,barelyclothed.”Shecluckshertongueindisgust.“Youreallyareplanning
toelopewithhim,aren’tyou?”

“Whotoldyou?”Idemand,seeingnoreasontodenyit.Sheknowswhatsheknows.Seeswhatshe

sees.Thestoryisclear.

“Does it matter?” She arches her brow and roams around the room, surveying the place and

everythinginitasthoughshehassomesortofpersonalclaimtoit.Takingamomenttoappraiseapicture,
straightenitsframe,beforefixingherselfattheedgeoftherumpled,unmadebedwherehereyescontinue
toblazeashersmallpinkmouthpullsintoatightangryfrown.

“Itmatters,”Isay.“Infact,IexpectitwillmatterverymuchtoAlrik.I’msurehe’dlikenothingmore

thantoknowthenameoftheonewhobetrayedhim.”

Shecontinuestoglareatthebedbeforecastinghergazemyway,saying,“Well,inthatcase,itwas

Fiona.”Sheliftshershoulders,easilygivinghersister,mycousin,away.“Youknowshe’shadhereyeon
MasterRhysforsometimenow,andsoshemadesuretobefriendhislatestdomesticconquest.Somedaft
littledairymaidfromwhatIhear.ItwasquitecraftyofFiona,Imustsay,andshedidmanagetolearnall
shecould.”Shequirkshermouthtotheside,asthoughshefindsitallterriblyamusing,butnotsomething
shepreferstodwellonforlong.“Anyway,asitturnsout,ourdearRhyslikestotalkinhis…sleep…so
tospeak,oratleastaccordingtohislatestbedmate.Andso,Fiona,beingthegoodsistersheis,couldn’t
waittofillmeinonyourveryhappynews.OfcourseIdidn’tbelieveheratfirst.You’llhavetoforgive
me,Adelina,butthethoughtofyouandAlriktogetherissimplyludicrous,now,isn’tit?”

Shelooksatme,hereyesflashingasthoughshefullyexpectsmetonodmyagreement,andwhenI

don’t, when I just continue to stand before her with my mouth grim, eyes narrowed, and arms folded
beforeme,shesighsandsays,“Butthewaysheinsisted,well,Idecidedtocomeseeformyself.ButallI
seehereisoneverymussedbedandoneverysad,verypathetic,incrediblynaivegirlwhoseemstohave
fallenfortheoldesttrickinthebook.”Sheshakesherheadandtsks, her tongue repeatedly tapping the
roofofhermouth.“Really,Adelina,justhowpatheticareyou?Gladlyforfeitingyourvirtuewiththefalse
promiseofaringonyourfinger.Aringthat,I’venodoubt,Alrikneverintendedtogiveyou.”Sheslants
hereyesandlooksmeover.“Notaverysmartmove,cousin.Notsmartatall.

Youdorealizeyouhavewillingly,stupidly,ruinedyourselfforgood.You’respoiled.Usedup.No

onewilleverwanttomarryyouoncethewordgetsout.Hell,you’llbeluckyifthatlovesickHeathwill
haveanythingtodowithyou.Nobodyenjoysdippingintoseconds,cousin,ifyouknowwhatImean?”

“Youneedtoleave.”Istraightenmyback,squaremyshoulders,havingheardenoughofherinsults,

andnotwantingAlriktoreturnandfinduslikethis.There’snotellingwhathemightdo.

ButEsmewillhavenoneofit.She’snotgoinganywhere.Sheremainsrootedinplace,lipscurling

intoasardonicsmilethatperfectlymatchesthelookinhereyes.

“Youneedtoleavenow,beforethemaidgetshereandbeforeAlrikreturns,”Isay,hopingthat’llbe

enoughtoconvinceher.

Butshejustscoffs.“Oh,noneedtoworryaboutthat.”Shecheckshernails,runsahandoverhercoif

ofredhair.“Themaidwon’tbegettinghereanytimesoon,ifever.FromwhatIhearitseemsshe’shada
littledetour.AndasforAlrik…”

Iswallow.Holdmybreath.Wait.Ahorriblefeelingcreepingoverme,knowingbeforeshecansay

it,thatshe’sdonesomethingbad,foundawaytothwartallourplans.

Herwordsconfirmingmyworstsuspicionswhenshesays,“Iexpectthekingisgivinghimastern

talking-tonow.Sorrytobreakittoyou,Adelina,butitseemsthatyourlittlesecretisout,andasforyour
marriage,itseemsthatit’soverbeforeitcouldstart.”

Iturnaway.Struggletobreathe.Havingnoideahowtorespondtoanythingshejustsaid.Ishould’ve

known.Should’veknownitwastoogoodtobetrue.Should’veknownEsmewouldfindawaytobarge
in,interfere;it’swhatshe’sbestknownfor.

“The only question that remains now is what will become of you?” She moves until her eyes find

mine,hergazebetrayingherwords.

There’snocalculating,nopondering,sheknowsexactlywhyshe’scome,whatsheplanstodo,and

hasnointentionofleavinguntilsheseesitallthewaythrough.

Hereyesnarrowing,glisteningassheraisesherarms,reachesbehindher,andsecuresherhoodup

overherhead.

Herblackvelvetcloakanexactreplicaoftheoneinmydreams.
TheoneImistookasameresymbolofdeath.
NeveroncethinkingthatIshouldtakeitliterally.
Never once thinking it would be the last thing I’d see before my whole world dropped out from

underme.

chapternineteen

Iamcold.
Hurting.
My only source of warmth coming from a trail of something slippery that streams down my face,

causingmyeyestoburnandstingandacopperytastetolollovermytongue.

Blood.
Myblood.
Itmustbe.Esmeneverhadachancetoshedany.
Shewastooquick.Toofocused.Toosureofherintent.AndIwaswoefullyunpreparedtohandle

her.

Despitebeingwarnedbythedream,Ineverstoodachance.
Neverimaginedshe’dbetheonetobringmemydeath.
Andnow,afterarrangingittolooklikeanaccident,she’sgone.
Leavingmetofalldeeperanddeeperintoanever-endingpoolofblackness.

Icanhearhisvoicedriftingfrommilesaway.
The sound garbled, distorted, as though traveling from the depths of a very deep sea, as though

grapplingforthesurface,grapplingforme.

And though I want more than anything to nod vigorously, to wave my arms, to shout out loud and

clear that I’ve heard him, received his message, that I’m aware that he’s near—I can’t seem to manage
thosethings.

Ican’tsee.Can’tmove.Can’tspeak.
It’s like I’m already locked in my coffin, buried alive, aware of what goes on all around me, but

unabletoparticipate.

Struggling with all of my might to hang onto his words, his presence, to find a way to reach him

beforeI’mgoneforgood.

Heisfrantic,mournful,despondent,andstrickenwhenhecries,“Whohasdonethistoher?Iwill

killthem!”Followedbyalongstreamofthreatsthatspewforthfromhislips,pausingeverynowandthen
to alternate between begging favors of God and demanding to know why that same God has beseeched
him—robbedhimofhisoneandonlychanceattruelove.

“Itappearstobeanaccident,”saysavoiceIinstantlyrecognizeasbelongingtoRhys.AndIcan’t

helpbutrecoil,can’thelpbuthopeagainsthopethatitwasn’thishandIjustfeltatmybrow.

“Get away from her! Don’t touch her!” Alrik cries. “This is your fault—you and your big mouth.

Damnyou,brother!Lookwhatyou’vedone!”

“Me?” Rhys laughs, a deeply sarcastic sound. “How could I possibly have caused this when I’ve

onlyjustarrived?”

Istraintohear,wonderingifAlriksuspectsthetruth,thatit’sEsme,hisbetrothed,wholeftmelike

this.

Myhopescrashingwhenhesays,“Ifyouhadn’ttoldFather,Iwouldn’thavebeendelayed.Iwould

havebeenheretosaveherfrom…fromthis…fall.”Heshudders,hishandquivering,breathlikeasob.
“Thisneverwould’vehappened,ifitwasn’tforyou.”

“Brother, please. Get ahold of yourself. Why would I do this when I have as much to lose as you

do?”Rhys’svoiceremainssteady,firm,acruelcontrasttohisbrother’snever-endingsorrow,hisdeep-
seatedgrief.

“Youhaven’tlostanything,”Alriksays,hiswordsjustbarelyaudible.“Youcanhavethecrown—I

don’twantit.YouarefreetomarryEsme,aswel—Icouldn’tstandtolookathernow.ItisIwhohave
lost. I’ve lost everything—the only thing that’s ever meant anything to me… Adelina,” he whispers,
fingers smoothing my brow, my cheek, trailing down to my neck, where they pause, linger, his voice
pleadingwhenheadds,“Adelina,why?Whyhasthishappened?Whyareyouleavingme?”

Becauseofthedream,Itrytosay,butnowordswillcome,soIconcentrateonthinkingitinstead.I

triedtowarnyou,triedtoprepareyou,butyoubrusheditaway…

“Oh,Adelina,yousawthis,didn’tyou?Youtriedtowarnmelastnightwhenyouwokefromyour

nightmare,butIonlywantedtosootheyou,Irefusedtolisten…”

Foramoment,Ifeltmyselfdrifting,losingmygrip,butwhenhejustspoke,hiswordsechoingmy

own,somethingdeepinsideofmejerkedtoattention.

Didhe…isitpossiblethathesomehowheardme?SensedthethoughtsIwassendingtohim?
Alrik!Alrik,canyouhearme?PleaseknowthatIloveyou.Iconcentrateonthewords,concentrate

withallofmymight,allthatisleft.

Wondering, hoping that he’ll sense those words too. I have always loved you. I always will love

you.Nothingcankeepusapart,notevenmydeath.

“Iloveyou,Adelina,”hewhispers,onehandatmybrow,theotherentwinedwithmine,frantically

pushingsomecool,roundpieceofmetal,whatcouldonlybemyweddingband,ontomyfinger.“Ihave
always loved you, I always will love you. You will always live in my heart… you will always be my
bride…”Hisvoicebreaks,asafloodoffreshtearsrainontomyface.

Well,howaboutthat?Ithink,willingasmilebutnotquitesucceeding.I’mimmobile,lockedin,and

yet,wehavethis—thethoughtsthatstreambetweenus.

I’mjustabouttoattemptitagain,eagertolethimknowthatallisnotlost,thatI’mnotgoneyet,thata

glimmerofmestillexists,whenIheararushofheavyfootstepsfollowedbyHeath’svoicesaying,“The
doctorishere.”

Thenextfewmomentsarespentpoking,prodding,andfeelingforapulsesofaintthedoctornearly

missesit.Hisvoicegrave,hisprognosisgrim,hisfinalpronouncementthelastthingAlrikwantstohear.

Iamnotlongforthisworld.
ButAlrikwon’tacceptit.“Thereareotherways,”heinsists.“Ihavemoney.Lotsandlotsofmoney.

Youcanhavemyentirefortune,whateveryouwant—justbringherbacktome.I’veheardtherumors,I
knowabouttheelixirs,thesecretpotionsandtonics—thespecialbrewthatcuresallills,extendinglife
foranindefiniteamountoftime…”

“Iknownothingaboutthat,”thedoctorinsists,histonesharp,resolute.“And,Iassureyouthateven

ifIdid,thatisnothingyouwanttoplaywith.Iamsorryforyourloss,trulyIam.Butthisisthenatural
orderofthingsandyoumustfindawaytomakepeacewithit.”

“Iwillnot!”Alrikshouts.AndifIcouldseehim,wellI’msureI’dfindhisfaceasstonyandcoldas

hisvoicejustresonated.“Wherethereislife,thereishope,andyouknowit!Whatkindofdoctorareyou
ifyoudonotbelievethattobetrue?Iwillnevermakemypeacewithfutilitywhenthereareotheroptions
stilllefttoexplore.Ihavemoney,noexpensewillbespared—doyouhearme?Youcannotsaynotome!
Don’tyouknowwhoIam?”

Itgoesonlikethat,AlrikelicitingalongstreamofthreatsI’msurehehasnoplanstomakegoodon.

It’stheramblingsofamandrivenmadwithgrief,andfortunatelythedoctorrecognizesthat.

Hiswordscompassionate,forgivingyetfirmwhenhesays,“Alrik,m’lord,whileIamtrulysorryfor

yourloss,IhavedoneallthatIcan.

Now I beg of you to keep her comfortable, to say your good-byes, and to let her pass easily,

painlessly,withnofurtheroutburstsfromyou.Please,Alrik.Ifyouloveherasmuchasyouclaim,thenlet
hergoinpeace.”

“Out!OUT!”isAlrik’sonlyreply.Followedbythepressofhislipsonmycheek,arushofwords

whispered into my flesh. Our palms pressed together as he utters a string of prayers, pleas, questions,
recriminations,andthreats,thenreturningtoprayersandbeginningalloveragain.

ThelitanybrokenonlybyHeath’squietvoicesaying,“Sir,m’lord,Iknowsomeonewhomayoffer

thesortofassistanceyouseek.”

Alrikstops,stills,andasks,“Who?”
“Awomanwholivesjustoutsidethevillage.I’veheardrumors.Can’tsayforsureifthey’retrue.

Thoughitmightbeworthatry…”

“Bring her,” Alrik says, burying his face into the hollow where my neck meets my shoulder. “Go.

Fetchher.Bringhertome.”

chaptertwenty

I must’ve fallen into an even deeper state of unconsciousness because the next thing I know more

peoplehavejoinedme.AndfromthesoundoftheirvoicesI’mguessingthemtobeAlrik,Heath,anolder
femalewhomIassumeistheoneHeathwassenttofetch,andtwoyoungerfemalevoicesthatprobably
belongtoherdaughters,orapprentices,orboth.

“Youmustknowrightupfrontthatthereisnoguarantee.Thisisonlytobetriedasanabsolutelast

resort,”theolderfemalevoicesays.

“DoesitlooklikeIhaveotheroptions?”Alrikcries,teeteringontheedgeofhysteria.
“It worked on a cat. Brought him right back. He went on to live for another full year,” one of the

youngerfemalevoicescutsin.“Butthelasthumanwhodrank,well,itdidn’tgooversowell.”

“Whatdoesthatmean?Whatdoesshemean?”Alrikisfrantic.
“Itmeanshediedinspiteofit,”theolderwomansays.“Hecouldnotbesaved.Noteveryonecan.”
“Adelina’s not just anyone. She’s young, beautiful, in good health. It will work for her—you will

makesurethatitdoes!”Alrikdemands.

“Iwilltry.ThatisallIcanpromise.I’verecentlyuseditonmyself—justsixmonthsagowhenIfell

illthedrinkcuredme,broughtmebackfromthebrinksoquicklyitwasasifitneverhappened.Still,like
Isaid,therearenoguarantees.”

“Sowhatareyouwaitingfor?Giveittoheralready!Hurry,beforeit’stoolate!”
Shemovestowardme.Ifeelthewarmthofherbodysidlingupbesideme.Herfingersslidingunder

myneck,cuppingthebackofmyhead,bringingmetoherasshepressessomethinghardandcoldtomy
mouth.Urgingacoolbitterliquidtoslippastmylipsandovermytongue,untilitsinksdownmythroat
and I do what I can to struggle against it. But it’s no use, I can’t fight it. I’m immobile, paralyzed, my
thoughtslockedinside,andI’venowaytotellthemtostop—it’sawasteoftheireffort.

It’stoolate.
Itwon’twork.
Myenergyisgathering,compressing,shrinkingdownintoasmallvibratingsphereofcolorandlight.

Preparingtoriseandlift—todriftrightoutofthecenter-mostpartofmyscalp,what’scalledthecrown,
andmergeintowhateveritisthatliesjustbeyond.

Theycontinuetofussallaroundme,voicesclamoring,handsprodding—makingitclearthatI’mthe

onlyoneawareofthefactthatI’mclosetobeinggone.

Thislifeisending.
Iwon’tbereturning—oratleastnotinthisform.
My formerly sightless eyes suddenly filled with a vision of a beautiful golden veil I can’t wait to

mergeinto.Still,Istraintoholdonforjustafewsecondsmore—IneedtoreachAlrik,needtoconvince
himthatitwillallbeallright.

My tongue bitter with the useless concoction they insist on feeding me. Wasting precious time,

choosingtofocusonabsurditieswhentherearefarmoreimportantthings.

Alrik!Iconcentrateonhisnamewitheverylastounceofmybeing.Alrik,please,canyouhearme?
Butmypleafallsondeafears.Hemissesitentirely.
Hisattentionisclaimedbyhisgrief.
Andnowit’stoolate.
Ican’tignorethepull.Cannolongerfightit.Don’twanttofightit.AndsoIheavemylastbreathand

allowmyselftosoar.HoveringupneartheceilingasIgazedownuponthescene,seeingHeathdrowning
in anguish with his head bowed low, the older female still feeding me the elixir, while her two young
apprentices, who bear such a striking resemblance I’m sure they’re her daughters, hover over me,
whispering a long string of words I cannot decipher. And finally, Alrik, my dear Alrik—frantically
graspingthehandthatbearsmyweddingband,futilelysearchingforsignsofalifethatnolongerexists.

Lettingoutabloodcurdlinghowlwhenherealizesthetruth.
Mybody’sbeenreducedtoanunoccupiedshell.
Mysoulhasbeenfreed.
Heemptiestheroom,wantingtobealonewithhisgrief.Thennumbed,broken,completelydefeated,

he throws his body over me. His lips seeking my mouth, desperate to bring me back, unable to accept
whatheknowsdeepdowninsidetobetrue.

SolostinhissorrowhehasnoideathatIkneelrightbesidehim,longingtoreachhim.Desperateto

assure him of a truth he couldn’t even begin to imagine—that I haven’t gone anywhere—that I’ll never
trulyleavehim—thatthebodymaywither,butmysoul,justlikethelovethatweshare,neverdies.

Butit’snouse.He’sshutdown.Unabletohearme.Unabletosenseme.
Convincedthathenowwalksaloneintheworld.
Andit’snotlongbeforeIfeelthepullagain.Thistimesostrongthereisnowaytoescapeit.
YankingmeawayfromAlrik,outofthelodge,andintothesky.Sendingmespinning,soaring,racing

throughtheclouds,flyingovermountainpeaks,peeringdownuponanearthsodifferentfromthewayI
usedtoseeit,becomingaplacewhereeverythingshimmers,whereeverythingvibratesandglows.

Thetruthofourexistencesoclearlyrevealed,Ican’timaginewhyIfailedtoseeitbefore.
Every living thing, from plants, to animals, to the very people who populate the planet—are all

connectedtoeachother.

Weareallone.
Andthoughwemaypassinandoutofexistence,oursouls,ourenergy,ouressence,neverfade.
Weareinfinitebeings—everylastone.
Therealizationdawninglikealightningboltcrashingoverhead,andIinstinctivelyknowthisisit.
ThisiswhatI’msupposedtolearn.
ThisiswhatImustneverallowmyselftoforget,nomatterwhathappensfromthismomenton.
Andthen,beforethenextthoughtcanform,Ipiercethroughthebeautifulshimmeringgoldenveilof

lightandfindmyselfrightbackinaplaceIinstantlyrecognize.

chaptertwenty-one

Ilandontheriverbank.Landwithathud.
Toes caught in the water, butt caught in the sand—the events of a lifetime, my first lifetime, still

swirlingthroughmyhead.

Awareofasoftrustlingsoundcomingfromsomewherebehind,Iturntoseehersmilingasshemakes

herapproach,offersanoldgnarledhand,andhelpsmetomyfeet.

My lips parting as a slew of questions rush forth, all of that halted when Lotus shakes her head,

placesherhandonmyarm,andsays,“Youhavediscoveredthetruth.”

I nod, clinging to what I now know, what I must always remember, never forget, but at this exact

moment,I’mburdenedwithmorepressingconcerns.“AndDamen?”Iask,myvoicebetrayingmyanxiety.
“Whereishe?”

She lowers her lids for a moment as though watching a scene that plays deep within, lifting them

againwhenshesays,“Hestillhasmuchtosee.Muchtolearn.Forhim,it’snotover.Notyetanyway.”

She motions toward the river, and I follow the tilt of her finger. Watching the current swirl and

changeuntilitsmoothsoutagainandtheremnantsofthesceneIjustleftarereflecteduponit.Showing
Alrik’slifestillinprogress,showinghimconsumedbyanever-endinggrief.

He is broken, defeated, wrecked to the core, so greatly misguided all he can manage is to seek

revengeformydeath.HavingnoideaEsmecausedit,he’seagertoplacetheblameonsomeone,anyone,
ultimatelyseeingthatthewomanfromthevillage,alongwithhertwoyoungapprentices,arechargedwith
dealinginwitchcraftandmagickandputtotheirdeaths.Soonfallingintoanevendeeperdespairwhen
the act of his vengeance brings no sense of peace, no sense of redemption. Fails to compensate for his
loss.Failstobringmebacktohim.

Therestofhislifelivedinafogoflostpassionsandthwarteddreams,hisfervorandfightburied

right along with my body. He goes through the motions, does what’s expected, settling into the path of
leastresistance,settlingintothelifehisfatherhadplanned.

MarriesEsme.
Claimsthecrown.
Eachpassingdaycausinghishearttohardenandshrinkintoasmallbitterstone.
Notdaringtobelievehe’lleverseemeagain.
Notdaringtobelieveinanything,everagain.
Anditbreaksmyhearttowatchit,towatchhimeventuallybroughtdowninarevoltsecretlystaged

byabrotherturnedagainsthim.

RhysultimatelymarryingFiona,Esme’ssister,onlytofindhecan’tseemtostoplongingforEsme,

theonewomanwhowillneverbehis.

Thefourofthemtrappedintheirownprivatehell,unabletofindawayout.

HavingnowaytoknowwhatI’velearned:Whenweharmoneanother,wealsoharmourselves.
“Alrik is Damen.” I switch my gaze from the water to Lotus, surprised to hear myself say it, but

knowingit’strue.“AndRhysisRoman,HeathisJude,thevillagewomanisAva,herapprenticesarethe
twinsRomyandRayne,FionaisHaven,EsmeisDrina…”Ofcourse.Ifrownandrollmyeyes.“Andthe
doctor?DoIknowhim?”ButbeforeIcanfinishthesentence,Iknow.“ThedoctorisMiles.”Ishakemy
head,allowasmalllaugh,thenIadd,“Theonlyreasonableoneinthegroup.Theonlyonewhowanted
nothingtodowithmysticalcures.”

Sighing when I realize we’ve already done this, centuries earlier—only to fall into a similar trap,

repeatamodern-dayversionofanearlyidenticalexistence.

Glancingattheriver,watchingitclear,theimagesquicklyfadingwhenIsay,“Howdidwenotknow

this?Whydowekeepmakingthesamestupidmistakesoverandoveragain?”

FacingLotus,hergazenarrowinginawaythatsetsoffariotofwrinklesthatfaneithersideofher

eyes.Hervoicelowandgrave,shesays,“Itistheplightofman.Andwhiletheblameliespartlyonthe
river,”shegesturestowardtheswiftlymovingdarkwatersbeforeus,“mostoftheblameliesonman’s
inclinationtotuneintothenoisethatblaresallaroundhim,insteadofthebeautifulsilencethatliesdeep
within.”

Igazeoutattheriver,turningherwordsaroundinmyhead,realizinghowtheymirroreverythingI

justlearned.Wespendourlivesgettingcaughtupinallthewrongthings—ledastraybyourminds,our
egos, seeing ourselves as separate from each other, rather than listening to the truth that lies within our
ownhearts,thetruththatweareallconnected,weareallinittogether.

“Theuniverseispatient,”shesays.“Providingmultipleopportunitiesforustolearn,togetitright,

whichiswhywereincarnate.”

“So,it’struethen.DamenandIlivedbeforeasAdelinaandAlrik.”Iglanceather,seeinghernodin

confirmation. “And I’m assuming he died in that life—a mortal death?” My eyes graze over her silver
hair, down to the long white tunic stitched with gold, all the way down to her surprisingly bare feet,
thoughit’samomentbeforeInoticethatthecanesheusedthelasttimeIsawherisgone.Sheisableto
standonherown.

“Ohyes,”shesays.“Heiscaughtinitnow.Relivingthemoment.Thoughitshouldbeoversoon.”
IpressmylipstogetherandfiddlewiththehemofmyT-shirt,thinkingitover.Havingnoreasonnot

tobelieveher,butstill,there’ssomethingthatdoesn’tmakeanysense,somethingsheneedstoexplain.

“But if that’s all true, then why is it that neither of us saw that life when we died and went to the

Shadowland? And why didn’t Jude see it on any of his trips to the Great Halls of Learning? I’m sorry,
Lotus,butdespitehowrealitallseemed,itjustdoesn’tmakeanysense.”

But despite my voice rising at the end, despite my getting more than a little caught up in my own

argument, Lotus remains calm, serene, completely unruffled when she says, “You are familiar with the
saying,‘Whenthestudentisreadytheteacherappears’?”

Inod,rememberinghowJudeoncesaidittome.
“It is the same with knowledge. The truth is revealed when you are ready to receive it, when you

needitinordertomoveforward,totakethenextstepinyourjourney,tomoveontowardyourdestiny.
You were not in need of that knowledge before, nor were you ready for it. And thus you saw only that
whichyouneededtoknowandnotasinglethingmore.Butnowthatyouarereadytheknowledgewas
revealed.Eachstepleadsustothenext.Itisassimpleasthat.AndthesamegoesforDamenandJude.”

“AndwhataboutJude?Ishestillstuckinthatlifetimetoo?”
Lotusnods.Hergazefarawaywhenshesays,“Judehashisownjourney.Youmaynotseehimfora

while.Thoughyouwillseehimagain.Nottoworry.”

Mygazelandsontheriver,noticingit’sgrowndarker,murkier,andgladtobestandingsafelyonits

banksratherthanclosertoitsshore.“Soisthisitthen?”Iturntofaceher.“Isthisthejourney?Isitover
—haveIcompletedwhatyou’veaskedmetodo?”

Lotusshakesherhead,thoserheumyoldeyesmeetingmine.“Thatwasmerelythebeginning,thefirst

testofmany.Muchliesahead.

Youhavemoretodiscover.”
And before I can ask what that means, before I can ask her to clarify for me, the ground begins to

shake,theriverbeginstosloshandbulge,astheearthbeneathmyfeetbeginstoshiftandseparateina
waythatremindsmeofmyfirstCaliforniaearthquake.

I fight to locate my voice, fight to free the scream that sticks at the back of my throat, when Lotus

disappears—justsimplyevaporates—asaswellofredtulipssproutupallaroundme,takingherplace.

Asignthatcanonlymeanonething—Damenhasjoinedme.
Hundredsoftulipssentfluttering,theirsoftpetalswhisperingagainsthim,asherushesoverthem,

rushes toward me—grasping me into his arms, he picks me up off my feet, twirls me all around, and
presses his lips to my face, my hair, my lips, my cheeks, then starts the procession al over again.
Desperately

reassuring

himself

that

I’m

here,

that

really

me—

Adelina/Evaline/Abigail/Chloe/Fleur/Emala/Ever—his love of so many lifetimes, bearing so many
names,butbeingofonlyonesoulallthesame.Finallymadeawareofthetruth,thatIneverreallylefthim
despitewhathemayhaveconvincedhimselfof.

“Adelina!”Hepauses,smoothingmyhairfrommyface,hiseyeshungrilyroamingoverme,drinking

mein,ashelaughs,shakeshishead,realizeshe’sstillcaughtupinthepast,andsays,“Ever!”Hekisses
meagain,holdsmetightlytohim.“Youwereright.Youwererightallalong.Therewasalifebefore—an
entire lifetime I never could’ve imagined.” His eyes pore over me, still a bit overcome by what just
transpired.“Butnowthatweknow,whatdoyousupposeitallmeans?”heasks,almostasthoughmusing
tohimself.

I thread my fingers through his hair, aware that his question was meant to be serious, but eager to

eraseanytraceofhislingeringgriefinfavorofamuchsweetermemory.

“Well,foronething,itmeansIwasn’talwaysavirgin.”Ismile,rememberingthebeautifulnightwe

spenttogetherasAlrikandAdelina,andthewonderfulpartofthemorningthatfollowed.

Watchingas he throwshis head backand laughs, his handsclasping tighter aroundmy waist as he

says,“Nowthat’samomentIwouldn’tmindrelivinginthepavilion.”

Hefindsmylipsagain,warm,deep,thenhepullsawayandsays,“AndJude?”
“JudeorHeath?”Iliftabrow.“Youdoknowtheyareoneandthesame?”
Henods,havingfiguredthatout.
Andnotsureexactlywhichparthewantsmetoexplain,Isay,“Heinsistedonjoiningme,andfor

somereason,Lotusallowedit.Saidtheanswershesoughtwouldbefoundthere.”

“Helovedyouthentoo,didn’the?”Damen’smouthpullsdownintoafrownashiseyesstareinto

mine.

Inod.
“Andtherest—didyouseeit?Allofit?”
Itakeadeepbreathandnodagain.
Damensighs,triestoturn,topullaway,butIwon’tlethim.Ikeephimclutchedtightlytome.
His eyes pulling down at the sides when he says, “No wonder Jude keeps reappearing in my life.

He’s trying to keep us apart, but not for the reason I thought. He must recognize me, sense who I am,
knowsinnatelywhatIam.ThatIlatersucceededwhereIfirstfailed,ensuringmyownimmortalitybefore

goingafteryours.”Heshakeshishead.“Allofthistime,forallofthoselifetimes,withoutevenrealizing
it,hewastryingtostopme,tryingtosaveyoufromme.”Herubshischin,looksatmewearily.“Ithought
Iwoulddiefromthepainoflosingyou.Iwantedtodie.AndtrustmewhenIsaymydeathdidnotcome
soonenough.Iwaslefthollow,ashellofamanwithoutyou.”Heswallowshard,swipesahandacross
his eyes. “Heath begged me not to prosecute against Ava and the twins, or rather the people they were
then.Andwhenhecouldn’tchangemymind,hebeggedmetotakehiminstead.Heneverforgavehimself
forbringingthemtome.Nevergotovertheguilt.Havingsummonedthemasmuchforhimselfashedid
for me. He couldn’t bear to lose you. Would do anything to keep you around even if it meant having to
watch you marry me. But, when you died in spite of our attempts, he was quick to accept what I
stubbornlyresisted.Whatwedidwaswrong,unnatural,somethingbestnotattempted.Heunderstoodthat;
Ididnot.Neitherinthatlife,northeonethatfollowed,whereIeventuallyfoundawaytofinishwhatI’d
started.”Heshuttershiseyes,musingatthefollyofthelastseveralhundredyears.“Didyouseetherest
ofhislife?Didyouseewhatbecameofhim?”

Ishakemyhead.
Damensighs,hishandswarmingmyarms,gazedistantwhenhesays,“Heretreatedsomewherefar

away,diedalone,stillafairlyyoungman.I’mafraidmykarmaismoreofamessthanIevercould’ve
guessed.”

Notknowingwhattosay,Idon’tsayanything,butthat’sokay,sinceDamenspeaksinmyplace.
“So what now? Do we wait here—see if Jude or Lotus reappear? Make our way back and try to

makeamendsforthedeedsofpriorliveswecan’treallychange?It’syourcall,Ever.Yourdestiny.Your
journey.Iwon’tdoubtyouagain.”

Ilookathim,morethanalittleshockedbyhiswords,knowinghowmuchhelikesbeingright,being

incharge;mostpeopledo.

Buthejustliftshisshouldersandsays,“Isn’tthatthewholepoint?Isn’tthatwhyyoukeepshowing

upinmylives?Toteachmeaboutgrief,toteachmetofeelit,toacceptit,buttonottrytooutwitit.To
lead me out of the dark and into the light—to show me the real truth of our existence—that I’ve had it
wrongallalong—thatthesoulistheonlyimmortalpartofus.Isn’tthatwhyallthishashappened,why
youandIcan’tfindtruehappiness,whywekeepfacingobstaclesthatareimpossibletosurmount?Isn’t
this why we find ourselves here now, because I got it all wrong and managed to mess up on such a
colossalscale?”

Thesilencegathersaroundus.Damenabsorbedbyhispast,whileI’mleftspeechlessbyhiswords.

Eagertomovepastit,notwantingtodwellhereforlong,I’mjustabouttotellhimthatIhavenoidea
what could be next, that his guess is as good as mine, when I see a small boat anchored by the shore,
anchoredrightalongsideus.Aboatthatappearedoutofnowhere,wasn’ttherelessthanasecondago.

Andknowingtherearenoaccidentshere,nocoincidencesofanykind,Igrasphishandinmine,and

startleadinghimtowardit,saying,“Ithinkwe’remeanttogoforasail.”

chaptertwenty-two

I settle onto the seat, busying myself with rearranging the velvet pillows at our backs as Damen

slidesinbesideme.Theboatislong,paintedadarkglossyredwithgoldornateswirlsmarkingitssides,
narrowingintoacurvingcrestatboththefrontandthebackinawaythatremindsmeofthegondolaJude
andIoncemanifestedintheSummerlandversionofVenice.Butwithnooar,nomotor,nowaytosteeror
guideourselves,we’reatthemercyoftheriver.Leftwithnochoicebuttositbackandhopeforthebest.

The boat pulls away from the shore, drifting deeper into the water just seconds after we board,

followingthecurrent,givingnohintastowhatmightbeinstore.Damenslidesaprotectivearmaround
me as we peer at the passing scenery, the way the river widens so swiftly it’s not long before we’re
surroundedbynothingbutdeepdarkwater,thebanksweoncestooduponreducedtoaslimspeckofgold
onadistanthorizon.

IleanintoDamen,wishingIcoulddosomething,saysomethingtoerasethehintofworrythatplays

athisbrow,toeasetheregretthatburdenshisheart.Seeingthewayhiseyeswiden,thewayhesitsup
higher,onfull-scalealert,ashelooksallaroundandsays,“It’stheRiverofForgetfulness.”

Isquint,vaguelyrememberinghimmentioningsuchaplaceoncebefore.Sayingsomethingaboutthe

soultakingatripdowntheRiverofForgetfulnessbeforeit’srebornintothenextlife.Thatthepurposeof
thatparticularjourneyissowedon’trememberwhatcamebefore—thatwe’renotmeanttorememberthe
liveswe’vejustlived—thateachincarnationoffersanewjourneyofself-discovery,achancetorightour
previouswrongs,tobalanceouraccumulatedkarma,tofindnewsolutionstooldproblems.

Thatlifeisnotmeanttobeanopen-booktest.
RememberinghowLotusrecentlysaidsomethingsimilar—thatman’sfolly,hispenchantformaking

thesamemistakesoverandoveragain,canbeblamedpartlyontheriver—andtakingthatasproofthat
Damenisright.It’sexactlywhathethinks.Thoughit’sanyone’sguesswhereitwillend.

“Arewegoingtorelivethemall?”Damenasks,voicebetrayingadeep-seatedreluctance,bearing

nodesiretoeverrevisitthosepainfulearlydayshelivedbackinFlorence,Italy.

Butbeforehecangettooboggeddowninthethought,Ilookathimandsay,“No.It’satest.Wehave

todowhateverwecantonotletourselvesforgetallthatwe’velearned.Lotuscametomejustbeforeyou
arrived,shesaidknowledgeisrevealedwhenweneedit,whichmeansweneedtohangontoallwejust
saw.Wecan’tforgetasinglemoment.I’mprettysurewe’regonnaneeditforlater.”

“It’salottohangonto.”Hefrowns.“Theriveristricky.AndotherthanthefactthatI’vemadea

messofthelastseveralhundredyears—thatIoweAvaandthetwinsbigtimefortakingtheirlives—what
wouldyousuggestIchoosetoconcentrateon?There’sagoodchancethatwhenwegetoffthisshipand
gobacktoournormalliveswewon’trememberanyofthethingswe’vejustexperienced.”

Istealamomenttogathermyreply,partlybecausehemaynotlikewhatIsay,andpartlybecauseI’m

stillamazedthathe’slookingtomefortheanswers.Takingadeepbreath,venturingaquicklookaround,

beforeIreturntohimandsay,“Youneedtorememberthatthesouliseternal.Thatloveneverdies.And
that your failure to realize that, your attachment to the physical world is what brought us both here—
broughtusbothtothispoint.”

There,Isaidit.It’shisfault.Still,myvoicebearsnoblame.He’snotthefirsttomakethatmistake.

