Chapter41
Chapter42
Chapter43
Chapter44
Chapter45
Chapter46
Chapter47
Chapter48
Chapter49

ChapterOne

“Everythingisenergy.”
Damen’sdarkeyesfocusonmine,urgingmetolisten,reallylistenthistime.“Everythingaroundus

—”His arm sweepsbefore him, tracinga fading horizon that’llsoon fade toblack. “Everything in this
seemingly solid universe of ours isn’t solid at all—it’s energy—pure vibrating energy. And while our
perceptionmayconvinceusthatthingsareeithersolidorliquidorgaseous—onthequantumlevelit’sall
justparticleswithinparticles—it’salljustenergy.”

Ipressmylipstogetherandnod,hisvoiceoverpoweredbytheoneinmyheadurging:Tellhim!Tell

himnow!Quitstalling,andjustgetitoverwith!Hurry,beforehestartstalkingagain!

ButIdon’t.Idon’tsayaword.IjustwaitforhimtocontinuesoIcandelayevenfurther.
“Raise your hand.” He nods, palm out, moving toward mine. Lifting my arm slowly, cautiously,

determinedtoavoidanyandallphysicalcontactwhenhesays,“Nowtellme,whatdoyousee?”

Isquint,unsurewhathe’safter,thenshruggingIsay,“Well,Iseepaleskin,longfingers,afreckleor

two,nailsinseriousneedofamanicure...”

“Exactly.”Hesmiles,asthoughIjustpassedtheworld’seasiesttest.“Butifyoucouldseeitasit

really is, you wouldn’t see that at all. Instead you’d see a swarm of molecules containing protons,
neutrons, electrons, and quarks. And within those tiny quarks, down to the most minuscule point, you’d
seenothingbutpurevibratingenergymovingataspeedslowenoughthatitappearssolidanddense,and
yetquicklyenoughthatitcan’tbeobservedforwhatittrulyis.”

I narrow my eyes, not sure I believe it. Never mind the fact that he’s been studying this stuff for

hundredsofyears.

“Seriously, Ever. Nothing is separate.” He leans toward me, fully warmed up to his subject now.

“Everythingisone.Itemsthatappeardense,likeyouandI,andthissandthatwe’resittingon,arereally
justamassofenergyvibratingslowlyenoughtoseemsolid,whilethingslikeghostsandspiritsvibrateso
quicklythey’renearlyimpossibleformosthumanstosee.”

“IseeRiley,”Isay,eagertoremindhimofallthetimeIusedtospendwithmyghostlysister.“Orat

leastIusedto,youknow,beforeshecrossedthebridgeandmovedon.”

“And that’s exactly why you can’t see her anymore.” He nods. “Her vibration is moving too fast.

Thoughtherearethosewhocanseepastallofthat.”

Igazeattheoceanbeforeus,theswellsrollingin,oneafteranother.Endless,unceasing,immortal—

likeus.

“Nowraiseyourhandagainandbringitsoclosetominewejustnearlytouch.”

I hesitate, filling my palm with sand, unwilling to do it. Unlike him, I know the price, the dire

consequences the slightest skin-on-skin contact can bring. Which is why I’ve been avoiding his touch
sincelastFriday.ButwhenIpeerathimagain,hispalmout,waitingformine,Itakeadeepbreathandlift
myhandtoo—gaspingwhenhedrawssoclosethespacethatdividesisrazorthin.

“Feel that?” He smiles. “That tingle and heat? That’s our energy connecting.” He moves his hand

backandforth,manipulatingthepushandpulloftheenergyforcefieldbetweenus.

“Butifwe’reallconnectedlikeyousay,thenwhydoesn’titallfeelthesame?”Iwhisper,drawnby

the undeniable magnetic stream that links us, causing the most wonderful warmth to course through my
body.

“Weareallconnected,allofusmadeofthesamevibratingsource.Butwhilesomeenergyleaves

youcoldandsomeleavesyoulukewarm,theonethatyou’redestinedfor?Itfeelsjustlikethis.”

Iclosemyeyesandturn,allowingthetearstostreamdownmycheeks,nolongerabletokeepthem

incheck.KnowingI’mbarredfromthefeelofhisskin,thetouchofhislips,thesolidwarmcomfortofhis
body on mine. This electric energy field that trembles between us is the closest I’ll get, thanks to the
horribledecisionImade.

“Science is just now catching up with what metaphysicians and the great spiritual teachers have

knownforcenturies.Everythingisenergy.Everythingisone.”

Icanhearthesmileinhisvoiceashedrawscloser,eagertoentwinehisfingerswithmine.ButI

move away quickly, catching his eye just long enough to see the look of hurt that crosses his face—the
samelookhe’sbeengivingmesinceImadehimdrinktheantidotethatreturnedhimtolife.Wondering
why I’m acting so quiet, so distant, so remote—refusing to touch him when just a few weeks before I
couldn’tgetenough.Incorrectlyassumingit’sbecauseofhishurtfulbehavior—hisflirtingwithStacia,his
cruelty toward me—when the truth is, it has nothing to do with that. He was under Roman’s spell, the
entireschoolwas.Itwasn’thisfault.

Whathedoesn’tknowisthatwhiletheantidotereturnedhimtolife,themomentIaddedmybloodto

themixitalsoensuredwecouldneverbetogether.

Never.
Ever.
Forallofeternity.
“Ever?” he whispers, voice deep and sincere. But I can’t look at him. Can’t touch him. And I

certainlycan’tutterthewordshedeservestohear:

Imessedup—I’msosorry—Romantrickedme,andIwasdesperateanddumbenoughtofallfor

hisploy—Andnowthere’snohopeforusbecauseifyoukissme,ifweexchangeourDNA—you’lldie—

Ican’tdoit.I’mtheworstkindofcoward.I’mpatheticandweak.Andthere’sjustnowayIcanfind

itwithinme.

“Ever,please,whatisit?”heasks,alarmedbymytears.“You’vebeenlikethisfordays.Isitme?Is

itsomethingI’vedone?BecauseyouknowIdon’tremembermuchofwhathappened,andthememories
that are starting to surface, well, you must know by now that wasn’t the real me. I would never
intentionallyhurtyou.I’dneverharmyouinanyway.”

I hug myself tightly, scrunching my shoulders and bowing my head. Wishing I could make myself

smaller,sosmallhecouldnolongerseeme.Knowinghiswordsaretrue,thathe’sincapableofhurting
me, only I could do something so hurtful, so rash, so ridiculously impulsive. Only I could be stupid
enoughtofallforRoman’sbait.SoeagertoprovemyselfasDamen’sonetruelove—wantingtobethe
onlyonewhocouldsavehim—andnowlookatthemessthatI’vemade.

Hemovestowardme,slidinghisarmaroundme,graspingmywaistandpullingmenear.ButIcan’t

riskthecloseness,mytearsarelethalnow,andmustbekeptfarfromhisskin.

I scramble to my feet and run toward the ocean, curling my toes at its edge and allowing the cold

whitefrothtosplashontomyshins.WishingIcoulddiveunderitsvastnessandbecarriedbythetide.
Anythingtoavoidsayingthewords—anythingtoavoidtellingmyonetruelove,myeternalpartner,my
soulmateforthelastfourhundredyears,thatwhilehemayhavegivenmeeternity—I’vebroughtusour
end.

Iremainlikethat,silentandstill.WaitingforthesuntosinkuntilIfinallyturntofacehim.Takingin

hisdarkshadowyoutline,nearlyindistinguishablefromthenight,andspeakingpastthestinginmythroat
whenImumble,“Damen...baby...there’ssomethingIneedtotellyou.”

ChapterTwo

Ikneelbesidehim,handsonmyknees,toesburiedinsand,wishinghe’dlookatme,wishinghe’d

speak.Evenifit’sonlytotellmewhatIalreadyknow—thatImadeagraveandstupidmistake—onethat
willpossiblyneverbeerased.I’dgladlyacceptit—heck,Ideserveit.WhatIcan’tstandishisabsolute
silenceandfarawaygaze.

AndI’mjustabouttosaysomething,anything,tobreakthisunbearablestillness,whenhelooksat

me with eyes so weary they’re the perfect embodiment of his six hundred years. “Roman.” He sighs,
shakinghishead.“Ididn’trecognizehim,Ihadnoidea—”Hisvoicetrailsoffalongwithhisgaze.

“There’snowayyoucould’veknown,”Isay,eagertoeraseanyguilthemightfeel.“Youwereunder

his spell from the very first day. Believe me, he had it all planned, made sure any memories were
completelyerased.”