AsLotussaid,it’sthefollyofman.

Damen’sjustoneofthefewtoactuallysucceedathisattempttothwartphysicaldeath—oratleast

forawhileanyway.

“Thenlater,whenwegetthroughthis,andwindup…well,whereverwe’llwindup,we’llneedto

usethatknowledgetofindawaytoreversewhatwe’vedone—themistakesthatwe’vemade,”Iadd,the
wordscomingsoquicklyandeasilyit’sasthoughtheyemanatefromsomeotherplace,butIknowdeep
downinside,knowinmygut,thatthey’retrue.“That’smyjourney.”Inod,suddenlyknowingitforsure.
“That’s the truth I’m supposed to reveal. How?” I peer at him, attempting to answer the question that
markshisbrow.“I’mnotsure,butthere’snodoubtinmymindthatit’swhatI’mdestinedtodo.”

Damenlooksatme,featureshardened,conflicted,thoughstickingtohisvowtofollowmylead.
AndthoughIsearchforabetterargument,abetterwaytopersuadehimthat’lleraseanylingering

doubts,there’snotimetodwell.NotimetoassurehimofwhatIknowdeepdowninsidetobetrue.

Notwiththecurrentgrowingswifter.
Notwiththeskydarkeninginawaythatinstantlyerasesthehorizon.
Thelinebetweenheavenandearth,waterandair,upanddown,suddenlyblurred.Catchingusina

swirling,whirlingsurgeofroguewaves,eachonebiggerthantheonethatcamebefore,causingtheriver
toexpandandsurge,torippleandroar,untilallwecandoishangontoeachother,tokeepfromgoing
overboard,capsizingintothewater.

Theskycrackingopenwitharumbleofthundersoloud,weseekshelterintheonlyplacelefttous

—eachother.Thetwoofustremblingunderacloudburstofrain—anunrelentingmonsoon—asgreatbolts
oflightningstrikedownallaround.

“Concentrate!”Icry,eyessqueezedshutagainstthedownpour,mylipsathisear.“Thisispartofthe

test,hangontothepast,refusetoforget,nomatterhowscaryitgets!”

Notquitesurewherethatcamefrom,butagain,sensingittobetrue.Knowingfirsthandthemighty

poweroffear,havingbeenruledbyitbefore.

It’stheoppositeoffaith.
Theoppositeoftrustingintheuniverse.
Theoppositeofbelievinginone’shigherself.
Fearleavesyousweatyandshakyandinsecureenoughtoquestioneverythingyouknowtobetrue.
Fearmakesyouturnyourbackonwhatmattersmost.
Resultinginrashdecisions,falsemoves,andlater,theunrelentingburdenofregret.AndifDamen

andIaretogetthroughthis,moveforwardonourpath,we’llhavetobeatthisriverandovercomethis
stormbydoingwhateverittakestoblockitallout.

Thewaterscontinuetochurnanddipastheboatcreaksandtiltsinaterrifyingway.DamenandI

huddletogether,clingingtoourmemories,clingingtoeachother,asaboltoflightningburnsupthebow,
cracksitinhalf,andallowsatorrentofwatertogushin.

Causingthebottomtofalloutfromtheweightofit,astheriverrisestoswallowuswhole.
Thetwoofusreaching,grasping,fightingforourlives,fightingtohangontoeachother—butit’sno

use.

Ourskinistoowet,tooslippery,tooslicktograbholdof.
AndthoughItrytokeepmyeyeonDamen,trytodeterminethedirectionfromwhichhecallsoutmy

name,it’stoodark,tooconfusing,I’venosenseoftimeorplace,nosenseofupordown—andthenext
thingIknow,I’msinking.

It’sover.
Toolate.
Theriverhasclaimedme.

chaptertwenty-three

I’mgagging.
Gaggingonmud,andmuck,andtotallyickybottom-of-the-riversludge.Somethinghardandmetallic

clangingagainstmyuppermolarsandfloatingonmytongue—somethingI’mdeterminedtoridmyselfof.

I push up onto my elbows, and then onto my knees. Balanced on all fours, I spit onto the ground,

scoop a finger around the inside of my mouth, and rid it of rocks and debris along with a strange
medallionthatpopsoutanddanglesbeforeme—hangingfromabrownleathercordIwearatmyneck.

I lean back on my heels, pinching the piece between my forefinger and thumb as I peer at a small

silver circle of a snake swallowing its own tail. Thinking it curious, more than a little interesting, but
havingnoideawhereitcamefrom.

NoideawhyIfindmyselfwearingit.
Noideawhatitcouldpossiblymean.
I fall back in exhaustion, close my eyes against the sun. At first enjoying the feel of it, the way it

driesmyclothesandwarmsmyskin,butit’snotlongbeforethepleasure’sdiminishedbyrayssointense
they leave me sweaty and breathless and suddenly overcome with a deep parching thirst that has me
scramblingbacktowardtheriver,hopingtodrink,onlytofindtheriverisgone.Replacedbyalandscape
of sand, a multitude of cacti, and two blazing suns overhead emitting dual sets of harsh, unforgiving,
searinghotrays.

Myskinbeginstoblisterandburnasmylipscrackandbleed,andwithnosheltertobefound,and

tooweakenedbymythirsttogosearchingforone,I’mleftwithnochoicebuttocurlmybodyintoaball.
Bowingmyheaduntilmychinistuckedtightlytomyknees,myhairhangingdownbeforeme,hopingit
willshieldme,onlytoendupsacrificingthebackofmyneckinordertosparemyface.

Think.Isquinchmyeyestightly,trytocentermyself,trytoconcentrate.
Think,Iscold.Remember.
Buttheheat’ssointenseit’simpossibletofocusonanythingbutmyscaldingskinandunquenched

ragingthirst.

Iyankmysleevesdown,downpastmywristsandovermyhands,allthewaydowntomyfingertips.

Tryingnottocryoutwhenthecottonrubsagainsttheblisters,splittingthemopenandallowingthejuice
from the wounds to sizzle right there on my flesh. Working past the pain, I shove them deep into my
pockets,attemptingtomakemyselfsmaller,lessofatarget,tryingtohidefromtheheat,butit’snouse.
Withduelingsuns,oneatmyfront,oneatmyback,thereisnoescapingtheirwrath.

My fingers squirm deep, and then deeper still. Ultimately coming across something slick and hard

withroughedges—astoneofsomekind.

AstoneIcannotremember.
I work my way along the sides, along the cool smooth surface, knowing I need to think, to

concentrate,toremember…something…buthavingnoideawhatthatsomethingmightbe.

I turn the stone over. Explore each side, again and again, until a flicker of light plays on the

undersideofmycrusted,shutteredlids.Aflashofcolor,amyriadofvaryinghues,creepingintomyvision
—myinnervision—accompaniedbyastringofwordsmeanttoprodme,nudgeme,insistentlyswirling
throughme,demandingmynotice—thoughI’venoideawhattheymean.

Wordsthatcontinuetoloopandrepeat,playingoverandover,eachandeverysylablestressedwith

greatesturgency,untilitsoundssomethinglike:

Dark—likehiseyes.
Red—likethebloodthatflowedfromme.
Blue—liketheriver,likethestoneinmypocket.
AstoneImustsee.
Iworkituppastmyhip,slideitacrossmybellyandovertowhereIcanseeit.Marvelingathow

it’s managed to stay cool despite the raging inferno around me, daring to slit one eye open, despite my
lashessingeing,myskinscalding,andmyretinasearing,Ipeeruponit,twirlingthatbrilliantblue-green
crystalaroundinmyfingers,awedbythesightofit,untilInoticesomethingevenmorewondrous—the
energythatradiatesfrommyskinlikeahaloofthebrightest,mostradiant,golden-fleckedpurple.

ThecolorremindingmeoftheoneIfeltearlier.Theonethatthrummedrightthroughmybody,back

whenIwasinSummerland,justafterI’dinadvertentlytradedFleur’sexperienceformine.Thatcolorful
feelingconvincingmetherewasmoretoDamen’sandmystory.

Thatwe’dbothlivedalifewe’dyettoacknowledge.
AndsuddenlyIknowwhatitmeans—knowwhatitis.
ThatbrilliantlyshimmeringshadethatIseeisthecolorofmysoul.
Myimmortalsoul.
It’swhatmyaurawouldlooklikeifIhadone.
Thetruthdescendinguponmesohardandfastitleavesnoroomfordoubtinmymind.
Ican’tdiehere.
Can’tdieanywhere.
Whileit’struethatmybodymaynotoutlastthisheat,nomatterwhat,mysoulwillliveon.
Likethesnakethathangsfromthecordatmyneck—eachlifefeedsintothenext.
AndthemomentIacknowledgethat,acceptitforafact,asoftspringrainbeginstofallandIjumpto

myfeet,smiling,laughing,asItiltmyheadback.Openingmymouthaswideasitwillgo,encouraginga
smallpoolofwatertocollectonmytongue.Awareofthesandfadingbeneathmeasmytoescurlintoa
lovelyexpanseofflowersandgrassthatspringsuptoreplaceit.Awareofmyskinhealing,regenerating,
as one sun sparks and fades and burns itself out, while the other one dims into a warm, forgiving, life-
sustainingglow.

Ispreadmyarmswideandtwirlinthefield,skipping,andleaping,anddancinginarainthat,having

healedme,isnowreducedtoalight,shimmeringdrizzle.

I did it! I can’t help but smile triumphantly. I won! I outsmarted the river—remembered the one

thingthatmattersmost—withalittlehelpfrommyfriends,ofcourse!

Friends.
I stop, my breath coming ragged, too quick, as I gaze all around, my joy vanishing the moment I

realizetwotruthsI’veforgotten’tilnow:

—I’mnotlikemyfriends.Mybody’simmortal,mysoulisnot.
—Damen’snothere.Whichmeansheforgot.Couldn’tholdontothememories.Allowedtheriverto

getthebestofhim.

And,havingtradedthesoul’simmortalityforphysicalimmortalitythere’sonlyoneplacelefttofind

him.

TrappedinsidetheShadowland.

chaptertwenty-four

ThoughI’vebeentherebefore,threetimesatlastcount,Ihavenoideahowtofindit.Noideawhere

itactuallyexists,orhowtolocateitonamap.

My first visit was via the experience Damen shared with me in his head. The second was when I

telepathicallyshowedRomantheplacewhereDrina’ssoulwent.AndthethirdwaswhenHavenkilled
me,sentmetothathorribleabyssforwhatfeltlikeforeverbutwasprobablyonlyamatterofminutes.

That’showtheShadowlandworks.
But it’s not like I ever made the trip by foot. It’s not like I ever set out to find the physical

manifestationofit.

So,hopingforanswers,IfallbackonallthatI’velearned,thethingsAvataughtme.Andinsteadof

allowing my mind to run amok with questions and thoughts that only result in creating panic and
uncertainty while never actually arriving anywhere helpful or good, I choose to focus on the silence
within.Trustingittoguideme,toleadme,toseethatIarriveintheplaceI’mmostmeanttobe.

Determinedtofollowmygut,myheart,myintuition,thehiddentruthrestinginside—Iblazemyown

trail,ledsolelybymyowninstincts,butwhenitfeelslikethetrekistakingtoolong,Idecidetospeedit
upabitandmanifestapartner.

Riding my mount for as far as she’ll go, I slide off her back the second she halts just shy of the

perimeter,theplacewherethegrassturnstomud,wherethetreesareallburnedoutandbarrendespite
the constant deluge of rain that never ceases to fall. It’s exactly like I first thought, this horrible place
reallyisSummerland’syin—itsshadowself—itsoppositeside—providingacleardemarcationbetween
thetwoworlds—onelight,onedark—leavingmewithnodoubtinmymindthatitmarkstheentranceto
theShadowland.

Itapmyhorseonherrear,urginghertoheadforgreenerpastures,asIglanceallaround,hopingto

findLotus,ormaybeevenaguideofsomekind,butrealizingI’mallonmyownItrudgedeepintothe
muck. Trudge past what feels like mind-numbing miles of bleak, dreary, desolate, drenched, and soggy
landscape,wonderingiftherewillevercomeapointwhereitturnsintosomethingelse,stopslookingthe
same.ThatpointcomingmuchsoonerthanimaginedwhenIstumbleuponascenesodrasticallydifferent,
Istop,swipeahandovermyeyes,andblinkafewtimestomakesureI’mnothallucinating,thatIreally
amseeingwhatIthinkI’mseeing.Andeventhen,Istillhavemydoubts.

I creep forward, my head swiveling as my eyes strive to take it all in. It’s surreal, surely a crazy

mirageofmyownmentalmaking.Andyet,nomatterhowmanytimesIblink,nomatterhowlongIhold
mybreathandstare,itrefusestoyieldinanywayuntilI’venochoicebuttoacceptthefactthatthescene
thatliesbeforemeisnotonlyreal,butanexactreplicaoftheoneinmydream.

ThedreamIwassureRileyhadsentme.
ThedreamIhadagainveryrecently.

ThedreamIwassurehadbeenmerelysymbolic,somethingIwasmeanttotakemytimepondering,

analyzing, dissecting, until I could finally break it down into manageable bits that actually meant
something.

NeveroncethinkingIwassupposedtotakeitliterally.
Neveroncethinkingthatanentirelandscapeofrectangularblocks—amazeofglassprisons—could

reallyexist.

I take a deep breath, take a few cautious steps, and squinch up my gaze. Peering at a crowd of

tormentedsouls,knowingexactlyhowtheyfeelhavingbeentheremyself.

Alone.
Isolated.
Devoidofallhope.
Surrounded by silence, an infinite darkness, forced to relive their very worst choices, their most

tragic mistakes and wrong turns, the bad decisions and selfish acts that caused others pain—forced to
relivetheirownpersonalhelloverandoveragain.Experiencingthepainthey’vecausedothersasthough
it’s their own—just like I did when it was me in their place. Having no way of knowing that there are
others just like them—that while they may feel alone, the irony is they’re actually trapped among their
ownkind.Allofthemruledbyanassaultofimages,age-oldregrets,withnowaytoturnoffthepictures,
nowaytosilencetheirheads.

AndjustasIwonderwhatI’mexpectedtodofromhere,thememoryofLotus’svoiceplaysinmy

ear.

Therearemanywhoawaityou.Awaityoutoreleasethem,toreleaseme.
AndIknowthisiswhatshemeant.Ihavetostarthere.
Iapproachthefirstblock,observingafrenzyofenergythatbelongstoatormented,agonizedsoulI

don’trecognize.Thoughthere’snodoubtit’soneofRoman’s,sinceotherthanme,theonlyonesDamen
turnedweretheorphans.AndIcan’thelpbutwonderjusthowmanyimmortalsRomanmight’vemade,
rememberinghowheonceansweredHavenwhensheposedthequestion:That’sformetoknow,andthe
restoftheworldtofindout.Nottomentionhowmanymight’veinadvertently,accidently,endeduphere.

Iclosemyeyes,pressmypalmstotheglass,andwaitforsomekindofsign,furtherinstructions,an

orderthatwillsoonberevealed,onlytobemetbyablastofdespairsodark,atormentsobleak,Ican
barelycontainit.SoonfollowedbyasurgeofbittercoldsointenseIcan’thelpbutjerkback.Gapingat
myfreezing,frostbittenpalms,knowingthataslongasI’mhere,there’snochancethey’llheal.

Desperatetoendit,formyselfaswellasthem,Ikickattheglass,kickashardasIcan,andwhen

thatdoesn’twork,Ipoundwithbothhands.Andafterhurlingmybodyagainstittonoavailwhatsoever,I
digdeepintomypocket,locatethebitofcrystalAvagaveme,thesmallpieceofcavansitethatenhances
intuition and psychic healing, prompts deep reflection, inspires new ideas, helps rid oneself of faulty
beliefs,andaidsininducingthememoriesofone’spriorlives,hopingitcanhelpmehereaswell.And
whenmyhandlightsup,whenmypalmheals,whenmyskinemitsthatbrilliantgolden-fleckedpurplehue
Iglimpsedearlier,Iknowexactlywhattodo.

Itakethesharpedge,thejaggedtipthatnarrowstoapoint,anddragitverticallydownonesideof

theglass,thenhorizontallyacrossthetop,andthenverticallydowntheother,cringingatthehigh-pitched,
squeaky, nails-on-a-chalkboard, wince-inducing kind of sound that results, but knowing I’ve succeeded
when the prison collapses, shatters onto itself, and a cool blast of air whizzes by as the trapped soul
rushesout.

Myhearthammershardinmychestastheentityhoversbeforeme,growing,stretchingintoavarying

collectionofpersonas—afullarrayofprior-lifeguises,noneofwhichIrecognize.Emittingabrightflash

of color as it shrinks down into itself once again and takes flight, soaring high into the sky, quickly
disappearingfromsight.

Ipausetocatchmybreath,amazedbywhatIjustwitnessed,whatI’vejustsucceededindoing,thenI

head to the next cube and repeat the sequence again, and then again. Releasing one trapped soul after
another,havingnoideawheretheygo,butfiguringanywhere’sgottobebetterthanhere.

Andthen,justasImoveforthenext,Ifindhim.
Damen.
Thoughit’snotatalllikeIthought,notatalllikeIexpected.
RatherthanbeingtrappedlikeIfeared,healsowandersfromblocktoblock.
Hishairwildlymussed,hiseyeshauntedandred-rimmed,hisvoicethickwithremorseashebegs

forgivenessforallthathe’sdone.

Begsforgivenessfortheirbeinghere.
“Thisisn’tyourfault,”Isay,quietlyapproachinghim.“Youhadnothingtodowiththis,Roman’sthe

onewhoturnedthem.Youknowhowproudhewasofhiselixir,howhelikedtoshareitfreely,oratleast
withwhomeverhedeemedworthy,whereasyouonlygaveittotheorphansandme.Unless…”Iswallow
hard,lookathim,awholenewthoughtoccurringtome,oneIprayisjustpureparanoiaandnotatalltrue.
“Unlesstherewereothersyouhaven’ttoldmeabout?”Isuckinmybreath.

Relaxingonlywhenhisbereftgazemeetsmineandhesays,“Sixorphans.Plusyou.That’sthegrand

totalofmypersonallegacy.”Heliftshisshoulders,breathesdeeply,looksallaround,beforereturningto
me.“Still,intheend,itdoesn’treallymatterwhofedthemtheelixir,doesn’tmatterwhodecidedtoturn
them,becauseallofthis—”hesweepshisarmwide,handarcingbeforehim,allaroundhim,“everything
youseehere—itallstemsfromme.Iwasthefirst.Iplantedtheseed.Romanneverwould’vegottenthere
ifithadn’tbeenforme.So,yousee,Ever,thisismyfault.It’slikeLotussaid,I’mthecauseandourlove
isthesymptom.Icouldn’tletyougo.Couldn’thandlethepainofalifelivedwithoutyou.Andwhileyou,
mysweetEver,mydearestAdelina,mayverywellbethecure,IhavetodoallthatIcantocorrectmy
karma,torightallmywrongs.Andwhatbetterplacetostartthanrighthere?”

I pause, taking a few moments to consider his words, while carefully sifting through a few of my

own.“Well,”Isay,myvoicelow,quiet,myeyesneveroncestrayingfarfromtheelegantplanesofhis
face.“FromwhatI’veexperiencedsofar,thebestwaytomakeupforallthatistoreleasethem.That’s
prettymuchallwecandoatthispoint.”

Ishowhimthecrystal,showhimhowI’vebeenusingittobreakthroughtheglassandsetthesouls

free.Motioningforhimtojoinme,andwatchingasheplaceshispalmstothesurfaceandsendsasilent
plea for forgiveness. His flesh throbbing, blistering, blackening, before becoming almost mummified
looking—refusingmyofferofthecrystalthatwillallowhimtoheal,hepreferstosuffer,convincedhe
deserves it, as he follows me from one to the next. The two of us repeating the sequence—Damen
expressinghisregretsasIsendtheglassshatteringsoanothersoulcanrushout.

Whenwegettothenextone,wehalt—immediatelysensingsomethingdifferent.Instantlyalertedto

somethingunusualthatsetsitapartfromthosethatcamebefore.Andeventhoughtheenergywithinisjust
asfranticasalltheothers,thrashingfuriously,crashingfromtoptobottomandsidetoside,movingso
fastit’shardtogetahandleon,toseeitforanythingmorethanaconfusingblur—it’sstillanenergywe
bothrecognize.

SoIbowout.Steptotheside.
ThisparticularsoulisDamen’storelease,notmine.
Whileweallshareapast,alongandconvolutedhistoryofjealousythatalwaysendsinmurder,my

murder,thetwoofthemhavememoriesthatdon’tinvolveme,havenothingtodowithme—andnotallof

thembad.

I hand him the crystal, listening as he calls to her silently, telepathically, but still I can hear. And

whenheplaceshishandsoneithersideofhercube,everythingstills.

Damen?shecalls,sensinghispresence,hisenergy,ormaybeit’sjustwishfulthinking.Maybeshe’s

beencallingforhimsincethedayIkilledherandsenthersoulhere.

Iamhere.Hecloseshiseyes,presseshisforeheadtotheglass,holdingontothesideswitheach

hand.Ihavefailedyou.Failedyouinsomanyways.Failedtoloveyouinthewaythatyouwanted,in
thewaythatyouneeded.AndthoughImayhavesavedyourlife,mayhavesparedyoufromtheblack
plague,I’mafraidthatintheend,IsteppedinwhereIdidn’tbelong,and,becauseofit,I’ve reduced
youtothis.

His breath fogs up the glass, prompting him to swipe a finger across it, then clear it with the

scorchedpalmofhissmolderinghand.

DrinaMagdalena,youarePoverinanomore.Sopleasego.Befree.Youhaveotherplacestobe.I

wasnevermeanttobeyourdestiny.

Hetapsthecrystaltotheglass,dragsitdowneachside,abitacrossthetop.Encouragingittoshatter

intolong,thinstripsthatfalltothegroundbeforebreakingintomuchsmallerpiecesthatcrumbleathis
feet.

Ibracemyself.Braceforjustaboutanything.Expectinganangrywhirlofenergythat,ifhistoryis

anyindication,willmostlikelyhurlitselfstraightatme.

WhichiswhyI’msurprisedwhenshechoosestoseepoutslowly.
Herenergyhoveringbeforeus,expanding,stretching,atfirstformingintoabriefimageofherselfas

mycousinEsmethatlastsonlyafewsecondsbeforeshesettlesintoherlastincarnationasthegloriously
beautiful,red-haired,green-eyedDrina—abeautysostartlingevendeathcannotmarit.

She floats closer to Damen, her gaze moving over him, drinking him in as a quiet communication

passesbetweenthem.AndeventhoughIcanhearit,eventhoughneitheroneofthemtriestohideitfrom
me,Istillturnaway,trytograntthemtheirprivacy.Catchingonlyabouteverythirdword,leavingtheir
dialoguesoundingsomethinglike:

Sorry—forgive you—forgive me—wrong—wasted—misguided—regretful—then back to sorry

again.

Shereachestowardhim,cupshisfacebetweenherfingers,hermouthtuggingdownatthecorners

whenheinvoluntarilyflinchesatthefeelofher—hergazesaddeningatthebottomlesspoolofregretshe
findsinhiseyes.

Andwhensheturnstome,it’snotatallwhatIexpected.Theusualscoreofhate,taunts,andthreats

hasbeenreplacedwithasoftliltingreverence.

Ishould’veknownthefirsttimeIkilledyou,shethinks.Ishould’verealizedbackthenthateven

withoutyourpresencebesidehim,yourloveneverdied.Imayhavesucceededinborrowinghimfora
time,buthewasneverreallymine,anditwasneververylongbeforehewentsearchingforyouagain.
Throughoutalloftheseyears,fromtheveryfirstmomenthemetyouasAdelina,hisheartwasclaimed
forgood.Hebelongsonlytoyou.YouandDamenaremeanttobe.AndI’vebeenafoolforinterfering.
She sighs, shakes her head, reaches forward as though to touch me, but then, remembering Damen’s
reaction,shethinksbetter,returnsherarmtoherside.

AndI’mnotsurewho’smoresurprised,her,Damen,orme,whenIchoosetostepforward—whenI

choosetoreachforherhandandgraspitinmine.SuddenlyknowingwhyDamenflinchedthewayhedid,
it’snotsomuchthecold,it’smorethebuzzofherenergy—thesheer,vibratingintensityishardtogetused
to.

The words streaming into my head when she thinks: If you can forgive me, then soon, I’ll be

leaving.

Igazeintotheeyesofthepersonwhokilledmetimeandtimeagain.Tryingtoridherselfofme,rid

theworldofme,onlytofindthatshecouldn’t.Nomatterhowhardshetried,Ikeptcomingback.AndI’m
amazed to find I can no longer think of her as the enemy. Now that I know the truth, know that we’re
connected,thatI’masmuchapartofherassheisofme,Icannolongerhateher.Andeventhoughthis
seemsliketheend,thisgood-byeisprobablyonlytemporary.I’venodoubtwe’llsomedaymeetagain.I
justhopeshecanmanagetoholdontosomeofthewisdomshe’sgained.

Shesmiles,herfacelightingupinawaythatleavesherlookingpositivelyradiant,andatfirstIthink

it’saresponsetowhatIjustthought,onlytoseehereyesmovingoverme,motioningforDamentolook
too.

Look—you’reglowing! Her expression changing to confusion when she adds: But… how can that

be?Immortalsdon’tglow.Youneverglowed.Butnowyoudo.It’ssoodd—whatdoyousupposethatit
means?

Damen squints, unable to see what I see—what she sees—the faint trace of purple that emanates

fromme,allaroundme.

She pauses, waiting for me to explain, but since I don’t even know where to begin, I just lift my

shouldersandquirkmymouthtotheside.

AndRoman—haveyousenthimheretoo?Shelooksstraightatme.
I pause, wanting to stress that it wasn’t me who killed Roman—that, contrary to some people’s

opinions I’m not some crazy immortal killer. But soon realize that two out of three is hardly a record
worthbraggingabout,muchlessdefending,Igulpdownthewordsandnodtowardthelasttworemaining
cubes.

AndjustlikewhenDamenapproachedhers,whensheapproachesRoman’s,allactivityhaltsashe

sensesherpresenceandcriesoutforher.AndthesecondDamencracksitopen,Romanwhirlsoutina
furious storm of energy that expands and forms, spending a few seconds as the handsome, rakish Rhys
beforehesettlesonthewayhelookedastheevenmorehandsome,evenmorerakishRoman.Complete
withgoldentousledhair,piercingblueeyes,suntannedskin,fadedjeansthathangdangerouslylow,and
anunbuttonedwhitelinenshirtthatshowcaseshisfinelysculptedabs.

ButeventhoughDamenandIstandrighttherebeforehim,readytoexplain,defendouractions,do

whateverittakestoeasewhatcouldveryeasilybecomeaprecarioussituation—justlikeinlife,hissole
focusisDrina.

She’sallhecansee.
Thoughunlikethepastsixcenturies,Drinacanfinallyseehim.
Thetwoofthemdrawntoeachother,gazingateachotherforsolong,Damenclaspsmyhandinhis

andstartstomoveaway,nearingthelastremainingblockwhenRomancalls:Brother.

Soonfollowedby:Friend.
Andthen:Enemy.
Thoughthatlastpartischasedwithadazzling,white-toothedsmile.
We meet Roman’s gaze. Noting the way the grin lights up his face, lights up his energy, making it

spark and glow as he shuts his eyes tightly and concentrates on a long stream of words he wants us to
hear.

AlongstreamofwordsIcan’tseemtoputintoanysortofcontext,can’tmakeanykindofsenseof.
Alongconvolutedlistofherbs,potions,crystals,and…moonphases…
Igasp,eyeswidewithdisbelief,gapingatDamen,wonderingifhehearswhatIhear,understands

what,forme,justbecameclear.

It’stheantidote!
Romaniswillingly,withoutbeingasked,bullied,manipulated,ortortured,holdinguphisendofthe

deal.

Theonewestruckjustminutesbeforehewaskilledandsenthere.
TheonewhereIagreedtogivehimwhathewantedmost,inexchangeforwhatIwantedmost.
Drinafortheantidotethat’llallowDamenandmetobetogetherinthewaythatwewereasAlrik

andAdelina—withnoneedforenergyshields,nofearofourDNAclashing,nothreatofDamendying.

Roman’smakinggoodonhisword.
Taking a moment to repeat it once more, make sure that we got it, took note of it, committed it to

memory,becausehe’llsoonbemovingon,withDrinabyhisside,andhedoesn’texpecttoseeusagain,
oratleastnotforaverylongtime.Thisisourlastchance.Theopportunitywon’tcomeagain.

Igulp,nod,brimmingwithsomuchgratitude,soovercomewithhappiness,myeyessting,mythroat

swells,andI’venoideawheretostart,whattosay.

But I don’t have to say anything. He and Drina have already joined hands, already turned away.

Alreadyheadedtothenextcubewhere,havingnofurtherneedofus,theypooltheirenergyinawaythat
splitsitwideopen,allowingHaventoburstoutofherownpersonalhell.

She shoots straight for me. An angry ball of raging red energy that, from all appearances, is still

furiouswithme.

Stillblamesme.
Stillintendstomakegoodonherlastspokenwords—herthreattoundome.
Damenshouts,jumpsbetweenus,hisarmsspreadwide,doinghisbesttocoverme,todefendme

fromwhatevershe’splanned.

Butjustasshereachesus,hoveringamererazor’swidthaway,shestops,slows,andIwatch,eyes

wide with wonder, as the furious red glow of her simmers into a much softer rose-toned pink. Shifting
betweenallofthepersonasofherpreviouslives,beginningwithmycousin,Esme’ssister,Fiona,before
transitioning into several more I vaguely recognize from scenes I’ve viewed of my past incarnations.
Amazedtolearnshe’sbeenwithmeallthistime,usuallyfromadistance,neverasaclosefriendoreven
asister,butstill,wow,Ihadnoidea.

Istarttoapologize,wanthertoknowhowdeeplysorryIam,butshe’sfartooimpatient,andquickly

wavesitaway.There’sstillmoretoshowme,she’snotquitethroughyet,andIwatchasshetransitions
intoalloftheguisessheworeinhermostrecentlife.Everythingfromherprimaballerinaphase,toherJ.
Crew preppy phase, to the goth phase she was in back when we first met, to the short-lived Drina-
wannabephasethatfollowed,totheemophasethatcameshortlyafter,totheblackleatherandlacerock
’n’rollgypsylookthatdidn’tlastlongbeforetransitioningintohersuper-scaryimmortalwitchphase,as
Miles once called it—the one her life ended with—until finally settling upon a version of herself I’ve
neverseenbefore.Onewhereherhairislongandshinyandwellcaredfor,hereyesclearandbright,her
clothing slightly edgy, Haven-like, but not crying out for attention or in-your-face angry. But the biggest
changeofallistheradiantsmilethatlightsupherface,tellingmeshe’sfinallyfoundherself—finallyat
peace.

Finallylikeswhosheis.
Jabbing her thumb between Damen, Roman, and Drina, a love triangle that spanned way too many

centuries, she shakes her head, rolls her eyes, and lets out a long wistful sigh that soon turns into a
contagiouslaughIcan’tfight.Thetwoofusgigglinginawaythatremindsmeofbetterdaysspentwith
Miles at the lunch table, lazy afternoons holed up in her room with a stash of magazines piled high

betweenus,FridaynightshanginginmyJacuzziafterhavingdevouredanentirepizza.

Herfocusshiftedbacktomewhenshethinks:Idon’thateyou.ThoughI’mnotgonnalie,Iusedto.

Andnotjustinthatlastlife,butinmostoftheothersaswell.Butthat’sonlybecauseIwassounhappy
withmyself,Iwassurethateveryoneelsehaditbetter,hadwhatIneeded.IwassurethatifIcould
onlyclaimwhattheyhad,thenIcouldbehappytoo.Sheshakesherhead,rollshereyesattheabsolute
follyofit.Anyway,you’llbegladtoknowthat’sallovernow.I’mfreeinmorewaysthanone.NowI’m
justlookingforwardtowhatevercomesnext.

Iswallowhardandnod,herwordsprettymuchtheoppositeofwhatI’dpreparedfor,whichmakes

themevenmorewelcome.OnesIwon’tsoonforget.

Andthen,thenextthingIknow,Drinapoints,Havensqueals,Romangrins,andtheyalljoinhands,

thethreeofthemrushingtowardsomethingviewableonlytothem,disappearingintoabrilliantflashof
whitelightwithoutoncelookingback.

chaptertwenty-five

Damen pulls me into his arms, grasps me tightly to him, then lifts me into the air and swings me

around. My hair swirling behind me like a shiny gold cape as we twirl and spin and dance and laugh,
gazinginwonderasthisonce-barrenfieldbeginstotransformitself.

Thejaggedshardsofprisonglasssinkingdeepintotheground—recyclingfirstintosand,thenintoa

rich dark soil that provides instant nourishment for the formerly burned-out trees. Allowing them to
straightenandstretch,tosproutathickblanketofleaves,asaswathofpurpleandyellowwildflowers
bloomattheirroots.

Thetwoofusovercomewithexcitement,brimmingwiththegleeofourtriumph,Damen’svoicelike

asonginmyearwhenhesays,“Wedidit!Wefreedthem—madeamends—weevensecuredtherecipe
fortheantidote,andit’sallbecauseofyou!”Hislipsfindmyforehead,mycheek,mynose,andmyear,
thenpullingaway,headds,“Ever,doyourealizewhatthisallmeans?”

Ilookathim,mygrinsowidemycheeksarestretchedtotheirlimits,butstillwantingtohearhim

sayit,wantingtohearthewordsspokenoutloudforbothofustohear.

“Itmeanswecanfinallybetogether.”Hestops,presseshisforeheadtomine,hisbreathcomingfast

andquick.“Itmeansallofourproblemsaresolved.Itmeansthatwe’llneverhavetovisitthepavilion
again—notevenasAlrikandAdelina—unless,ofcourse,wewantto.”Hewiggleshisbrow,emitsalow,
deep laugh. “All we have to do is head back to the earth plane, get working on the brew, and…” He
pauses,smoothshisthumbovermycheek,thenleansintokissmeagain.

I return it with an intensity and fervor matching his. Aware of the slim veil of energy hovering

betweenus,keepinghimsafefromwhat,thankstoRoman,hasbecomemylethalDNA,which,alsothanks
toRoman,won’tbeathreatformuchlonger.Hardlyabletobelievethatthedaysofwhatwe’vecometo
refertoasouralmostkissaresoclosetobeingover.

Soon, very soon, we’ll be able to live just like everyone else. Able to touch each other openly,

freely,withoutanyworries.Likewedointhepavilion—onlybetter,becauseit’llbereal.

Soon we’ll embrace as ourselves—our present-tense selves—instead of in our various past-life

guises.

Ipullawayeversoslightly,closemyeyesandturnmyfacetothesky,stealingamomenttosenda

silentthankstoRoman,whereverheis,forgivingusthiswonderfulgift.

Then just when I’m about to kiss Damen again, his face falls and he moves out of my reach,

answeringthequestioninmyinquiringgazewithacurtnodtowardLotus,whokneelsatadistance.

Shesitsattheedgeofapondjustafewfeetaway,herwispysilverstrandsflowingfreelyabouther,

murmuringsoftlywithherhandsclaspedtightlytoherchest.Gazinguponanabundanceoflotusblossoms
thatrisethroughthemurkydarkwaterstobloomabovethesurface.Theirsoftwhiteandpinkpetalslifting
upward, surrounded by shiny green scallop-edged leaves, one popping up right after the other until you

canbarelyseethewaterfortheflowers.

Sheremainslikethatforsometime.Contenttomeditateonthewondrousviewbeforeher,untilshe

turnstofaceus,wearinganexpressionthat,whilenotexactlywhatI’dcalltroubled,hardlymatchesthe
floodoftriumphDamenandIarecurrentlyinthemidstof.

Damen’seyesnarrow,hisjawclenches,bracingforwhateverbadnewshe’ssurethatshebrings.
Thetwoofuscautiouslymovingtowardher,meetinghalfway,bothofusequallystartledwhenshe

risesfromthemuddybanks,looksatus,andsays,“Congratulations.”

Wewait.Waitforsomethingtofollow.But,forawhileanyway,thatseemstobeall.
“Youmayreturntotheearthplaneifyouwish.”Sheglancesbackandforthbetweenus.
Damensqueezesmyhand,inneedofnofurtherprodding.He’smorethanreadytoleaverightnow,

doesn’tseethepointinwastinganothersecondhangingaround.ButIstandfirm.Digmyheelsin.Sensing
it’snotoveryet,there’ssomethingmoreLotusiswaitingtoshare.

“Youhavedonewell.Allisinbloom.”Shegesturestowardtheflowersthatarestillblossoming,

and to the landscape beyond. “You have even freed the lost ones.” She presses her palms together,
formingasteeplesheholdsclosetoherheart,hersimplegoldbandglintingatus.“Andsoyouarefreeto
leave.Freetoreturntoyourimmortallives.Yet,Iwonder…”

Welookather,mecurious,Damenonguard,fingerscurlingathissides.
“Iwonderifyouwillwanttoreturntoyourlivesafterallyouhavelearned.Iwonderifyouwill

choosealifeofphysicalimmortalityafterhavinglearnedthetruthofthesoul.”

Damenrollshiseyes,grunts,andagain,triestohaulmeaway.ButIstayrightwhereIam,lookingat

LotuswhenIsay,“Areyouimplyingweactuallyhaveachoice?”

Sheliftsonegnarledoldhand,brushesastraywispofhairawayfromherface.“Ohyes,”shesays,

hergazemovingoverme.“Thereisachoice.Awayout.”

Ipressmylipsintoafrown,tryingtodeterminejustwhatthatmightmean.DecidingIdon’tlikethe

conclusionIcometo,don’tlikeitatall,whenIsay,“Ifyou’rereferringtodeathasawayout…”Ishake
my head, blink a few times, hardly believing she would even dare broach such a thing. “Well, you can
forgetit.Nowayisthathappening.Imean,incaseyoudon’tremember,thatprettymuchresultsinaone-
waytickettotheShadowlandforpeoplelikeus.Andsincewedidaprettygoodjobofcleaningupthe
Shadowlandjustnow,we’dhatetoseeitresortrightbacktoitsoldways.Nottomentionhowthere’sno
guarantee anyone would even show up to release us like we just released Roman, Drina, Haven, and
everyoneelse.”Ipauselongenoughtohuff,blowmyhairoutofmyeyes,butnotlongenoughforherto
interject.“Also,youshouldprobablyknowthatwehavetheantidotenow—oratleasttherecipetomake
it.Whichmeanswe’vejustbeenhandedawholenewreasonforliving—areallygoodreasonforliving.
Wehaveeachotherforever.Wecanlivethelifewe’vealwaysdreamedof.Andfinally,well,thewhole
dyingthingisprettymuchmootanyway,sinceIcan’tactuallydieanymore.

BackwhenHavenkilledme,Iroseabovemyweakchakra.Iovercamemyweakness,madetheright

decision, and because of it, I came back to join the living. I’m unkillable now.” I lift my shoulders,
knowing it may sound weird, but then, weird is all relative here. “I’m a true immortal. Here for the
duration.I’mnotgoinganywhere,andIreallypreferthatDamendoesn’tgoanywhereeither.”

“Andyou?”SheturnstoDamen,totallyunfazedbyeverythingIjustsaid.“Doyouagreewiththis?

Doyoufeelasshedoes?”

Hefrowns,glares,teethgnashingtogetherashegrumblesanunequivocal“OfcourseIdo!”Thenhe

squeezesmyhand,eagertoleave.

But even though I’m eager to leave too, for the moment, my curiosity’s piqued and I want to see

wherethisleads.WonderingifImightalreadyknowwhenIsay,“Thiswayoutthatyoureferto,isthisfor

usorforyou?”MyeyesnarrowingasIrecallherearlierwords,whenshebeggedmetoreleaseher,but
fromwhat,shenevermadeclear.

Isshestuck?
AprisoneroftheShadowlandbutwithouttheglasscage?
Theanswercomingintheformofherusualriddlewhenshesays,“Itisforyou,forme,forallofus.

Once I learned the truth, I was already too old and frail to make the journey. But now you are here.
Returnedjustforthis.Icanseeitinyoureyes,inthelightthatsurroundsyou.Youaretheone.Theonly
one.Thefateofmanyliesinyourhands.”

“So…basicallyyou’resayingthatmyjourneyisn’tevenclosetobeingfinished?Thatthere’sstilla

heckuvalotmoreyouexpectmetodo?”MygazenarrowsasItrytodeterminejusthowIfeelaboutthat,
mostlyveeringtowardbeingverymuchagainstit.

Shenods,herclumpyoldeyesneveronceleavingmine.“Youaresoclose.Itisbesttokeepgoing

fromwhereyounowstand.Wheredestinyisconcerned,eachstepleadstothenext.”

“Oh,sure,”Damensays,thesoundofhisvoicestartlingmeinthatit’sevengrufferthanIwould’ve

expected. But to Lotus’s credit, she doesn’t react, doesn’t wince, doesn’t flinch, just continues to stand
there, observing him with her usual calm. “Sure, we’ll get right on that.” He shakes his head. “Sorry,
Lotus,butyou’regonnahavetogiveusalittlemoretogoon.EverandIhavebeenthroughthewringer
and we came out on top, got the one thing we wanted—the one thing we needed to make our lives
complete,andnowyouthinkyoucanjustshowup,tossanothercrypticriddleourway,andsteerusoutof
ourmuch-deservedvictorycelebrationandbackintomoretrouble—troublethatyoualonehavecreated?”
Heglares.“Thinkagain.”

“Seriously,” I add, encouraged by his argument. “Why should we even consider doing this? Why

can’t you find someone else, one of the other immortals, maybe? Haven’t we been through enough
already?”

Butinsteadofansweringmyquestion,shetiltsherheadinDamen’sdirectionandsays,“Damen,isit

reallyIwhocreatedit?Orwasthatyou?”

Damen meets her gaze, but clamps his lips shut, refusing to speak. And when it’s clear he has no

planstoaddressher,Inudgehimwithmyelbowandsay,“What’sshetalkingabout?Whatisityou’renot
tellingme?”

Heswallows,squirms,kicksattheground,putsitoffforaslongashecanbeforehetakesadeep

breathandsays,“Sheclaimstobeoneoftheorphans.ClaimsIsavedherfromtheblackplagueoversix
hundredyearsagowhenImadeherdrinkfromtheelixir.”

I balk, eyes practically popping from their sockets as I glance at the two of them. Finally finding

enoughvoicetosay,“And?Isittrue?”

Wonderingwhynoonesawfittomentionthisbefore.Wonderingifthisiswhatsheshowedhimthat

daywhenIwatchedthemshareasilentcommunication.

Damen shrugs, swipes a hand over his brow and gazes all around. “No. No way. It’s impossible.

She’smakingitup,”hesays,obviouslymoreflusteredthanheletson.Pausingforamoment,longenough
to gather his thoughts, sighing loudly as he adds, “Honestly? I don’t know. I’ve been racking my brain
sincethedayshefirsttoldme,butIjustcan’trecall.It’sherwordagainstmymemoryandthere’snoway
toknowforsure.Usuallyit’stheeyesthatgiveitaway,beingthewindowtothesoulandallthat—but
hersaresodamaged,they’recompletelyunrecognizable.She’snottheleastbitfamiliartome.”Heshakes
hishead,takesamomenttoscowlatLotus,hisfacesofteningwhenheturnsbacktome.“Ever,you’vegot
torememberwe’retalkingoversixhundredyearssinceIlastsawthesepeople.AndtheonlyreasonI
didn’tmentionitbeforeisbecauseIdidn’twanttoworryyouunnecessarily,especiallywhenthere’sno

waytoproveiteitherway.Besides,myonlyconcernisforyou—forus—righthereinthepresent,and
wellintothefuture.Thepastnolongerconcernsme.OtherthanDrinaandRoman,Ihavenoideawhat
becameoftheotherorphans.Ihavenoideawheretheyendedup—”

“ButRomandidknow,”Icutin,rememberingwhatHaventoldme,aboutwhatRomantoldher,the

storieshewroteinhisjournals.

Damen and Drina may have moved on, but Roman stuck around, kept in touch. Eventually

discoveringawaytore-createtheelixir,andwhentheeffectsbegantowearoff,sometimearoundone
hundredandfiftyyearslater,whentheimmortalsbegantoshowtheravagesofaging,hetrackedthemall
downandhadthemdrinkagain,repeatingthesequenceeverycenturyandahalf,untilnow.Nowthathe’s
gone,there’snoonetolookafterthem.Nottomentionthere’snotellingjusthowmanyhedecidedtoturn
on his own. If the number of unrecognizable souls we just released from the Shadowland was any
indication,it’ssafetoassumetherearemany,manymore.

IstudyLotus,wonderinghowlongit’sbeensinceshelastdranktheelixir.I’veneverseenanyoneas

oldasher,especiallyanimmortal.AlloftheimmortalsIknowareyoung,beautiful,glowingwithhealth
andvitality,physicallyperfectineveryimaginableway.

Whereasshe’sjusttheopposite—old,weathered,herskinsopaper-thin,bodysofrail,itseemsas

thoughtheslightesthintofabreezecouldtipherrightover,breakherintoamillionsharplittlepieces.

Damenand I areso lost inthought we’re both caughtby surprise whenLotus springs forward and

grabsholdofourhands,herancienteyesbeamingbrightlyashermindconnectswithours,projectinga
slewofimagesIneverwould’veexpected—imagesthatleavemequestioningeverything.

chaptertwenty-six

Lotus’s fingers entwine with ours, the feel of them dry, cool, but surprisingly strong, as her mind

projects a series of portraits, like individual sepia prints, one after another, eventually streaming and
blending into a moving-picture format. Showing a quick glimpse of the orphans, all lined up in a row,
lookingastheydidbackthen.DamenandDrinaflankingoneend,LotusandRomanontheother,therest
gatheredinthemiddle.

LongbeforeshebecameLotus,shewasadark-haired,bright-eyedchildnamedPia,who,notlong

afterdrinkingtheelixir,fledtheorphanagewithalltheothersonlytobetakeninbyafamilyofmodest
meanswho,mourningthechildtheylosttotheplague,wereeagerforareplacement.

Shelivednormallyatfirst,havingnoideawhatshe’dbecome.Shegrewup,married,butitwasn’t

longbeforesherealizedshewasdifferent.Notonlycouldshenotbearchildren,butshecouldn’tfigure
out why everyone around her aged while she stayed the same. A realization that soon forced her to do
whatallimmortalsmusteventuallydooncethesubtlequestionsandcuriousinquiriesbegintogrowinto
risingsuspicion,hysteria,andirrationalcrowd-drivenfear—underthecoverofnight,shegrabbedafew
belongingsandran,nevertoreturn,oratleastnotforseveralcenturies.

She wandered. Remarried—more than once. Determined to stay in each place, with each husband,

for as long as she could until the constant need to flee became so unbearable she determined it
emotionallyeasiertoliveonherown.Eventuallygrowingtoabhorherimmortality,seekwaystoreverse
it,wantingonlytorejointhenaturalorderofbeing,tolivelikeeveryoneelse.

Shetraveled.FirsttoIndiathenontoTibet,whereshestudiedwithmystics,shamans,gurus,awhole

host of spiritual seekers and guides who showed her how to purify her body and cleanse her soul, but
couldn’thelpherreversethechoiceshemadeallthoseyearsagowhenshewastooyoungtounderstand
theconsequences.Theironyofherstudiesbeingthatshe’dunknowinglysucceededinstrengtheningher
chakrastothepointwhereshe’drenderedherselfcompletelyinvulnerable,immunetotheonethingshe
soughtaboveeverythingelse—thereleasethatonlydeathcanbringabout.

Ultimatelygrowingsoadvancedinherstudies,shebecameknownasacelebratedmiracleworker,

the most sought-after healer. The name she now goes by, Lotus, stemming from her ability to make that
beautifulflowerbloomrightfromthecenterofherpalms,simplybyclosinghereyesandwishingittobe
so.AnactshewascapableofnotjustinSummerland,butalsoontheearthplanebackhome.

Determinedtosettleintoacelibate,solitaryexistence,butfatehadotherideas,anditwasn’tlong

beforeshemetsomeoneandfellinlove.Reallove.Truelove.Thekindoflovewhich,despiteseveral
husbands,she’dneverexperiencedbefore.

Thekindwhereshebuiltenoughtrusttoconfidethetruthofherexistence,triedtoconvinceherlover

togotoRoman,todrinktoo,tobecomelikeher,sothey’dneversufferthepainoflosingeachother.

Butherefused.Chosetogrowold.Andwhenthedayfinallycamethatshekneltbesidehisdeathbed,

frettingatthesimplegoldbandhe’dplacedonherfinger,hepromisedtodoeverythingwithinhispower
tonotreincarnate.Tonotreturntotheearthplane.Statinghe’dmuchratherwaitforhertofindawayto
reverseherimmortality,sothatshecoldsomedayjoinhiminthegreathereafter.

Heleftheronherowntogrowolder,thenolderstill.Herbodyeventuallybecomingsodecrepit,she

prayedthesheerexhaustionofkeepingitgoingwouldultimatelyconvinceherbreathtostopcoming,her
hearttostopbeating,soshecouldmeetupwithherloveragain—butstill,sheliveson.

Shecontinuedherstudies,continuedtosearchforawayout,ultimatelydiscoveringthesolutiononly

aftershe’dgrowntoooldtomakethetrip.

Thoughsherefusedtogiveup.Withthelong-heldwishofherreunionfinallywithinreach,shespent

the last century tracking down all of the remaining orphans, revealing the truth of what she’d learned,
hopingtoconvinceoneofthemtomakethejourney—tobringbackthechanceatanewleaseonlife.

Lifeasitwasintendedtobe.
Toprovidethemallwithasortofdo-over—asecondchancetomakeafullyinformeddecisionasto

whetherornottokeepgoingliketheyare.Unlikethetimewhentheyweretooyoungandscaredtorealize
theconsequences—whentheyallrushedtodrinkwithoutasecondthought.

Drina refused her flat out. Roman laughed in her face. While the others simply shook their heads,

gazeduponherwithgreatpity,andtoldhertogoaway.

Damenwasthelastonherlist—herlasthope.
Untilshesawme.
“IthoughtitwasenoughthatIfoundawaytoreleasethesoulsandreversetheShadowland,but,asit

turns out, there’s still more you want me to do.” I glare, shake my head, and yank free of her grip. My
fingers slipping past the thin gold band she wears on her left hand, feeling remorse for the loss of her
loved one, but unsure what I’m supposed to do. “You put me through all that hell, when all along that
wasn’teventhejourneyyouhadinmind—youhadsomethingelseplannedformethatwholeentiretime!”

“Each step leads to the next,” she says, her voice far calmer than mine. “Everything you have

experiencedinthislifeaswellasthosepriorhaspreparedyouforthismoment.Eachdecisionyoumade
haslandedyouhere.Andwhileyouhaveaccomplishedsomuch—thereismuchlefttodo.Thejourneyis
long and arduous—but the reward is too great to miss. There are many who await you—await you to
releasethem.Youaretheonlyonewhocandoso.Thisiswhyyoukeepreincarnating,Ever.Youhavea
destinytofulfill.”

Isquint,realizingwithastartthat’sthefirsttimeshe’severusedmyrealname,oratleastmycurrent

real name. Usually she calls me Adelina, or just points as she sings that demented song of hers. And I
can’t help but wonder what more I could possibly be expected to do after all that I’ve already been
through. Surviving a past life I never realized I’d lived, nearly drowning in the River of Forgetfulness,
nearlygettingburnedaliveinthedesertoftwoblazingsuns,freeingthelostsoulsoftheShadowlandand
restoringitbacktothesplendorofSummerland.

After all that, I’m just not sure I’m up for any new challenges. Not when everything Damen and I

havebeenstrivingforallthistimeisfinallywellwithinourreach.Allwehavetodoisheadbacktothe
earthplane,collecttheingredients,whipuptheantidote,giveitashakeandaswig,andthehappilyever
afterisours.

“Only you can bring back the truth. Only you can find it,” Lotus says, the words spoken plainly,

simply,bearingnosignsofbeggingorpleading.

“Locatewhatexactly?”Damenasks,makingnoattempttohidehisexasperation.
ButLotusisimmunetoouroutbursts.FromwhatIcansee,shecyclesbetweentwomoods—veering

fromslightlyforlorn,tocalmandserene.

“TheTreeofLife,”shesays,hergazedirectedathim.“OnlyEvercanfindit.OnlyEvercanbring

backitsfruit.Thetreeisevergiving.

Its fruit provides enlightenment—the knowledge of true immortality—the soul’s immortality—to

thosewhoseekit—aswellasreversingthefalse,physicalimmortalityofthosewho’vebeenfooled.”

“Andifshedoesn’tgo?Ifsheturnsherbackonyou,onallofthis,andreturnstotheearthplane,then

what?”Damen’sbrowrisesinchallenge.

“Then it’s a pity. Then I have misjudged her. Underestimated her. Then she will not realize her

destinyandmanywillsuffer.Yetitisherchoiceentirely.Icanonlyask,shehasthefreewilltodecideon
herown.”Lotusfacesmewhensheadds,“DoyoustillhavethatsmallpouchthatIgaveyou?”

My eyes narrow, my lips part, I’d forgotten all about the little silk pouch she handed me at the

beginningofthejourney,andafterallthatI’vebeenthrough,Idoubtit’sstillwithme.

Isnakemyfingersintoeachofmypockets,eventuallyfindingitwedgeddeepintothecornerofthe

righthandbackone,thelastoneIcheck.It’scrumpled,totallysquashedandcrinkly,butstillIretrieveit
anddangleitbeforeme.

Herfaceliftingintoasmileasshesays,“DoyouremembermywordswhenIgaveittoyou?”
Isquint,searchingthroughtheclutteredcontentsofmymind.“Yousaid,‘Everythingyouthinkyou

needisinhere.Youdecidewhatthatmeans.’Orsomethinglikethat.”

Shenods.Grins.Myattentionclaimedbythelargegapsinherteethwhenshesays,“Andso,with

that in mind, what is the one thing you desire most—above everything else? Right now, at this very
moment,whatisityouwant?”

Ihesitate.Stareatasmallpatchofgrassatmyfeet.AwareofDamen’sgazeweighingheavilyupon

me,wonderingwhyIwon’tsayit,whythedelay.

ThesamethingIwonderaswell.
Iwonderwhythewordwon’tcome—whyitfeelslikesuchastruggle,whenit’stheonething,the

onlything,we’vesoughtallthistime.

Lifting my gaze to meet Lotus’s, I fight to push the words past my tongue. My voice wooden,

perfunctory,devoidofemotion,whenIsay,“Theantidote.I—ratherwe,havetherecipe,butwestillneed
tocollecttheingredients,attendtoallthemoonphases,and…whatnot…”Iallowthewordstotrailoff.
My heart hammering, my stomach jumbled in knots, my fingers twitching wildly as Lotus’s eyes travel
betweenDamenandme.

“Andsoitis.”Shenods,asthoughitisdone,andwhenthegestureismetwithtwoskepticalstares,

sheadds,“Please.Lookinside.

You will find it contains everything you need to make this antidote of yours. Including a very rare

herb that will be difficult to find back on the earth plane. And yes, all of the moon phases have been
accountedfor.”

Contenttoleaveitatthat,shestartstoshuffleaway,stoppingonlywhenIcallherbacktomeand

say,“You’rejoking,right?”Idanglethetinypouch,knowingthere’snopossiblewayitcouldevercontain
alltheitemsRomanincludedinthatlonggrocerylistofhis.It’stoosmall.Alistlikethatwouldrequirea
completelystuffeddufflebag,ortwo.

Lotusstops,steeplesherhandsatherchest,andsays,“Whydon’tyouemptythecontentsandsee?”
Ifrown,kneelontothegrass,pullingthestringsasItiltthetinybagonitsside.Unabletodoanything

butgaspwhenaslewofherbs,crystals,andtinyglassvialsofliquidstumbleout.Havingnoideawhere
theycouldpossiblybecomingfrom—thebagcontainsfarmoreitemsthanitcouldeverlogicallyhold.

“Itisallthere.Everythingyouneedtoproceed.JustfollowRoman’sinstructionsandthelifethatyou

dreamofisyours.”Shestops,lookingatmewhensheadds,“Orisit?”

Igulp.Struggletobreathe.Staringatthebountyallspreadoutbeforeme—agenerousheapofhard-

to-find,complexingredientsI’vebeensearchingforallofthistime—theanswertoallofourproblems
righthereforthetaking.

Andyet,eventhoughIknowIshouldbehappy,ifnotcompletelyecstatic,Ican’tseemtostopher

wordsfromrepeatinginmyhead,can’tdampenthedoubtsheraisedwhenshesaid:Orisit?

“Something wrong?” Her rheumy gaze moves over me. “Have you changed your mind? Is there

somethingelseyou’dratherhave?”

“Ever—” Damen drops to his knees right beside me, willing me to face him, to say something, to

offersomesortofexplanation.

ButIcan’t.
HowcanIexplainittohimwhenIcanbarelymakesenseofitmyself?
He’llonlygetangry.
Won’tunderstand.
And,onthesurfaceatleast,Ican’tsayIblamehim.
Butthisgoessomuchdeeperthanthat.Thisharksbacktothejourney—mydestiny—theveryreason

Ikeepreincarnating.

And suddenly I know. Suddenly, I’m thoroughly convinced that drinking from the antidote is just

anotherdistraction—it’snottheanswerwe’vetrulybeenseeking.

Intheend,itwon’tsolveathing.
Won’tsolvetheonethingthatneedstobesolvedmorethananythingelse.
Sure it will allow us to be together in the way that we want—but that’s all it allows. It’s like

slappingaBand-Aidonabiggapingwound—itdoesnothingtohealthedamageofwhat’salreadybeen
done.

Itdoesnothingtochangethefactthatwe’reonthewrongcourse.
Once we realize how we’ve cheated ourselves out of the lives we’re meant to live by choosing

physicalimmortalityovertheimmortalityofoursouls—theantidoteisnolongertheissue.

IfDamenandIaretrulygoingtobetogetherthenwe’llhavetoreachfar,fardeeperthanthat.We’ll

have to admit that our problems didn’t start the day Roman tricked me—they started several centuries
earlier when Alrik couldn’t bear to lose Adelina—then culminated when he reincarnated as Damen,
perfectedtheelixir,andchangedthecourseofoursoulsforever.

If Damen and I are truly going to be together then we’ll have to release ourselves from that path,

we’ll have to reverse the choices he made in the past, we’ll have to pay off that huge karmic debt by
makingthisjourneytotheTreeofLife,obtainingitsfruit,andofferingalltheothersachancetorelease
themselvestoo.

Onlythenwillwebefreetomoveon.
Onlythenwillwegetourtruehappilyeverafter.
Otherwise,I’venodoubtanotherglaringobstaclewilljustfindawaytopresentitself,andonitwill

go,forevermore.

I take a deep breath, but find I don’t really need it. It’s like I can feel that purple glow radiating

insidemeonceagain.I’veneverfeltmoresureofmyself.

“ThereissomethingelseI’dratherhave.”MyeyesmeetLotus’s,thetwoofusholdingthelookfor

whatfeelslikeaverylongtime.“Iwanttofulfillmydestiny.Iwanttocompletemyjourney,”Isay,my
voicesolid,steady,morecertainthanever.“IwanttocompletethetaskIwasborntodo.”

IcanhearDamenbesideme,hissuddenintakeofbreath,andIknowwithoutlookingthatit’spartly

duetomywords,andpartlyduetothefactthattheingredientshavenowdisappeared.

But I don’t look. For the moment anyway, my gaze stays on Lotus. Seeing her standing before me,

grantingmeacurtnodalongwithaslowlycurvingsmilewhenshesays,“Asyouwish.”

chaptertwenty-seven

Long after Lotus has left we remain quiet. Damen lost in thoughts of outrage and blame, while I

prepareforthemomentwhenI’llhavetoexplain.

Thesilencebrokenwhenhelooksatmeandsays,“Ever,howcouldyou?”Foursimplewordsthat

cuttothebone,butthen,theyweremeantto.Heshakeshishead,squints,triestomakesenseofit.“How
couldyoudothat?”headds.“Howcouldyoujustthrowitallaway?Seriously.You’regoingtohaveto
explainittomebecauseitjustdoesn’tmakeanysense.Allthistime,you’vebeenblamingyourselffor
our inability to be together. All this time you’ve been blaming yourself for Roman’s tricking you. Even
afterIexplained,evenafterItoldyouthatbymakingmedrinkyouactuallyendedupsavingmylifeand
sparingmysoulfromgettingtrappedintheShadowland,youwerestillconvincedyouwereatfault,tothe
pointwhereyoursolefocuswasreservedforobtainingtheantidote.Sodesperatetogetyourhandsonit
youwerewillingtodelveintothingsthatputyouatgreatrisk.Andnow,nowthatyoufinallysucceedin
gettingtheonethingyou’vebeensearchingforallofthistime—youchoosetothrowitallawaysoyou
cangoonsomecrazyoldlady’sjourneytolookforsometreethat,I’msorrytosay,doesnotexist!”He
looksatme,handsflexingbyhissides,gazefilledwithallthewordsheheldback.“Andso,whatIneed
fromyounow,whatIneedfromyoumorethananything,istoanswerthewhy.Whywouldyoudothat?
Whatcouldyoupossiblyhavebeenthinking?”

Istareatmyfeet,allowinghiswordstoflowthroughme,tolooparoundinmybrain,torepeatover

andoveragain,buteventhoughIheardthequestion,eventhoughIknowhewaitsforananswer,I’mstill
stuckonthephrase:Sometree.

Hecalleditsometree.
Hequestioneditsveryexistence.
AndI’mamazedhecan’tseeit.Amazedhecan’tunderstandthatit’sthetree,not the antidote that

offersrealandlastingsalvation.

Thatit’stheonlywaytoreverseourphysicalimmortality.
Thetreeisouroneandonlychancetochangeeverything.
Butthen,maybehedoesunderstand.
Maybeheunderstandsalltoowell.
Andmaybethat’swhyhe’ssodeadsetagainstit.
“You’re right.” I lift my gaze to find his. “This whole time I have felt responsible. I have been

beatingmyselfupwiththeguilt.IhavebeensoconsumedwithremorsethatIdabbledinmagickIhadno
businessdabblingin.IeventriedtomakedealswithpeopleIshould’vestayedawayfrom.Iwassofilled
with self-loathing and blame, I was so desperate to reverse what I’d done, that I was willing to take
whateverrisknecessaryinordertomakeituptoyou—tomakeituptous.Iwaswillingtodowhatever
wasneededtoensurethatwecouldbetogetherinthewaythatwewant,untilmywholeworldrevolved

around getting my hands on the antidote—at the expense of everything else. But now I know just how
wrong and misguided that was. Now I know that instead of focusing solely on getting the antidote, I
should’vebeenfocusedonsparingoursouls.”

Heswallows,squirms,hearsthetruthofmywords,Icanseeitintheflashinhiseyes,butit’sgone

in an instant. His resolve hardening until he’s more unwilling than ever to see my side, which only
convincesmetocontinue.

“Damen,pleasehearmeout.Iknowthatonthesurfaceatleast,mydecisionprobablylookspretty

crazy,butitgoessomuchdeeperthanthat.It’slike—Ifinallygetit.Ifinallyreallyandtrulygetit.Ifit
weren’tRomaninsistingonkeepingusapart,itwould’vebeensomethingelse.Thereasonwecan’tbe
togetherisbecausetheuniversewon’tallowit.Ourkarma won’t allow it. Or at least not until we do
whatittakestorightthishugeglaringwrongthatyou’vemade.Notuntilwechangethecourseofourlives
—the course of our souls—by returning them to the way they were always meant to be. You said so
yourself,waybackbeforeweevenstartedthisjourney,youfreelyadmittedthatwhatweareisn’tnatural
or right. That we aren’t living the lives that nature intended—that we’ve wrongly chosen physical
immortality over the immortality of the soul. Those are your words, Damen, not mine. You also freely
admitted that it’s cost us both dearly, that it’s the reason we keep facing all of these insurmountable
obstacles,thereasonwhywe’rethwartedateveryturninawaywecan’tseemtoovercome.Yousaidit’s
whyJudekeepsshowingupandgettinginthewayofourhappiness.Thatwithouthisevenrealizingit,
he’splayingouthisowndestinyoftryingtokeepusfromrelivingthemistakesofourpast.”Ilookathim,
determined to make him see it, determined to break through to him, my voice gaining in pitch until it’s
practically squeaking. “Don’t you see what a huge opportunity this is? It’s a very real chance for us to
trulybetogetherforeverinthewaywewereintended.It’sachanceformetofinallyseizethedestinyI
was born for. The same destiny I’ve been called on for several lives now, and I’m finally ready and
willingtoembraceit.Ijusthopeyou’llfindawaytoembraceitalongwithme.”

Ibitedownonmylip,preparedforwhateverharshwordshemightsay,buthejustshakeshishead

andturnsaway.Soovercomewithangerhecan’tevenfaceme.Thewordsgroundoutbetweenclenched
teethwhenhesays,“Thereasonwecan’tbetogetherisbecauseyoujustdisposedoftheantidote.”He
swallowshard,hishandscurlinganduncurlingathissides.“Ever,Idon’tgetit—don’tyouwanttobe
withme?”

Andwhenhefinallyturns,whenhisgazefinallymeetsmine,whatIfindtheremakesmyheartbreak.
“Howcanyoueventhinkthat?”Iask,myvoicealongwithmyfacecompletelystunned.“Afterall

thatI’vegonethroughinthehopesthatIcouldbewithyou?”Ishutmyeyes,takeamomenttosteadymy
breath,tocollectmyselfalongwithmywords.“Didn’tyouhearanythingIjustsaid?OfcourseIwantto
bewithyou!Iwanttobewithyoumorethanyou’lleverprobablyrealize!Butnotlikethis.Notbecause
oftheantidote.There’sanotherway.Abetterway,I’msureofitnow.Damen,wefinallyhavethechance
toreversethishuge,glaringwrong—wefinallyhavethechancetolivethelivesweweremeanttolive—
and once we do, we’ll have no need for things like elixirs and antidotes. Don’t you realize what this
means?Don’tyourealizehowepicthisis?”

“Epic?” He practically spits out the word. “Seriously, Ever, do you hear yourself? What could be

moreepicthanthelovethatweshare?Isn’tthatwhatbringsusbacktogether,timeandtimeagain?”

I sigh, exhausted by his argument, exhausted by his unknown depths of complete and total

stubbornness.Still,I’mdeterminedtomakehimunderstandbeforeit’stoolate,beforeit’stimetoleave
andherefusestojoinme.

“That’sonlypartofthereason,”Isay.“TheotherpartisbecauseeachtimeIcomeback,eachtimeI

reincarnate, I’m getting yet another chance to realize my destiny. To right the wrong you inadvertently

committedallthoseyearsago.AndrightingthatwrongistheonlywayyouandIwillevertrulybefreeto
liveandloveaswewant.”

He sighs and gazes off into the distance, remaining quiet for so long I’m just about to break the

silencewhenhesays,“There’ssomethingelseyouneedtoknow.”

Ilookathim.
“Thetreeisamyth.It’sthestuffofmysticallegends.Itdoesn’treallyexist.Thelegendsallclaimit

bearsonepieceoffruiteveryonethousandyears.Onepieceoffruitthatoffersimmortalitytowhoever
getstoitfirst.”Hesmirks.“Tellme,Ever,doesthatsoundevenremotelyrealtoyou?”

I refuse to react to the faint trace of mocking in his tone when I say, “A year ago, a place like

Summerland wouldn’t have seemed remotely possible. Neither would psychics, ghosts, chakras, auras,
magick,timetravel,reincarnation,near-deathexperiences,mediums,instantmanifestation,thepowerof
crystals, or magical elixirs that provide immortality.” I lift my shoulders. “So who’s to say this tree
doesn’texisttoo?Andimaginethatitdoes,Damen.Doyouhaveanyideawhatthisjourneycouldmean?”
Myeyesporeoverhim,willinghimtoatleastmeetmehalfway.“Ifit’ssuccessful,itcouldclearyour
karmicdebts.Itcouldallowyoutomakeamendsforyourpast.Beginanew.Wipetheslatecleanandall
that.Maybeyouneverforcedanyonetodrink,well,anyoneexceptme…”Ipause,pressmylipsintoa
thin,grimline,thenshakingmyhead,Iadd,“Maybeyouwerefartooyoungandnaiveandinexperienced
tofullyunderstandthefar-reachingconsequencesofwhatyou’ddone,thedangeryouputusallin,heck,
the existence of the Shadowland alone, which I know you didn’t even know about until you were sent
there,butstill,anyway,mypointis,whileyoumightnothavewillinglysetouttodoomawholehostof
soulstothathorribleabyss—intheend,that’sexactlywherethisleads.Andifnothingelse,thisisyour
one chance to fix it. Your one chance to present a choice to those you’ve either changed, or who were
changedbecauseoftheelixiryoumade.It’sanopportunitythatmaynevercomeagain.”

“Inevermeanttohurtyou,”hesays,voicebarelyawhisper.“Nevermeanttohurtanyone.”Icatch

the unmistakable flash of pain and self-recrimination in his eyes before he looks away. “I never
anticipated that you would blame me like this—or that you’d view spending an eternity together as a
curse.Or‘doomedtoahorribleabyss’asIbelieveyouputit.”

“IwastalkingabouttheShadowland,Damen,notourfuturetogether.”
“But we’re not in the Shadowland. Our future is now. Right now. We still have the recipe for the

antidote—it’snottoolate.Allwehavetodoisheadoutofhere,backtotheearthplane,andgatherthe
ingredients. But you’d rather run off on some crazy wild-goose chase in the hopes of reversing this
terriblecursethatI’veputuponyou.”

“Damen—Ididn’tmean—”
He holds up a hand, his face as broken as his voice when he says, “It’s fine. Really. Believe me,

Ever,youhaven’tsaidanythingIhaven’tthoughtofmyselfamilliontimesbefore.It’sjusthearingitfrom
yourlips…well,itwasharderthanIeverexpected.So,ifit’sokaywithyou,IthinkI’llheadbacktothe
earthplane—Ineedsometimetothink.And,whileI’matit,I’llgatherthoseingredientsfortheantidote.
Afterall,ifyou’regoingtobestuckwithmefortherestofeternity,atleasttheantidotewillallowfor
certain…enjoymentsthatwillmakeyourlifeinfinitelymorebearable.”

chaptertwenty-eight

Iwatchhimleave,mythoughtsracingthroughamazeofconflictedfeelings.Partofmewantingto

crash through the fading corner of that shimmering veil before it’s too late—so I can return to the earth
planerightalongsidehim.

Buttheotherpart,thebiggerpart,isdeterminedtogetonwiththejourney.
Ajourneythatislongoverdue.
Encouraged by the memory of something Riley said when I’d made a futile attempt to go back in

time,onlytoreturntomymostcurrentlife.Itwasjustbeforetheaccidentthatclaimedmeagain,whenshe
leaned across her seat, looked at me, and said: Did you ever stop and think that maybe you were
supposedtosurvive?Thatmaybe,itwasn’tjustDamenwhosavedyou?

AndthoughIhadnoideawhatitmeantatthetime—nowIdo.
ThisiswhatIcamebackfor.
Thisjourneyismyone,andperhapsonlychancetoseizemydestiny.
WhichmeansIcan’tallowDamen’sfearstodissuademefromwhatI’mmeanttodo.
ThoughIdounderstandhisdecision—hisrefusaltosearchforthetree.Heblameshimselfforgiving

metheelixir,foralteringthecourseofmylife—thejourneyofmysoul—andnowIinsistonfindingthe
treesoIcanreversethoseeffects,returnustothewaywewerealwaysmeanttobe.

Troubleis,ifthere’snotree,there’snoreversal.
JustDamen,me,andhisdeepestregrets—fortherestofeternity.
ButIknowsomethinghedoesn’t.Thereisatree.Iknowitinthedeepestpartofme.
AndassoonasIfindit,Damenwillbefreedofhisburdensomeguiltandself-blame.Guiltthat’snot

evenwarrantedsinceeverythinghe’sdone,everychoicethathe’smade,waswiththebestofintentions.
Hemayhaveactedoutoffear,butthemotivationbehinditwaslove.