His eyes search my face studying me closely before he stands and turns away. Gazing out at the

ocean,handsballedintofistsashesays,“Didhehurtyou?Didhegoafteryouorharmyouinanyway?”

Ishakemyhead.“Hedidn’thaveto.Itwasenoughtohurtmethroughyou.”
Heturns,eyesgrowingdarkerashisfeaturesharden,inhalingdeeplyashesays,“Thisismyfault.”
Igape,wonderinghowhecouldpossiblybelievethatafterthecaseIjustmade.Risingtomyfeet

and standing beside him as I cry, “Don’t be ridiculous! Of course it’s not your fault! Did you listen to
anythingIsaid?”Ishakemyhead.“Romanpoisonedyourelixirandhypnotizedyou.Youhadnothingto
dowithit,youwerejustdoinghisbidding—itwasbeyondyourcontrol!”

ButI’vebarelyfinishedwhenhe’salreadydismissingitwithawaveofhishand.“Ever,don’tyou

see?Thisisn’taboutRoman,oryou,thisiskarma.Thisisretributionforsixcenturiesofselfishliving.”
Heshakeshisheadandlaughs,thoughit’snotthekindthatasksyoutojoinin.It’stheotherkind—thekind
thatchillsyoutothebone.“Afterallthoseyearsoflovingyouandlosingyou,againandagain,Iwassure
thatwasmypunishmentforthewayI’dbeenliving,havingnoideayou’ddiedatDrina’shand.ButnowI
seethetruthI’vemissedallalong.JustwhenIwassureI’devadedkarmabymakingyouimmortaland
keeping you forever by my side, karma gets the last laugh, allowing us an eternity together, but only to
look,nevertotoucheachotheragain.”

I reach for him, wanting to hold him, comfort him, convince him that it’s not at all true. But I pull

awayjustasquickly.Rememberinghowourinabilitytotouchistheverythingthatgotusbothhere.

“That’snottrue,”Isay,gazefixedonhis.“WhywouldyoubepunishedwhenI’mtheonewhomade

themistake?Don’tyousee?”Ishakemyhead,frustratedbyhissingularwayofthinking.“Romanplanned
itallalong.HelovedDrina—Ibetyoudidn’tknowthat,huh?Hewasoneoftheorphansyousavedfrom

the plague back in Renaissance Florence, and he loved her for all of those centuries, would’ve done
anythingforher.ButDrinadidn’tcareabouthim,sheonlylovedyou—andyouonlylovedme—andthen,
well,afterIkilledher,Romandecidedtogoafterme—onlyhediditthroughyou.Wantingmetofeelthe
painofneverbeingabletotouchyouagain—justlikehefeelswithDrina!Anditallhappenedsofast,I
just—” I stop, knowing it’s useless, a total waste of words. He stopped listening just after I started,
convincedhe’satfault.

ButIrefusetoevenvisitthatplace,andIwon’tlethimeither.
“Damen, please! You can’t just give up. This isn’t karma—it’s me! I made a mistake, a horrible,

dreadfulmistake.Butthatdoesn’tmeanwecan’tfixit!Theremustbeaway.”Clingingtothefalsestof
hopes,forcinganenthusiasmIdon’treallyfeel.

Damenstandsbeforeme,adarksilhouetteinthenight,thewarmthofhissadtiredgazeservingas

ouronlyembrace.“Inevershould’vestarted,”hesays.“Nevershould’vemadetheelixir—should’velet
things take their own natural course. Seriously, Ever, just look at the result—it’s brought nothing but
pain!”Heshakeshishead,hisgazesosad,socontrite,myheartcaves.“There’sstilltimeforyouthough.
You’ve got your whole life ahead of you—an eternity where you can be anything you want to be, do
anythingyouwanttodo.Butme—”Heshrugs.“I’mtainted.Ithinkwecanallseetheresultofmysix
hundredyears.”

“No!”Myvoicequiversasmylipstremblesobadlyitspreadstomycheeks.“Youdon’tgettowalk

away,youdon’tgettoleavemeagain!Ispentthelastmonthgoingthroughhelltosaveyou,andnowthat
you’re well I’m not about to give up. We’re meant for each other, you said it yourself! We’re just
experiencingatemporarysetback,that’sall.Butifwecanjustputourheadstogether,Iknowwe’llthink
ofawayto...”

I stop, voice fading, seeing he’s already moved on, retreating to his bleak sorry world where he’s

solely to blame. And I know it’s time to tell the rest of the story, the sorry, regretful parts I’d prefer to
leaveout.Maybethenhe’llseeitdifferently,maybethen—

“There’smore,”Isay,rushingaheadthoughI’venoideahowtophrasewhatcomesnext.“Sobefore

you assume karma’s out to get you or whatever, you need to know something else, something I’m not
exactlyproudof,butstill—”

Then I take a deep breath and tell him about my trips to Summerland—that magical dimension

betweenthedimensionswhereIlearnedhowtogobackintime—andthatgiventhechoicebetweenmy
familyandhim—Ichosethem.ConvincedIcouldsomehowrestorethefutureIwassurehadbeenstolen,
andyetallitreallyamountedtowasalessonIalreadyknew:

Sometimesdestinyliesjustoutsideofourreach.
Iswallowhardandstareatthesand,reluctanttoseeDamen’sreactionwhenhelooksintotheeyes

oftheonewhobetrayedhim.

ButinsteadofgettingmadorupsetlikeIthought,hesurroundsmewiththemostbeautifulglowing

whitelight—alightsocomforting,soforgiving,sopure—it’sliketheportaltoSummerland—onlybetter.
SoIclosemyeyesandsurroundhimwithlighttoo,andwhenIopenthemagain,we’rewrappedinthe
mostbeautifulwarmhazyglow.

“You had no choice,” he says, voice gentle, gaze soothing, doing everything he can to ease all my

shame.“Ofcourseyouchoseyourfamily.Itwastherightthingtodo.Iwould’vedonethesame—given
thechoice—”

Inod,shininghislightevenbrighterandtackingonatelepathicembrace.Knowingit’snotnearlyas

comfortingastherealthingbutfornowit’lldo.“Iknowaboutyourfamily,Iknoweverything,Isawitall
—”HelooksatmewitheyessodarkandintenseIforcemyselftocontinue.“You’realwayssosecretive

about your past, where you came from, how you lived—and so one day, while I was in Summerland, I
askedaboutyou—and—well—yourentirelifestorywasrevealed.”

Ipressmylipstogetherandpeerathimstandingbeforemesosilentandstill.Sighingashegazes

into my eyes and telepathically traces his fingers along the curve of my cheek—creating an image so
deliberate,sopalpable,italmostseemsreal.

“I’m sorry,” he says, thumb mentally smoothing my chin. “I’m sorry I was so shut down and

unwilling to share that I reduced you to that. But even though it happened a long time ago, it’s still
somethingIprefernottodiscuss.”

I nod, having no intention of pushing it. His witnessing his parents’ murder followed by years of

abuseatthehandsofthechurchisnotasubjectIintendtopursue.

“Butthere’smore,”Isay,hopingIcanmayberestorealittlehopebysharingsomethingelsethatI

learned.“WhenIwaswatchingyourlifeunfold,attheend,Romanhadkilledyou.Buteventhoughthat
seemedfatedtohappen,Istillmanagedtosaveyou.”Igazeathim,sensinghe’sfarfromconvincedand
rushing ahead before I lose him completely. “I mean, yeah, maybe our fate is sometimes fixed and
unchangeable,butthereareothertimeswhenit’sshapedpurelybytheactionswetake.SowhenIcouldn’t
savemyfamilybygoingbackintime,it’sonlybecausethatwasadestinythatcouldn’tbechanged.Oras
Rileysaidsecondsbeforethesecondaccidentthattookthemagain,‘Youcan’tchangethepast,itjustis.’
ButwhenIfoundmyselfrightbackhereinLaguna,andIwasabletosaveyou,well,Ithinkitprovesthat
thefutureisn’talwaysconcrete,noteverythingisruledsolelybyfate.”