ButsinceIcan’texactlytellhimthat—I’llhavetoshowhiminstead.
Andso,newlydedicatedtowhatIknowinmyheartImustdo,Istealamomenttomanifestafew

things I might need before I get too far along and possibly end up in a place where magick no longer
works.Manifestingstufflikeaflashlight,asleepingbag,waterandfood,alightjacket,sturdiershoes,a
backpack—then once I have that secured, I busy myself by making a mental list of all that I’ve learned
about the tree so far. Things I’ve learned from Damen, Lotus, and the few things I’ve picked up from
moviesandbooksandworkinginJude’sstore,repeatingthislisttomyselfasIheaddownthetrail.

It’smystical—true.
Someclaimit’smerelyamyth—thatremainstobeseen.
It’ssaidtobearonlyonepieceoffruiteverythousandorsoyears—ifso,thenIferventlyhopethisis

thetimeoftheharvestandthatI’mthefirsttoarrive(otherwise,I’minforanawfullylongwait).

I stop, close my eyes, and tune into the wisdom of Summerland. Trusting it to guide me in just the

rightdirectionasmyfeetstartmovingagain,seeminglyoftheirownaccord,andwhenIgazedownatthe
ground,I’mgladIhadtheforesighttomanifestthehikingbootswhenIstartleavingbigclumpsofgrassin
mywake.Clumpsthatsoonturntothickcloudsofdustwhenthegrasssuddenlygiveswaytoloosedirt,
forcingmetorelyonthethicktreadsofmysolestokeepmygaitsteadywhentheterrainchangesagain,
becoming rougher, littered with sharp rocks and boulders, and so loaded with hairpin curves and
switchbacksI’mforcedtogoslower,andthenslowerstill.

Butnomatterhowtreacherousthepathmaybecome,Iwillnotcryuncle,Iwillnotgiveup,andI

willnoteventhinkaboutreturningtowhereIcamefrom.Evenwhenitultimatelygrowssonarrowand
steepitfallsoffintotwobottomlesschasmsthatyawnoneitherside,I’mcommittedtothejourney.There
willbenoturningback.

Istrivetokeepmybreatheven,steady,asIdomybestnottolookdown.JustbecauseIcan’tdie

doesn’tmeanI’mlookingfordanger.Giventhechoice,IprefertoplayitsafeforaslongasIcan.

Thetrailsoarshigher,andthenhigherstill,andwhenitbeginstosnow,Ican’thelpbutwonderifit

hassomethingtodowiththealtitude.Butit’snotlikeitmatters.It’snotlikeknowingthereasonwillkeep
myfeetfromslippingprecariouslyclosetothecraggyabyssthatgapeswidefarbelow.It’snotlikeit’ll
stopmyskinfromchillingandturningfrigidandblue.

KnowingthelightjacketIstashedinmybagishardlyequippedtohandleadropintemperatureso

extreme,Iclosemyeyesandpictureanewone—somethingbiganddown-filled,somethingthat’llleave
melookinglikeabigshapelessblobbutwillhopefullygetthejobdone.Butwhennothinghappens,when
no coat appears, I know I’ve reached the part of the journey where magick and manifesting no longer
work. I’ll have to rely on myself, and the few things I had the foresight to manifest before I got to this
point.

I slip into the jacket, pulling the sleeves down past my wrists until they cover my numb, frozen

fingertips,keepingmyeyesonthetrailandmymindonmydestiny,committedtomakingdowithwhatI
have,whileremindingmyselfofallthechallengesI’vealreadysurvived—obstaclesthatwouldn’thave
seemedpossiblejustoneyearago.

Butdespiteallmyfocus,despitethecontinuousloopofpeptalksandtreefactsIrepeatinmyhead,I

eventually get to the point where I’m just too cold and exhausted to continue. So I start searching for a
placetosetupcamp,thoughit’snotlongbeforeIdeterminethereisn’tone.Thisfreezingcoldlandscape
doesn’toffermuchinthewayofrest.

Itossmybagontheicycoldgroundandpositionmyselfrightontopofit,pressingmynosetomy

kneesandwrappingmyarmstightlyaroundmeinafutileattempttobothwarmandsteadymyself.And
thoughItrytosleep,Ican’t.ThoughItrytomeditate,mymindwon’tslowdown.Soinstead,Ispendthe
timeconvincingmyselfthatImadetherightchoice.Thatdespitemycompletelymiserablestate,allisfine
andgoodandexactlyasitshouldbe—butitfallswayshortofsoothingme.

I’mtoocold.
Toobonetiredandweary.
Butmostly,I’mtooalone.ToofilledwiththoughtsofmissingDamenandthewayweusedtobe.
No matter what I try to convince myself of, no amount of positive thinking could ever replace the

veryreal,verywonderfulcomfortofhavinghimbesideme.

Andintheend,that’swhatgetsmethrough.Thememoryofhimiswhatallowsmetoclosemyeyes

forawhileanddriftoffintosomeotherplace,somebetterplace.Aplacewhereit’sjusthimandmeand
noneofourtroublesexist.

IhavenoideahowlongIslept—allIknowisthatthesecondIopenmyeyesandswipemyhand

acrossmyface,Iseethelandscapehasmorphed.Thetrailisstillimpossiblynarrow,there’sstillahuge,

gaping chasm on either side, but the season has changed—it’s no longer winter, which means I’m no
longerforcedtohuddleagainstapoundingcoldblizzard.

Instead,I’mcaughtinadownpour,arelentlessspringrainthatturnsthegroundtomudandshowsno

signofstopping.

Istruggletomyfeet,quicklyslippingmyarmsoutofthesleevesasIhaulmyjacketupovermyhead

and tie those same sleeves under my chin in an attempt to keep from getting any more drenched than I
alreadyam.Tacklingthetrailonecarefulstepatatime,havinggivenuponinspiringthoughts,reminisces,
oranythingelse,andreservingmyfocusforstayingupright,stayingsteady,andnottopplingovertheside.
Andwhentherainturnstoablazinghotsunthatleavesthegrounddryandcracked,Idon’tbataneye—
andwhenthatsamesuniscooledbyawarm,sultrybreezeIknowthatsummerhasnowturnedtofall.

Thecycleofseasonsrepeatingitselfuntilitnolongerfazesme,untilIformaroutine.Bundlingup

andhibernatingthroughwinter,dodgingthedownpourofspring,peelingoffmyT-shirt’tilI’mdownto
mytanktopwhensummercomes,thendonningitagainwhensummerturnstofall.Throughitall,Ijust
keeponkeepingon,doingmybesttorationmyfoodandwatersupply,doingmybestnottopanic,and
nearlysucceedingwiththelatteruntilsomethinghappensthatshocksmetothecore.

SomethingI’veneverseeninthesepartsbefore.
NoteveninthedeepestdepthsoftheShadowland.
Itgrowsdark.
Okay,maybenotpitch-blackdark,butstilldark.Orattheveryleast,dim.
Likethebeginningofnightfall,orthegloamingasit’scalled.
Thateerie,gloomymomentwheneverythingbecomesasilhouetteofitself.
That eerie, gloomy moment when it’s hard to distinguish individual objects from the shadows they

cast.

Istop,myfootslipping,sendingaflurryofrocksovertheside,knowingthatcould’vebeenme.My

hearthammeringfuriouslyasIgathermyself,gathermylimbs,givemyselfaquickonce-over,andensure
I’mokay.

“I don’t like this,” I say, my voice breaking the silence until it echoes all around me. Having now

officiallyjoinedtheranksofalltheothercrazypeoplewhotalktothemselves.“Betweenthedarkandthat
fogupahead…”Ifrown,seeingthewaythetrailabruptlyhaltsintoathickcloudofmurkywhitemistthat
risesupfromseeminglyoutofnowhere.Givingnoindicationofwhatmightliejustbeyond,andcertainly
providingnosignofthetree,nohintthatI’mevenontherightpath.“Thisdoesn’tlookgood,”Iadd,my
voicesoominousitworsensmyunease.

Iglanceallaround,wonderingwhattodonow.Observingthewaythefogseemstogrowandexpand

andslitherstraighttowardme,pulsinginawaythatmakesitseemvital,alive.Thesightofitmakingme
wonderifIshouldmaybebacktrackabit,findaplacewhereit’sclearandhangout’tilitlifts.ButthenI
hesitateforsolongthenextthingIknowit’stoolate.

Themistisalreadyhere.Alreadyuponme.
Having crept up so fast I’m swallowed in an instant. Lost in a swirl of white, drizzly haze as my

fingersreach,grasp,andclawfrantically,tryingtogetmybearings,toclearevenasmallbitoutofmy
way.

Butit’snouse.I’mdrowninginaseaofwhitevaporthatpressesdownallaround.Stiflingascream

whenIliftmyhandsbeforemeandrealizeIcan’tevenseemyownfingers.

Nolongersurewhichwayisforward,whichwayisback,Ireachformyflashlightandsetitonlow,

butitdoesn’thelp.Doesn’tmakeadentinthisfog.AndI’mveeringdangerouslyclosetosuccumbingtoa
raging,full-blown,meltdownpanicattack,whenIhearhim.

Adistantvoicethatdriftstowardme,creepingupfrombehind.Thesoundofitpromptingmetocry

out,toshouthisnameasloudasIcan.Mytonethready,high-pitched,lettinghimknowthatI’mhere,thatI
won’tmove,thatI’llwaituntilhefindsme.

Heaving a huge sob of relief when I feel the grab of his fingers, his hand on my sleeve, gripping

tightly,pullingmetohim.

Ihuddledeepintothecurveofhisarms,burymyfaceinhischest,andpressmyforeheadtightlyto

hisneck,onlytodiscovertoolatethatit’snotDamenwhoholdsme.

chaptertwenty-nine

“Ever.”
Hischeekpressesintomyhairashislipsseekmyear,andthoughthevoiceiscertainlymale,it’snot

oneIrecognize.

The mist continues to gather—rendering it impossible for me to determine just who the voice

belongsto.Hisbodypressing,conformingagainstmine,asIsquinchmyeyesshut,trytopeerinsidehis
head, but get nowhere fast. Whoever this is, he’s learned to put up one heck of a shield against such
attacks.

Ipullback,struggletobreakfree,butit’snouse.He’sunfeasiblystrongandcontinuestoclinglikea

drowningmanintentondraggingmealong.

“Careful,”hesays,hisfaceshifting,allowingforagustofcoldbreathtoblastallthewaydownthe

lengthofmyneck,asthepushofhisfingersradiatesthroughmyclothes.

Coldbreath.
Colderfingers.
Unusualstrength.
ThoughtsIcan’thear.
Canonlymeanonething.
“Marco?”Iventure,wonderingifitmeansthatMisa’sheretoosinceIrarelyseethemwithouteach

other.

“Hardly.”Chasingthewordwithadeep,scathinglaughthatseemsmorethanalittleinappropriate

consideringthecircumstanceswefindourselvesin.

“Then who…” I start, wondering if it’s one of the other immortals Roman might’ve turned, though

it’snotlongbeforehesuppliestheanswerforme.

“Rafe,”hesays,hisvoicelowanddeep.“Youmaynotrememberme,butwe’vemetonceortwice.

Thoughalwayscasually,neverformally.”

I swallow hard, having no idea if that’s good news or bad. He’s always been a bit of an enigma,

thoughIdon’tdwellonitlong.Mymainconcernisbreakingoutofhisgrip.Therestwillfollow.

“IhopeIdidn’tscareyou.”Heloosenshisholdjustalittle,butonlyalittle,notenoughtograntme

myfreedom.“Ilostmyfooting.Felldeepintothecanyonbackthere.Luckilyforme,Ididn’thitbottom—
assumingthereisabottom.InsteadIgothunguponanoutcroppingofrocks,thenspentwhatseemslike
just shy of forever finding my way back up the side. Which, by the way, is a lot easier said than done
whenyoucan’tseeabloodything.Wentthroughsomanyseasons,Ilosttrack.Anyway,Iwasjustaboutto
giveup,setupcamp,ormoreaccuratelyhangontowhatlittleIcoulduntilthefogclears,whenIheard
footsteps,yourvoice,andwell,itgavemejusttheincentiveIneededtoclimbfasterandfindmywayto
safety.JustknowingIwasnolongeraloneinthisgodforsakenplacemadeiteasier.But,Ihavetotellyou,

Ever,I’mabitsurprisedtofindyouhereonyourown,Ithoughtforsureyou’dbewithDamen.Sowho
wereyoutalkingtoanyway?Yourself?”

Inarrowmygaze,knowingbetterthantoanswerthatquestion,oreventoletonthatI’mouthereon

myown.He’smockingme.He’snottheleastbitsincere.Andthoughthemistdoesareallygoodjobof
obscuringhisface,allowingmeonlyaglimpseofthefaintestoutlineofhisdarkwavyhair,it’snotlikeI
needtoactuallyseehimtoconfirmit.Thecontemptinhisvoiceringsloudandclear.

“Ifyouaskme,wehavetwochoices,”hesays,asthoughwe’rejusttwogoodfriendspoolingour

wits,searchingforasolutionthat’smutuallybeneficialandpleasing.“Wecaneithersitthisthingoutand
waitforthefogtoclear,orwecanmakeourwaybackdownandheadoutofhere.Ivoteformakingour
waybackdown,howaboutyou?”

A million retorts rush forth, but I clamp my lips shut before I say something I might live to regret.

Eventhoughhisproximityisgivingmethecreeps,eventhoughI’mtemptedtopluckhisfingersrightoff
mysleeve—Icannolongerdothat.NotafterallthatI’velearned.NowthatIknowwe’reallone—all
connected—theoldreactionsnolongerwork.

Butthatdoesn’tmeanIhavetoengage.I’venodoubthisintentionsaren’tgood.Imovetopushpast

him,eagertoputasmuchdistancebetweenusasIpossiblycan,carefultosilenceallthoughtsofworry,
paranoia,orfearthathismerepresencehasspawned.

Foronething,Idon’twanthimtooverhearmythoughts,andforanother,IneedtoclearmymindsoI

canreservemyfocusforwhichdirectionthetreemightliein.

Butmyminddrawsablank.
Summerlandhasprovidedallthatitwill.Whathappensfromhererestssolelyonme.
Rafe trudges behind, his stride falling uncomfortably close. But my need for caution precludes me

frommovingtoofast,soIcontinuealong,carefullyplacingonefootinfrontoftheother,tentativelytesting
eachstepbeforeallowingmyfullweighttofalluponit.Feelingmywayalongthepathlikeablindperson
navigatinganunfamiliarroom,knowingthismaytakemuchlongerthannecessary,butalsoknowingit’s
bettertogoslow,bettertostaysafe,thantolosemyfootingandbeeternallysorry.

IjusthopeI’mheadedtherightway.
“Istillthinkweshouldturnback,”Rafesays,easilyclosingthedistancebetweenusashestumbles

behindme.

“Then turn back.” My eyes sweep the area, on high alert for signs of… well, anything, something.

“Really.Iwasdoingjustfineonmyown.”

“Wow.”Rafehuffs,puffs,makesabigshowoflettingmeknowjusthowoffendedheis,thoughhis

voice sounds far more amused than insulted. “You really know how to make a bloke feel welcome,
don’tcha,Ever?YoushouldbehappyI’mhere.But,thenagain,Romandidwarnmeaboutyou.”

“Yeah,andjustwhatexactlydidRomansay?”Ipause,turningtofacehim,strainingtogetabetter

look,butstillnothing.Themistisfartoothickformetodiscernmuchofanything.

Ifocusbackonthetrail,wincingatthewayRafe’sbitter,chilledbreathfroststhebackofmyhead

whenhesays,“Romansaidplenty.

Seemedtohaveaprettygoodhandleonyou.ButI’mafraidIcan’treallyexpounduponanyofthat.

Atthemoment,itseemsthedetailshaveescapedme.Iblamethealtitude,how’boutyou?”

Irollmyeyes,awarethatit’swastedsincehecan’tseeit,butstill,itmakesmefeelbetterandatthe

momentI’lltakeallthegoodfeelingIcanget.

“AndspeakingofRoman…”Rafepausesdramatically,thoughit’sprettyobviouswhat’stofollow.

“Whateverhappenedtohim?BeenawhilesinceheandIlastcaughtup.Accordingtotherumormill,you
killed him. But then, I’ve never been one for secondhand information. Whenever possible, I like to go

straighttothesource.So,tellme,Ever,isittrue?Didyoudoit?BecauseeventhoughIdon’tknowyou
allthatwell,Ihavetosay,it’sdefinitelygotthatgrimringoftruth.You’vegotitinyou,that’sforsure.I
knewitthefirsttimeIsawyou.Nooffense,ofcourse.”

“None taken.” I scowl, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable with the fact that he’s behind me, but

doingmybestnottoleton.“It’struethatRoman’snolongerwithus,”Isay,confirmingwhatRafealready
knows,thoughcarefultogivenohintofthedeepremorseIfeelforthatloss,noranyindicationofwho
mightbetoblame.MyvoicegrowingbolderwhenIadd,“Turnsouthewasn’tsoimmortalafterall.

Butthen,youalreadyguessedthat,didn’tyou?”
The breeze quickens, sweeping past us, causing the air to chill to an uncomfortable degree.

Becomingsocoldmyheartsinks,knowingIcan’tpossiblybearanotherwinteragain,especiallynotwith
Rafehere.

Unwillingtostoplongenoughtoretrievemyjacketfrommybackpack,Irubmyhandsupanddown

my arms in an attempt to warm myself. My ears pricking with interest when a second gust rustles past.
Onlythistime,inadditiontotheusualcracklingofleavesandpatteringofrockstumblingovereachother,
itcarriesawholeothersound—onethat’seitheranimalorhuman—Ican’tbetoosure.AllIknowisthat
RafeandIarenolongertheonlyoneshere.

Myhairlifts,swirlingaroundmeasIfighttogatherthestrandsinmyfist.Noticingthewaythefog

thinned just enough to allow for a glimpse of a distant snowcapped mountain, along with the very top
branches of what must be a very tall tree (possibly the tree?), before thickening again and blotting
everythingout.

DeterminedtokeepRafefocusedonme,hopinghedidn’tseewhatIsaw,Iturntohimandsay,“By

theway,whatexactlyareyoudoinghere?Surelythisisnoaccident?Sowhatisityou’reupto?Areyou
in cahoots with Misa and Marco? Or maybe even a friend of Lotus’s by chance? Or, are you seriously
goingtotrytoconvincemethatyou’rejustoutforadayhike?”

Icockabrow,takinginwhatlittleIcanseeofhim,hisheight,hiswavymaneofdarkhair,butthe

restisallwhite.Butwhenhedoesn’tanswer,whenhejustmovesasthoughhemighttrytojumpme,I
reachformyflashlightandshineitrightinhisface,thebeamcuttingthroughthehazeandshowingmeall
thatIneedtosee—whichisn’tmuchofanything.

Like all the other rogue immortals I’ve met this past year, Rafe remains remarkably cool under

pressure.Hisfaceshowingnosignthathe’sevenstartledbythesharpbeamoflightnowshiningonhim.
For someone who’s just been caught positioning himself to better attack me, he doesn’t look even the
slightestbitguilty.Ifanything,hejustlooksdetermined.

Butthereissomethingelse.
SomethingthatreallystandsoutthoughItrynottoleton.
Helooksolder.
Wayolder.
LasttimeIsawhimhewasjustanothersuper-hot,perfectspecimenofagorgeousimmortal.
But now, while he’s still really good-looking, he’s also showing some definite signs of aging and

wear—theyearscatchingupwithhimintheformofgrayinghairandthefanofwrinklessurroundinghis
eyes.Evenhisteethseemalittleyellow,asopposedtowhatI’vecometothinkofasbright and shiny
immortalwhite.

AndsuddenlyIknowexactlywhyhe’shere.
“Let’s cut the crap, shall we?” he says, closing the small gap between us in a handful of seconds.

“Neitheroneofusisonadayhike.

You’reonLotus’sjourneytotheTreeofLife.Hopingtogetyourhandsontheonepieceoffruitit

bearseveryonethousandyears.”Hestaresatme,hisvoiceaperfectmatchfortheglareinhisgaze.“One
beautiful,perfectpieceoffruitthatlookslikeacrossbetweenapomegranateandapeach.Oneamazing
pieceofproducethatoffersimmortalitytowhoeverisluckyenoughtopluckit,seizeit,tasteit.

And,asitturnsout,themillenniumisup.It’stimefortheharvest.AndwhileI’msureyouconsider

yourselfworthyofabite,Ihatetobreakittoyou,Ever,butthisishowit’sgonnagodown:You’regonna
leadmetothetree,andI’llbetheonetoclaimitsbounty.”

Icontinuetostudyhim,myflashlightmovingoverhisface,wonderingifIshouldfillhiminonthe

truththatthefruitisn’tquitewhatit’srumoredtobe.Thatthestorybehinditspowerswasneverintended
to be taken quite so literally. The tree’s fruit grants wisdom and enlightenment to those who seek it—
providing the ultimate truth—the knowledge that they are truly immortal beings. For those who’ve
achievedphysicalimmortality,well,ithasareversaleffect—returningthebodyandthesoulbacktothe
wayitwasalwaysintendedtobe.

Whichisnotatallthesortofimmortalityheseeks—thoughit’sdefinitelythekindthatheneeds.
ButinsteadIjustsay,“AndwhywouldIagreetodothat?”
“BecausenowthatRomanisgone,thankstoyouImightadd”—hepauseslongenoughtoletthatsink

in—“thetreeismyonlyhopeleft.Havendrankwhatwasleftofhissupply,andsinceheassumedhe’d
liveforever,heneverbotheredtosharetherecipe.Nottomentionhowhelikedhavingcontroloverus.
Likeditalmostasmuchasthepartyhethreweverycenturyandahalf,alwaysonthesummersolstice,
wherehe’dgatherustogether,whereverhewaslivingatthetime.We’dswapstories,sharesomegood
times,anddrinkatoasttoeachother,beforewesaidourgood-byesandmovedonwithourlives.Kindof
like a high school reunion, but better, if you can imagine. No second-rate hotel ballroom, no need to
impresseachotherwithbadplasticsurgeryandinflatedjobtitlesthatdon’tactuallymeananything…”

Idon’tsayaword.AndIdefinitelydon’teventrytoimagine.Ijuststandthereandlethimcontinue.
“Funny thing was, even though your boyfriend Damen never showed—probably because he was

neverinvited—butstill,hewasalwaysthemostpopulartopicofconversation.”Rafenods,gazegoing
inwardnow,asthoughhe’swatchingascenethatplaysinhishead.“Foryearshewaslikealegendtome.
Youshould’veheardthestoriestheorphansalltold.Thefirstamongourkind,theonewhoturnedsixthen
disappeared,nevertobeseenorheardfromagain,oratleastnotintentionally.Doyourealizehenever
evenoncethoughttotrackthemalldownandletthemdrinkagain?Heabandonedthem,Ever—didyou
know that? He left them all to shrivel—to grow old and wither—while he stayed eternally young.” He
shakeshisheadandfrownsinawaythatencouragesawholenewsetoflinestoraceacrosshisforehead.
“Sorry,butifitsoundsasthoughIdon’tlikehim,well,that’sbecauseIdon’t.Still,thathasnothingtodo
withwhyIcan’tallowyoutoreachthattree.It’snothingpersonal,andIhopeyou’llunderstandwhenI
saythatthereasonyoucan’tgetyourhandsonthatfruitisbecauseit’sreservedjustforme.”

Itakeadeepbreath,dimmingmyflashlightabit,realizingit’sbettertotrytoeasehismindandput

himoffguard,toconvincehimtolowerhisdefenses,thantoputhimonthedefensiveifI’veanyhopeof
regainingtheadvantage.Fullyawarethatallitwouldtaketoberidofhimisonegoodshovethatsends
himovertheedge.Andastemptingasthatmightbe,Iwon’tdoit—andI’mprettysurehewon’tdoitto
me.

Heneedsme.
OnlyIcanmakethejourney.
OnlyIcanfindthetree.
Which means he needs me to stay healthy, vital, and most importantly, in one piece, if he has any

intentionofmyleadingtheway.

Butwhathedoesn’trealizeisthatI’mmorethanhappytodoso,aslongasIarrivefirst.AndwhenI

do arrive, when I scale that tree and get to the fruit, I have every intention of sharing it. I have every
intentionofgivinghim,well,maybenottheeternallifethatheseeks,butcertainlytheonethatheneeds.

The one that will reverse the effects of the elixir, provide true immortality, and spare him from

Lotus’sfate.

I look at him, lifting my shoulders casually as I say, “No worries.” But if his arched brow and

quirkedmouthareanyindication,he’sgoingtoneedalittlemoreconvincing.“Really.It’snotabigdeal.
Forreals.”

Helooksmeover,hisgazenarrowed,suspicious,practicallyspittingthewordswhenhesays,“Oh

yeah,andI’msupposedtobelievethat—forreals?” He scoffs and shakes his head. “Okay then, so tell
me,Ever,ifyou’renotinterestedinthefruit,thenwhyevenbotherwiththisbloodymiserabletrek?Huh,
canyoutellmethat?Whyputyourselfthroughallofthis?”

“I’mcurious.”Ishrug.“IheardaboutthetreeandthoughtI’dgoseeformyself—didn’tevenrealize

itwastimeforthereaping’tilyoujustsaidso.”Itiltmyhead,trytolookasthoughImeanit.“Despite
yourpooropinionofhim,Damen’salwaysbeenextremelygenerous.

He would’ve gladly shared his elixir with you if you hadn’t already pledged your allegiance to

Roman.Andanyway,whywouldIevenbotherwiththefruitwhenhegivesmealltheelixirIneed?”

“Becausethefruitisforever.”Rafe’seyesbegintoblazeuntiltheyresembletwodarkflamingpits

surroundedbywhite.

“Damen and I are forever.” I glare, knowing in my heart that it’s true even though he’s not here

besidemetoproveit.“And,asitsohappens,Iliketheelixir.IlikeitsomuchIdrinkitseveraltimesa
day.So,whywouldIwanttoreplacethat?”

Rafecontinuestostudyme,hismindweighing,considering,thenshakinghisheadheopenshismouth

tospeak,whensomeoneelseslinksoutofthemistanddecidestospeakforhim.

chapterthirty

“She’slying.”
RafespinsonhisheelsohecanseewhatIalreadysee,knowwhatIalreadyknow.
Marcoishere.
Though,asalways,Misacreepsuprightalongsidehimwithherexoticdarkeyes,blackspikyhair,

andmultipiercedlobes.

MylightspillsoverthemasIstudythemclosely,tryingtogetaread,determineiftheirshowingup

isbadforme,badforRafe,orjustbadingeneral.Knowingonlytwothingsforsure:Nomatterwhoitis
thatthey’reafter(thoughit’sprobablysafetoassumethatit’sme)theirintentionsaren’tgood.And,just
likeRafe,theyshowsignsofaging.

“She’safterthefruit.”Misa’seyesdartbetweenRafeandme.“Lotussenther.Convincedhertogo

finditjustlikeshetriedtoconvinceusallthoseyearsago.ButnowtheancientoneseemstothinkEver’s
the only who can succeed. So Marco and I have been trailing her, which, I’m guessing, is what you’re
doingtoo.”

Rafe squints but otherwise doesn’t move, doesn’t give anything away. Too busy assessing the

situation,tooonguardtosupplyananswer.

“Lotus has been looking for someone to make this journey for centuries.” Misa directs her words

rightatmeasMarcosnickersalongsideher.“Atfirstwethoughtshewascrazy—well,mostlybecause
sheiscrazy.Butnow,withRomandead,andwithHavenhavingdrankeverylastbitofhisstash,andwith
Damenbeing—well,noneedtomincewordshereisthere?—withDamenbeingasselfishasheis,we
hadnochoicebuttobefriendher,tolearnmoreaboutthistree,andtofigureouthowtofindit.Shegotus
toSummerland,butthat’sit.Claimedshedidn’tknowhowtofindthetree,saidyou’retheonlyonewho
can, that it’s your destiny, like you’re some kind of chosen one or something.” She looks at me, a long,
scathingglarethatendsinanexaggeratedeyeroll,wantingmetoknowjusthowridiculousshefindsthat.
“Whatever.”Sheshrugs.“We’rejustheresoyoucanleadustoit,thenwe’lltakeitfromthere.”

“Except I got here first.” The threat in Rafe’s voice rings loud and clear. “A small detail you’ve

seemedtooverlook.”

Iwatchastheytense,squaretheirshoulders,andsecuretheirstancesasthoughthey’regonnadukeit

outrighthereonthisreed-thintrail.Defendtheirrighttousemetogetwhattheywant.

“Doyouhearyourselves?”Myeyesdartbetweenthem.“Seriously.Youguysareunbelievable!And

youcallDamenselfish.”Ishakemyhead,noteventryingtohidemyoutrage.Thoughthetruthis,while
mylipskeepmoving,spewingforthaslewofsimilarwords,whilemyfeaturesarrangeandrearrangeto
keep up with whatever it is that’s being said, my mind is someplace else entirely. Working furiously to
findawayoutofthismess,knowingIcould’vetakenRafewhilehewasstillonhisown,butnowthatit’s
uptothreeimmortalsversusmyone—I’mnolongersure.

Despitethefactthattheycan’tkillme,theycanstilldosomemajordamage,or,evenworse,theycan

stopmefromgettingtherefirst.

“Wedon’tevenknowforsureifthisfruitexists,”Isay,myeyesdartingamongthem.“Butlet’sjust

saythatitdoes,let’sjustsaywefinditrightthere,waitingtobeplucked.Whycan’twejustshareit?Why
can’tyoueachtakeabite,thengivemewhatever’slefttotakebacktoLotus?Thatwayeveryonewins.
Andnoonegetshurt.”

ButinsteadoftherefusalIexpected,I’mmetwithdeadsilence.
Ahorrible,lingeringsilencethat’sfarworsethananyargumenttheycouldeverwage.
They’renolongerinterestedinme.
Theirattentionisclaimedbysomethingelseentirely.
AndIknowwithoutlookingwhatitis.Icanfeelitinthewaythebreezewhispersagainstthenapeof

myneck.Icanseeitinthesuddenglowthatshinesintheireyes.

Theyseeit.
Thetree.
Whichmeanstheynolongerneedme.
AndthoughItrytomove,trymybesttoflee,it’stoolate.
Therearetoomanyofthem,toolittleofme.Anditseems,oratleastinthiscaseanyway,they’ve

chosentoworktogether.Chosentocollaborate.

MisaandMarcograbholdofmyarmsasRafeslinksbehindme.Hischeekpressedclosetomine,

his lips chilled, pushing into my flesh when he says, “Remember when I told you earlier that I lost my
footingandfelldeepintothecanyon?”

Iswallowhard,steadymyself,knowalltoowellwhat’scomingnext.
“As it turns out, I lied.” He grins, I can feel his lips lifting and curling against me. “Had I been

unluckyenoughtofall,Ineverwould’vemadeitbackup.Yousee,Ever,it’sasheerdrop.Avery sheer
dropthatoffersnooutcroppingsofrock—nothingforonetograbontoinordertostop.Butthen,Ishould
probablyletyouseeforyourself.Imean,noneedtowreckthesurprisewithabunchofspoilers,right?”

Ifight.
Ikick.
Iscratch,andbite,andclaw,andscream,andthrash,andstrugglewithallofmyimmortalmight.
ButdespitethefactthatIcanbesatisfiedinknowingIdidagoodbitofdamagetoeachofthem,in

theend,it’snotenough.

Ican’tbeatthem.
I’mnomatch.
AndthenextthingIknowRafe’spushingmeattheexactmomentMisaandMarcoletgo.
Sendingmeflying.
Soaring.
Hurtlingstraightovertheedgeanddeepintoabottomlesscanyon.

chapterthirty-one

Justlikeadreamwhereyoufindyourselffallingandcan’tseemtostopbecausethere’snothingto

grabontoandyou’velostallcontrolofyourbody—that’sexactlywhatthisislike.

ExceptforthefactthatusuallywhenIfindmyselfcaughtinoneofthosedreams,mybodyeventually

jerksmeawakebeforeanygravedisastercantakeplace.

Butthistime,I’malreadyawake.AndfromwhatIcantell,thedisasterisnow,andit’sabouttoget

worse.

Myhairlifts,wavinghighabovemyhead,asmylegsfuriouslykick,attemptingtotemperthepace,

haltmyspeed,slowmyselfdown,butit’snouse.Theeffortisasuselessasmyarms,whichcontinueto
flailallaround,searchingforsomethingtohangonto,butsucceedingonlyinprovingRaferight.

Thereisnothingtosaveme.
Nothingtostopme.
Thecliffisasheersoliddropintothevoid.
The lower I go, the darker it becomes until I can no longer see in front of me—can no longer see

belowme—cannolongerseewhereI’mgoing.

AllIknowisthatthefallseemstoquicken,pickingupspeed,asIracetowardanendthatmaynot

exist.Theawfultruthofmyexistence,theabsoluteironyofit,isthatifIcan’tfindawaytostopthis—
thenthisishowI’llspendmyeternity.

Ican’tdie—mychakrasaresostrongtheywon’tletme.
Andanyinjuriessustainedwon’theal—thispartofSummerlandwon’tallowforthatsortofthing.
TwohorriblethoughtsIfindtoooverwhelmingtocontemplate.
SoIdon’t.
Ichoosetofocusmymindelsewhereinstead.
SiftingthroughthelonglistofthingsI’velearnedthispastyear—goingallthewaybacktotheday

whenIfirstdiedinthecaraccidentthatclaimedmywholefamily—tothisnever-endingcrevicewhereI
findmyselfnow.RememberingwhatLotussaidaboutknowledgecomingwhenwe’remostinneedofit,
andhopingmyaccumulatedknowledgewillhelpmefindawayout.

Forgivenessishealing—everythingisenergy—thoughtscreate—weareallconnected—whatyou

resistpersists—trueloveneverdies—thesoul’simmortalityistheonlytrueimmortality—

Repeating the words again and again, until it becomes like a mantra, until the words begin to take

shape,begintotakehold.

Untilmybreathbeginstosteady,mybodybeginstostill,andmyheartisabletounloadthisburden

offear.

Forgivenessishealing—IsendasilentthoughtofforgivenesstoMisa,Marco,andRafeforbeingso

misguidedanduntrustingtheywouldn’teventryanotherway.

What you resist persists—I stop resisting the fact that I’m falling, and start concentrating on a

solutioninstead.

Thoughtscreate—Evenwheninstantmanifestationwon’twork,ourthoughtsarestillcreatingonour

behalf.

Ifreemybackpackfromoneshoulder,slideitaroundtomyfront,yankthezipperdown,andplunge

myhandinside.MakingsureI’vegotagoodgriponthelightjacketImanifestedearlier—theonethatgot
me through an excess of repetitive seasons by shielding me from heat, rain, wind, and snow—before I
dropthebag,listeningasitwhizzesdownbelow.Igraspthejacketbyeithersleeveandliftmyarmsup
highovermyhead,cuttingthewindalongwithmytrajectory,whilethrustingmybodytowardwhatIcan
only hope is the side of the cliff. Knowing I’ve succeeded when I’m left momentarily stunned by the
suddenimpactofmybodybashingintoabedofsharprocks.

Myfleshcutting,scraping,asthejaggededgesserratemyclothes,gratingsmallchunksofme,asmy

bodycontinuestofall.

My eyes sear with agony, as my teeth gnash from the excruciating pain of being flayed. Assuring

myselfthatifitwon’thealnow,iteventuallywill.JustassoonasIcanlocateanoutcroppingofrock,
somethingtangibletohangonto,somethingtostopthisdownwarddescent.JustassoonasIcangettothe
fruitandmakemywaybacktoabetterpartofSummerland.

Mybodyatobogganofblood,flesh,andbonethatcontinuestocareendownthecliff,andjustasI’m

sureIcan’ttakeanothersecond,somethingcatches—somethingthatjutshardagainstmyfoot,stabsmein
theknee,andpummelsmesohardinthegutitrobsmeofbreathbeforepuncturingmerightinthebaseof
myneckwhereattheverylastmoment,Ireachup,grabaholdofit,stopitfromremovingmyhead.

Knowing it’s my one and only chance—knowing I can’t possibly hold on to both my makeshift

parachuteandthisstrangeoutcroppingofsorts—Iclosemyeyesandletgo.

Myjacketinstantlyclaimedbytheairstreamasmyhandsgraspinthedark,puttingallofmyfaithin

thisoddandpointyprotrusionIcan’tevensee.

Myfingerscircling,curlingarounditinadeathgrip,mypalmsscrapedraggedandrawasmyweight

rappelsmedownthelengthofit.

Down.
Downfartherstill.
DownsofarandsofastIcanonlyprayit’llendsoon.KnowingthatifIlosemygripI’llberight

backwhereIstarted—free-fallingthroughblack,emptyspace,onlythistimewithoutmybag,withoutany
toolstohelpme.DoingallthatIcantoclearsuchthoughtsfrommymind,mybodyjumpstoastopandI
findmyselfdanglingfromthisstrangething’send.

Caughtinmidair,mylegsflailingcrazilybeneathme,Igriptighter,repositionmyself,usingmyraw

andskinnedkneesalongwiththisunknownthing,topullmyselfup.

At first I go slowly. Very, very slowly. Reminding me of the time I had to climb up a rope in my

freshman-year gym class. Back when I was just another mortal. Back when, other than being a
cheerleader, I had no athletic prowess to speak of. Every inch feeling like a lesson in overcoming
unbearablepaininordertoputmyfaithinsomethingIcan’tevensee.Myprogressmeasuredininches,
notfeet,eventuallycreepingcloseenoughtothesummitthatI’mrewardedwithatinyspotoflight—just
enoughtorevealexactlywhatitisthathassavedme.

It’saroot.
Alongandspindlytreeroot.
A long and spindly tree root that belongs to the tree—the one I’ve been searching for. I know it

instinctively.

TheTreeofLifehassavedme.

chapterthirty-two

ThemomentafterIreachthetop—themomentafterIheavemyselfovertheledgeandliefacedown,

gaspinginthedirt—Iboltuprightandrunlikethewind.

Ignoring the searing pain that shoots through my battered legs and feet, I call upon every immortal

powerIhavetohelpmefindmywayalongtherootwithsomesemblanceofspeed.Sometimesstumbling,
sometimesfalling,butalwayspickingmyselfrightbackupandforgingahead,knowingIneedtogetthere
beforeit’stoolate,thatI’msofarbehindI’venotimetowaste.

Makingdowithouttheaidofmyflashlight,figuringit’sstillfree-fallinginthecrevicealongwithmy

bag, I push my way through the fog until the trail becomes less treacherous, easier to navigate, until
finally,it’sjustamatterofsurvivingtheclimb,pullingmyselfalong,andallowingmybodytoadjustto
theever-increasingaltitude.

Anever-increasingaltitude,thekindofwhichI’veneverexperiencedbefore.
An ever-increasing altitude that leaves me dizzy, short of breath, and that would surely require

unlimiteduseofanoxygentankifIwerebackhomeontheearthplane.

AndbeforeIcanactuallyseeit,IknowthatI’mnear.
It’sinthewaythedarkenedskybeginstoglistenandglow.
It’sinthewaythemistbeginstovibrateandpulse.
Throbbingwithanentirespectrumofcolors—arainbowofbluesandpinksandorangesanddeep

sparklingpurples—allofitshimmeringwiththefinestflecksofsilverandgold.

I hurry along the massive root, noting the way it rises and grows. Becoming taller and wider as it

mixes with the other roots, tangling and overlapping into a complex system that, from what I can tell,
seemstomeanderformilesandmilesbeforeitreachesanenormoustrunkIcanjustnowbarelysee.

Ipauseforamoment,leftbreathlessasmuchfromthevisionthatglowsbeforemeasIamfromthe

hike. Taking in the whole glorious sight of it—the awe-inducing breadth of it—the branches that reach
milesintothesky,theglisteningleavesthatfirstappeargreenandthengold,thevibrantaurathatemanates
allaroundit—notingthewaytheairhasgrownwarmerdespitetheelevationthatshouldmakeitanything
but.

“So that’s it,” I whisper to myself, my voice trancelike, laced with wonder, so overcome by the

colors,I’vemomentarilyforgottenmyenemies,forgottenmypain.

Forthemomentanyway,I’mapioneer,apilgrim,afounderofthisgloriousfrontier.Sofilledwith

thewonderofwhatIwitnessbeforeme,I’mrenderedcompletelyandtotallyspeechless.Nowordscould
everdoitjustice.

IthoughttheGreatHallsofLearningwereamazing,butthis—well,I’veneverseenanythinglikeit.

Neverseenanythingquitesomagnificent.

Butmyawesoonturns,andI’monguardonceagain.Myinitiallookofamazementquicklyhijacked

bysuspicionasIglancearoundthearea,studyitclosely,searchingforsignsofmyfellowtravelers.

RememberingthewayRafe’seyesblazedwithanunspokenthreatwhenheverballylaidclaimtothe

fruit,andknowingthatthebestwaytoovercomethemistosurprisethem,tocatchthemoffguard.Catch
themcompletelyunaware.

Best to keep quiet, move stealthily, to not allow for even the slightest of hints that I’ve made my

return.

ImakemywayalongthelongandwindingtangleofrootsuntilI’vefinallyprogressedfarenoughto

getaclearerviewoftheenormoustrunk.Itswidththesizeofabuilding—itsbranchesreachingsohighit
lookslikeoneofnature’sskyscrapers.AndI’vejustreacheditsbase,whenIseethem.

SeethemlookingasbatteredandbloodiedasIprobablydo—andknowingtheydidittooneanother,

that they fought like hell to be the first one to reach it. And despite being outnumbered by Misa and
Marco,itappearsRafehaswon.

He clings to a branch—one that soars a good few feet from the one Misa and Marco now dangle

from.

Andifthesightofthatwasn’tbadenough—ifthefactthatthey’vemanagedtobeatmebyalongshot

isn’tcompletely and totallydeflating—what’s worse isthe fact that Rafenot only beatus all to it—but
thathenowholdsthefruitinhishand.

Hesucceeded.
Accomplishedwhatwecouldnot.
Icanseeitinhisgrinofvictory.Icanhearitinhistriumphantyell.
He’swon.
We’velost.
I’velost.
Andathousandyearsmustpassbeforewegetanothershot.
But despite the obvious defeat, that doesn’t stop me from making a mad scramble up the side, my

fingers digging deep into the bark as my feet desperately seek for a foothold. Even though the game is
clearlyover,eventhoughRafeisclearlythevictor,Irefusetosurrender,refusetoforfeit.

Hewillnotrobmeofmydestiny.
Hewillnotstealmylastchancetomakethingsrightwiththeuniverse.
Iwillnotwaitforathousandmoreyears.
His eyes light upon me. Seemingly amused by my struggle. Lifting the fruit high into the air, high

enoughforusalltosee,hepauses,savoringthemomentofvictory.

Hissmilewide,hiseyesneveroncestrayingfrommineasheinsertsthefruitbetweenhisfrontteeth,

andbitesdown.

chapterthirty-three

Iclingtomybranch,notwantingtowatch,yetunabletotearmygazeaway.Overcomebytheshame

andhumiliationofhavingbeenbeaten.KnockedsidewaysbythehorriblerealizationthatI’vefailedatthe
oneandonlythingIwasborntodo.

Mybodyreducedtoathrobbing,bleedingpulpofamess—mysoulmateconvincedI’veabandoned

him—asRafemakesashowofenjoyingthefruit.

Andforwhat?
Whatwasthepointofitall?
Whyfightsohard?Whysucceedateachandeverystep,onlytofailattheonethingthatcountsmore

thananythingelse?

ThisbittertasteofdefeatremindingmeofwhatIoncesaidtoDamenafterI’dconfessedthewhole

horriblestorybehindmythwartedboutoftimetravel:

Sometimesdestinyliesjustoutsideofourreach.
Andsurprisedtofindthatnolongerringstrue.
Mydestinyisstillverymuchattainable.
There’snowayitendshere.
Ileap.
Working past the screaming pain in my body—working past my protesting muscles, my raw and

bloodypalms.IleapashighasIcan,grabholdofthebranchjustaboveme,andthentheoneabovethat.
Swinginglikeanagilemonkey,untillI’mjustonebranchbelowMisaandMarco,whoarenowonlyone
branchbelowRafe.

AndwhenRafesurprisesusallbyleapingfromhisbranchtotheirs,Iseehisfaceisstillaged,still

marked by time, and yet there’s no denying his glow—he’s positively radiant—he has an aura that’s
beaming—alltheproofthatIneedtoknowthatitworked,hisimmortalityhasbeenreversed.Hedrops
whatlittleremainsofthefruitontoMisa’soutstretchedpalms,thenscramblestotheground,asIswing
myselfuptowheretheynowstand.

I veer toward them. Cringing at the sound of the branch creaking ominously from the stress of our

combinedweight,thoughtheydon’tseemtonotice,don’tseemtocare.They’retoodistractedbythesight
ofthefruit,andthedistantcryofawhoopingandholleringRafeashemakeshiswaydowntheroots.

“Don’tcomeanycloser,”Marcosays,takingnoticeofme.
I freeze. Not because he told me to, but because my eye just caught sight of something unusual,

somethingIneverexpectedtosee.

“Stay right where you are.” He glances at Misa, gestures for her to proceed and I watch as she

shovesthefruitbetweenherlips,hershinywhiteteethtearingintothehard,velvetyfleshasshecloses
hereyes,takesamomenttosavorthetastebeforeshehandsittoMarco,wholooksatmeandsays,“IfI

was feeling generous, if I had the slightest bit of concern for you, I’d share this last bite. After all, it
appearsthere’senoughforbothofus,wouldn’tyouagree?”

Isinkmyteethintomylip,hopinghe’stooinvolvedintauntingmetopayanynoticetothemiracle

thatisoccurringjustahandfulofbranchesaway.

Isit?
Coulditactuallybe?
ShouldItrustinwhatmygutistellingme?
ShouldItrustinsomethingthatgoesagainsteverymyth,everybitofwisdomI’veeverlearned

aboutthistree?

OrshallItackleMarcorighthere,rightnow?GetatthatlastbitoffruitwhileIcan,knowing

they’reasbloodied,broken,andweakenedasIam?

Heholdsitbeforehim,teasing,mocking,partinghislipsinanexaggeratedway.AndIknowit’stime

tochoose,timetodecidebetweenwhatI’vebeentoldandwhatIseehappeningbeforeme,whenhesays,
“But, as it turns out, I’m not feeling the least bit generous toward you, so I think I’ll just take the
opportunitytofinishthisverylastbit.”

Onestepforward,asheshovesthefruitintohismouth.
Anotherstep,closingthegapbetweenus,ashecloseshiseyesandbitesdown.
ThesightofitblurredbythesongofLotus’svoiceinmyheadwhenshesaid:
Thetreeisevergiving.
Istop.Losemyfooting.Findmyselfspiralingbackward,backtowardtheground.Myfallstoppedby

atangleofleavesjustafewbranchesdown,asMarcotowersaboveme,makesashowofswallowing,
wipingthejuicefromhischinwithhissleeve.

I watch, noting how they’ve transformed much like Rafe did. Though still aged, their auras glow

vibrantly,vividly,makingthemappearpositivelyluminousastheyjoinhands,andmaketheirwaydown
thetree.Payingmenonoticeastheypassmealongtheway,butInolongercare.Myattentionisclaimed
bysomethingthey’retooshortsightedtosee—somethingthatchangeseverything.

It’sthefruit.
Thesheerabundanceoffruit.
Turns out the Tree of Life isn’t limited to just one single piece per thousand years as the legend

claimed;foreverypiecethat’splucked,anewoneappearsinitsplace.

And suddenly I understand what my instinct was telling me—suddenly I know what Lotus meant

whenshesaidthetreewasevergiving.

SuddenlyIknowwhatitmeanswhentheysaytheuniverseisabundant—thatitoffersusallthatwe

need—thattheonlyshortagesthatexistaretheoneswecreateinourminds.

Iworkmywayup,findingmywaytotheplacewherethefruithangsripeandfull.ThenIyankoffmy

bloodied, tattered T-shirt, exposing the equally bloodied and tattered white cotton tank top beneath,
smooththefabricflatagainstmylap,andpluckthatonelonepieceoffruit,placeitontothecenter,then
wait.HopingI’mnotwrong,hopingitreallyiswhatIthink,andgrinninglikecrazywhenafewminutes
lateranotherpieceoffruitpopsrightintoitsplace,andIpluckthatonetoo.Repeatingthetaskoverand
over until my T-shirt is so full it can’t hold any more, and I fold the corners, tie ’em all together, and
swingitovermyshoulderinamakeshiftknapsack.

JustabouttomakemywaydownwhenIgazeintothedistanceandwitnessthemostamazingdisplay

oflightthatbreaksthroughthefoginsuchastartling,brilliant,colorfulway,it’simpossibletoidentify.

“What is that?” I whisper, gaping at the spectacle before me, figuring I’m so high up I must be

witnessingsomekindofcelestiallightshoworsomething.

Butit’snotlongbeforeIhearthefainttraceofwhoopsandhollerscarriedbythewind,asoundthat

tellsmeit’seitherMisa,Marco,orRafe,ormaybeevenallthree.AndsuddenlyIunderstandwhyLotus
sentthemafterme.

Sheknewaboutthetree.Knewthatitwasevergiving.Knewthatnomatterwhat,nomaterhowhard

they’dtrytostopme,intheend,I’dsucceed.

Shemaynothavebeenallthatforthcomingaboutthesortofimmortalitythefruitactuallyoffers,but

then,theyonlytoldhertheywerelookingfortheelixiroflife,andsoshehadeveryrighttosendthem
forward.

And while they may not have realized what they were getting into, from the sound of their excited

shoutsandyelps,fromthewaytheirglowlightsupthesky,whattheyfoundisevenbetterthanwhatthey
firstsought.

Theyfoundenlightenment—trueimmortality.
ThekindInowholdinmyhands.
Andeagerformyturn,Imakemywaydown,beginningmyownjourneyback.

chapterthirty-four

ThefirstthingInoticewhenIfindmyselfbackinLagunaBeachisthatI’mhealed.
Inallofmyexcitement,IguessImademywaydownthetrailandmanifestedtheveilsoquicklyI

didn’t even notice my body is no longer battered and bloody, and my clothes are no longer ripped to
shreds(thoughtheyareprettyfilthy).

ThesecondthingInoticeistheweather.
It’shot.
Likereally,reallyhot.
LikewaytoohotforthethicksocksandhikingbootsIstillwear.
Igazearoundthecrowdednarrowstreetsofdowntown,thesunreflectingoffthestorewindowsina

waythatforcesmetoshieldmyeyesuntilIcanmanifestanewpairofsunglasses.Partofmehopingthat
thefactthatSummerlandtemperaturesdon’treallyfluctuate,alwaysveeringtowardcool,iswhatthrows
meoffnow—whiletheotherpartfearsthisisn’tjustunseasonablywarmweatherI’mexperiencing,but
thatitis,infact,alltooseasonal.

I’vegotthishorrible,sinkingfeelingthatI’vebeengonefar,farlongerthanplanned.
WhiletheremaybenotimeinSummerland,thatcertainlydoesn’tstopitfrommarchingalonghere,

andiftheweatherisanyindication,mywinterbreakhasgonewaybeyondthetwo-weekvacationIwas
grantedfromschool.Infact,itmayhaveevengonebeyondmyone-weekspringbreakaswell,neitherof
whichcanresultinanythinggood.

But even more bizarre than the weather, well, almost more bizarre anyway, is the fact that I can

actuallyfeelthegravityoftheearthplane.Ifeelheavier,slower,whichisjustsoweird.Asmanytripsas
I’vemadebackandforthbetweenSummerlandandhere,I’veneverreallynoticedthedifference.Orat
leastnotlikethis.Notinsuchaprofoundandobviousway.Butthen,I’vealsoneverspentthatmuchtime
inSummerlandinonecontinuousstay,sothatprobablyhassomethingtodowithit.

Thinkingoflongcontinuousstays,Ireachformycellphone,eagertogetapeekatthedate.Onlyto

remember too late that I didn’t bring it, which makes sense since it’s not like I can get a signal in a
mysticaldimensionanyway.SothenIpeerintotheneareststorewindow,lookingforsomesortofclueas
totheday,thetime,eventhemonthwillsuffice.ButallIcanseeisabunchofhigh-priced,season-neutral
offeringsforthehome,includingafake-furcatbedintheshapeofacrown,whichdoesn’ttellmemuchof
anything.

I heave my T-shirt knapsack over my shoulder, reassured by its heft that the fruit survived the trip

home,knowinghowthethingsthataremanifestedinSummerlandneversurvivethetriptotheearthplane.
Butthen,it’snotlikeImanifestedthefruit.Thetreeisresponsibleforthat,whichisprobablytheonly
reasonit’swithme.

IheadforJude’sstore,figuringIcandropin,makesurehe’sokay,andfindasubtlewaytoinquire

aboutthedate.ButinsteadoffindingJude,IendupfindingprettymuchthelastpersonIeverwould’ve
expected.

Okay,maybenotthelastperson,becausethatwouldactuallybeSabine.Still,I’mnotgonnalie,the

secondIseeHonorworkingbehindthecounterofMysticsandMoonbeams,chattingwithacustomeras
sheringsupwhatlookstobeaprettysizablesale,well,Ijuststoprightthenandthere,mybodystalledin
aneye-bugging,jaw-droppingstare.

IwasexpectingtoseeJude,ormaybeAva,orpossiblyevensomeoneelsealtogether.ButInever

expectedtoseeHonor.Infact,shedidn’tevenmakethelonglistofsuspects.

Sheglancesupfromtheregister,shootsmeahurriedlook,thengetsrightbacktonumberpunching,

cardsliding,andpackaging.

Herfacebearingnosignofhowshemightfeelaboutseeingmestandingbeforeher,which,Igotta

sayisfarmorethanIcansayformyowngapingreactiontoher.

ThelastI’dheardJudehadphasedoutofteachingthepsychicdevelopmentlevelone(withasmall

emphasis on self-empowerment and magick) classes when Honor ended up being his only student. And
afterafewone-on-one,privatetutorials,he’ddetermineditwasbesttostopaltogether.Which,Ihaveto
admit, I was relieved to hear since Honor wasn’t exactly using her newfound skills with the best of
intentions,orforthebestreasons.

I mean, no matter how awful Stacia may be (and believe me, she is really and truly awful), I just

couldn’t allow Haven and Honor’s coup against her to continue. It just wasn’t right—too many people
weregettinghurtinthefallout.Andit’snotlikethetwoofthemweredoinganybetteroncethey’dtaken
Stacia’splace.Ifanything,theywereprettymuchmimickingherveryworstbehavior.

LastIsaw,HonorandStaciahadkissedandmadeup,sotospeak,butonlybecauseI’dprettymuch

forcedthemtodoit.Andnow,afterhavingbeengoneforwhoknowshowlong,Ihavenoideawhat’s
transpiredfromthere.ForallIknow,they’rebothrightbacktobeingtheirawfuloldselves,indulgingin
their awful old ways. Still, I hope that I’m wrong. I hope they’ve at least tried to move on to doing
somethingalittlemoreproductivewiththeirlives.

The customer grabs her bag and breezes right past me on her way out the door, as Honor takes a

momenttohandlethereceipt.

CarefullyplacingitintothelittlepurpleboxwhereJudekeepsthem,beforesettlingontothestool

andaddressingme.

“Well, well.” She shakes her head as her eyes travel the length of me, giving me a very thorough

once-over, careful to hide any hints of just how she might feel about my showing up here. “You were
prettymuchthelastpersonIexpectedtosee.”

“Judearound?”Iask,unwillingtoplayhergame,ifthat’swhatitis.It’skindofhardtotelljustwhat

she’supto,orwhathermotivemightbe.“OrevenAva?”Iadd,makingitclearI’mwillingtospeakto
justaboutanyonebuther.

“Ava will be in soon,” she says, still peering at me. “Same for Jude.” She smiles, an involuntary

curvingoflipsthatdisappearsjustasquickly.

Iapproachthecounter,meetingherstarewithoneofmyown.Watchingassheliftshershoulders,

leansbackagainstthewall,andcontinuestostudyme.

“How long have you been working here?” I ask, as opposed to my real question: What day, time,

and/ormonthisit?Knowingtheymust’vehiredhertofillinforme,andfiguringheranswerwillgive
meanindicationofjusthowlongI’vebeengone.

“’Boutsixmonths.Giveortake.”Sheshrugs,pushesachunkofcopper-streakedhairbackbehind

herear,thenfocusesonthestateofhercuticles,whilemymindreelswithheranswer.

Sixmonths.
Sixmonths?
Sixmonths!
Theroomswimmingbeforeme,forcingmetograbholdofthecounterinanefforttosteadymyself.
SixmonthsputsmewellintoMay.
Putsmeatthetailendofthesecondsemesterofmysenioryear.
PutsmeatgreatriskofflunkingoutentirelyunlessIworksomeseriousmanifestingmagickbackin

theschooladministrator’soffice!

AndIcan’thelpbutwonderifit’sthesameforDamen—ifhe’sindangerofflunkingouttoo.Orifhe

managedtogetbackherewithplentyoftimetospare,whilethejourneytotheTreeofLifeputmeover
theedge,allofthoseseasonsIwasforcedtofindmywaythrough.

Butthen,Damen’snevercaredmuchaboutschool.Theonlyreasonheenrolledisthesamereasonhe

stayed—becauseofme.Aftersixcenturiesofliving,hehardlyseesthepoint.AndthoughI’verecently
takenasimilarstance(asevidencedbymypoorattendanceevenbeforeIleftonmyjourney),it’snotlike
Ieverintendedtoflunkout.

It’snotlikeIeverdreamedofbeingadropout.
I mean, even if I once believed I had no need for SATs, grade point averages, or college

applications,evenifIassumedthatmybeingimmortalprecludedmefromhavinganyuseforthattypeof
thing,Istillneverimaginednotfinishinghighschool.

TossingmycapintotheairatgraduationisprettymuchtheonenormalthingIassumedthatI’ddo.
Andnow,apparentlyI’veletthatslidebythewaysidetoo.
Isighandshakemyhead,trytofocusmyattentionbackonthepresent,towhereInowstand,saying,

“Wow,that’s…that’squiteawhile…”Notreallyknowingwhatelsetosay.

“You’vebeengonealongtime.”Sheliftshershouldersalongwithherbrow.“So,howwasit?How

isSummerlandthesedays?”Sheposesthequestionsocasuallyyou’dthinkwealwaystalkedaboutsuch
things. Barely venturing a glance toward me before she returns to inspecting her cuticles, picking at a
hangnailattheedgeofherthumb,asIsearchforawaytoreply,butnowordswillcome.“Iknowabout
Summerland.”Sheshovesherthumbinhermouth,finishingthejobwithherteethbeforesettlingherhands
on her lap as her gaze lights upon me. “Of course I’ve never been, though not for lack of trying.” She
makesaglumface.“Butit’stoughforabeginnerlikeme.

Judesaidyou’retheonewhofirstgothimthere,andnowhe’stryingtodothesamethingforme.

Haven’t had much luck so far, but I’m not giving up. I’ve been studying pretty hard, and I’ve read just
abouteverythingIcanonthesubject.IsitreallyasmagicalasJudesays?”Sheslewshereyesoverme,
takingatourofmyfilthyclothes,buttohercredit(andmysurprise),sheshowsnosignoftheusualsnide
judgmentI’vecometoexpectfromher.“Don’tlooksoshocked.It’snotlikeit’ssomebigjuicysecret.”
Shearchesherbrowhighandquirkshermouthtotheside.“Well,Iguessthefactthatyougothereallthe
timeiskindoflikeabigjuicysecret,butstill,it’snotliketheplaceisasecret.Also,it’snotlikeI’ve
told anyone about it, or even about you. Believe me, Jude’s already warned me. Fell just shy of
threateningmeifIsomuchasbreatheawordaboutyouorwhatyoucando.Sofeelfreetotakeadeep
breathandrelaxnow,k?”

But even though she assures me that it’s okay to relax, I can’t. Any relaxing thoughts I might have,

havebeentakenoverbythewayshesaid“Jude.”

Judesaidyou’retheonewhofirstgothimthere.
Judesaysit’smagical.
Judewarnedmenottotell.

The word appearing harmless and casual on the surface, unless you heard the way it was spoken:

warmly, intimately, bearing a familiarity that goes way beyond a student/teacher/employee/boss
relationship.

Nottomentionhowoftenitwasspoken,likeagirlwiththemad-hotswhofindsanyexcusetoinsert

hercrush’snameintoasentence.

“So,youandJude,huh?”MygazemeetshersasItrytodeterminehowIfeelaboutthat.Searching

forsignsofjealousy,andrelievedwhenIrealizethat’snotwhat’snigglingme.

I’mfeelingprotective,notenvious.Idon’twanthimtogethurt.Judehasalonghistoryoffallingfor

allthewronggirls—oneswhoenduphurtinghim—includingme.

And either she’s making vast improvements in her psychic skills, or I am wearing my very worst

pokerfaceever,becauseshelooksrightatmeandsays,“Look,Ever,Iknowyoudon’tlikeme,ordon’t
trust me, or both, or whatever, but anyway, a lot has happened in the last six months. I think you’d be
amazed.”

“Yeah,well,lasttimeyousaidthatitturnedouttobeoneofthosechangesthatwasn’tevenremotely

forthebetter.”Myeyeslevelonhers,holdingthelookforamomentbeforemovingontotherestofher.

Noticinghowherformerlytrend-consciouswardrobehascompletelytransformed,pareddowntoa

yin/yangteethathangswellpastthewaistbandofherfadedoldjeans,amalachitering,orrather,Jude’s
malachite ring, resized with silk thread and shoved onto her middle finger, while a pair of rubber flip-
flopsdanglefromherfeet.AndIcan’thelpbutwonderifshe’snotjustdatingJude,butraidinghiscloset
too.

“You’re right,” she says, not the least bit fazed by the admission, which alone is a pretty good

indicationofprogress.“But,whatImeantwas,Ithinkyou’dbesurprisedinagoodway.I’mnolonger
working against you, Ever. Seriously. I know you don’t believe it, but really, I’ve changed. My whole
outlookhaschanged.Andjustsoyouknow,ItrulycareaboutJude.I’mnotgoingtohurthimlikeyou.”

Ilookather,waitingforhertofinishthatsentence,surethatwhatshereallymeanttosaywas:“I’m

notgoingtohurthimlikeyouthink,”andthatshe’llsooncorrectherself.

Butnope,sheleavesitatthat.Apparentlyshesaidwhatshemeant,andit’snotlikeIcandenythat

it’strue.

“AndStacia?”Iask,preferringtochangethesubjecttosomethingjustasbadifnotworse.“Hasshe

madethischangealongwithyou?”Knowingfirsthandjusthowselfishandcluelesssheis,remembering
howharditwasjusttoconvincehertoapologizeforsomeofthemorehorriblethingsthatshe’ddone.
Buthey,miraclesdooccur,andit’snevertoolatetoturnyourlifearoundandreachforsomethingbetter
—oratleastthat’swhatIhear.

Though Honor’s pretty realistic where her friend is concerned, which means she just laughs when

shesays,“WhatcanIsay?Stacia’smoreofaworkinprogress.Buttrustme,she’snotnearasbadasshe
usedtobe,andthat’ssayingsomething,right?Anyway,ifJudeseesfittolikeme,andAvaseesfittotrust
me, well, I was thinking maybe you might try to… well, at least tolerate me, then we’ll see where that
leads.”

“And just what is Ava seeing fit to trust you with?” I ask. “Other than helping out at the store, I

mean?”

Honor stands, her attention momentarily claimed by the bell clanging hard against the door,

announcing a new arrival, as she says, “For one thing, she’s seen fit to have me track down some rare
herbsforDamen.Somethingtodowithsomeantidotehe’smaking?”

Sheliftsherbrow,directsawavetothebrowsingcustomer,thenreturnstome.“And,asitjustso

happens,itarrivedaboutanhourago.

Gotitrighthere.”Shereachesunderthecounter,grabsatinyplain-wrappedpackage,andslapsit

downinfrontofher.“Iwasgonnacallhimtocomepickitup,butnowthatyou’rehere,well,maybeyou
shouldtakeittohim?I’mguessingit’sbeenawhilesinceyou’velastseenhim,no?”

I stare at the package, my heart hammering, my throat constricting, aware of her gaze weighing on

me.

“Whatdayisit?”Iask.
Sheshootsmeafunnylook.“Sunday,why?”
“Sunday…”
“Sunday,Maytwenty-fourth.”Sheslinksaroundthecounterandmakesforhercustomer,asIgrabthe

package,shoveitdeepinsidemyfrontpocket,andmakemywayoutthedoor.

chapterthirty-five

Idon’tgotoDamen’s.
Iplanto,Ihaveeveryintentionto,butthere’ssomethingelseIneedtodofirst.Soaftermanifestinga

car,IheadstraightforJude’s.

Wantingtocatchhimbeforeheleavesforthestore,andnearlycrashingrightintohimwhenhebacks

hisJeepoutofhisdrivejustasI’mpullingin.

“Ever?”Hepeersatmefromhissideviewmirrorashiscarjumpstoahaltandhespringsfromhis

seat.

Istare.Ican’thelpit.HelookssocompletelydifferentfromthelasttimeIsawhim.
Hisheadisshaved.
Andwithouthistrademarktangleoflonggolden/bronzedreadlockshe’sbarelyrecognizable—orat

leastuntilhiseyesfindmineanyway.Thatbrilliantaqua-greengazeisalltoofamiliar,nottomentionthe
waveofcool,calmenergythatthrumsoverme,throughme,allaroundme,inthesamewayithasforthe
lastseveralcenturies.

Herunsaself-conscioushandoverhisnewlyshornhead,histropicalgazemeetingminewhenhe

says,“Figureditwastimeforachange,butfromthelookonyourfaceI’mthinkingIshouldstartgrowing
itagain.”

Islipoutofmycar,tryingmybesttonotoverdoitwiththestaring.Eventhoughhelooksgreat,in

fact,betterthangreat,it’sstillaprettybigvisualadjustmenttomake.

“Nah.”Ismilebrightlyandshakemyhead.“Keepit.Imean,what’sthepointofgoingback,when

youcangoforwardinstead?”

Hiseyesgrazeoverme,allowingthewordstohangbetweenusuntilhebreaksthesilenceandsays,

“Youlooklikeyou’vebeenthroughthewringer.”Hemotionstowardthesorrystateofmyclothes.“But
youmadeit,andthat’swhatmatters.It’sgoodtoseeyou,Ever.”AndIcantellbythetoneofhisvoice
andtheglintinhiseyethatforthefirsttimeinalongtimeheactuallymeansit.Mypresencenolonger
elicitsthatsamebrandoflongingitusedto.

“Andyou.”Ichasethewordswithanothersmile,wantinghimtoknowthatImeanittoo.
Westandbeforeeachother,allowingthesilencetobuild.Butit’snottheawkwardkindofsilence,

it’sthekindsharedbytwopeoplewho’veexperiencedsomethingsoextraordinarythere’sjustnowayto
putitintowords.

“When’dyougetback?”Iask,wonderingifhewasgonealongtimetoo.
Helooksatme,squints,andsays,“Longtimeago.Waybeforeyou.Ithoughtaboutgoingafteryou,

tryingtofindyou,butLotuswarnedmeagainstit,warnedmetonotgetinvolved.”Judejangleshiskeys,
motionstowardhisfrontdoor.“Doyouwanttogoinside?”

Ipressmylipstogether,thinkingaboutinside.ThekitchenwhereIoncedidhisdishes,theoldchair

where I used to sit, the antique door he uses as a coffee table, the brown corduroy couch where he
confessedhisfeelingsforme…

“No,I—”Ilookathim,swallowhard,andstartagain.“Ijustwantedtomakesureyoumadeitback

fromSummerland.Justwantedtomakesureyougotthroughitokay,and…”Iliftmyshoulders,lookall
around,seeingthepeoniesbackinbloom—big,vibrantlycoloredpuffballsofpurpleandpinksprouting
fromthetopofsturdygreenstems.“And,itseemsyoudid,so…”

Buthewon’tletmeoffthateasily.Hewon’tallowmetojustbrushitaway.“Shouldwetalkabout

it?”heasks,hisgazetellingmehe’smorethanwillingtodosoifIwant.

Andwhilewemostcertainlycould,Ican’thelpbutthink:Whatwouldbethepoint?
Imean,what’stherelefttotalkabout,really?Weknoweverythingnow.Werelivedtheactualevents

forourselves.Sowhat’sthepointinrehashingwhatwealreadyknow?

Ishakemyheadanddirectmygazetoourfeet—heinhisusualbrownrubberflip-flops,meinmy

crusty, dirty hiking boots. Then I lift my head and say, “That would just end up being redundant now,
wouldn’tit?”

Heliftshisshoulders,keepshisgazeonme.
“Though,itmustbearelieftoknowyoudidn’treallylovemeandlosemeallthoseyears,right?”
Hetiltshishead,confusedbymystatement.
“What I mean is, or at least from what I can tell after stringing it all together, it’s pretty clear you

were just trying to keep me and Damen apart so he wouldn’t make me immortal. You know, so he
wouldn’tsucceedatwhathe’dfailedtodothatfirstlifeofourswhenyouwereHeath,hewasAlrik,andI
wasAdelina.”

“Isthatreallyyourtake?”Heleanstowardme,hisgazesopiercingitcausesmetonod,gulp,scratch

myarm.Indulginginallofmynervoustells,oneafteranother,whichleavesmewonderingwhyIinsisted
onsayingsuchathingifit’sonlygoingtoresultinmyowndiscomfort.Butseeingthatdiscomfort,he’s
quicktoletitgo,saying,“So,tellme—didyoudoit?Didyoumakeittotheendofyourjourney?Didyou
findthetreeyouwerelookingfor?”

“Yeah.Idid,”Itellhim,myvoicegrowinghoarseasmymindfillswiththewholeglorioussightof

it.AvisionIwanthimtoseetooandthere’sonlyonewaytodothat.“Closeyoureyes,”Isay,humbled
by the speed with which he obeys. “And now open your mind.” I place my hands on either side of his
face,mypalmsspanningthesharpplanesofhischeekbonesthatappearevenmorepronouncedwithhis
newlyshornhair,myfingertipsseekingtheslightinwardcurveofhistemplesandpressinglightlyagainst
them.Projectingthewholewonderfullyradiantscenefrommymindtohis,showinghimthetreeexactly
asIrememberit,inallofitsabundanceandglory.

“Wow,” he says, his voice like a sigh. “That must’ve been… something.” He looks at me, gaze

deeplyprobing.

Inod,starttoremovemyhandsfromhisface,onlytohavehimpresshispalmshardagainstthem,

holdingmeinplace.

“Ishouldgo.”Itrytopullaway,onlytohavehimholdmeeventighter,keepmerighttherebefore

him.

“Ever…”Hisvoiceisthick,ragged,atoneIknowwell.
Myeyesgrazeoverhim,notinghisfreshlylaunderedT-shirtandjeans,thescentofsoap,freshair,

andoceanthatdriftsfromhisskin—andIknowtheeffortwasmadeforHonor,notme.

“Jude,areyouhappy?”Iask,ferventlyhopingheis,thatthenightstarImadegrantedmywish,orat

leastthatitwillsoon.

Hegivesmealonglook,onethatlingerssolongI’msurehewon’tanswerwhenhefinallydropshis

hands,shovesthemdeepintohispockets,andsays,“I’mworkingonit.”Heshrugs.“IthinkI’mgetting
closer.You?”

Istarttoshootoffsomeblitheandbreezyreply,thekindyoutossoutwhensomeoneaskshowyou

are but you know they’re not going to stick around for the answer, but then I stop just as quickly. Jude
answeredhonestly,sotheleastIcandoisanswerhonestlytoo.

Thoughitdoestakeamomenttofigureoutjustwhatthatanswermightbe.Ihadn’treallyconsidered

myownstateofhappiness—oratleastnotforawhileanyway.

Let’ssee,Ipassedeverytestonmyjourneyandseizedmydestiny,whichmakesmecompletelyself-

actualized in the deepest sense of the word, and yet, even after all that, there’s one thing that’s still
glaringlymissing.Or,makethattwothings—onehuge,oneonlyslightlylesshuge.ButafterIleavehere,
I’llfacethosethingstoo.

“Samehere,”Ifinallysay.“I’mworkingonittoo.”Chasingthewordswithaflashofagrin.“ButI

thinkI’mmakinggoodprogress,gettingprettydangclose,anyway.”