“Maybe so.” He sighs, gaze fixed on mine. “But you can’t escape karma, Ever. It is what it is. It

doesn’tjudge,it’sneithergoodnorbadlikemostpeoplethink.It’stheresultofallactions,positiveand
negative—aconstantbalancingofevents—causeandeffect—titfortat—reapingandsowing—whatgoes
aroundcomesaround.”Heshrugs.“Howeveryouphraseit,it’sthesameintheend.Andasmuchasyou’d
like to think otherwise, that’s exactly what’s happening here. All actions cause a reaction. And this is
wheremyactionshavebroughtme.”Heshakeshishead.“AllthistimeItoldmyselfIturnedyououtof
love—butnowIseeitwasreallyoutofselfishness—becauseIcouldn’tbewithoutyou.That’swhythis
ishappeningnow.”

“So,that’sit?”Ishakemyhead,hardlybelievinghe’sdeterminedtogiveupsoeasily.“That’showit

ends?You’rejustsodangsureyou’vebeenchaseddownbykarmayoudon’teventrytofightback?You
came all this way just so we could be together and now that we’re facing an obstacle, you’re not even
goingtotrytoscalethebrickwallinourpath?”

“Ever.”Hisgazeiswarm,loving,all-encompassing,butitdoesnothingtocancelthedefeatinhis

voice.“I’msorry,buttherearesomethingsIjustknow.”

“Yeah,well...”Ishakemyheadandgazedownattheground,buryingmytoesdeepinthesand.“Just

becauseyou’vegotafewcenturiesonmedoesn’tmeanyougetthelastword.Becauseifwe’retruly in
thistogether,ifourlives,likeourfate,istrulyentwined,thenyou’llrealizethisisn’tjusthappeningto
you, I’m part of it too. And you don’t get to walk away from it—you don’t get to walk away from me!
We’vegottoworktogether!Therehastobeaway—”Istop,bodyshaking,throatclosedsotightIcanno
longerspeak.AllIcandoisstandtherebeforehim,silentlyurginghimtojoinmeinafightI’mnotsure
wecanwin.

“I’ve no plans to leave you,” he says, gaze filled with the longing of four hundred years. “I can’t

leaveyou,Ever.Believeme,I’vetried.Butintheend,Ialwaysfindmywaybacktoyourside.You’reall
I’veeverwanted—allI’veeverloved—butEver—”

“Nobuts.”Ishakemyhead,wishingIcouldholdhim,touchhim,pressmybodytightlyagainsthis.

“There’sgottobeaway,somekindofcure.Andtogetherwe’llfindit.Ijustknowthatwewill.We’ve

cometoofartoletRomankeepusapart.ButIcan’tdoitalone.Notwithoutyourhelp.Sopleasepromise
me—promiseyou’lltry.”

Helooksatme,hisgazeluringmein.Closinghiseyesashefillsthebeachwithsomanytulipsthe

entirecoveisburstingwithwaxyredpetalsatopgreencurvingstems—theultimatesymbolofourundying
lovecoveringeverysquareinchofsand.

Then he slips his arm through mine and leads me back to his car. Our skin separated only by his

suppleblackleatherjacketandmyorganiccottontee.Enoughtosparetheconsequencesofanyaccidental
DNAexchange,butunabletotemperthetingleandheatthatpulsatesbetweenus.

ChapterThree

“Guesswhat?”
Milesgazesatmeasheclimbsintomycar,bigbrowneyeswiderthanusual,cutebabyfacecurving

into a grin. “No, you know what? Don’t guess. I’ll just tell you, ’cause you’re never gonna believe it!
You’renevergonnaguess!”

Ismile,hearinghisthoughtsafewmomentsbeforehecanspeakthem,refrainingfromsaying:You’re

going to acting camp in Italy! Just moments before he says, “I’m going to acting camp in Italy! No,
correction,makethatFlorence,Italy!HomeofLeonardodaVinci,Michelangelo,Raphael—”

AndyourgoodfriendDamenAuguste,whoactuallyknewallofthoseartists!
“I’ve known about the possibility for a few weeks but it just became official last night and I still

can’t believe it! Eight weeks in Florence, doing nothing but acting, eating, and stalking smoldering hot
Italianmen...”

IglanceathimasIbackoutofhisdrive.“AndHolt’sgoodwithallthat?”
Mileslooksatme.“Hey,youknowthedrill.WhathappensinItalystaysinItaly.”
Except when it doesn’t. My thoughts drifting to Drina and Roman, wondering how many more

immortalroguesarestilloutthere,justwaitingtoshowupinLagunaBeachandterrorizeme.

“Anyway,I’mleavingsoon,justafterschoolgetsout.AndIhavesomuchtopreparebetweennow

andthen!Oh,andIalmostforgotthebestpart—well—oneofthebestparts.Asitjustsohappensitall
worksoutperfectlysincemyHairsprayrunendstheweekbeforeIleave,soI’llstillgetmyfinalbowas
TracyTurnblad—Imean,seriously,howperfectisthat?”

“Seriously perfect.” I smile. “Really. Congrats. That’s so cool. And well deserved I might add. I

onlywishIcouldgowithyou.”

AndthemomentIsayit,Irealizeit’strue.Itwouldbesonicetoescapeallmyproblems,boarda

planeandflyawayfromallthis.Besides,ImisshangingwithMiles.Thelastfewweekswhenheand
Haven(alongwiththerestoftheschool)wereunderRoman’sspellweresomeoftheloneliestdaysofmy
life.NothavingDamenbesidemewasmorethanIcouldbear,butnothavingthesupportofmytwobest
friendsnearlysentmeovertheedge.ButMilesandHavendon’trememberanyofthat,noneofthemdo.
OnlyDamencanaccesssmallbitsandpieces,andwhatherecallsleaveshimfeelingterriblyguilty.

“I wish you could come too,” he says, messing with my car stereo, trying to find just the right

soundtracktomatchhisgoodmood.“MaybeaftergraduationwecanallgotoEurope!WecangetEurail
passes,stayinyouthhostels,backpackaround—howcoolwouldthatbe?Justthesixofus,youknow,you
andDamen,HavenandJosh,andmeandwhoever...”

“Youandwhoever?”Iglanceathim.“What’sthatabout?”
“I’marealist.”Heshrugs.
“Please.”Irollmyeyes.“Sincewhen?”
“SincelastnightwhenIfoundoutI’mgoingtoItaly.”Helaughs,runningahandthroughhiscropped

brown hair. “Listen, Holt’s great and all, don’t get me wrong. But I’m not fooling myself. I’m not
pretendingit’sanythingmorethanitis.It’slikewe’vegotanexpirationdate,youknow?Afullthreeacts
with a definite beginning, middle, and end. It’s not like with you and Damen. You guys are different.
You’relifers.”

“Lifers?”Ipeerathim,shakingmyheadasIstopatatrafficlight.“Soundsmorelikeaprisonterm

thanahappilyeverafter.”

“You know what I mean.” He inspects his manicure, turning his hot-pink Tracy Turnblad nails this

wayandthat.“It’sjustthatyouguysaresointunewitheachother,soconnected.AndImeanthatliterally
bythewaysinceyou’reprettymuchalwaysgoingatit.”

Not anymore. I swallow hard, punching the gas the second the light turns green, crossing the

intersection with a loud screech of wheels and leaving a thick trail of rubber behind. Refusing to slow
until I pull into the parking lot and scan for Damen who always parks in the second best space next to
mine.

ButevenafterIsetthebrake,he’snowheretobefound.AndI’mjustabouttoclimbout,wondering

wherehecouldbe,whenheappearsrightbesideme,glovedhandonmydoor.

“Where’syourcar?”Milesasks,glancingathimasheslamshisdoorshutandslingshisbackpack

overhisshoulder.“Andwhat’supwithyourhand?”

“Igotridofit,”Damensays,gazefixedonmine.ThenglancingatMilesandseeinghisexpression

headds,“Thecar,notthehand.”

“Didyoutradeitin?”Iask,butonlybecauseMilesislistening.Damendoesn’tneedtobuy,trade,or

sell,likenormalpeopledo.Hecanjustmanifestanythingatwill.

Heshakeshisheadandwalksmetothegate,smilingashesays,“No,Ijustdroppeditoffontheside

oftheroad,keyintheignition,enginerunning.”

“Excuseme?”Milesyelps.“Youmeantotellmethatyouleftyourshiny,black,BMWM6Coupe

—bythesideoftheroad?”

Damennods.
“Butthat’sahundred-thousand-dollarcar!”Milesgaspsashisfaceturnsbrightred.
“A hundred and ten.” Damen laughs. “Don’t forget, it was fully customized and loaded with

options.”

Miles stares at him, eyes practically bugging out of his head, unable to comprehend how anyone

coulddosuchathing—whyanyonewoulddosuchathing.“Um,okay,soletmegetthisstraight—youjust
wokeupanddecided—Hey,whatthehell?IthinkI’lljustdumpmyridiculouslyexpensiveluxurycar
bythesideoftheroad—WHEREJUSTANYONECANTAKEIT?”