Istarttoturn,starttoheadformycar,whenhepullsmebacktohimandsays,“Hey,Ever—”
Ifacehim.
“Justsoyouknow,you’vegotitallwrong.”
Inarrowmygaze,havingnoideawhathemeans.
“That really isn’t what I was doing all of those lives, or at least that’s only part of it. The other

reasonIwastryingtokeepyoufromDamenisbecauseIwantedyoualltomyself.Stilldo.”Heshrugs,
triestolaugh,butit’snotthefunnykind.It’sfartooresignedforthat.

“Rememberwhatyoutoldme—thefirstdaywemet?”
Isquint.Isaidalotofthingsbackthen.Infact,Igavehimoneheckofapalmreading,toldhimall

abouthispast—oratleasthismostimmediatepast.

“YoutoldmeIhaveaserioushistoryoffallingforallthewronggirls.”
Ohyeah.That.
“Turnsout you wereright.” There’s thatlaugh again, but thistime it’s lighter,brighter, hinting at a

promiseofbetterdaystocome.

“Littledidyouknowitwasjustonegirlinparticular—onegirloverandoveragain.Littledidyou

knowitwasyou.”

Igulp,mystomachgoingalltwistyandweird.
“It’salwaysbeenyou.”Heshootsmearuefulgrin.
Iedgeclosertomycar,havingnoideawhattosay,whattodo,butthat’sokay,becausehecancels

theawkwardnessforme.

“So,whatdoyouthinkofHonor?”heasks.
Oureyesmeetandhold,untilImanagetostammer,“Forreals?”
Henods,swipesahandoverhisheadinthesamewayheusedtobackwhenhishairwaslongand

twisty,onlynowthere’snotmuchtolatchontoandhisarmfallsbacktohisside.“Whatdidyoutellme
backthen?IfI’mfoolenoughtoask,thenyou’refoolenoughtotell?”Helaughs,adding,“Soyeah,what
theheck?Haveatit.WhatdoyouthinkofHonor?Or,betteryet,whatdoyouseeforourfuture?

Doweevenhaveafuture?”
He offers his palm, wanting me to take it, to tell him all that I see. And I stand there before him,

knowingallIhavetodoislowermypsychicshield,pressmyfingertohisskin,andeverythinghewants
toknow,includingstuffhemostlikelydoesnot,willberevealed.

Iinchtowardhim,justabouttodoit,whenIrememberwhatDamenoncesaid,anddecidetoquote

himinstead.

“Lifeisnotmeanttobeanopen-booktest,”Isay,turningbacktowardmycaranddrivingaway.

chapterthirty-six

MynextstopisSabine’s.
Ifiguresinceit’slateonaSundayafternoonthere’sagoodchanceI’llfindherathome.
MaybeevenathomewithMunoz.
AndthecloserIgettoherstreet,themoreIstarthopingMunozwillbethere,iffornootherreason

thanheseemstobeonmyside—oratleastforthemostpart.Whichmeanshejustmightbeabletohelp
meconvinceherofthetruth.

Thestartling,mind-blowing,world-rockingtruththatproveseverythingshesovehementlydeniesis

actuallyreal.

Thetruthshe’llmostlikelyfightlikehelltorefusenomatterhowmuchevidenceIputbeforeher.
And even though I’m fully prepared to pull out all the stops, do whatever’s required to make her

believe(knowingthatmayrequirenolessthanajudge,acarefullyselectedtwelve-manjury,andpossibly
evenahandfulofalternatesthrowninforgoodmeasure),it’llstillbegoodtohaveMunozaroundtohelp
buildmycase.

Youknow,twoagainstone.
Powerinnumbers.
Thatsortofthing.
Idriveuptothegate,feelingevenmoreguiltyaboutmyextra-longabsencewhenIseethewaythe

securityguardlooksatme,openlygawkingasshedoesatripletakebeforewavingmein.AndwhenI
pullintothedriveway,seethewaytheyardhaschanged,havingtransitionedrightoutofaseasonIpretty
muchmissed,andgoingheadfirstintoanewoneIhopetostickaroundlongenoughtoenjoy,theguilty
feelinggoesintooverdrive.

Still, that’s nothing compared to the way I feel when I stand at the door and ring the bell only to

watch Sabine’s features tumble through a series of almost cartoonish expressions. Beginning with an
initial reaction of surprised recognition, before making their way through utter shock, to complete and
totaldisbelief,toaquickglintofhope,toabsolutedefiance,andthensettlingongraveconcernwhenshe
takesinthesadandsorrystateofmyscuffed-uphikingboots,dirtyjeans,andthefilthywhitetanktopI
keepforgettingtomanifestmyselfoutof.

“Where’veyoubeen?”sheasks,hervoiceastrangecombinationofangerandcuriosity,asherblue

eyescontinuetheinventory.

“Trustme,youwouldn’tbelievemeifItoldyou,”Isay,knowingthewordsarefartruerthanshe

couldeverrealize.

Shefoldsherarmsacrossherchestasherlipspresstogetherinathin,grimline.Transitioningright

backtohersternside,theonethat’salltooeasytorecognize,saying,“Tryme.”

It’stheangrySabine.

Theself-righteousSabine.
TheSabinewhogavemetheultimatumthatultimatelyconvincedmetoleave.
Ipeeroverhershoulder,knowingMunozisheresomewheresinceIsawhissilverPriusinthedrive.

HeavingahugesighofreliefwhenIseehimcomingoutoftheden,hisfaceprettymuchexhibitingallthe
sameexpressionsashers,minusthedefianceandgraveconcern,whichItakeasagoodsign.

“I’dlovetoexplain.”Ifighttokeepmyvoicecalm,nonconfrontational,knowingtheonlywaytoget

throughtoheristokeeptheemotionatbay.“Infact,that’swhyI’mhere.Iplantotellyouallaboutit.I
wanttotellyouallaboutit.Butit’skindofinvolved,soIthoughtmaybeIcouldcomeinandsitdown
andwecantakeitfromthere.”

Her cheeks flush in indignation. She can hardly believe my audacity. Expecting to be let in after

showing up on her doorstep, completely unannounced, after months of no communication whatsoever. I
canpracticallyhearthethoughtsastheyswirlthroughherheadeventhoughIpromisedmyselfIwouldn’t
eavesdrop.Thoughit’snotlikeIneedtoeavesdropwhenIcanseethewayherenergyradiatesallaround
her,flashingandsparkinginarisingtideofanger.

Still,sheswingsthedoorwideandmotionsmein,followingmeintotheden,whereIclaimoneof

theoverstuffedchairsandwatchassheandMunozplacethemselvessidebysideonthecouchthatsits
opposite.

“Wouldyoulikesomethingtodrink?”sheasks,hervoicestiffasshejumpstoherfeetonceagain.

Unabletocontainherownnervousenergy,unsurehowtohandlemysuddenpresence,shegoesstraight
intohostessmode,arolesheknowswell.

“Water,” I say, seeing the way her brows draw together, knowing she’s unused to seeing me drink

anythingotherthantheelixir,notrealizingit’sbeenaroundsixmonthssincemylastsip.“Waterwouldbe
great, thanks.” I edge back in my chair, crossing my legs at the ankle as she heads into the kitchen and
Munoz settles back on the couch, his arms spread wide across the cushions in the comfortable, relaxed
wayofamanwho’sfullyathome.

“Wedidn’texpecttoseeyou.”Hisvoiceiscautious,unsurewhattomakeofmypresence,worried

aboutmymotives,whatbringsmehere.

Igazearoundtheden,relievedtofinditexactlythesameaftersomanyotherthingshavechanged.

ThenIgazedownatmyfilthyclothesandquicklymanifestsomecleanonesintheirplace.

“Ever—”MunozkeepshisvoiceloweredsoSabinecan’toverhear.“Idon’tthinkthat’ssuchagood

idea…”

Igazedownatmynewlymanifestedbluedressandbeigeleathersandalsandshrug.Drummingmy

fingersagainsttheupholsteredarmsofmychairwhenIsay,“Listen,Imayneedyourhelponthisone,so
please,justtrytotrustme.I’mnotheretocontinuetheargument,ormakeanythingworse.Ijustwantto
clearupafewthingsbeforeit’stoolateandInolongercan.”

Helooksatme,facefullofalarm,abouttoaskforanexplanationwhenSabinecomesbackintothe

room,handsmeaglassofwater,andtakesherplacenexttohim.

Icrossanduncrossmylegs,brushmyhandsovertheskirtofmydressuntilthehemfallsjustshyof

myknees.Aseriesofgesturesgreatlylackinginsubtlety,aseriesofgesturesthatpracticallybegherto
take notice, to inquire how I managed to change clothes so quickly, to say something, anything, but a
denialasdeeplyrootedashersishardtodefeat.

Hard,butnotimpossible.
Ican’tallowmyselftobelieveit’simpossible.Otherwisethere’snopointinmybeinghere.
Knowingit’sbesttojusttaketheleadandjumpin,Ilookatherandsay,“Imissedyou.”
Shesquirms,nods,leansclosertoMunoz,whowelcomesherintothecrookofhisarmandgivesher

shoulderareassuringsqueeze.

Butallshecanmanageinreplyis,“So,areyougoingtotellmewhereyou’vebeen?”
Ipressmylipstogether,alittlestunnedbyherresponse,butIguessshefigurestheemotionalcostis

toohighforhertoadmitthatshemissedmetoo.Butthat’sokay.Evenifshewon’tadmitit,Iknowshe
didmissme.Icanseeitinthewayherauraflasheswithjusttheslimmesthintofpinkinthemidstofall
thatstillragingred.

Aurasneverlie.Onlypeopledo.
“IwasinSummerland,”Isay,mygazetravelingbetweenherandMunoz.
“InSantaBarbara?”SheshootsmeaskepticallookbutI’mquicktodeflectit.
“No. Not the beach town in Santa Barbara, the real Summerland. The first Summerland. The

mysticaldimensionthatexistsbetweenthisoneandtheonejustbeyond.”

Munoz tenses, his body on full-scale alert, prepared for the worst. While Sabine’s mouth grows

grim,hergazenarrowingasshesays,“Idon’tunderstand.”

Ileanforward,scootingtotheveryedgeofmyseat,saying,“Iknow.Believeme,Itotallygetit.It’s

alottotakein.Especiallythefirsttimeyouhearit.Itwasthesamewayforme.Ichosetodenyitfora
reallylongtime.PrettymuchuntilInolongercould.Ialsoknowthiswillbeevenmoredifficultforyou
because of your reluctance to believe in anything that falls outside of your comfort zone, and how you
prefertodismissanythingyoucan’tseehappeningdirectlyinfrontofyou.ButthereasonI’vedecidedto
confide in you anyway, despite the uphill battle I face, is because I’ve grown tired of the game. I’ve
growntiredoflyingtoyouallthetime.I’vegrowntiredofhidingthingsfromyou.Butmostly,I’vegrown
tiredofhavingtoworksoridiculouslyhardatbeingthistotallymanufactured,falseversionofmejustso
youcancontinuetobelievewhat’smostcomfortableforyoutobelieve.”Ipauseforamoment,givingher
achancetorespond,butshejustlooksascoldandstone-facedasever,soIquicklypresson.“Thefirst
twoweeksIwasgone,IwasatDamen’s.AndIknowyouknowthatbecauseIknowhetoldyou.Butwhat
youprobablydon’tknowisthatIwasfullycommittedtonevercomingback.I’dvowedtomovefaraway
aftergraduationandtoneverseeyouagain.Andit’snotbecauseIwasbeingvindictiveortryingtopunish
you—despitewhatyoumaythink,Itrulyboreyounoillwill.ThereasonI’dplannedtoleaveyouforever
isbecauseItrulybelieveditwouldmakebothourliveseasier.Butnowthingshavechanged,oratleast
they’re about to change in a really big way…” I swallow hard, chance a glance at Munoz and see him
nod, encouraging me to go on, and I do. “But before that really big change can take place, I wanted to
comecleanwithyou.Iwantedtotakeonelaststabtotrytomakeyoubelieve.”

“AndjustwhatisitthatI’msupposedtobelieve?”sheasks,butIcantellbythedefiantarchofher

browandthechallengeinhertonethatshealreadyknows.

“IneedyoutobelievethatI’mnotjustsomecrazy,sad,attention-starvedteenwho’ssoscarredand

damagedbythelossofherfamilythatshepretendstohavepsychicpowers.IneedyoutobelievethatI’m
notsomecon-artistcharlatanwhoripspeopleoffforaliving.

AndthereasonIneedyoutobelievethatisbecauseit’sthetruth.Iampsychic.Icananddohear

otherpeople’sthoughts.Icanalsoseeaperson’sentirelifestorywithmerelyatouch,justasIcansee
aurasandcommunicatewithalltheghostlyspiritswhochoosetohangaroundtheearthplanelongafter
theyshould’vemovedon.And,inadditiontothat,I’malsoimmortal.”Istop,allowingenoughtimefor
mywordstosinkin,formyconfessiontotakefulleffect.Knowingithaswhenheraurabeginstoflare
andragesobright,I’msurprisedbytheabsenceofsmokeIthoughtforsurewouldbeshootingoutofher
noseandears.

“ThatredjuiceIalwaysdrink?”Itiltmyheadandlookather.“Asitjustsohappens,it’stheelixir

of eternal life. The one man has sought through the ages—only Damen is one of the few who actually

succeededindiscoveringthesecretformulajustoversixhundredyearsago.”

“Ever, if you think that I’m…” She shakes her head, far too furious to even complete her own

sentence,thoughshedoesmanagetothinkit,andthistimeItunein.Iffornootherreason,itmighthelp
provemypoint.

Myeyesmeethers,watchinghercloselyasIslowlyrepeatherunspokenwords.“No,Ireallydon’t

think you’re willing to consider something so ludicrous, so ridiculous, so far-fetched, so… sad—for
evenonesecond.”Seeinghereyeswideninshock,butshe’sjustasquicktodismissit,assuringherselfit
wasobviouswhatshewasthinking.Andthoughitwas,I’mnotabouttostopthere.

“Andifthatdidn’tconvinceyou,thenmaybethiswill.ThoughIhavetowarnyou,I’mgoingtopull

outallthestopstoprovetoyouI’mnotlying,I’mnotcrazy,andI’mnotsomeattention-starvedphony.I’m
going to show you exactly what I’m capable of, which is something I probably should’ve done long
before.AndtheonlyreasonIdidn’tisbecauseneitherofuswasquiteready.Butnowweare.Oratleast
Iam,andI’mprettysureyouaretoo.AndasforMunoz”—Iswitchmygazetohim—“healreadyknows.
Infact,he’sknownforsometime.”

SabineturnstoMunoz,hereyesimploring.Buthejusttakesadeepbreathandnods,directingher

attentionbacktomewhenhesays,“It’strue.Sabine,honey,Ever’snotlying.Shepossessespowersthat
arenothingshortofastonishing.AllIaskisthatyougiveherachance.Justtrytowatchandlistenwithan
openmind,andIthinkyou’llbeamazedatwhatyousee.Andifnot,ifyoustillchoosenottobelieve…”
Helooksather,clearlyhopingthatwon’tbethecase.“Well,then,that’syourchoice.Butfornow,why
notjusttrytobroadenyourworldtoawholenewsetofideasyoumayhaveneverconsidered.”

Shecrossesherarmsandlegs,which,asfarasbodylanguagegoes,isaprettydiscouragingdisplay.

Her eyes warily focused on me, when I say, “For starters, what was I wearing when you opened the
door?” She squints, her eyes moving over me, engaged in a full inspection, and when she refuses to
answer,whenshejustwrapsherselfupeventighter,Isay,“IsitthesamethingI’mwearingnow?”

Sheshifts,squirms,butrefusestoreply,whichasfarasI’mconcernedisanswerenough.
“Orwasitthis?”ImanifestthefilthyclothesIwaswearingwhenIfirstgothere,thesightofwhich

garnersnoresponsefromher.“Ormaybeitwasthis?”ImanifestadarkgreensilkgownjustliketheoneI
wearinthepavilionwhenDamenandIrevisitscenesfrommyLondonlife,backwhenIwasthespoiled
littlerichgirlnamedChloe.Choosingtoremainlikethat,sittingbeforeherinabrightandshinydisplay
ofcenturies-oldfinery.Willinghertosaysomething,anything,butshewon’t.She’scompletelyunwilling
tobudgefromtheideasshe’sclungtoforsolong.

“Mypowersaren’tjustrelegatedtorapidwardrobechanges,”Isay.“Icanmanifestanelephantjust

aseasily.”ThenIclosemyeyesanddojustthat.ChokingbackalaughwhenIseejusthowmucheffort
sheputsintomaintaininghercool.Socompletelydedicatedtoherrigidsetofviews,sherefusestoreact
inanywaywhatsoeverwhenanelephantappearsrightbesideherandswingshistrunkinherface.“Ican
manifestflowersaswell,”Iadd,coveringthecoffeetablewithahugepileofbrightyellowdaffodils.“I
canalsomanifestjewels.”IclosemyeyesandwhenIopenthemagainSabineisdrippingindiamonds
andrubiesandemeraldsandyet,allitdoesismakeherevenmorestone-faced.“Icanevenmanifestcars
andboatsandhousesand,well,basicallywhateveryoucanimagine.

Virtually nothing is off-limits—well, except for people. You can’t manifest a person because you

can’tmanifestasoul—thoughyoucanmanifesttheirimageasIoncedidwithOrlandoBloom.”Ismile
brieflyatthememoryandDamen’sreactionthatfollowedwhenhesawwhatI’ddone.“ButwhatIcan’t
manifest,nomatterhowhardItry,isyourwillingnesstostopdenyingwhatyouseerightinfrontofyou.

That’scalledfreewill,anditbelongsonlytoyou.”
Shetiltsherchinandnarrowshereyes,lookingangry,defiant,thoughhervoiceeasilybetraysthe

fearthat’sbehindit.“Idon’tknowwhatyou’reupto,Ever,butyouneedtostop!Youneedtostopwith
the…”Shelooksaround,searchesfortherightword.“Youneedtostopwiththemagictricks,now!”

Her demeanor so shaken, so stricken, I’m quick to comply. Nodding and blinking until every last

traceofit’sgone—untilit’sallreturnedtonormalagain,includingmyclothes,whicharebacktothefar
morecomfortable,thoughfarlessimpressivebluedressandbeigesandals.

Myeyesmeethers,andIcan’thelpbutthinkthisisgoingevenworsethanI’dthought.Still,Irefuse

togiveup.Ican’tallowmyselftostopnowwhenIstillhaveafewmoretricksupmysleeve.

“There’smore.”Inod,instantlymanifestingajewel-handledknifeIpositionrightovermyflattened,

raised palm. “I know you’re squeamish, I know how you hate the sight of blood, but I promise it’ll be
oversoon.”

Ijabthetipintothecenterofmypalm,anddragthesharpbladeallthewayacross.Hearingthegasp

Sabineisunabletostifle,andseeingherhorrifiedfaceasshewatchesthebloodpouringoutofme—the
wayitsplashesovermydressandpoolsontothecarpet—until—until—itnolongeris.

Theknifeisgone.
Mypalmishealed.
Andthere’sabsolutelynosignofthebloodIjustshed.
And even though it was a pretty impressive display, I have to admit I’m starting to feel a little

ashamed,startingtofeelliketheworld’screepiestcircusact.

“Listen.” I glance back and forth between her and Munoz, who’s not even trying to hide his shock

overwhathejustsaw.“Icouldgoonforhours.IcouldshowyoueverytrickthatI’mcapableof.AndI
will,ifthat’swhatittakes.Butreally,allyouneedtoknowisthateverythingyoujustsawisreal.And
though it may make you uncomfortable, while it may make you long to turn your back and pretend you
didn’tseeit,thatwon’tstopitfrombeingreal.I’msorry,Sabine.I’msorrytohavetodothistoyou.And
whileIgetthatit’syourchoicewhetherornotyouchoosetobelieve,andwhileIgetthatthere’sagood
chancethatnomatterwhatIdoIwon’tbeabletochangeyourmind,here’sthething:Whetherornotyou
choosetobelieveisentirelyuptoyou—butifyoueverwanttoseemeagain,ifyouwanttohaveanykind
ofarelationshipwithme,thenyou’regoingtohavetomovepastyourowndeeplyrootedprejudicesand
learntoacceptme.Allofme.Eventhepartsyoudon’tlike.Eventhepartsthatscareyou.Becausethat’s
exactlywhatI’vechosentodowithyou.Yourtendencytowardself-righteousnessandbullheadedness,
yourpenchantforshunningmeinsteadoftryingtounderstandme,well,itscaresmejustasmuchasmy
displayofimmortalpartytricksjustscaredyou.YetIstillprefertoacceptyouasyouare,ratherthanface
afutureofneverseeingyouagain.IguessIwasjusthopingthatbydoingallthis,wecouldfindaplaceto
meetinthemiddle.

Butagain,it’syourchoice.Eitherway,I’llacceptyourdecision.”
Isitback,watchingasthesteamseepsrightoutofher,watchingasherauradeflatesandsettleslike

aweek-oldheliumballoon.

“Howlonghaveyoubeenlikethis?”shefinallyasks.
Andwhenmyeyesmeethers,IrealizeshethinksI’vealwaysbeenlikethis—thatIwasbornafreak.

FiguringitmustbethereasonIsurvivedtheaccidentwhentherestofmyfamilydidn’t.ThoughI’mquick
todeflectthat.

“I did die in the accident,” I say. “I had what’s called a near-death experience, though I think the

term’salittlewonkysincetherewasnothingnearaboutit.Anyway,Munozprobablyknowsmoreabout
allthatthanIdo.He’sreaduponitquiteabit.”Ilookatthem,seeinghershoothimaninquiringglance,
whichheanswerswithanodandashrug.“Anyway,insteadofcrossingthebridgetotheothersidealong
withMomandDadandButtercup,IchosetolingerinSummerland,inthisamazinglybeautifulfield.And

that’swhatmysoulwasdoingwhenDamenfoundmybodybythecarandmademedrinktheelixirthat
broughtmetolife.”

“AndRiley?”Sabineleansforward,hereyeswide,assumingtheworst.
“Rileygotstuckforawhile.”Isquirm.
“Stuck?”
I sigh. “Stuck between here and Summerland. She started visiting me back when I was in the

hospital.Then,whenwemovedhere,sheusedtodropbythehousenearlyeverydayuntilIconvincedher
tocrossthebridgeandmoveon.AndthoughIthinkshemightvisitmeinmydreamseverynowandthen,I
haven’tbeenabletoseehersince.Ican’tseetheoneswho’vecrossedover.Theirenergyvibratestoo
fast.Thoughafriendofmineusedtoseeher…”Ipause,rememberinghowJudetriedtoteachmetosee
her too, but to no avail. “And he says she says she’s just fine. Actually, he says she’s better than fine.
She’s happy. Mom and Dad and Buttercup are happy too. Apparently they feel more alive than ever.” I
lookather.“Youknow,justbecauseyoucan’tseethem,doesn’tmeantheynolongerexist.Thesoulis
eternal.It’stheonlytrueimmortalitythereis.”

Idon’tknowwhichpartofmyspeechfinallygottoher,butthenextthingIknowSabineissobbing

intoMunoz’sT-shirt.Hershouldersviolentlyshakingasherubshishandoverherchin-lengthblondhair
and down the back of her blouse, whispering softly, providing comfort, assurance, until she starts to
collectherselfandisreadytofacemeagain.

I sit quietly, knowing exactly how she feels. Remembering all too well how I first reacted when I

sawmyghostlylittlesisterstandingbeforeme—howIdenieditwasreal.AndhowItreatedDamenthat
dayintheparkinglotatschoolwhenhefirsttoldmethetruthofmyexistence—howIchosetobanishhim
frommylife,tosendhimawaywithcruel,fear-drivenwordsratherthanfaceatruthIfeltsocompletely
unpreparedtohandle.

We’renotsodifferent,Sabineandme.
Iknowwhatit’sliketohaveeverythingyoubelieveturnedupsidedown.
SoafterawhileIsay,“I’mreallysorrytojustspringthisonyou.Iknowit’salottodigest.ButIjust

wantedyoutoknowbefore—”

Sheliftsherhead,hereyesbleary,teary,assheturnstofaceme.
“—IjustwantedyoutoknowbeforeIreturntonormalagain.”
She blinks, shakes her head, and mumbles, “What?” Swiping a sleeve across her face when she

adds,“Idon’tunderstand.”

Itakeadeepbreathandgazedownatmyfeet,stallingforamoment,gatheringmywords,beforeI

return my gaze to hers. “To be honest, I’m not sure that I understand either. It’s such a long story, and
there’ssomuchtoexplain…butit’snotlikethedetailsareallthatimportantanyway.Ijustthought,well,
IjusthopedthatifIcamecleanaboutwhoIamnow,thenmaybe,whenI’mnolongerlikethis,wecan
still hang out together. You know, without all the yelling and fighting and name-calling. I mean, if you
want.It’sprettymuchuptoyou.Ipromisetorespectwhateveryoudecide.”

Sabinerisesfromthecouch,herarmsoutstretchedasshestartstomovetowardme,butI’mfaster

thansheis—somuchfasterthatI’mhuddledagainstherwellbeforeshecanevenclearthecornerofthe
coffeetable.

AnditfeelssogoodtobebackthatIcan’thelpbutcrytoo.Thetwoofusturningintoawet,soggy,

over-apologeticmessuntilIrememberMunozandswipemyhandacrossmyeyesasIsay,“Hey,isthere
anythingyouguyswant?”Iglancebetweenthem,adding,“Imean,yousawwhatIcando,allthethings
I’mcapableof.So,withthatinmind,what’llitbe?Anewcar?Avacationhouseinsomeexoticlocation?
BackstagepassestoBruceSpringsteen?”IwigglemybrowsatMunoz,knowingwhatabigfanheis.

Buttheybothshaketheirheads.
“Areyousure?”Ifrown,desperatelywantingtogivethemsomething.“Imean,I’mnotsureifI’ll

stillbecapableofallthisonceI…afterIgobacktohowIwasbefore.Imayloseallofmypowers,orat
leastsomeofmypowers.Whichmeansthiscouldbeyourlastchance.”

SabinereturnstoMunozandIwatchassheplacesherhandonhisshoulderandsays,“Whatmore

couldIpossiblywantwhenIhaveeverythingIcouldeverdreamofrighthere?”

Andthat’swhenIseeit.
That’swhenIseethebrand-newsparklingengagementringshewearsonherleftringfinger.
“Family’stheonlythingthatevermeantanythingtome,”shesays,pullingmebackintotheircircle.

“Andnowthatyou’vereturned,Ihaveeverything.IhaveallthatIneed.”

chapterthirty-seven

IhadeveryintentionofheadingtoDamen’s.
IhadeveryintentionofsayinggoodnighttoSabineandMunozandheadingrightoverthere.
Onlyitdidn’tquitegoasplanned.
Sabine and I stayed up late. Like, way late. Like, well past the time Munoz bid us good night and

headedbacktohisplace.

Thetwoofushangingonthecouchuntiltheweehoursofthemorning,pickingataboxofleftover

pizza(yes,Ihadapiece,ortwo,andIcouldhardlybelievewhatI’dbeenmissingallthistime!),while
getting ourselves all caught up on each other’s news—and the next thing I knew there were only a few
hoursleftuntilIhadtobeatschool.

AccordingtoMunoz,Iabsolutely,positively,hadnochoicewhatsoeverbuttoshowupatschooland

eitherworksomeseriousmanifestingmagickintheadministrator’soffice,orputinasuperhumaneffortat
makingupallthatImissed,orboth,ifIhadanyhopesatallofgraduatingwithmyclass.

So,insteadofgoingtoDamen’s,Ichosetograbafewhoursofmuch-neededsleepinmyoldroom,

wantingtobefullyrestedandrechargedwhenIdroppedbyhishouse,sinceIdidn’tknowhowhe’dreact
uponseeingmeagain,fruitattheready.ButIknewI’dneedtobringmyA-game.

The second I spy his black BMW in the student lot, I realize I won’t have to wait all that long.

Apparently he’s still showing up every day, attending his classes, going through the much-dreaded
motions,eventhough,forthelifeofme,Ican’timaginewhy.

“BecauseImadeyouapromise,”hesays,answeringthequestioninmymindwhenheappearsbymy

side. Holding my door open, waiting for me to climb out and join him, but for the moment anyway, I
remainfrozeninplace.

Myeyestraveloverhim,savoringthelookofhim,thefeelofhispresencenexttomine,whilethe

deep,achingpanginmygutremindsmeofjusthowmuchI’vemissedbeingwithhim.

Despitethethrillofmyrecentaccomplishments—despitethetriumphofseizingmydestiny—without

Damenbymyside,italldims—itallfeelssohollowandempty.

“I searched for you.” His eyes pore over me, thirsty, drinking me in—telling me he missed me as

muchasImissedhim.“SearchedalloverSummerland.AndthoughIwasunabletofindyou,Icouldstill
senseyou.That’showIknewyouwereokay.Faraway—inaplaceIcouldn’tfathom—butstillokay.And
it’sthatcomfortthatkeptmegoing,waitingforthedaywhenyou’dfindyourwaybacktome.”

Iswallowhard,swallowpastthehugelumpthat’snowlodgedinmythroat.KnowingIshouldsay

something,anything,butIcan’t.

StaringathimisprettymuchallthatI’mcapableof.
“So, when’d you get back?” His gaze remains steady, and though he strives to maintain a calm,

casualvibe,I’mafraidthewayIreactisprettymuchtheopposite.

His question sets me in motion—horrible, nervous-making motion. Grabbing my bag, fooling with

myhair,scratchingmyarm,andshiftinginmyseatuntilIfinallymaneuverpasttheofferofhishandand
haulmyselfoutofmycar.Myeyesdartingcrazily,searchingforasafeplacetoland,whichendsupbeing
prettymuchanywhereandeverywherebuthim.

My breath coming ragged, too fast, when I say, “Yesterday.” A truth so horrible I can’t help but

cringe.

Knowingexactlyhowhechoosestointerpretit—theonlywayitcanbeinterpreted.Andasmuchas

I’dlovetodenyit,Ican’t.There’sjustnogettingaroundthefactthatI’vebeenbackfrommyjourneyfor
anentiredayandyetIneverfoundthetimetoseehimuntilhejustnowapproachedme.

NowaytogetaroundthefactthatIputotherpeoplebeforehim.
Awholehostofotherpeople,includingJude.
Damen stands by my car, carefully weighing that one single word until it becomes permanent,

irreversible,likeanaccidentalfootprintleftinasquareoffreshcementImakenoattempttosmoothover,
noattempttoeraseitspermanentimprint.

AndeventhoughIknowIneedtosaysomething,Ihavenoideawhatthatsomethingmightbe.
Helooksatme,clearlytornbetweenfeelingevenmorehurtandevenmoreconfused,andsettlingon

somewhereinthemiddle.

“Iwasafraidtoseeyou,”Itellhim.“MostlybecauseIdon’twanttofightwithyouagain.Ican’t

beartofightwithyouagain.Andyet,Ithinkwebothknowthat’sexactlywherethisisheaded.Butbefore
wegetthere,IneedyoutoknowthatjustbecauseIdelayedthismomentdoesn’tmeanIdidn’tmissyou
—”Myvoicecracks,becomingsochokedupI’mforcedtoclearmythroatafewtimesbeforeIcontinue.
“Please,don’teverthinkIdidn’tmissyou.”Mygazegrowswatery,bleary,pleadingwithhis.

Butinsteadofadmittinghemissedmetoo,insteadofmovingtocomfortmelikeI’dhoped,hesays,

“Whyisityouthinkanargumentissoinevitable?”

His dark eyes graze over me, widening in shocked disbelief when I reach into my bag, find the

packageHonorgaveme,andhanditovertohim,saying,“Becauseofthis.”

Hestudiesthesmall,plain-wrappedparcel,examiningitasheflipsitbackandforthinhishands.
“It’stheherb.”Ilookathim.“It’sthehard-to-find,special-order,rareherbthatyouneedtofinish

yourantidote.Theantidotethatwillallowustobetogetherinthewaythatwewant,sowecancontinue
ourlivesasimmortals.”

His fingers curl, causing the paper to crinkle in protest, his gaze lighting on mine, the weight of it

causingmetosuckinalungfulofair.

Thefirstbellringing,thesoundofitsendingallofourclassmatesintoaflurryastheyracetoward

thebuilding,whileDamenandIstayrootedinplace.AsmuchasIneedtogettoclassandstartmakingup
forallthedamagemyextendedabsencehasdone,weneedtofinishthisfirst.Weneedtoreachsomesort
ofconclusion,beforeIcangoanywhere,doanythingelse.

“But I still cling to my belief that this life is cosmically wrong. And even if we take the antidote,

somethingelsewillcropuptokeepusapart.Theonlytruewaytoachieveourdestiny—tobetogether
forever—istoreverseourimmortality.Toeatthefruit.”Igazedownatourfeet,gazeatthedarkshineof
hiscar,gazetowardthesoon-to-be-lockedgate,hearingthefinalbellringjustasIgazeintohiseyes.

“Damen,Ihavethemeanstodothatnow.Ifoundthetree.It’sreal.”
Hedoesn’treact,doesn’tmove,doesn’tflinch.
“Ijourneyedthere.Sawitformyself.Iscaleditsenormoustrunk,swungfromitsmile-longbranches

—”Ipause,wantingtoensureIhavehisfullattentionbeforeIcontinue,“Ipickeditsfruit.”

Mygazestaysonhis,butstillnothing.Noindicationhe’sheard.

“That’s why I was away for so long. It was a long, arduous, treacherous, lonely, scary, and yet

completelywondrousjourney.Ipassedthrougharushofseasonstogetthere,madeitthroughawinterso
brutalIwassureI’dturnintoafrozen-solidmass,gotsorainedonIwassureI’dneverdry,andyet,even
thoughIwasn’talwaysconvincedIwouldmakeit,Ididmakeit.IsucceededinwhatIsetouttodo.

And now I’m here to say that it’s not a myth like you think. In fact, it’s even better than the myth.

RememberwhenLotussaidthetreewasevergiving?Shewasright.Thetreejustkeepsgivingandgiving
andgiving.There’snotruthtotheone-fruit-every-thousand-yearsrumor.FromwhatIexperiencedthere
are no shortages of any kind. There is only abundance. The Tree of Life is the very definition of
abundance.AndIbroughtbackanentirebagfullofitsfruitwithwhichtoproveit.”

“Youbroughtitback?”Hisfacetakesonanexpressionthat’simpossibletoread.“Whywouldyou

dothat?Whywouldn’tyoujusthanditovertoLotusandletherhandleit?”

“BecauseI’mtakingoverforRoman,”Isay,noddingasIconfirmitformyself.AndnowthatI’ve

saidit,anentireplanbeginstoforminmyhead.

ButDamenjustlooksatme,notcomprehending.
“Thepartyhethrowseverycenturyandahalf?”Isuppressasmile,butIcan’tseemtosuppressmy

risingexcitement.“ThistimeI’mgoingtohostit.I’mgoingtogatheralloftheimmortalshe’smade,and
givethemachoicebetweenphysicalimmortality—orrealimmortality.”

“Andiftheyrefuseyou?”heasks,clearlyconvincedthattheywillsinceheprettymuchhas.
“Thentheyrefuseme.”Ishrug.“ThoughafterIexplainittothem,aftertheyseetheeffects,Idon’t

thinktheywill.”

Damen’s eyes widen, his face grows pale, ashen, and it takes me a moment to figure out why. He

misreadmywords.AssumedI’vealreadytriedit.

“Didyou—?”hestarts,butI’mquicktowaveitaway.
“No.” I shake my head, as my eyes fix on his. “I wanted to wait for you. I want us to reverse our

immortalitytogether.Idon’tknowwhatI’lldoifyoudenyme—whetherI’llchoosethislifewithyou,or
a mortal life on my own—I honestly don’t know. But I really hope you won’t make me choose. I hope
you’llthinkitoverandsharethefruitwithme.It’stheonlywaywecanhavethefuturewewant.”

Igazeathim,myeyespleadingwithhis.Butfindingonlyregret,Iturnandheadforthegate.

chapterthirty-eight

IstandbeforethebigirongateDamenunlockedwithhismind,watchingashebeckonsformetojoin

himonitsotherside.AndastemptedasIamtodojustthat(andbelieveme,I’mextremelytempted)if
I’mgoingtostartlivingnormallythenI’mgoingtohavetostarthere.

Now.
IfI’mgoingtostartlivingnormallythenI’llhavetostoprelyingonmagicktofreemyselffromallof

mymesses.

Ishakemyhead,movepasthisbewilderedgaze,andmakemywaytowardtheoffice,whereIsend

the secretary into a complete frenzy of activity the second I approach her desk and say, “Hi. I’m Ever
Bloom.I’maseniorhere.AndnotonlyamItardy,butI’veprettymuchskippedoutonthelastsixmonths
andI’mwonderinghowImightgoaboutmakingthatup.”

Hereyesgrowwideasshelooksmeupanddown,thenshepointstowardachairbythewall,tells

metosit,tonotmoveaninch,whilesheturns,simultaneouslyreachingforhercomputerandthephone.
Thehandpiecewedgedbetweenhershoulderandearasherfingerspoundhardonthekeyboard,alerting
the principal, the vice principal, my teachers, and Sabine, who was well aware of my plan and was
waitingforthisverycall.Thefateofmydiplomabeingdecidedwithlittletonoinputfromme,andwhen
myprevioussuspensionismentioned,I’msurethatI’mdoomed,butthenluckily,thankstoSabine’sfinely
honed negotiation skills they allow me to attempt what I’m sure they all consider to be the impossible:
tellingmethatifImakeupeverythingthatI’vemissed—everysingletest—everylastassignment—within
thenexttwoweeks,thenthey’llletmegraduate.

Sixmonthsofneglectedworkthatneedstobecompletedinjustfourteendaysinordertowearthe

capandgownalongwiththerestofmyclassmates.Otherwise,Iwon’tbegettinganywherenearituntil
thesametimenextyear,ifthen.

Withgreatemphasisontheif.
Clearlyiftherewaseveratimeformagick,andmanifesting,andtripstotheGreatHallsofLearning,

it’s now. But, while I refuse to rely on my powers, that doesn’t stop me from relying on my friends—
includingafewpeopleIdidn’tevenrealizeweremyfriends.

So when classmates I’ve barely even spoken to offer to lend me their notes, and when Stacia and

Honor(promptedbyMiles,butstill)offertohelpmecatchuponallImissedinphysics,I’msoshocked
by the offer, I say yes. And for someone who’s avoided doing any form of studying or schoolwork for
overayear,it’salittlehardtogetbackintothegrooveofdoingsonow.

It’salsoimpossibletostopmyselffromjustautomaticallyintuitingthecontentsthesecondItouchthe

cover of my huge stack of textbooks. Mind reading I can control, all I have to do is lower my psychic
shieldorusemyquantumremote,buttappingintotheuniversalconsciousnessofjustintuitingthingsis
something I have no control over. So, instead of fighting it, I decide to use it to my advantage to get

through a pile of reading assignments that would be pretty much impossible without it. Besides, I still
havetowritethepapers,andIstillhavetosolvealltheequationsandmemorizetheformulas,soit’snot
like I’m totally cheating. Though, I admit, when it comes to the makeup tests, well, yeah, all the right
answersjustautomaticallyappear.Butthen,there’snothingIcandoaboutthateither.

Still,evenwiththehelpofmyfriendsalongwithmypsychicpowers,it’salottotackleinsucha

shortamountoftime.SowhileI’mbusywithschoolwork,JudeandAvaoffertodotheirpartbyreading
throughRoman’soldjournalsinanattempttotrackdownallthefar-flungimmortals—theorphansDamen
turnedaswellastheonesRomandeemedworthyenoughtochangethroughtheyears.WhileRomyand
Raynepooltheirtwintalentsbycraftinghandmadepartyinvitationstheymailoutprettymuchalloverthe
globe,asSabinehandlesmycollegeapplicationsthataresolateitlookslikeI’llbeforcedtotakeayear
off. Which is probably for the best since it’s been so long since I even thought about having a normal
future,Idon’tevenknowwheretostart.

NottomentionhowIalwaysassumedthatwhereverIendedup,Damenwouldberighttherebeside

me.

Ialwaysassumedwe’dheadofftogether,justthetwoofus.
IneveronceconsideredImightendupgoingitalone.
But not having seen him since the day I left him standing at the gate, I have to admit it’s a real

possibility.He’savoidingschool.

Avoidingme.AndwhileI’mwillingtogivehimthespacethathefiguresheneeds—Ihopeinthe

end,he’lldecidetocomejoinme.

Despitealltheevidencepointingagainstit—Ihopeintheend,he’llmaketherightchoice.
If he doesn’t, I don’t know what I’ll do. And maybe that’s part of the reason I’ve welcomed the

overwhelmingvolumeofschoolwork—it’sdistractedmefromtheterrible,unavoidablefactthatifDamen
choosesagainstthefruit,I’llbeforcedtomakeanimpossiblechoice.

Choosing between a misguided life as an immortal—where the universe will conspire to keep us

apartateveryturn—andalifewithoutDamen,whichisjusttoohorribletocontemplate.

Sointhemidstofallthestudying,andreading,andexamtaking,andessaywriting,andgettingnext

tonosleepinordertofititallin,IfinallytakealittletimeouttovisitSummerland.

Partly because I’m eager to find Lotus so I can tell her just how much I accomplished, and partly

because,well,I’malsoeagertovisititwhileIstillcan,whileit’sjustasimplematterofenvisioningthat
shimmering golden veil and stepping through to its other side. I mean, even though I know plenty of
mortalswhocangetthere,IhavenowayofknowingifI’llstillbeabletogetthereonceIbecomemortal
again,andsoI’mdeterminedtoenjoyitwhileIcan.

AfterspendingafewwonderfulmomentsinthevastfragrantfieldwhereIland,afteravisittothe

Great Halls of Learning, where I stand before its ever-changing façade and re-experience the thrill of
beingadmittedinside,aftervisitingallofDamen’sandmyfavoriteplaces—thereplicaofVersailleshe
once manifested expressly for me, the field full of tulips that surrounds the pavilion he made for my
seventeenthbirthday—afterreturningtotheplacewherethegrassonceturnedtomudandwherethetrees
wereallbarren—theformerentrancetotheShadowland—afterfindingmywaytothebeautifulpondstill
bloomingwithhundredsoftheloveliestlotusblossoms—afterallthat,whenIstillcan’tlocateLotus,I
decide to tuck one of Romy and Rayne’s handmade pink-and-black party invitation envelopes under a
largerockI’dseenherleanagainst,inthehopethatshe’llfindit.

ThenIreturntotheearthplane,burymyselfinmystudies,andwait.
WaittohearfromLotus.
WaitfortheRSVPsfromalltheotherimmortalstocomepouringin.

WaittohearfromMisa,Marco,andRafe.
Waittoseeifthey’llletmegraduate.
Waittoseewhichdirectionmyfuturemighttake.
Thedaystickingpastwithsmallbitsofnewstricklingin—butnotthenewsthatIwant.
ThereisnowordfromDamen.

chapterthirty-nine

MaybeIboughtintothehype.
MaybeIbuiltitupwaytoomuchinmyhead.
Butintheend,I’msorrytosaythatgraduationis,well,alittleanticlimactic.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s well organized, flowing along just fine. In fact, it’s a lot like you see in

moviesandonTVwithallthecaps,andgowns,andspeeches,andlaughter,andtears,andreminiscing,
andfervent promises tostay in touch.But despite Sabine andMunoz perched inthe crowd smiling and
wavingeverytimeIlooktheirway(andevenwhenIdon’t),despiteMilesandHonorand(stillshocking
tomebutI’mstartingtogetusedtoit)Stacia,catcallingandclappingandcheeringmeonwhenit’smy
turntoheadforthestage—there’snoHaven.NoDamen.

Andit’sthosetwoglaringabsencesthatprettymucheclipseeverythingelse.
SowhenIthrowmycapintheair,Iseizethechancetoworkabitofmagick.Makingitsailwayup

highintothesky,muchhigherthananyoneelse’s,andwatchingasitloopsfirstintotheshapeofatulip
andthenintotheshapeofaninfinitysymbol,beforeIletitgo,watchingitfree-fallbacktotheground.

AndI’mjustmakingmywaytowardSabineandMunozwhenStaciafindsmeinthecrowd,places

herhandonmyarm,andsays,“So,seeyouattheparty?”Sheflipsherfingersthroughherlong,blond-
streakedhairandsettleshereyesonmine.

Isquint,takinginherbrightyellowaura,amazedtoseeshe’ssincere.
AndbeforeIcananswer,Honorcatchesupandsays,“Wefiguredwe’dstopbyalittleearly,help

yousetup.”

IlookatherandStacia,wonderingwhenI’mevergoingtogetusedtothisnewsideofthem.Despite

their combined efforts to help me get to this point, every kind gesture they make still comes as a great
shocktome,andIknowthat’snotatallfair.They’reworkingsohardtoimprovetheleastIcandoislet
them.

Stacia cocks her head, waiting for me to respond, while Honor fidgets with her finger, twisting

Jude’smalachiteringbackandforth.

“Um,that’sreallysweetandall,butyouguysdon’thavetocome.Really.”Inod,hopingtheywon’t

takeitthewrongway,butI’mnotsureIwantthemthere.“Imean,I’msureyouhavebetterthingstodo,
betterpartiestogoto,so…”

“Better than this party? Doubtful!” Stacia shoots me one of her old you’re crazy looks, then

remembering she doesn’t do that anymore, she quickly clears her face. “Besides, we already have our
costumes and everything!” She glances at Honor standing beside her, nodding in agreement. “After all
we’vedonetohelpyougraduate—youcan’tdisinviteusnow!”

Igape,surprisedshewouldsaythatsinceIdon’texactlyremembereverinvitingthem.Butthen,I

also wasn’t in charge of the invitations, the twins were. Nor did I know there’d be costumes. In fact, I

havenoideahowthishappened,howtheyevenknowaboutit,howitgotsoblownoutofproportion.I
mean,originally,thiswasjustsupposedtobeanicesmallgathering.Immortalsonly.Ihadnoideait’d
turnedintothegradnighttoendallgradnights.Theyear’smostanticipatedevent.

“Iworkedreally,reallyhardonmycostume,”Staciasays,hervoiceaccusing.“Sonowaywillyou

keepmefromwearingit.

Everyone’sgonnaflipwhentheyseeit!”
“Jude’s is a surprise,” Honor says. “Though he says it won’t be a surprise to you, since you’ve

alreadyseenit.”Shelooksatmeinawaythatletsmeknowsheprettymuchknowseverythingthereisto
knowaboutJudeandmeandstillisn’tsurehowshefeelsaboutit.

“ButI’vegotalittlesurpriseofmyown.SomethingRomyandRaynehelpedmecomeupwith;I’m

prettyexcitedaboutit.Trustme,Ever,thispartyisgoingtobeepic.Andyou’recrazyifyouthinkeither
oneofuswouldmissit!”

Costumes?
Epic?
AndhereIthoughtitwasallaboutconvincingabunchofeternalstoeatthefruit.
“Yousawtheinvites,right?”Staciaasks,hereyesmovingoverme.
Ishakemyhead,realizingtoolatethatIdidn’t.AllIsawwasthepink-and-blackenvelopeIleftnear

thepond.Itneveroccurredtometopeekinside.I’vebeensooverwhelmedwithallthecatchingupIhad
todotogettothispointthatIneverthoughttoaskquestions.Ineverofferedtopitchinwiththeplanning,
oreveninquiredintohowitwasgoing.EveryoneseemedsohappytotakeoverthatIhappilyleftitto
them.ThinkingthatallIhadtodowastoshowupontimewiththefruit—butnowapparentlyIneeda
costumetoo.

“Okay,well,justsoyouknow,it’sa‘ComeAsYouWere’party.Youknow,likewhoyouwereina

pastlife?”Staciasays.“Andjustsoyouknow,we’regoing,whetheryoulikeitornot.”Sheshootsmea
challenginglook,thekindthatremindsmeoftheolddays,backwhenIfirstgothereandshewentafter
meinthemostrelentlessway.

Theonlydifferenceis,unlikebackthen,thistimeIdeserveit.She’sworkedprettyhardtohelpme

turnthingsaround,givinggenerouslyofhertime,theleastIcoulddoisacknowledgehereffortsandthe
longwayshe’scome.

“IsitstillatAva’s?”Iask,wonderinghowwe’reallgoingtofitintohersnuglittlebungalownow

thattheguestlisthasmultiplied.

“No.”Milesgrins,stoppingbesideHonorandinsertinghimselfintotheconversation.“It’satyour

house.Andtrustme,SabineandMunozaregoingallout—noexpensespared.It’stotallygonnaoutdothat
Halloweenpartyofyours.”Henods.“SoifIwereyou,I’dgetmyselfhomeandmanifestagoodcostume
like,pronto,becausethepartystartsatseven.”

chapterforty

For once, Miles didn’t exaggerate. Sabine and Munoz really did go above and beyond with the

decorations.

Fromthemomentwepullintothedrive,allIcandoisgapeinastonishmentathowthey’vetaken

thissemicustom,fauxTuscanMcMansionandturneditintosomethingthatlookslikeit’sstraightoutofthe
oldcountry.

“Wait’tilyouseetheinside!”Sabine’seyeslightonmine.“Iknowyouwantedasmallgathering,but

Ithoughtitmightbenicetothrowabigpartywithallofyourfriends.You’veworkedsohard,Ever.You
deservealittlefun,and,quitefrankly,sodoPaulandI!”

WhensheleadsmeintothehousewithMunozhotonourtrail,well,let’sjustsaythatiftheoutside

wasastonishing,thentheinsideisamazing.

“Again,justthebeginning,”Munozsays,facewideningintoagrin.“Eachroomhasitsowntheme.”
“Howdidyou—?”Istarttoaskhowtheymanageditallwithoutmyevenbeingaware,butthenIsee

—there are decorators, caterers, bartenders, all manner of helpers roaming the place. This isn’t just a
party.It’sahugehighschoolgraduationblowoutbash.

“There’salottocelebrate,”Sabinesays.“Sowefiguredwe’dgoallout.Thinkofitasawelcome

homeslashhappygraduationslashengagementparty.Oh,andwehaven’thadachancetotellyouyet,but
amajorpublisherjustmadeanoffertobuyPaul’sbook—soit’sabookdealpartytoo!”Shegazesupat
him,herfaceflushedwiththeprideofhissuccess,andItakeamomenttostealaquickglanceathimtoo,
catchinghissmileandwink,andknowinghe’srememberingthedaywhenIprophesizedthatverything.
“We’reexpectingalotofpeople,Ihopeyoudon’tmind.Iknowit’snotatallwhatyou’dplanned,butwe
thoughtitmightbefun.Milescameupwiththethemeanditjusttookofffromthere.”

Inod,tryingtomatchhersmilewithoneofmyown,butallIcanthinkaboutisthefruit—thereal

reasonbehindthisget-together—andhowit’sprettyclearthat’sbeenlostalongtheway.

ButjustassoonasI’vethoughtit,Sabinelooksatmeandsays,“Don’tworry,it’scovered.I’veleft

thedenoffyourbedroomfreeforyoutodowhateveryouneed.Ijusthopeyou’lltakealittletimeoutto
enjoyyourselfaswell.”

I look at her, unsure what to say. I never expected anything even remotely like this, and I’m left

feelingalittleoverwhelmed.

But Sabine just places her hand on my shoulder and says, “Now go. Go upstairs and manifest

yourself a costume while Paul and I get into ours. Just make sure you’re ready by seven to greet
everyone.”

Idoasshesays.It’seasierthatway.AftertacklingthestairsIheadstraightformyroom,whereI

plop myself onto my bed, feeling more than a little stunned by it all. Remembering the very first day I
arrived,whenSabinepickedmeupattheairportanddrovemetomynewhome,mynewlife.Iwasso

lostinmygriefIcouldn’tappreciateallthetroubleshe’dgonetoinanefforttomakemylifecomfortable.
AllIcoulddowasthrowmyselffacedownandcry—oratleastuntilRileyappearedandsetmestraight,
mademeseethingsthroughhereyes.

Riley.
I close my eyes, attempting to ward off the sting, the tears, and the lumpy throat that always

accompanyanyandallthoughtsofher.

ThoughI’msurprisedbyhowfleetingitis—thesymptomshereandgoneinamatterofseconds.And

Iknowit’sbecauseofthefruit.

Even though I still miss her, even though I long to see her again—now, for the first time in a long

time,IknowforafactthatIwill.Andknowingthatgoesalongwayinlesseningthepainofmissingher,
ofmissingallofthem,Buttercupincluded.

Withjustonetasteofthatfruitmybodywillceasetobeimmortal.It’llrevertrightbacktotheusual

procession of aging and withering until it ultimately dies and my soul reverts back to its true eternal,
infinitestate—freetocrossthebridgetowheremyfamilynowlives.

No matter what becomes of me, my soul will live on, allowing my family and me to be reunited

again.

IjusthopeDamenandIwillbereunitedtoo.
IjusthopeIcanfindawaytoconvincehimofwhatwebothneedtodo.
Butfirst,Ineedtocomeupwithsomekindof“ComeAsYouWere”costume,andforsomeonewith

sevenpreviouslivestochoosefrom,you’dthinkthechoicewouldbeeasy.

Imean,shouldIgoasAdelina—thelifeIjustlearnedabout?Evaline—theParisianservant?Abigail

—thedaughterofaPuritan?

Chloe—thespoiledyoungsocialite?Fleur—theartist’smuse?Emala—thesadlittleslavegirl?
OrshouldIgoasallofthem?
Findawaytostitchtogetherallofthepiecesofmyvariouslives,likeasortofkarmaquilt,ifyou

will?

Iponderforawhile,likingtheconcept,buthavingnoideahowImightgoaboutit,andthen,justlike

that,IknowexactlywhatI’lldo.

Iglanceatmybedsideclock,seeingIhaveverylittletimeandsomeseriousmanifestingmagickto

getto.SoIjumptomyfeetandgetstarted,hopingit’llturnoutjustliketheimageIholdinmyhead.

Hopingit’llserveasmorethanjustacostume.Thatit’llprovidetheevidence,alltheproofthatI’ll

need.

chapterforty-one

WhenI’mfinished,Istandbeforethemirrorandtakeinventory.Goingovermymentalchecklistand

makingsureeverythingispresentandaccountedfor.HearingDamen’svoiceinmyhead,theexactwords
heusedwhenheexplainedittome—assuringmethateverypiece,frommyfieryredhairtomyelaborate
dress,frommyflirtatiousgazetomyinnerstrengthandhumility,founditsoriginsinthepast,whilemy
eyesthemselvesremainunchanged,eternal,nomatterwhatguisemysouldecidestowear.Andknowing
I’vecomeascloseasIcantoreplicatingthepaintinghemade(includingafewnewreferencestoEmala
andAdelina,whomIdidn’tknowaboutthen),untilIrememberonelastthing.OnelastthingI’mnotsureI
cangothroughwith.

Thegossamerwings.
ThemomentImanifestthemontomyback,Ifeelsilly.
Sillyandembarrassedand,well,atinybitmortified.
There’snowayIcanfacemyguestslikethis.Theywon’tunderstand.They’lltakeitthewrongway.

ThinkthatIthinkI’msospecialI’veactuallydescendedfromangelsinordertowalkamongthem.When
nothingcouldbefurtherfromthetruth.

Ipressmylipstogether,abouttoclosemyeyesandmakethemdisappear,whenIrememberthatI’m

notdoingitforthem.I’mdoingitforDamen.Well,forDamenandme.

ThenighthepaintedmyportraitintheGettyMuseumheclaimedtheywerethere—claimedhealone

couldseethem.ClaimedthatjustbecauseIcouldn’tseethemdidn’tmeantheyweren’treal.Andwhile
I’msurenoonewillunderstandwhatI’mupto,allthatmattersisthatDamendoes.Thatthesightofmy
costumewillhelptoconvincehimofwhatwemustdo.

Ijusthopethathestillseesmethisway.
IjusthopethatI’mnottryingtoreclaimsomethingthatnolongerexists.
I fool with my hair, unused to seeing myself as a redhead other than when I’m in the pavilion as

Fleur,butlikingthechangeinthislifeaswell.Thenrunningmyhandsovermylong,filmygown,Itake
onefinallookandheadoutthedoorbeforeIloseallmynerve.

The full effects of what Sabine and Munoz and their talented team of decorators envisioned, now

realized.MakingmefeelasthoughI’mdriftingintoamagical,mysticalworld,takingatripbackintime,
notinghoweachroomdiffersfromthenext,andyetallofit’sthemedtotheverylastdetail.

ThekitchenisancientGreece,thedenistheItalianRenaissance,thepowderroomtheMiddleAges

(except the sink and toilet both work!), the dining room the Dark Ages, the living room harks back to
Victoriantimes,whilethebackyardispure1960’s—andasthehousebeginstofillwithlotsandlotsof
costumedpeople,I’mprettyamazedbywhatafunideaitturnedouttobe.

Sofar,thepartyjuststartedandyetalltheusualpast-lifefavoritesarealreadypresentandaccounted

for.CleopatraisminglingnotjustwithMarcAntony,butalsowithMarieAntoinette,andJoanofArc,and

JanisJoplin,andAlexandertheGreat,andNapoleon,andEinstein,alongwithsomeguyinarobewitha
longwispymustacheandbeardwhoIthinkismeanttobeConfucius,andsomeonewithalonggraybeard
whokeepsshoutingoutprophecieswhoIthinkismeanttobeNostradamus,andIcan’thelpbutthinkhow
funnyitishoweveryonealwaysassumestheyweresomeonefamous.Nooneeverimaginesthemselves
ashavingbeenachambermaidoraslavelikeIwas.

Milesfindsmefirst,walkinghandinhandwithHolt.AndbeforeIcanevenask,hepointstohimself

andsays,“LeonardodaVinci.

Gorgeous,gifted,andtotallyandcompletelygenius—makesperfectsense,right?”
Inodinagreement,narrowingmygazeonHolt,takinginhisshockofsilverhairandsevereblack

turtleneck,andsaying,“Okay,you’reeitherAndyWarholorAlbertEinstein—”

Butbeforehecananswer,StaciaappearsasMarilynMonroe(bigsurprise),alongsideHonor,who’s

dressedasPocahontas(whichreallyisabigsurprise).

“Wow,greatcostumes.”Inodateachofthem.
Staciarunsherhandsoverherwhitehalterdress,asHonorswingsherlongblackbraidsandsays,

“Okay,Iwasn’texactlyPocahontas,butIdidseealifeasaNativeAmerican.”

Isquint,wonderingifthatmeansshemadeittoSummerland.
Butshe’squicktocorrectitwhenshesays,“RomyandRaynehypnotizedme.”
Mygazenarrowsfurther.Ihavenoideawhatshe’stalkingabout.
“Youknow,theydidapast-liferegressiononme.They’reprettygood;we’retalkingaboutoffering

thematthestore,withAva’shelpofcourse.”

“Wow.”Isquint.“Ihadnoidea.”AndIcan’thelpbutfeelalittlebitbummedaboutallthatImissed,

howeasilytheymovedonwithoutme.ThenIshakemyhead,clearthethoughtfrommymindandlook
right at Miles, and say, “So, did you get hypnotized too? Does this mean you really were Leonardo da
Vinci?”

But just as he’s about to answer, Jude, who came as the artist otherwise known (well, otherwise

knowntomeanyway)asBastiaandeKool,stopsrightbeforeme.Takinghistimetakingmeinashetries
tomakesenseofmycostume.StudyingmeforsolongIcan’thelpbutsquirm.Can’thelpbutfeelnervous
and uncomfortable enough to sneak a quick peek at Honor, knowing she won’t be thrilled with all this
attention.

“Igetit,”hesays,eyesstillnarrowed.“You’vetakenapiecefromeachofthem.”Heshakeshishead

inwonder,hisgazetravelingovermeagainwhenheadds,“Whatagreatidea.WishI’dthoughtofit.”

“WishI’dthoughtofittoo.”Iglanceacrosstheroom,wavingatSabineandMunoz,whoaredressed

as a Viking princess and William Shakespeare respectively, then back to Jude when I add, “It was
Damen’sidea.”

“Ishehere?”Staciaasks,hercheeksflushingcrimsonwhensherealizeshowImighttakethat,how

after all that we’ve been through I could easily misinterpret her interest. “I mean, not that I care.” She
pauses,realizesthatmight’vesoundedevenworse,andhastilyadds,“Imean,Icare—Ijustdon’tcarein
thewaythatyou,um,thinkthatIcare.”

Iplacemyhandonherarm,wantingtocomfort,tellherit’sokay,onlytobeovercomebyarushof

energysostrongIfeellikeI’mcaughtintheeyeofherownpersonaltornado.AndthoughI’mquickto
pullaway,it’snotlongbeforeIrealizeitwasn’tallbad.Ifanything,Igotaninsidepeekatjusthowfar
she’scome,andhowshesincerelymeantwhatshesaid.

Ilookather,tryingtosoundmorepositivethanIfeelwhenIsay,“Honestly?Ihavenoideaifhe’ll

show,butI’mhopeful.”

Avawavesatmefromacrosstheroom,beckoningmetojoinherintheden,whereshe’sdressedas

JohnLennon,standingnexttoRayne,who’sdressedinthepillboxhat,pristinewhitegloves,perfectlittle
suit, and flippy hairdo of Jackie O, while Romy is dressed as Jimi Hendrix, complete with an electric
guitarstrappedtoherchest.WhichistotallytheoppositeofwhatIwould’vethought,butthen,evenafter
allthistimeI’veneverreallybeenabletogetagoodhandleonthem.

AndI’mjustabouttothankthemfordoingsuchagreatjob,andforallthehelpthey’veprovidedthis

lastyear,whensomeonesneaksupfrombehindmeandsays,“Andsoitisdone.”

Iturn,instantlyrecognizingthevoice.
Shelooksolder.SodelicateandfrailIcan’thelpbutworryforherhealth.ThecaneIoncesawher

withisnowback.Thoughit’snotlongbeforeIrealizewhy—it’sthefirsttimeI’veseenherontheearth
plane.AndafterspendingsomuchtimeinSummerland,thegravityherestartstoweighprettyheavily.

“FromthemomentIfirstsawyourglow,Iknew.”
I look at her, noticing she’s the only one not in costume, and yet, in her cotton tunic and matching

pants,mostpeopleprobablyassumethatsheis.

“ButIdon’tglow,”Isay,myeyesstillporingoverher,realizinghowoddsheappearsnowthatshe’s

here.Howoutofcontextsheseems.“Idon’thaveanaura,”Iadd.“Noimmortalsdo.”

Butsheignoresthat.“Aurasareareflectionofthesoul,”shesays.“Andyoursislovely.Youhave

beenmadeawareofitspresence,caughtaglimpseofit,no?”

Igazedownatmyhands,rememberthewayIsawthemglowagorgeousshadeofpurplebackwhen

I was in Summerland, back when I was still on my journey. I remember the way I’d felt the color
thrummingfromsomewheredeepinside—theintensityoffeelingconvincingmeofjusthowtoproceed.
ThenIrememberhowDrinasawittoo,howshe’dcommentedonitjustafterI’dfreedhersoulfromthe
Shadowland,andnowLotusseesitaswell.Whichmakesmewonderifitmightactuallybereal,andif
it’llstillbewithmeevenafterI’vetastedthefruit?

WhichofcoursegetsmethinkingaboutDamen,wonderingifhe’llagreetotastethefruitwithme.
“Heneedstime,”Lotussays,tuningintomythoughts.“Unlikeme.Ihavewaitedtoolong.”
Inod,offeringmyhandasIleadherupthestairs,butshejustshakesherheadandreliesonhercane.
FiguringI’llgiveittoherfirst,serveherprivatelybeforeIgathertheothers,I’msurprisedwhenshe

tunes in to my thoughts once again, saying, “You will find them already gathered. They are waiting for
you.”

True enough, when we enter the den off my room we’re greeted by a startling collection of the

eternallyyoungandbeautiful.TheeternallyyoungandbeautifulwiththebestcollectionofcostumesI’ve
everseen.Someofthemchoosingtointerpretthethemeliterallybydressingasactualpeople,andsome
choosingtointerpretitfigurativelybydressingasobjectslikeflowersandtrees—there’sevenashooting
starstandingoffinthecorner.And,Iguessifit’struethateverythingisenergy,ifit’struethatwe’reall
connected,thenthere’sreallynothingthatdividesusfromnature—weareallapartofthewhole.

Theyturntofaceme,overfiftypeoplewhomRomandeemedworthy,makingforapproximatelythree

people every century—a much small er group than I would’ve imagined, but still a much bigger group
thanI’dhoped.

Andhonestly,whenIreallystarttotakethemallin,Imeaneachandeveryone,Istarttofeelalittle

ridiculousaboutwhatI’mabouttopropose.

I mean, these people have traveled far and wide for the sole purpose of maintaining the very life

they’ve grown used to. These people are so advanced in every conceivable way, so well traveled, so
experienced, so worldly—well, they’re intimidating to say the least. And I can’t help but wonder why
theywouldeventhinktolistentome—aseventeen-year-oldgirlwhosebiggestworldlyaccomplishment
sofar(otherthanlocatingthetree)ishavingbarelygottenthroughhighschool.

Whyshouldtheyeventhinktoconsidergivingupeverythingthey’veknownandlovedforsomany

yearsforsomeunknown,completelyesotericidea,whichIcaneasilyexplainbuthavenowaytoprove?

ButthenIlookatLotus,seethewayshenodsencouragingly,thoserheumyoldeyescheeringmeon,

anditpromptsmetogulpdownmyfears,addressingthemallwhenIsay,“Iknowyou’reexpectingtosee
Roman,butRoman’snolongerhere,andsoyougetme.AndwhileI’msureIcan’tevencomecloseto
competingwithhim,nowthatyou’rehere,Ihopeyou’llatleastconsiderhearingmeout.”

Thisismetbymumbling.Lotsandlotsofmumbling.Withagoodamountofgrumblingthrowninas

well.TheroargrowingsoloudI’venochoicebuttoshovetwofingersintomymouthandletoffalong
loudwhistletoquietthemdown.

“WhenIsaidthatRomanisnolongerwithus—Imeantitinthephysicalway.Hisbodyhasperished,

though his soul still lives on. And I happen to know this because I’ve seen it. I’ve communicated with
him.Thesoulneverdies.He’strulyimmortalnow.”Ipause,expectingmoreoutburstsandsurprisedby
thequietthatgreetsmeinstead.

“Andso,whileIknowyouwereexpectingtheelixir,I’mgoingtoofferyousomethingelse.”Ishift

mygaze,myeyestakinginthemultiplebottlesofredjuicelefttochillinmymini-fridge,andsuddenly
changingmytackwhenIsay,“No,actuallyI’mgoingtogiveyouachoice.”MyeyesmeetLotus’s,afraid
of what she might think, but finding her nodding encouragement, not the slightest bit disturbed by my
words.“Itonlyseemsfairthatyougetarealchoice.ButIwantyoutoconsiderthechoiceverycarefully,
becauseaftertodaythischoicemaynevercomeagain.So,inshort,I’mgoingtoofferyouadrinkfromthe
elixirthat’llextendyourlifeasyouknowit—preservingyouryouthandbeautyandvitalityforanother
onehundredandfiftyyears—butyoushouldknowthatitcomesataprice.Youcanstilldie.

Ifoneofyourweakchakrasistargetedyourbodywilldisintegrateandyoursoulwillbetrappedin

the Shadowland—a terrible place you don’t want to visit. Or…” I pause, knowing how important this
nextpartis,andwantingtogetitjustright,tostressitsfullimportance,beforeIlosethemcompletely.
“Or,youcantastefromthefruitIpickedfromtheTreeofLife—thefruitthatofferstrueimmortality—the
immortalityofthesoul.Andjustsoyouknow,eatingitwillreverseeverythingyouarenow.Yourbody
willage,andgrowold,andyes,you’lleventuallydie.Butyourbeing,yourtrueessence,yoursoul,will
realizeeternityasitwasalwaysintendedtobe.”Ibitedownonmylipasmyhandsfidgetbymysides,
knowingI’vesaidallIcan.Thechoiceisnowtheirs.AndthoughIthinkit’sanobviouschoice,it’sstilla
prettybigdecisiontomake.

There’smuchmurmuring,muchquestioning,muchsuspicion,andsinceeveryonealreadythinksLotus

iscrazy,andsinceeveryoneequatesmeasthegirlfriendoftheonepersonthey’vebeentrainedtohate,
it’sprettyclearthatmylittlespeechwasnotnearlyaswellreceivedasI’dhoped.

ButjustasI’msureI’veonlyconvincedthemtoembraceanotheronehundredandfiftyyearsofwhat

they’vecometoknowandlove—theflower,theshootingstar,andthetreestepforward,steprightoutof
thecrowd,makingtheirwaytowhereInowstand.AndIblinkinastonishmentwhenIrealizeit’sMisa,
Marco,andRafe.

They’reglowing.
Absolutely,positivelyglowing.
Theiraurasbeamingbright,glisteninginthemostunmistakableway,justliketheydiduponleaving

thetree.

They pick up right where I left off, talking excitedly, voices overlapping, explaining about the

miraculoustransformationtheymadethemomenttheytastedthefruit.

TellingthecrowdwhatIalreadysensedtobetrue—allofthatwhoopingandholleringtheyengaged

injustafterhavingeatenthefruitwasn’tbecausetheybelievedthey’densuredtheirphysicalimmortality,

butbecausetheyfelttheirsoul’simmortalitybeingrestored.

Experiencedthethrilloftheirkarmarightingitselfwiththeuniverse.
Whilethey’retalking,Lotuslooksatme,steeplesherhandsagainstherchestinasilentblessing,and

goesaboutplacingsmallbitsoffruitintolittlepapercups,ensuringthere’senoughforeveryone,before
sheplucksoneforherself,looksatme,andsays,“Please.

Comewithme.”
Ihesitate.Wantingtowitnessthemomentwhentheimmortals,convincedbywhatthey’veheard,all

stepforwardasone,andchoosetheirnewpath.

ButLotusjustshakesherheadandsays,“You’vedoneallyoucan.Therestislefttothem.”
I glance over my shoulder, see the way the crowd moves closer to Misa, Marco, and Rafe, then I

followLotusdownthestairsandthroughthehouse,collectingAva,thetwins,Jude,Stacia,Honor,Miles,
Holt,evenSabineandMunozalongtheway,wantingtotakethisfinaljourneywiththosewho’vehelped
hertogettothispoint.

Sheleadsusintothebackyard,whereshekicksoffhershoes,closeshereyes,andsighsasshesinks

hertoesdeepintothegrass.

Thenliftingherhead,sheglancesateachofus,hergazesettlingonmewhenshesays,“Youhave

released me. And while my gratitude knows no bounds, your trust in me has been at your own great,
personalexpense.ForthatIamsorry.”

Shenods,bowseversoslightly,andIwaitforhertosaysomethingmore,totellmenottoworry,

thatitallgetsbetterfromhere,butinsteadshebringsthecuptoherlipsandingests.Shutteringhereyesas
herhandsswiftlyrise,herfingersuncurling,herpalmsflattening—theyardfallingquietasLotusbeginsto
glowthemostbeautifulgoldencolorthatcan’tbeignored.

Herfaceradiant,beaming,hercaneallbutforgotten,abandonedbyherside—awitnesstosomething

miraculous,somethingviewableonlytoher.AndIcan’thelpbutgaspwheninsteadoftheashI’vegrown
sousedtoseeing,twoperfectlotusblossomsbloomforthfromherpalms.

Sheturnstowardme,placesonebehindmyearandtheotherinmyhand,gentlyclosingmyfingers

arounditasshesays,“ThisoneisforDamen.Youmustgotohimnow.”

Inod,eagertodojustthat,butalsowantingtoseethisthingthrough.
TornbetweenleavingandstayingwhenJudeleanstowardmeandsays,“He’shere.”
Ilookathim,myheartleapingintomythroat,thinkinghe’sreferringtoDamen,butsoonrealizinghe

meantsomeoneelse.

“Herhusband.He’scometoescorthertotheotherside.”HemotionstowardthespacebesideLotus,

aspacethatappearsemptytome.