Damenshrugs.“Prettymuch.”
“Because in case you haven’t noticed,” Miles says, practically hyperventilating now. “Some of us

arealittlecardeprived.Someofuswereborntoparentssocruelandunusualthey’reforcedtorelyon
thekindnessoffriendsfortherestoftheirlives!”

“Sorry.”Damenshrugs.“GuessIhadn’tthoughtaboutthat.Thoughifitmakesyoufeelanybetter,it

wasallforaverygoodcause.”

Andwhenhelooksatme,eyesmeetingmineinthatwaythathehas,alongwiththeusualwaveof

warmthIgetthishorriblefeelingthatditchingthecarisjustthestartofhisplans.

“How’dyougettoschool?”Iask,justaswereachthefrontgatewhereHaveniswaiting.
“Herodethebus.”Havenglancesbetweenus,herrecentlydyed,royalbluebangsfallingintoher

face.“Ikidyounot.Iwouldn’thavebelievediteither,butIsawitwithmyowneyes.Watchedhimclimb
rightoffthatbigyellowbuswithalltheotherfreshmen,dorks,retards,andrejectswho,unlikeDamen,
havenootherchoicebuttoride.”Sheshakesherhead.“AndIwassoshockedbythesightofit,Iblinked
abunchoftimesjusttomakesureitwasreallyhim.Andthen,whenIstillwasn’tconvinced,Isnappeda
piconmycellandsentittoJoshwhoconfirmedit.”Sheholdsitupforustosee.

IglanceatDamen,wonderingwhathecouldpossiblybeupto,andthat’swhenInoticehe’sditched

hisusualcashmeresweaterinplaceofaplaincottontee,andhowhisdesignerjeanshavebeenreplaced
with no-name plain pockets. Even the black motorcycle boots he’s practically famous for have been
swappedforbrownrubberflip-flops.Andeventhoughhedoesn’tneedanyofthatdashandflashtolook
asdevastatinglyhandsomeasthefirstdaywemet—thisnewlow-keylookjustisn’thim.

OratleastnotthehimthatI’musedto.
I mean, while Damen is undeniably smart, kind, loving, and generous—he’s also more than a tad

flamboyantandvain.Alwaysobsessedwithhisclothes,hiscar,hisimageingeneral.Anddon’teventry
and pin him down on his exact date of birth, because for someone who chose to be immortal he has a
definitecomplexabouthisage.

ButeventhoughInormallycouldn’tcarelessabouttheclotheshewearsorhisridetoschool,whenI

lookathimagain,Igetthishorriblepinginmygut—aninsistentpush,demandingmynotice.Adefinite
warning that this is merely the beginning. That this sudden transformation goes way deeper than some
cost-cutting, altruistic, environmentally conscious agenda. No, this has something to do with last night.
Somethingaboutbeinghauntedbyhiskarma.Likehe’sconvincedhimselfthatgivinguphismostprized
possessionswillsomehowbalanceitallout.

“Shallwe?”Hesmiles,graspingmyhandthesecondthebellrings,leadingmeawayfromMilesand

Haven who’ll spend the next three periods texting back and forth, trying to determine what’s up with
Damen.

I look at him, his gloved hand in mine as we head down the hall, whispering, “What’s going on?

Whatreallyhappenedtoyourcar?”

“Ialreadytoldyou.”Heshrugs.“Idon’tneedit.It’sanunnecessaryindulgenceInolongercareto

—indulge.”Helaughs,lookingatme.ButwhenIfailtojoininheshakeshisheadandsays,“Don’tlook
soserious.It’snotabigdeal.WhenIrealizedit’snotsomethingIneed,Idroveitouttoadepressedarea
andleftitbythesideoftheroadwheresomeonecanfindit.”

Ipressmylipstogetherandstarestraightahead,wishingIcouldclimbinsidehismindandsee the

thoughtshekeepstohimself,gettothebottomofwhatthisisreally about. Because despite the way he
looksatme,despitethedismissiveshrugthathegives,nothinghe’ssaidmakestheleastbitofsense.

“Well,that’sfineandall,Imean,ifthat’swhatyouneedtodo,thengreat,havefun.”Ishrug,fully

convincedthatit’snotatallgreat,thoughknowingbetterthantosayitoutloud.“Butjusthowareyou
planning to get around now that you’ve ditched your ride? I mean, in case you haven’t noticed, this is
California,youcan’tgetanywherewithoutacar.”

He looks at me, clearly amused by my outburst, which is not exactly the reaction I’d planned.

“What’swrongwiththebus?It’sfree.”

Igape,shakingmyhead,hardlybelievingmyears.Andsincewhendoyouworryaboutcost,Mr.I

MakeMillionsPlayingThePoniesAndJustManifestWhateverElseIMightWant?Realizingjustafter
it’soutthatIforgottoshieldmythoughts.

“Isthathowyouseeme?”Hestopsjustshyoftheclassroomdoor,obviouslyhurtbymycareless

assessment.“Assomeshallow,materialistic,narcissistic,consumer-drivenslob?”

“No!”Icry,shakingmyheadandsqueezinghishand.HopingtoconvincehimeventhoughIactually

didkindofmeanit.Onlynotinabadwaylikehethinks.Moreinamyboyfriendappreciatesthefiner
thingsinlifekindofway,andlessinamyboyfriend’sthemaleversionofStaciakindofway.“Ijust—”
Isquint,wishingIcouldbeevenhalfaseloquentashim,butstillforgingaheadwhenIsay,“IguessIjust
don’tgetit.”Ishrug.“Andwhat’supwiththeglove?”Iraisehisleather-cladhandtowherewecansee.

“Isn’titobvious?”Heshakeshisheadandpullsmetowardthedoor.
ButIjuststayput,refusingtobudge.Nothing’sobvious.Nothingmakessenseanymore.
Hepauses,handontheknob,morethanalittlehurtwhenhesays,“Ithoughtitwasagoodsolution

fornow.Butperhapsyou’dpreferInottouchyouatall?”

No! That’s not what I meant! Switching to telepathy the moment some classmates approach,

reminding him how hard it’s been avoiding any and all skin-on-skin contact for the last three days.
PretendingIhadacoldwhenwebothknowwedon’tgetsick,andotherridiculousavoidancetechniques
thatleftmefeelingdeeplyashamed.It’sbeentorture,pureandsimple.Tohaveaboyfriendsogorgeous,
sosexy,soamazinglyawesome—andtonotbeabletotouchhim—istheworstkindofagony.

“I mean, I know we can’t risk any accidental palm sweat exchange or anything like that, but still,

don’tyouthinkitlookskindof—odd?”Iwhisper,thesecondwe’realoneagain.

“Idon’tcareaboutthat.”Hisgazeopen,sincere,andfixedrightonmine.“Idon’tcarewhatother

peoplethink.Ionlycareaboutyou.”

Hesqueezesmyfingersandopensthedoorwithhismind,leadingmerightpastStaciaMilleraswe

headforourdesks.AndeventhoughIhaven’tseenhersinceFridaywhenshewokefromRoman’sspell,
I’m sure her hatred for me hasn’t dampened a bit. But while I’m fully braced for her usual ploy of
droppingherbaginmypathinanattempttotripme—todayshe’stoodistractedbyDamen’snewlookto
playthattiredoldgame.Herunhurriedgazetravelingthelengthofhim,fromhisheadtohistoes,before
startingalloveragain.

Butjustbecausesheignoresmedoesn’tmeanIcanrelaxortrustthatit’sover.Becausethetruthis,

it’sneveroverwithStacia.She’smadethatabundantlyclear.Ifanythingshe’sprobablymorechargedup
andviciousthanever—makingthislittlereprievenothingmorethanthecalmbeforethestorm.

“Ignoreher,”Damenwhispers,scootinghisdesksoclosetheedgespracticallyoverlap.
And even though I nod as though I am, the truth is—I can’t. As much as I’d love to pretend she’s

invisible—Ican’tdoit.She’sinfrontofmenowandI’mcompletelyobsessed.Peeringintoherthoughts,
wanting to see what, if anything, happened between them. Because even though I know Roman’s
responsibleforalloftheflirting,andkissing,andcuddling,Ihadnochoicebuttowatch.EventhoughI
know for a fact that Damen was completely deprived of free will—that doesn’t change the fact that it
happened—thatDamen’slipspressedagainstherswhilehishandsroamedherskin.AndeventhoughI’m
pretty sure it didn’t go any further than that, I’d still feel a heck of a lot better if I could just get some
evidencetobackupmytheory.

And despite how crazy, hurtful, and completely masochistic it is—I won’t stop until her memory

gives,andeverylasthorrible,painful,excruciatingdetailisfinallyrevealed.

I’mjustabouttodelvedeeper,traveltotheverycoreofherbrain,whenDamensqueezesmyhand

andsays,“Ever,please.Stoptorturingyourself.I’vealreadytoldyou,there’snothingtosee.”Iswallow
hard,gazefixedonthebackofherhead,watchinghergossipwithHonorandCraig,barelylisteningashe
adds,“Itdidn’thappen.It’snotwhatyouthink.”

“Ithoughtyoucouldn’tremember?”Iturn,overcomewithshametheinstantIseethepaininhiseyes

ashelooksatmeandshakeshishead.

“Justtrustme.”Hesighs.“Oratleasttryto.Please?”
Iinhaledeeply,gazingathim,wishingIcould,knowingIshould.
“Seriously,Ever.Firstyoucouldn’tgetoverthepastsixhundredyearsofmydating,andnowyou’re

obsessedwithlastweek?”Heknitshisbrowandleanscloser,voiceurgent,coaxing,asheadds,“Iknow
that your feelings are unbelievably hurt. Really, I do. But what’s done is done. I can’t go back, I can’t
changeit.Roman’sdonethisonpurpose—youcan’tlethimwin.”

Iswallowhard,knowinghe’sright.I’mactingridiculous,irrational,allowingmyselftoveerwayoff

track.

Besides, Damen thinks, switching to telepathy now that our teacher, Mr. Robins, has arrived. You

knowit’smeaningless.TheonlyoneI’veeverlovedisyou.Isn’tthatenough?

Hebringshisglovedthumbtomytemple,gazingintomyeyesasheshowsmeourhistory,mymany

incarnationsasayoungservantgirlinFrance,aPuritan’sdaughterinNewEngland,aflirtatiousBritish
socialite,anartist’smusewithgorgeousredhair—

Igape,eyeswide,neverhavingseenthatparticularlifebefore.
Buthejustsmiles,gazegrowingwarmerasheshowsmethehighlightsofthattime,aquickclipof

the moment we met—at a gallery opening in Amsterdam—our first kiss just outside of the gallery that
very same night. Presenting only the most romantic moments and sparing my death, which always,
inevitably,comesbeforewecanprogress.

Andafterwatchingallofthosebeautifulmomentsunfold,hisunabashedloveformelaidbaretosee,

I gaze into his eyes, answering his question when I think: Of course it’s enough. You’ve always been
enough.

ThenclosingtheminshamewhenIadd:ButamIenoughforyou?
Finally admitting the real truth—my fear that he’ll soon tire of the gloved hand-holding, the

telepathicembrace,andseekouttherealthinginanormalgirlwithsafeDNA.

Henods,glovedfingerscuppingmychinashegathersmeintoamentalembracesowarm,sosafe,

socomforting,allofmyfearsslipaway.Answeringtheapologyinmygazeasheleansforward,lipsat
myearashesays,“Good.Nowthatthat’ssettled,aboutRoman...”

ChapterFour

AsImakemywaytowardhistoryclassI’mwonderingwhichwillbeworse—seeingRomanorMr.

Munoz?BecausewhileIhaven’tseenorspokentoeitherofthemsincelastFridaywhenmywholeworld
fell apart—there’s no doubt I left them both on a pretty strange note. My last contact with Munoz
consistingofmegoingallsentimentalandnotonlyconfidingmypsychicpowers—whichissomethingI
neverdo—butalsoencouraginghimtodatemyauntSabine—whichissomethingI’mseriouslybeginning
toregret.Andasawfulasthatwas,it’sonlyrivaledbymylastmomentswithRomanwhenIaimedmy
fistathisnavelchakra,determinednotjusttokillhimbuttoobliteratehimcompletely.AndIwouldhave
too—exceptforthefactthatItotallychokedandhegotaway.Andeventhoughinretrospectthatprobably
workedoutforthebest,I’mstillsoangrywithhim,who’stosayIwon’ttryagain?

Butthetruthis,I know I won’t try again. And not just because Damen spent the whole of English

classtelepathicallylecturingmeonhowrevengeisnevertheanswer,howkarmaistheoneandonlytrue
justicesystem,andplentymoreblah blah blah like that—but mostly because it’s not right. Despite the
factthatRomantrickedmeintheveryworstway,leavingmeabsolutelynoreasontoevertrusthimagain
—Istilldon’thavetherighttokillhim.Itwon’tsolvemyproblem.Won’tchangeathing.Eventhough
he’sawful,evil,andeverythingthataddsuptobad,Istilldon’thavetherightto—

“Wellthere’smycheekymonkey!”
He slithers up beside me, all blond tousled hair, ocean blue eyes, and shiny white teeth, leisurely

stretchinghisstrong,tannedarmacrosstheclassroomdoor,barringmefromgettinginside.

Andthat’sallittakes.ThegratingpurrofhiscontrivedBritishaccentandthecompletecreepinessof

hisleeringgaze,andjustlikethatI’mtemptedtokillhimagain.

ButIwon’t.
IpromisedDamenIcouldgetmyselfsafelytoandfromclasswithoutresortingtothat.
“Sotellme,Ever,howwasyourweekend?DidyouandDamenenjoyanicereunion?Washeableto

—surviveyou—bychance?”

I clench my fists by my sides, imagining how he’d look as nothing more than a heap of designer

clothesandapileofdust,despitethevowofnonviolenceItook.

“Because if not, if you failed to heed my advice and took that old dinosaur out for a ride, then I

suppose my deepest condolences are in order.” He nods, gaze fixed on mine, lowering his voice as he
adds,“Nottoworrythough,youwon’tbealoneforlong.Oncethepropermourningperiodends,I’llbe
happytostepinandfillupthevoidhisextinctionhasleft.”

Ifocusonmybreath,keepingitslowandsteadyasItakeinthestrong,tan,musculararmblocking

mypath,knowingallitwouldtakeisonewell-placedkaratechoptobreakitinhalf.

“Hell,evenifyoudidmanagetoholdbackandkeephimalive,allyouhavetodoissaytheword,

and I’m right by your side.” He grins, eyes grazing over me in the most intimate way. “But no need to
answertooquicklyorcommityourselfyet.Takeaslongasyoulike.Because,Ever,Iassureyou,unlike
Damen, I’m a man who can wait. Besides, it’s just a matter of time before you come looking for me
anyway.”

“There’s only one thing I want from you.” I narrow my gaze until everything surrounding us blurs.

“Andthat’sforyoutoleavemealone.”Heatrisingtomycheeksashisgazedeepenstoaleer.

“’Fraid not, darlin’.” He laughs, looking me over and shaking his head. “Trust me, you want way

morethanthat.Butnottoworry,it’slikeIsaid,I’llwaitforaslongasittakes.It’sDamenI’mworried
about.Andyoushouldworrytoo.FromwhatIsawthoselastsixhundredyears,he’sanimpatientman.
Bitofahedonistreally.Didn’twaitformuchofanythingsofarasIcouldtell.”

Iswallowhardandstrivetokeepcalm,remindingmyselfnottofallforhisbait.Romanhasaknack

forlocatingmyweakness,mypsychologicalkryptonitesotospeak,andprettymuchlivestoexploitit.

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s always been one to keep up appearances—wearing the black armband,

appearinginconsolableatthewake—buttrustme,Ever,themosshadn’ttimetoadheretohisshoebefore
hewasbackontheprowl.Lookingtodrownhissorrowsinwhateveror—shouldIsaywhomever—he
could. And even though you prefer not to believe it, take it from someone who’s been there all along.
Damenwaitsfornoone.Andhecertainlyneverwaitedforyou.”

I take a deep breath, filling my head with words, music, mathematical equations stretching far

beyondmyabilities,anythingtodrownoutthewordsthatarelikecarefullyhonedarrowsaimedstraight
formyheart.

“Yep.Sawritwitmeowneyes,Idid!”Smilingasheslipsintoathickcockneybrogueandbackout

again.“Drinasawittoo.Brokeherpoorheart.Though,unlikeme—and,I’mafraid,quiteunlikeyou—
Drina’slovewasunconditional.Willingtotakehimbacknomatterwherehe’dbeen,noquestionsasked.
Which,let’sfaceit,issomethingyou’dneverdo.”