I watch as Lotus steps forward, once, twice, before she simply disappears. Her body so old, so

worn, its immortality so suddenly reversed, it could no longer withstand the gravity of the earth plane.
And yet, she got exactly what she wanted, what she sought all this time. Leaving nothing more than a
glitteringpileofgolddustbehind.

Everyoneremainsquiet,reluctanttomaritwithwords.
EveryonebutStacia,whosays,“O-kay…nowthatthat’sdone,cansomeonepleasetellmewhere

tofindthatsuper-hotguywho’sdressedasagladiator?”

Miles and Holt burst out laughing and lead her into the house, while Ava and the twins hang back

withSabineandMunoz,goingoverthedetailsabouttheupcomingwedding,asRomyandRaynebegto
bebridesmaids.

ThenHonorlooksbackandforthbetweenJudeandmeandsays,“Okay,here’sthedeal:I’mtaking

myPocahontas-costumedselfbackinsidesothatyoutwocansettlewhateveritisyouneedtogetsettled.

Seriously,haveyourlittlepowwow,getitalloutofyoursystem,andthenJude,whenyou’reready,when
you’rereadytoputyourfullattentiononme,andonlyme,well,youknowwheretofindme.”

Istarttoreachtowardher,starttosaythatthere’snothingtosettle,nothingtogetoutofoursystems,

thatwe’vebeenthroughitall,thatthere’snomoretobesaid.Butsheturns,shootsmealookthatshows
shemeansbusiness,soIlethergo,turningmyfocustoJude.

“So, Bastiaan de Kool.” I smile, hoping if I hold the look long enough, it will start to feel real.

Wonderinghowit’spossibletofeelsobleakafterhavingaccomplishedsomuch.ButIknowwhy,andI
intend to deal with that soon enough. “Out of all of your lives, was Bastiaan your favorite?” My gaze
settlesonhisfilmywhitecottonshirtandpaint-splatteredpants.

Judelaughs,hisaquagazeonminewhenhesays,“Well,heistheonewhogotallthegirls.Well,all

exceptone.”

I look toward the window, catching Honor peering at us. Her face betraying just how anxious and

worried she is at the thought of losing him to me. And while I have no way of knowing if they’re truly
meant to be together for the long haul, they seem to really enjoy each other, seem to be good for each
other,goodtoeachother,andthat’sallthatreallymattersrightnow.

“Giveherachance,”Isay,returningtoJude.Andwhenhestartstocutin,Iflashmypalm,adding,

“Lasttime,whenyouaskedmewhatIthoughtofher,it’snoaccidentIdidn’tanswer.Atthetime,Ireally
wasn’tsure.ButnowIam,andIthinkyoushouldgiveherareal,genuine,full-blown,honest-to-goodness
chance. She’s come a long way since I first met her, and she’s crazy about you.” I meet his gaze. “And
honesly,Ithinkyoudeservesomeonetobecrazyaboutyou.Ithinkyoudeserveallthehappinessyoucan
possiblyhandle.

Besides,” I shrug, “you’re no longer Bastiaan, and, despite my red hair,” I point toward my head,

“I’mnolongerFleur.NoramIAdelina,orEvaline,orEmala,orChloe,orAbigail,oranyofthem.Those
werejustrolesweplayeduntilitwastimetomoveontothenext.Andwhilewe’llalwayscarryapartof
them with us, we have so many more roles still to play. When you think about it, in the big scheme of
things,ourtimetogetherislikeadashofspiceinabigcosmicsoup—importantforrichnessofflavor,but
still,notquitethemainingredient.Thepastisover.Itcan’tandshouldn’tbereclaimed.Allweeverhave
is now anyway.” I nod toward the window where Honor is waiting. “Don’t you think it’s time we
embraceit?”

Judestandsbeforeme,givesmealonglingeringlook,thennodsinagreement.“Andyou?”heasks,

remainingthereevenafterIturntowalkaway.“Isthatwhatyouplantodo?”

I glance over my shoulder, first at him, then down at the lotus blossom in my hand, saying, “Yeah.

Startingrightnow.”

chapterforty-two

OnmywaytoDamen’sImakeaquickdetour.
JustonequickstoptoutilizemymanifestingpowerswhileIstillcan.
JustonebriefdiversionthatIhopewillamounttosomethingthatDamenandIcanenjoytogether.
Ifnot,thenIcanonlyassumethatsomeoneelsewillenjoyitforus.
ButIcan’tallowmyselftothinklikethat.
Can’talloweventheslightestbitofnegativitytoslipin.
I’msureDamenwillbearenoughforthebothofus,soit’snotlikeIneedtoaddtoit.
IwaveatSheilathegateguard,whosurprisingly,consideringhowlongI’vebeengone,justwaves

merightin.ThenImakemywayupthehillandaroundtheseriesofturns,untilI’mpullingontohisstreet.
RememberingtheveryfirsttimeIcamehere—backwhenIwasuninvitedandforcedtoclimbthroughan
openkitchenwindow—onlytofindtheplacedevoidofallfurnishingsinawaythatwasn’tjustempty,but
eerily empty. Well, eerily empty except for the room upstairs where he kept all of his most cherished
mementosfromhispast—aroomthattookmesometimetolearntoappreciate.

Ileavemycarinthedriveandheadforthedoor.Notbotheringtoringthebellorknock,Ijustlet

myselfin.Chargingrightthroughhisenormousfoyerandstraighttowardthestairs,knowingjustwhereto
findhim,justwherehegoeswhenhe’sfeelingtroubledlikeheis.

Hestandsatthewindow,hisbackturnedtome,hisgazefixedonsomefarawayplace,whenhesays,

“Therewasatimewhenyouthoughtthisroomwascreepy.WhenyouthoughtIwascreepy.”

Ipausebytheoldvelvetsettee,makingnoattempttodenywhathesaid.Takinginhiscollectionof

handwoven tapestries, crystal chandeliers, golden candelabras, gilt-framed masterpieces—a visual
reminderofaverylong,adventure-filledlife—avisualreminderthatwhatI’mabouttoaskofhimisno
smallrequest.

“TherewasatimewhenyouheldgreatresentmenttowardmeforwhatI’ddonetoyou—forwhatI’d

madeyou.”

Inod,there’snousedenyingthateither,webothknowit’strue.AndthoughIwishhewouldfaceme,

thoughIbeghimwithmymindtoturnsohecanseeme,heremainswhereheis,rootedinplace.

“Andit’sclearyoustillclingtothatresentment.It’swhywefindourselveshere.Dividedlikewe

are.”

“Idon’tresentyou,”Isay,gazegluedtohisback.“Iknoweverythingyou’vedone,you’vedoneout

oflove.HowcouldIpossiblyresentyouforthat?”Myvoicecushionedbyantiquerugs,heavydrapes,
pilesofsilkpillows,butstillmanagingtoechorightbackatme,soundingmuchsmallerthanIwould’ve
anticipated.

“But we are now at a crossroads.” He nods, his finger playing at something he holds against the

windowsill,somethinghekeepsjustoutofview.“YouwanttoerasewhatI’vedoneandgobacktothe

oldwayofbeing,whileIwanttostayasIam,holdontothelifeI’vegrownusedtoliving.”Hesighs.
“And,I’mafraidinlightofallthat,there’sreallynowaytocompromise.We’vecometoajuncture—a
place where we either have to find a way to agree on a shared destination, or head off in separate
directions,andliveseparatelives.”

Istayquiet,still,hatingthesoundofhiswords—thewaytheycausemyguttoclenchandstir—yet

knowingit’strue.Achoicemustbemade,anditmustbemadesoon.

“Youmustunderstand,Ever,thateventhoughyou’vebuiltaverystrongandvalidcase,eventhough

my choice is wrong in many, if not every, way—for the last six hundred years this all that I’ve known.
ThisisthelifeI’vebecomeaccustomedto.And,asmuchasIhatetoadmitit,I’mjustnotsureI’mcutout
tobemortal.WhileitwaseasytogiveuponmyextravagantwayswhenIthoughtmykarmawastoblame
forourproblems—whileitwasextremelyeasytotradeinmyhandmademotorcyclebootsforrubberflip-
flops—whatyouaskofmenow,well,it’sanotherthingentirely.AndIknowhowincrediblyhypocritical
Iprobablysound.Ontheonehand,Iclaimtobesoconcernedwiththekarmicstateofmysoul,andyet,
ontheother,soferventlyresistanttotheoneandonlyrealsolutionthat’spresentedtofixit,butstill,there
itis.Statedplainly,I’mnotwillingtogiveupmyeternalyouthandphysicalperfectioninordertowatch
my body grow old and decay and eventually die. I’m not willing to give up my access to magick and
manifestingandeasytripstoSummerland.

I’mjustnot.Perhapsit’seasierforyou,havingonlybeenimmortalforayearversusmysixhundred.

But,Ever,please,trytounderstandthatmyimmortalityhasdefinedmeforsolong,I’mnotsurewhoI’ll
beifIchoosealifewithoutit.I’mnotsurewhoI’llbeifI’mnolongerthemanyounowsee.Willyou
stillloveme?WillIevenlikeme?I’mjustnotwillingtotakethechancetofindout.”

I balk. Seriously, balk. But it’s not like it matters. It’s not like he sees me. I mean, I knew he was

fearful, I knew he was afraid of making such a huge change, but I never once considered he might be
fearfuloflosingmeoncehisphysicalimmortalityisstrippedaway.

Finallyfindingmyvoiceenoughtosay,“YouhonestlythinkIwon’tloveyouanymore?Youhonestly

thinkthatallofyourexperiencesandtalentsandbeliefs—allofthethingsthathaveshapedyouintothe
amazingpersonIknowyoutobe—willsomehowvanishandleaveyouadull,empty,unlovableshell,the
minute you choose to eat the fruit? Damen, seriously, you must know I don’t love you because you’re
immortal, I love you because you’re you.” But even though my words are impassioned, spoken straight
fromtheheart,theyfallshort.

“Let’snotkidourselves,Ever.Firstyoufellinlovewiththemagicalme—thefancycar,thetulips,

themystery.Itwasonlylaterwhenyougottoknowtherealme.Andeventhen,it’shardtoseparatethe
two. And, if I remember correctly, you weren’t so wild about what you once referred to as my ‘monk
phase.’”

Hemakesagoodpoint,butI’mquicktorefuteit.“It’struethatIfellfastandhardforthemagical,

manifesting, mysterious you—but that was infatuation, not love. Once I got to know you, once I got to
knowyourheart,andsoul,andthetrulywonderfulbeingthatyouare,well,that’swhenthatinfatuation
grewmuchdeeperandturnedintolove.Andyeah,whileit’salsotruethatIdidn’texactlyloveitwhen
youchosetogiveupallthefancystuff,Ineverstoppedlovingyou.Besides,aren’tyoutheonewhoonce
told me that everything that can be done in Summerland can be done in the earth plane too? Didn’t you
claimthatitmighttakealittlelongertoseeitcometofruitionbutthatitworksallthesame?”

Imovetowardhim,stoppingjustafewinchesshy,wishinghe’dturnandfaceme,butknowinghe’s

notready.

“Intheend,”Isay,myvoicesoftlycoaxing,“itallcomesdowntowhatyoualreadyknowtobetrue.

Youknowhowtheuniverseworks.

Youknowthateverythingisenergy,thatthoughtscreate,thatwecanworkourownmagickrighthere

ontheearthplanebykeepingourintentionspositiveandclear.Sonowit’sjustamatterofputtingallthat
weknowintopractice.Nowit’sjustamatterofhavingfaithinallthatyou’vetaughtme.Nowit’sjusta
matter of trusting the universe enough, trusting me enough, and trusting yourself enough, to believe.
Damen,don’tyouwanttoslowdown?Don’tyouwanttostayinoneplaceformorethanafewyears?
Don’t you want to build lasting friendships, maybe even, I don’t know, but maybe even have a family
someday?Heck,don’tyouwanttoseeyourownfamilyagain?”

He takes a deep breath, takes several deep breaths, then he turns, his dark eyes going impossibly

widewhenheseesme—seeshowI’mdressed.

“You’re a vision,” he says, his voice edged with wonder. “You’re just like the painting.

Enchantment.Isn’tthatwhatwecalledit?”

Butwhilehiseyesarebusyroamingme,minearefixedonwhatheholdsinhishand.
Thethinghe’dkepthiddenwhenhewasfacingthewindowsillnowplainlyinview.
The sight of it reminding me of Roman’s last night, when he sat before me on his rumpled bed—a

gleamingglassvialfilledwithsparklinggreenliquidpinchedbetweenhisfingerandthumb.

MuchlikeDamenstandsnow.
He catches me looking, grips the glass tighter, causing the green liquid to splash up the sides,

swishingjustshyofthelip.

AndIknowthatallwehavetodotobetogetherinthewaythatwewantistodrinkit.
Justonesmallsipfromeachofusisallit’lltake.
Onesmallsipandallofourproblemsdisappear.
Onlythat’swhatIusedtothink.NowIknowthatit’snolongertrue.
Whiletheantidotemaybeasurething,thebiggersolution,therealsolution,offersnoguarantee.It

requiresaleapoffaith—aprettybigleapforsure—butstilloneI’mwillingtotake.

ThoughfromwhatIcansee,withthewayDamenliftsthevialbeforehim,I’mclearlytheonlyone

feelingthatway.

Still,Ican’thelpbutbetransfixedbythesightofit.TransfixedbytherealizationthatI’mreadyto

turnmybackontheonethingIsoughtforsolong.

Iliftmyhandsbeforeme,thelotusblossomcuppedbetweenmypalmsasIsay,“IsawLotus—just

beforeshecrossedover.Shewantedyoutohavethis.”Myeyesmeethis,notinghowhe’sabsorbedbythe
sightofme,astheantidotecontinuestoswirlinhisgrip.

Andwhilehedoesn’treachfortheflower,hedoesmanagetosay,“Ialwaysfigureditwasthestuff

ofmyth.Ihadnoideaitreallyexists.”

I edge closer to him, edge past an ancient marble-topped table covered with stacks of very

impressive,first-editionsignedbooksthatwouldeasilyfetchhundredsofthousandsofdollarsatauction.

“The actual Tree of Life!” He flicks his gaze between me, the lotus blossom, and the antidote he

holdsinhishand,softlyshakinghisheadwhenhesays,“It’samazingtomethatyounotonlyfoundit,but
thatyoubroughtbackenoughfruitforallofourkind.WhileIcan’tbringmyselftotasteit,I’mimpressed
andamazedthatyoumanagedtodosuchathing.”

Despitethewarmthinhiseyes,allIcanhearis:Ican’tbringmyselftotasteit.
Thewordsresonatinginawaythatrobsmeofbreath,makesmykneesthreatentocrumple.
Wegazeateachother,thesilencegathering,buildingbetweenus.AndifIcould,I’dencouragethe

momenttostretchandgrowandlingerforever,butIknowitmustend.Everythingdoes.Ialsoknowwhat
needstobesaid,soitmayaswellcomefromme.

“So,Iguessthisisitthen?”ItrynottosoundasbrokenasIfeelbutdon’tcomeclosetosucceeding.

Helooksatme,hisexpressionstandinginforanywordshemightsay,soIheaveadeepsigh,curl

myfingersaroundthelotusblossom,andstarttohaulmyselfoutofhisroom,outofhislife.

We’vereachedthecrossroads.
Thejuncture.
Thereisnoturningback.
Thisiswherewegoourseparateways.
Awareofthealmostfeelofhishandonmyarmwhenhepullsmebacktohimandsays,“Yes.”
Ilookathim,unsurewhathe’ssayingyesto.
“Thequestionsyouaskedearlier,aboutwantingtosettledown,startafamily,seemyfamily?Yes.

Yestoallofit.”

Itrytoswallowbutcan’t,trytospeakbutthewordsjustwon’tcome.
Hishandsslidingaroundme,graspingmetohim,heletsgoofthevial,allowsittofall,tocrashto

theground.Thesparklinggreenliquidseepingoutallaroundashesays,“Butmostlyyestoyou.”

chapterforty-three

Eventhoughhe’sagreedtodoit,hestillhesitates.
Hishandshaking,hisgazesofulloftroubleandworryitpromptsmetosay,“Lookatme.”
Hetakesadeepbreath,butdoesasIask.
“Letthisbetheproof.”
Hecockshishead,notquiteunderstanding.
“LetthiscostumebetheproofofhowI’llalwayscomebacktoyou.Nomatterwhathappens,we’ll

always be together, always find a way to locate each other. Whether I’m Adelina, Evaline, Abigail,
Chloe,Fleur,Emala,Ever,or,eventually,someoneelseentirely.”Ismile.“Nomatterwhichguisemysoul
decidestowear,Iwillalwaysreturntoyou.JustlikeIalwayshavereturnedtoyou.”

Henods,holdsmygaze,liftingthecuptohislipsasIdothesame.
Surprisedtolearnit’snotatallsweetlikeIthought,butstill,Ihardlynoticeitsbitterness—theway

itdoesn’tsitsowellonthetongue.Ijusturgethefruitdown.Encourageittoflowthroughmysystemas
thoughit’sthesweetestambrosiaanyGodcouldcreate,whileDamendoesthesame.

AndwhenIseethewaytheroomsparklesandglows,whenIseethewaythefurniturevibratesand

allthepaintingscometolife—IunderstandexactlywhatmadeMisa,Marco,andRafewhoopandholler
andcarryonliketheydid.

Everythingisalive.
Everythingisburstingwithcolor,throbbingwithenergy,andit’sallconnectedtous.
Wearepartofeachother,partofeverythingthatsurroundsus.
Therearenoboundariesofanykind.
TheworldappearingjustasitdidwhenIdiedasAdelina.WhenIsoaredthroughtheskyandgazed

downoncreation.

OnlyI’mnotdead.Infact,it’sjusttheopposite.I’veneverfeltsoalive.
My eyes meet Damen’s, wondering if he’ll change, if I’ll change. But other than my hair returning

fromtheredthatImanifestedtoitsnaturalstateofblond,otherthanthepurpleaurathatsurroundsme,and
theindigobluethatsurroundshim,theredoesn’tseemtobemuchchangeatall.

Ireachtowardhim,justashereachestowardme.Tentative,ourfingertipsjustabouttotouch,when

heflinches,pullsaway,causingmetolookathimandsay,“Evenifitdoesn’twork,evenifwediscover
ourDNAisstillcursed,evenifoneofusshoulddietrying,we’llfindeachotheragain.Andagain.And
again.Samewaywealwayshave.Samewaywealwayswillfromthispointon.Nomatterwhathappens,
we’llneverbeapart.We’retrulyimmortalnow.It’slikewhenwe’reinthepavilion,rightwhenwe’re
abouttoenterthesceneandIalwaysfreeze—whatisityoualwayssaytome?”

Helooksatme,facesofteningwhenhesays,“Believe.”
Andsowedo.

Wetakethatbigleapoffaithandbelieve.
Thesilencepiercedbytwinintakesofbreaththemomentwereachforward,makecontact.
Ourfingertipstouching,meeting,pressingsolidlytogether,seemingalmosttomergeintoeachother,

untilit’simpossibletotellusapart,determinewhereheendsandIbegin.AndIcan’thelpbutmarvelat
thewarmthofhim—thesurgeofpuretingleandheatthathebrings.Andsoon,nolongercontentwithjust
that,longingforsomethingmuchdeeper,weslipintoeachother’sarms.

Myhandsathisneck,hisatmywaist,clutchingmetightly,pullingmeclose,andthencloserstill.

Exploringthepathofmyspinebeforethreadinghisfingersthroughmythickmaneofhair,hesteersme
towardhim,expertlyanglingmylipstomeethis.Thesoftpillowyfirmnessofhismouthremindingmeof
thefirsttimeItastedhim—inthislifeandalltheothersaswell.Ourwholeworldshrinkinguntilthere’s
nothingbutthis.

Oneperfecteverlastingkiss.
Bodies pressed together, we sink down to an antique rug that some of history’s most illustrious

figures have walked upon, Damen lying beside me, curled all around me, the two of us completely
overcomebythewonderofeachother,thewonderofbeingtogether.

Hardlybelievingthismomenthascomeafterhavingwaitedsolong.
Thecursefinallybroken.
Theuniversenolongerworkingagainstus.
Damenpullsaway,gazedrinkingmeinashisfingersrediscoverthefeelofmyskin.Exploringthe

expanseoffleshbetweenmytemple,mycheek,mylips,mychin,downaroundmyneck,andthenlower
still,asmylipsswellinanticipationofhis,eagerlytasting,takingsmallnipsathishand,hisshoulder,his
chest,whatevercomesnear.Ican’tgetenoughofhim.Can’thelpbutwantmoreofhim.

Allofhim.
Now.
“Ever,” he whispers, gazing at me in the same way that Alrik once did, only this time it’s better,

happeninginrealtime.

Iliftmyfacetohis,capturehislips,andpullhimbacktome.Mybodyheating,thrumming,wanting

nothingmorethantodeepenthisfeeling—discoverjusthowfaritmightgo.

“Ever.”Hisvoiceisthick,hoarse,thewordsrequiringgreateffort,whenheadds,“Ever,nothere.

Notlikethis.”

Iblink.Rubmylipstogether,asthoughawakeningfromadream.Realizingwe’restillonthefloor,

when there are far more comfortable places we could be, including one that I manifested just before I
camehere.

Irisetomyfeet,andleadhimdownstairs,outtomycar,andontothecurving,windingexpanseof

Coast Highway, until I pull up to the most beautiful, old, weathered stone manse perched up high on a
cliff,withfloor-to-ceilingwindowsthatlookdownuponaswiftlychurningsea—adwellingthatwasn’t
therejustanhourbefore.

“Didyoumakethis?”Heturnstome.
Inod,grinning.“WhatcanIsay?Iwashopingwe’dcometoanagreement.Iwasgoingtobookus

thatroomattheMontage,butIthoughtthiswasbetter,moreprivate,moreromantic.Ihopeit’sokay?”

He grasps my hand in his and we both hurry toward it. Scaling a long, winding, seemingly never-

ending series of stairs until we reach the top, breathless for sure, but more with anticipation than the
climb.

Iswingthedooropenandmotionhiminside,seeingthewayhelaughswhenhestepsontotheold

limestone floor and sees that despite the size of this place, despite its massive square footage, it only

consists of one very large bedroom with a wood-burning fireplace, a beautiful four-poster bed, a
gorgeousoldwovenrug,awell-appointedbathroom,andnothingmore.

I flush. I can’t help it. Quickly mumbling something about having not had much time, how we can

alwaysaddtoitifwedecidetohangoutforawhile.

Buthejustsmiles,stopstheflowofexcuseswithagentlypressedfingerhesoonreplaceswithhis

lips, turning my suddenly hushed silence into a nice, long, deeply soulful kiss. Pulling me toward him,
toward the bed, voice softly whispering, “You are all that I want. All that I need. I couldn’t ask for
anythingmore.”

Hekissesmegentlybutthoroughly,takinghistime,makingagreatefforttohandlemewithcare.But

eventhoughIknowourtimetogetherisinfinite,thatwe’llalwaysbetogether,I’meagerformore.

Itugatthehemofhissweater,yankituphighoverhisheadandtossitaside.Pausingtoexplorethe

landscape of his chest—the curving hills of his shoulders, the rippled valley of his abs—before my
fingersdiplower,workingabutton,azipper,anelasticwaistband.

And even though it’s not the first time I’ve seen him, I still can’t stop the gasp from escaping my

throat.Stillcan’tstopmyselffromdrinkingintheastonishingsightofhim.

Heremovesmyclothestoo.Fingersmovingdeftly,expertly,farmorepracticedthanmine.Andit’s

notlongbeforethere’snothingleftbetweenus—neitherphysical,normystical.

ThereisonlyheandI.
Nobarriersofanykind.
Heanchorshislegoverme,aroundme,untilhisbodycoversmine.Myinsidesquiveringwithtingle

andheatasIshuttermyeyestothewarmthofhim,thefeelofhim,thenlazilyliftingmylidstofindhis
gazeburningintome.Thetwoofuspulledintothehypnoticlullandswayofeachother,andit’snotlong
beforehereachesdownandjoinsustogether.

JoinsusinthewayofAlrikandAdelina.
Joinsusinthewaywe’vedreamedofallthistime.
Butit’ssomuchbetterthananythingthatwentbefore.
Becausethisisreal.
Thisisright.
Afinalconfirmationthatwe’remadeforeachother.
Meanttobetogether.
Alwaysandforever.
Ourbodiesrising,lifting,soaringhigh,thenhigherstil—themomentgrowing,expanding,holdingfor

as long as it wil… until we collapse into the warmth of each other, and the ceiling bursts open, and a
delugeofbeautifulredtulipscomesrainingdown.

chapterforty-four

Irollontomyside,edgeclosertohim,allowingmyfingerstofollowthetrailfromhischesttohis

abdomen and down lower still. Amazed by the actual feel of him, his warm and wonderful being—
wonderinghowImanagedwithoutitsolong.

“Whatareyouthinking?”heasks,hislipsnippingthelobeofmyear.
“Oh,youknow…”Ismileflirtatiously,mypinkieinchingbackup,findinghisnavelandnavigating

theperimeter,ashelaughsandpullsmeontohischest.Plantingakissonthetopofmyheadasmymind
fillswithonesingleword:Content.

Iamtotallyandcompletelycontent.
I’malsohappy,relaxed,andatpeace.
IhaveeverythingIcouldeverwant.
Mylifeiscomplete.
Igazeupathim,wishingwecouldlinger,dragthisoutforaslongaswecan,butDamenhasother

plans,claimswe’vegotsomewhereimportanttobe.

“I’llmissthisplace,”hesays,gettingtohisfeetandsteppingoverthecarpetoftulippetalsthatkept

rainingdownuntiltheycoveredthefloor.

“Don’tsoundsofinal.It’snotlikeit’sgoinganywhere.”Ismile.“Unless,we’regoingsomewhere?

Arewegoingsomewhere?”Ipeerathim,hopingforaclue.Buthe’swearinghisverybestpokerface,
whichmeansthereisnogettingthrough.

Ishrug,slipintothedressIwassmartenoughtomanifestearlier,sinceit’snotlikeI’mwillingto

wearthatwingedcostumeagain.

Then as soon as we’re dressed, he grabs my hand and leads me to the window, the two of us

watchingthewavescrashagainsttherocksfarbelow.

“Doyoustillseeit?”Heglancesatme.
I nod, then, trying something I was too nervous (not to mention too preoccupied) to try earlier, I

think:Doyou?

Helooksatme,smiles,andthinks:Yes.And,evenbetter,wecanstillheareachother!
Ileanagainsthim,wonderinghowlongitwilllast.Knowingthevibratingcolors,thelyricalhumof

theuniversewilleventuallyfade.

Even when Misa and Marco and Rafe raved about the experience, it was in the past tense. Still,

thoughitmayfadefromsight,it’llneverfadefrommymind.Nowthatweknowthetruthofeverything,
the way the universe works, the world will continue to be as magical and amazing as ever, even for
mortalslikeus.

“Ready?”heasks,handgraspedwithmine,theblurofourcombinedenergyalltheproofthatIneed

thatweareonewitheachother—onewitheverything.

Inod,walkingalongsidehimaswemakeourwaytomycar.ExperiencingamomentofpanicwhenI

trytostartitwithmymindlikeIusuallydo,thenrelaxingonceIrememberI’dhadtheforesighttobring
thekeyalong,sincefromwhatIcantell,thatsortofmentalmagicknolongerworks.

AndwhenDamentriestomanifestatulipforme,sadly,itnevermakesitpastthevisionheholdsin

hishead.Butbeforehecanreallystarttofeelbad,I’mquicktoremindhimthatifit’struewhattheysay
abouttheuniverse,thatthoughtstrulydocreate,thenthattulipwillshowupeventually.

Whenwearriveatmyhouse,Idashupthestairsandheadstraightformycloset,busyingmyselfwith

throwingabagtogether,whileDamenheadsfortheden,callingout,“WhatshouldIdowithallthis?”

Iziptheduffleclosedandswingitovermyshoulder,gladtoseeI’vestillgotatleastsomeofmy

immortalstrengthandstaminasinceIbasicallythrewineverythingthatwouldfit.

Igotowherehestands,seeinghimpointtowardthebottlesofelixirstillstoredinmymini-fridge.

OnlytheirnumbershavegreatlydiminishedfromthelasttimeIlooked.

Isliparoundthecounter,droppingtomykneesasIconductaquickmentalcount.AcountIrepeat

againandagain—eachtimecomingtothesamestartlingconclusion:Notalloftheimmortalswentforthe
fruit.

“Iwasthinkingweshoulddestroythem,oratleastkeepthemunderlockandkey.I’dhateforthemto

getin the wronghands, or evenunsuspecting hands, you know?”Damen turns toface me. “Hey, what’s
wrong?”heasks,alertedbymyexpression.

“Itusedtobefull.”Ilookathim.“WhenIlefttheparty,itwasfull.Andnow…”Ishakemyhead,

placemyhandagainstmystomach,startingtofeelalittleill.“Iwasreallyhopingtoconvincethem—all
ofthem.ButmaybeIlefttooearly?MaybeIshould’vestuckaroundalittlelonger?”

Igripmyknees,preparingtostandwhenDamensays,“Howcanyoubesureitwasanimmortal?”
Myeyesmeethis,andsuddenlytheroombeginstoswirl,forcingmetograbholdofthecounterto

steadymyself.

Butjustasquickly,it’spassed.
Intheend,it’sjustlikeLotussaid—IdidallIcould—therestwasuptothem.
There’ssuchathingasfreewill,andfromthelooksofit,someonehasdecidedtoexercisetheirs.
“Toss it,” I say. “Toss all of it. I’ve reserved plenty of leftover fruit for any immortals who find

themselvestrapped.Butasfortheelixir,we’venoneedofit—it’stimetowashourhandsofit.”

We get to work, me removing the tops, then handing him the bottles, which he empties down the

drain. And when we’re finished, he turns to me, grasps my hands in his, and tells me to envision a
shimmeringgoldenveil.

“Summerland?”Iquirkmybrow,wonderingwhyIneedtopackabagforSummerlandwhenyoucan

justmanifestanythingyouwant,andwonderingifwe’llstillbeabletogetthere.KnowingI’llbecrushed
ifitturnsoutwecan’t.

Buthejustshakeshisheadandsays,“Believe.”
SoIdo.
And a moment later, we’re stepping through the light, stepping right into that vast fragrant field,

feelinghappy,satisfied,pleasedtoknowit’sstillwithintherealmofpossibilities.

Damenlooksatme,asrelievedasIamwhenhesays,“Andnowforparttwo…”
Iwait,holdmybreath,havingnoideawhatthatmightbe.
“RememberwhenMilesusedtotalkaboutusallbackpackingaroundEuropeafterhighschool?”
Inod,growingevenmoreperplexed.
“Well,Ithoughtitsoundedlikeagreatidea.Andsinceweneverwentonthatvacationbecauseof

thejourneytothetreeandall,andsinceyougotalatecollegeadmission,Ifiguredwe’dtakehimupon

it.”

“ButMilesisn’tgoingtoEurope,”Isay,knowingforafactthathe’sonhiswaytoabigauditionin

New York City and that Holt’s going with him. And, if memory serves, I prophesized that he’d get that
audition—he’sgoingtobeahugeBroadwaystar,andHolt’sgoingtobebyhissideforaverylongtime.

“Iknow.ButthenIfiguredthatdoesn’tmeanwecan’tgo,right?So,ifit’sokaywithyou,Ithought

we’d start in Italy. I can’t wait to show you around my old haunts—Firenze is a beautiful city, I know
you’llloveit.Andthefood!”Helooksatme,grinningwhenhesays,“Well,Ihearit’svastlyimproved
overthelastsixhundredyears.”

“So…we’regoingtotheSummerlandversionofItaly?”Isay,tryingnottosoundasdisappointedas

Ifeel.

ButDamenjustlaughs.“No.Ihadtworeasonsforcominghere—one,toseeifwecould—andtwo,

becauseIwantedtobeatthetraffic.We’redepartingoutofLAX.Ourplaneleavesat—”Heglancesat
hiswatchthenatme.“Ourplaneleavesinfifteenminutes.”

“Butwehavetogothroughsecurity!Andgettothegate,and—”
Mywordsstoppedbyhisownwhenhesays,“Shhh…justcloseyoureyesandpictureyourselfin

seatthree-Awithmesittingrighttherebesideyou…”

chapterforty-five

We land in our seats. And despite my fears, there’s so much preflight commotion no one seems to

noticehowwejustsuddenlyappear.

AndwhenDamenbusieshimselfwithplacingmybagintheoverheadbin,that’swhenInoticehow

hefailedtobringoneofhisown.

“Whataboutyou?”Iwatchashetakestheseatbesideme.“Iknowit’sgoingtobeanadjustment,but

youcan’tjustmanifestnewstuffwheneveryouneedit,youknow?You’regoingtohavetoactuallygoto
thestoreandbuyit.You’regonnaneedmoneyandcreditcardsandpassportsand—ohmygawd,didyou
remembertobringmoneyandcreditcardsandpassports?Andwhyareweevenflying?Whydidn’twe
justmakeitsowelandedinItaly?”

Damengrins,stopstheflowofwordswithhislips.Instantlydissolvingmyworries,remindingmeof

whatmattersmost.

He pulls away, brushes his hand across my cheek, tucking some stray strands back behind my ear

whenhesays,“Noworries.I’vegotitcovered.Everything’shandled.We’regood.Oh,andasfarasthe
planegoes,youwantedtobenormal…”

“Firstclassisnormal?”Iglancearoundthespacious,well-appointedcabin,thenbackathim.
“Itiswithme.”Helaughs.
I nod, enjoying the warmth of his hand in mine, gazing out the window as the plane makes for the

runway.Unabletostopmarvelingathowfarwe’vecome—howfarwe’veyetstilltogo.RealizingIfeel
happierthanIhaveinaverylongtime—perhapsmaybe,ever.

Justabouttodirectmyattentiontothesafetyvideo(nowthatI’mnolongerimmortalI’mforcedto

worryaboutmundanethingslikethat),whenIseeher.

Standingonthewing,jumpingupanddownandwavingatme.
Riley.
Myadorablysassy,ghostlylittlesister—andfromwhatIcansee,Buttercupisrighttherebesideher.
Igaspinamazement,pressmyhandtothewindow.Wonderingifthevisionisreal,ifI’mtrulyable

toseehernow,orifit’sjustwishfulthinking.ThenButtercupbarksandwagshistail,asRileylooksall
around,asthoughshe’sexpectingtoseesomebody,asthoughshewasfollowed.

IturntoDamenandyankonhissleeve,wantinghimtoseewhatIsee.Butbythetimeweturn,she’s

gone.AndtryasImight,Ican’tbringherback.

ButIsawher.
Iknowforafactitwasher.
I also know that I’ll see her again. If not lolling on airplane wings, then on the other side of that

bridge.

Ijusthopethatonedoesn’tcomeanytimesoon.

Theplanepitchesdowntherunway,gaininginspeed,soIleanintoDamen.Myheadjustmeetinghis

shoulderwhenabeautifulredtulipdriftsdownoutofnowhereandlandsonmylap.

ThesametulipDamentriedtomanifestearlier.
Welookateachother,oureyeswidewithwonder,havingalltheproofthatweneedthatitreallyis

true.

EverythingthatcanbedoneinSummerland,canbedoneontheearthplanetoo—itjusttakesalittle

longer,that’sall.

Iplacemyhandonthestem,asDamenplaceshishandovermine.Thetwoofusleaningintoeach

other,feelinghappy,content,eagertoembracewhatevercomesnext,astheplaneliftsintothesky.

Document Outline

chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four
chapter five
chapter six
chapter seven
chapter eight
chapter nine
chapter ten
chapter eleven
chapter twelve
chapter thirteen
chapter fourteen
chapter fifteen
chapter sixteen
chapter seventeen
chapter eighteen
chapter nineteen
chapter twenty
chapter twenty-one
chapter twenty-two
chapter twenty-three
chapter twenty-four
chapter twenty-five
chapter twenty-six
chapter twenty-seven
chapter twenty-eight
chapter twenty-nine
chapter thirty
chapter thirty-one
chapter thirty-two
chapter thirty-three
chapter thirty-four
chapter thirty-five
chapter thirty-six
chapter thirty-seven
chapter thirty-eight
chapter thirty-nine
chapter forty
chapter forty-one
chapter forty-two
chapter forty-three
chapter forty-four
chapter forty-five

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