“That’snottrue!”Icry,voicehoarse,dry,asthoughit’sthefirsttimeI’veuseditallday.“I’vehad

Damensincethemomentwemet—I—”Istop,knowingIshouldn’thavestarted.It’suselesstoengagein
thisfight.

“Sorry,darlin’,butyou’rewrong.You’veneverhadDamenatall.Achastekisshere,abitofsweaty

hand-holding there—” He shrugs, gaze mocking. “Seriously, Ever, you think some pathetic attempts at
second base can actually satisfy a greedy, narcissistic, self-indulgent bloke like him? For four hundred
yearsnoless?”

Iswallowhard,forcingacalmIdon’townwhenIsay,“That’salotfurtherthanyouevergotwith

Drina.”

“No thanks to you,” he spits, harsh gaze on mine. “But, it’s like I said, I’m a man who can wait.

Damenisnot.”Heshakeshishead.“Shameyou’resodeterminedtoplayhardtoget.YouandIarealot
morealikethanyouthink.Bothofuspiningaftersomeonewe’llnevertrulyhave—”

“Icouldkillyourightnow,”Iwhisper,voiceshaky,handstrembling,eventhoughIpromisedDamen

Iwouldn’tdothis,eventhoughIknowbetter.“Icould—”Isuckinmybreath,notwantinghimtoknow
whatonlyDamenandIknow,thattargettinganimmortal’sweakestchakra,oneofthebody’ssevenenergy
centers,isthequickestwaytoobliteratethem.

“You could what?” He smiles, face looming so close his breath chills my cheek. “Slug me in my

sacralcenter,perhaps?”

Igape,wonderingwherehecould’vepossiblylearnedthat.

Buthejustlaughs,shakinghisheadashesays,“Don’tforget,luv,Damenwasundermyspell,which

meanshetoldmeeverything,answeredeveryquestionIasked—includingagoodbitaboutyou.”

Istandthere,refusingtoreact,determinedtoappearcomposed,unruffled—butit’stoolate.Hegot

me.Rightwhereitcounts.Anddon’tthinkhedoesn’tknowit.

“No worries, luv. I’ve no plans to go after you. Even though your glaring lack of discernment and

tragicmisuseofknowledgetellsmethataquickjabtothethroatchakraisallitwouldtaketodestroyyou
forgood—”Hesmiles,tonguesnakingaroundhislips.“I’mhavingfartoomuchfunwatchingyousquirm
toattemptsomethinglikethat.Besides,itwon’tbelong’tilyou’resquirmingbeneathme.Orevenontop
ofme.Eitherwilldo.”Helaughs,blueeyesonmine,gazingatmeinawaysoknowing,sointimate,so
deep,mystomachcan’thelpbutheave.“I’llleavethedetailstoyou.Butnomatterhowmuchyoumay
want to, you won’t go after me either. Mostly because I do have what you want. The antidote to the
antidote.Iassureyouofthat.You’rejustgonnahavetofindawaytoearnit.You’rejustgonnahaveto
paytherightprice.”

Igape,drymouthedandslackjawed,rememberinglastFridaywhenheclaimedtheverysamething.

SodistractedbyDamenawakeningIforgotallaboutit’tilnow.

Ipressmylipstogetherasmygazemeetshis,myhoperisingforthefirsttimeindays,knowingit’s

justamatteroftimeuntiltheantidoteismine.Ijustneedtofindawaytogetitfromhim.

“Oh,lookatthat.”Hesmirks.“Seemsyouforgotallaboutourdatewithdestiny.”
HeliftshisarmandIstarttoplowthrough,thenhelowersitjustasquickly,laughingashelocksme

inplace.

“Deepbreaths,”hecoos,lipsgrazingtheedgeofmyear,fingersslidingovermyshoulder,leaving

an icy cold wake in their path. “No need to panic. No need to get all spazzed out again. I’m sure that
betweenus,wecancometosomesortofmutualagreement,findawaytoworksomethingout.”

I narrow my gaze, disgusted by the price that he’s set, words slow and deliberate when I say,

“Nothingyoucouldeversayordocouldconvincemetosleepwithyou!”justasMr.Munozopensthe
door,allowingtheentireclasstooverhear.

“Whoa—” Roman smiles, hands raised in mock surrender as he backs into the room. “Who said

anything about bumpin’ uglies, mate?” He throws his head back and laughs, allowing his creepy
Ouroborostattootoflashinandoutofview.“Imean,nottodisappointyou,darlin’,butifit’sagoodshag
I’mafter,avirgin’saboutthelastplaceI’dlook!”

I storm toward my desk, cheeks burning, gaze fixed on the floor, spending the next forty minutes

cringingasmyclassmatesburstintohystericseverytimeRomandirectsadisgustingwetsmoochysound
myway,despiteMunoz’snumerousattemptstoquietthemdown.Andthemomentthebellrings,Imakea
runforthedoor.DesperatetogettoDamenbeforeRomancan,convincedRomanwillpushhimtoofar
andhe’llsnap—anactneitherofuscanaffordnowthatRomanholdsthekey.

ButjustasIturntheknobIhear,“Ever?Gotaminute?”
Ipause,classmatespilingupbehindme,eagertogettothehallwheretheycanfollowRoman’slead

and taunt me some more. His mocking laughter trailing behind as I turn toward Munoz to see what he
wants.

“Ididit.”Hesmiles,posturestiff,voiceanxious,butstilleagerformetoknow.
I shift uncomfortably, moving my bag from one shoulder to the next, wishing I’d taken the time to

learnremoteviewingsoIcouldkeepaneyeonthelunchtablesandensureDamenstickstotheplan.

“Iapproachedher.Justlikeyoutoldmeto.”Henods.
Isquint,returningmyfocustohim,gutchurningasIbegintounderstand.
“ThewomanfromStarbucks?Sabine?Isawherthismorning.Weeventalkedforawhile,and—”

Heshrugs,gazedriftingaway,obviouslystillverytakenbytheevent.

Istandbeforehim,breathless,knowingIhavetostopit,whateverittakes,beforeitgetsoutofhand.
“Andyouwereright.Sheisreallynice.Infact,Iprobablyshouldn’ttellyoubutwe’rehavingdinner

thisFridaynight.”

Inod,numb,shell-shocked,thewordsglancingovermeasIpeerintohisenergyandwatchitunfold

inhishead:

Sabinestandinginline,mindingherownbusinessuntilMunozapproaches—causinghertoturn

andgranthimasmilethat’s—that’s—shamefullyflirtatious!

Exceptthatthere’snoshameatall.AtleastnotonSabine’spart.NorMunozforthatmatter.No,the

shameisallmine.Thosetwocouldn’tbehappier.

Thiscannothappen.Fortoomanyreasonstomentionthisdinnercannevertakeplace.Oneofthem

beingthatSabineisnotjustmyaunt,butmyguardian,mycaretaker,myonlylivingrelativeinthewhole
entire world! And another, possibly even more urgent reason, is the fact that, thanks to my pathetic,
maudlin, overly sentimental, ill-advised moment of weakness last Friday, Munoz knows I’m psychic
whileSabinedoesnot!

I’vegonetogreatlengthstokeepmysecretfromher,andthere’snowayI’mgoingtobeoutedbymy

love-struckhistoryteacher.

ButjustasI’mabouttotellhimthatheabsolutelycannot,underanycircumstanceswhatsoever,take

myaunttodinnerand/ordivulgeanyinformationImight’veaccidentallyconfessedduringaweakmoment
whenIwassureI’dneverseehimagain,heclearshisthroatandsays,“Anyway,youshouldgettolunch
beforeit’stoolate.Ididn’tmeantokeepyouthislong,Ijustthought—”

“Oh,no,it’sokay,”Isay.“Ijust—”
Buthedoesn’tletmefinish.Practicallypushesmeoutthedoorashewavesmeaway,saying,“Go

onnow.Gofindyourfriends.IjustthoughtIshouldthankyou,that’sall.”

ChapterFive

WhenIgettothelunchtableIsitbesideDamen,relievedtofindeverythingasnormalasanyother

day. Damen’s gloved hand squeezing my knee as I quickly scan the campus, looking for Roman as he
thinks:He’sgone.

Gone?Igape,hopinghemeansgoneasinnotaround,asopposedtogoneasinpileofdust.
But Damen just laughs, the smooth melodic sound reverberating from his head to mine. Not

annihilated. I assure you. Just—absent—that’s all. Drove off a few minutes ago with some guy I’ve
neverseenbefore.

Didyoutalk?Didhetrytoprovokeyou?Damenshakeshishead,hiseyespeeringintomineasI

add:Good.Becausewecan’taffordtogoafterhim—nomatterwhat!Hehastheantidote!Headmitted
it!Whichmeansallwehavetodonowisfindawayto—

Ever. He frowns. You can’t possibly believe him! This is what Roman does. He lies and

manipulates everyone around him. You have to stay away from him—he’s using you—he can’t be
trusted—

Ishakemyhead.Thistimeisdifferent.Icanfeelit.AndIneedforDamentofeelittoo.He’s not

lying—seriously—hesaid—

Not even finishing the thought before Haven leans forward, eyes darting between us as she says,

“Okay,that’sit.Justwhattheheckisgoingonhere?Seriously,enoughalready.”

Iturn,noticinghowherfriendlyyellowaurabeamsinsuchsuddensharpcontrasttothedeliberate

harshnessofherall-blackensemble.Knowingshemeansnoillwillthoughshe’sdefinitelydisturbedby
us.

“Seriously.It’slike—it’slikeyouguyshavesomekindofcreepywayofcommunicating.Liketwin

speakorsomething.Onlyyoursissilent.Andmoreeerie.”

Ishrugandopenmylunchpack,goingthroughthemotionsofunwrappingasandwichI’venoplans

to eat, determined to hide just how alarmed her question has made me. Knocking my knee against
Damen’s,telepathicallyurginghimtostepinandhandlethissinceI’venoideawhattosay.

“Don’tpretendit’snothappening.”Hereyesnarrowinsuspicion.“I’vebeenwatchingyouguysfor

awhilenow,andit’sreallystartingtocreepmeout.”

“What’screepingyouout?”Milesgazesupfromhisphone,butonlyforamomentbeforehe’sback

totextingagain.

“Thosetwo.”Shepointsashort,blackpaintednailwithachunkofpinkfrostingstucktoitstip.“I

swear,theygetstrangereveryday.”

Milesnods,settingdownhisphoneashetakesamomenttolookusover.“Yeah,I’vebeenmeaning

tomentionthat.Youguysareweird.”Helaughs.“Oh,andthewholeMichaelJackson,oneglovething?”
Heshakeshisheadandpurseshislips.“Sonotworkingforyou.Thatlookissoplayedevenyou can’t
bringitback.”

Havenfrowns,annoyedbyMiles’sjokewhenshe’stryingtobeserious.“Laughallyouwant,”she

says,gazesteady,unwavering.“Butsomething’supwiththosetwo.Imaynotknowwhat,butI’llfigureit
out.I’llgettothebottomofit.You’llsee.”

AndI’mjustabouttospeakwhenDamenshakeshisheadandswirlshisreddrink,leaningtoward

Havenashesays,“Don’twasteyourtime.It’snotassinisterasyouthink.”Hesmiles,gazefixedonhers.
“We’re practicing telepathy, that’s all. Attempting to read each other’s minds in place of talking all the
time.Sowestopgettingintroubleinclass.”Helaughs,causingmetosqueezemysandwichsohardthe
mayonnaise squirts out the sides. Gaping at my boyfriend who’s just arbitrarily decided to break our
numberonerule—Don’ttellanyonewhoweareorwhatwecando!

CalmingonlyslightlywhenHavenrollshereyesandsays,“Please.I’mnotanidiot.”
“Wasn’timplyingyouwere.”Damensmiles.“It’squitereal,Iassureyou.Wouldyouliketotry?”
I freeze, body solid, unmoving, as though witnessing a disaster on the side of the road—only this

particulardisasterisme.

“Closeyoureyesandthinkofanumberbetweenoneandten.”Henods,solemngazemeetinghers.

“Focusonthatnumberwithallofyourmight.Seeitinyourmindasclearlyasyoucan,andsilentlyrepeat
thesoundofitoverandoveragain.Gotit?”

Sheshrugs,browsmergingasthoughindeepconcentration.Thoughallittakesisaquickglanceat

her aura, morphing into a dark deceitful green, and a brief peek at her thoughts to see she’s only
pretending.ChoosingtoconcentrateonthecolorblueinsteadofarandomnumberlikeDamensaid.

Iglancebetweenthem,knowingshe’sbaitinghim,surethathisoneintenchanceofhittingtheright

numberworkstoomuchinhisfavor.Holdinghergroundasherubshischinandshakeshishead,saying,
“Idon’tseemtobegettinganything.Areyousureyou’rethinkingofanumberbetweenoneandten?”

Shenods,deepeningherfocusonabeautifulshadeofpulsatingblue.
“Thenwemusthaveourwirescrossed.”Heshrugs.“I’mnotgettinganumberatall.”
“Tryme!”MilesabandonshisphoneandleanstowardDamen.
Eyesbarelyclosed,thoughtshardlyfocusedbeforeDamengasps,“You’regoingtoFlorence?”
Milesshakeshishead.“Three.Foryourinformation,thenumberwasthree.”Herollshiseyesand

smirks.“Andbytheway,everyoneknowsI’mgoingtoFlorence.So—nicetry.”

“Everyonebutme,”Damensays,jawsclenched,facegonesuddenlypale.
“Well,I’msureEvertoldyou.Youknow,telepathically.”Helaughs,returningtohisphoneagain.
I peer at Damen, wondering why he’s so upset over Miles’s trip. I mean, yeah, so he used to live

there,butthatwashundredsofyearsago!Isqueezehishand,urginghimtolookatme,buthejuststaresat
Mileswiththatsamestrickenlookonhisface.

“Nice try with the whole telepathy angle,” Haven says, swiping her finger across the top of her

cupcakeuntilit’scoatedwithstrawberryfrosting.“ButI’mafraidyou’regonnahavetotryalittleharder
thanthat.Allyou’vemanagedtoproveisthatyouguysareevenweirderthanIthought.Butnoworries,
I’llgettothebottomofit.I’llexposeyourdirtylittlesecretbeforelong.”

Iholdbackanervouslaugh,hopingshe’sjustmessingaround,thenpeeringintohermindonlytosee

thatshe’sserious.

“Whenareyouleaving?”Damenasks,butonlytoappearconversational,havingalreadyuncovered

theanswerinMiles’shead.

“Soon,butnotsoonenough,”Milessays,eyeslightingup.“Letthecountdownbegin!”
Damen nods, gaze softening as he says, “You’ll love it. Everyone loves it. Firenze is a beautiful,

charmingplace.”

“You’vebeen?”MilesandHavenbothaskatthesametime.
Damennods,gazefaraway.“Ilivedthereonce—alongtimeago.”
Havenglancesbetweenus,eyesnarrowedagainwhenshesays,“DrinaandRomanlivedtheretoo.”
Damenshrugs,expressionnoncommittal,asthoughtheconnectionmeansnothingtohim.
“Well,don’tyouthinkthat’salittlestrange?AllofyoulivinginItaly,inthesameplace,thenallof

you ending up here—within months of each other?” She leans toward him, abandoning her cupcake in
searchofsomeanswers.

ButDamen’ssolid,refusingtocaveordoanythingthatmightgiveitaway.Hejustsipshisreddrink

andliftshisshouldersagain,asthoughit’shardlyworthgoinginto.

“IsthereanythingIshouldseewhileI’mthere?”Milesasks,moretobreakthetensionthananything

else.“Anythingthatshouldn’tbemissed?”

Damensquints,pretendingtothink,eventhoughtheanswercomesquickly.“AllofFlorenceisworth

seeing.ButyoushoulddefinitelycheckoutthePonteVecchio,whichisthefirstbridgetocrosstheArno
River and the only one left standing after the war. Oh, and you must visit the Galleria dell’Accademia
whichhousesMichelangelo’sDavidamongotherimportantworks,andperhapsthe—”

“DefinitelyhittingDavid,”Milessays.“Aswellasthebridge,andthefamousIlDuomo,andallthe

otheritemsthatmakeeveryguidebooktoptenlist,butI’mmoreinterestedinthesmaller,off-the-beaten-
path kind of places—you know, where all the cool Florentines go. Roman was raving about this one
place,Iforgetthename,butit’ssupposedtohousesomeobscureRenaissanceartifactsandpaintingsand
stufffewpeopleknowabout.Yougotanythinglikethat?Orevenclubs,shopping,thatkindofthing?”

Damen looks at him, gaze so intense it sends a chill down my spine. “Nothing offhand,” he says,

tryingtosoftenthelookthoughhisvoicebetraysadefiniteedge.“Thoughanyplacethatclaimstohouse
greatartbutisn’tintheguidebookisprobablyafake.Theantiquitiesmarketisloadedwithforgeries.You
shouldn’twasteyourtimeonthatwhentherearesomanyother,farmoreinterestingthingstosee.”

Milesshrugs,boredbytheconversationandalreadybacktotextingagain.“Whatever,”hemumbles,

thumbstappingquickly.“Noworries.Romansaidhe’dmakemealist.”

ChapterSix

“I’mamazedbytheprogressyou’vemade.”Damensmiles.“Youlearnedallthisonyourown?”
Inod,gazingaroundthelarge,emptyroom,pleasedwithmyselfforthefirsttimeinweeks.
ThemomentDamenmentionedhewantedtoridtheplaceofalltheoverlyslickfurniturehe’dfilled

it with during Roman’s reign of terror, I was on it. Jumping at the chance to clear out the row of black
leather recliners and flat-screen TVs, the red felt pool table and chrome-covered bar—all of them
symbols, physical manifestations, of the bleakest phase in our relationship so far. Taking aim at each
piecewithsuchuncheckedenthusiasmthat—well—I’mnotevensurewhereitwent.AllIknowisit’sno
longerhere.

“Lookslikeyou’renolongerinneedofmylessons.”Heshakeshishead.
“Don’tbesosure.”Iturn,smilingasIpushhisdarkwavyhairoffhisfacewithmynewlygloved

hand,hopingwe’llgetthatcurefromRomansoon,oratleastcomeupwithalesshokeyalternative.“I
havenoideawherethatstuffevenwent—nottomentionhowIcan’tpossiblyfillupthisspacewhenI
havenocluewhereyoustashedallthestuffyouusedtohave.”Reachingforhishandasecondtoolate,
andfrowningashewalksovertothewindow.

“Thefurniture”—hegazesoutathismanicuredlawn,voicelowanddeep—“isrightbackwhereit

started.Returnedtoitsoriginalstateofpurevibratingenergywiththepotentialtobecomeanythingatall.
Andasfortherest—”Heshrugs,thestronglinesofhisshouldersrisingeversoslightlybeforesettling
again.“Well,ithardlymattersanymore,doesit?I’venoneedofitnow.”

I stare at his back, taking in his lean form, his casual stance. Wondering how he could be so

uninterestedinreclaimingthepreciousartifactsofhispast—thePicassoofhimintheseverebluesuit,the
Velázquez astride a rearing white stallion—not to mention all the other amazing relics dating back
centuries.

“Butthoseobjectsarepriceless!Youhavetogetthemback.Theycanneverbereplaced!”
“Ever,relax.It’sjuststuff.”Hisvoicefirm,resigned,asheturnstowardmeagain.“Noneofithas

anyrealmeaning.Theonlythingthatmeansanythingisyou.”

Andeventhoughthesentimentisundeniablysweetandheartfelt,itdoesn’taffectmeinthewaythat

itshould.Theonlythingsheseemstocareaboutthesedaysisatoningforhiskarmaandme.Andwhile
I’mperfectlyfinewiththoseoccupyingthenumberoneandtwospotsonhislist,theproblemis—therest
ofthepageisblank.

“Butthat’swhereyou’rewrong.It’snotjuststuff.”Imovetowardhim,voiceurging,coaxing,hoping

to reach him and make him listen this time. “Signed books by Shakespeare and the Brontë sisters,

chandeliers from Marie Antoinette and Louis the Sixteenth—that’s hardly what you’d call stuff. It’s
history for God’s sake! You can’t just shrug it off as though it’s nothing more than a box of tired old
objectsyoudonatetoGoodwill.”

Helooksatme,gazesofteningashetrailsthetipofhisglovedfingerfrommytempletomychin.“I

thoughtyouhatedmy‘dustyoldroom’asyouoncecalledit.”

“Peoplechange.”Ishrug.Wishing,notforthefirsttime,thathe’dchangebacktotheDamenIknew.

“Andspeakingofchange,whyareyousofreakedbyMiles’striptoFlorence?”Notingthewayhestiffens
atthemerementionoftheword.“IsitbecauseofthewholeDrinaandRomanthing?Theconnectionyou
don’twanthimtoknowabout?”

He looks at me for a moment, lips parting, about to speak, then he turns away and mumbles, “I’m

hardlywhatyou’dcallfreaked.”

“You know what? You’re absolutely right. For a normal person, that was hardly what you’d call

freaked. But for the guy who’s always the coolest, calmest one in the room—all it takes is the slight
narrowingofyoureyesandthemostminuteclenchingofyourjawtoknowyou’reupset.”

Hesighs,eyessearchingmineashemovestowardmeagain.“YousawwhathappenedinFlorence.”

Hesquints.“Despiteallitsvirtues,it’salsoaplaceofunbearablememories,onesI’drathernotexplore.”

I swallow hard, remembering the images I viewed in Summerland—Damen hiding in a small dark

cupboard, watching as his parents were murdered by thugs intent on obtaining the elixir—then later,
abusedasawardofthechurchuntiltheBlackPlaguesweptthroughFlorenceandheencouragedDrina
andtherestoftheorphanstodrinktheimmortaljuice,hopingonlytohealandhavingnoideaitwould
granteternallife—andIcan’thelpbutfeelliketheworld’sworstgirlfriendforbringingitup.

“Iprefertofocusonthepresent.”Henods,gesturingaroundthelargeemptyroom.“AndrightnowI

really need your help furnishing this space. According to my Realtor, buyers like a nice, clean,
contemporary look when shopping for homes. And though I was thinking of leaving it empty, to really
emphasizethesizeoftherooms,Isupposeweshouldtry—”

“YourRealtor?”Igasp,practicallychokingonthewordasmyvoiceraisesseveraloctavesatthe

end.“WhatcouldyoupossiblyneedaRealtorfor?”

“I’msellingthehouse.”Heshrugs.“Ithoughtyouunderstood?”
I gaze around, longing for that ancient velvet settee with the lumpy cushions, knowing it would

providetheperfectlandingforwhenmybodycollapsesandmyheadquietlyexplodes.

But I just stand there instead, determined to keep it together. Gazing at my ridiculously gorgeous

boyfriendofthelastfourhundredyearsasthoughit’sthefirsttimewe’vemet.

“Don’t look so upset. Nothing’s changed. It’s just a house. A seriously oversized house. Besides,

I’veneverneededallthisspaceanyway.Ineverevenusemostoftheserooms.”

“Andwhatexactlyareyouplanningtoreplaceitwith,then?Atent?”
“I just thought I’d downsize, that’s all.” His gaze is pleading, begging me to understand. “Nothing

sinister,Ever.Nothingmeanttohurtyou.”

“And is your Realtor going to help with that too? With the downsizing?” Studying him closely,

wonderingwhat’sgottenintohim,andwherethiswillend.“Imean,Damen,ifyou’reseriouslylookingto
downsize,whynotjustmanifestsomethingsmaller?Whyareyouchoosingthisconventionalroute?”

I flick my gaze over him, moving from his glorious head of longish dark glossy hair to his perfect

rubber flip-flop–shod feet, remembering how, not so long ago, I longed to be normal again, just like
everyoneelse.ButnowthatI’mgettingusedtomypowersIdon’tseethepoint.

“What’sthisreallyabout?”Isquint,feelingmorethanalittlebetrayed.“Imean,you’retheonewho

gotmehere.You’retheonewhomademethisway.AndnowthatI’mfinallyadjusted,youdecidetojump

ship?Seriously.Whyareyoudoingthis?”

But instead of answering, he closes his eyes. Projecting an image of the two of us laughing and

happy,frolickingonabeautiful,pink-sandbeach.

ButIjustshakemyheadandcrossmyarmstighter,refusingtoplayuntilmyquestionsareanswered.
Hesighsandstaresoutthewindow,turningtowardmewhenhesays,“I’vealreadytoldyou,myonly

recourse,myonlywayoutofthishellofmymaking,istoatoneformykarma.Andtheonlywaytodothat
istoforegothemanifesting,thehighlife,thebigspending,andalltheotherextravagancesI’veindulged
myselfinforthelastsixhundredyears,soIcanlivethelifeofanordinarycitizen.Honest,hardworking,
andhumble,withthesameday-to-daystrugglesasanyoneelse.”

Istareathim,replayinghiswordsinmyhead,hardlybelievingwhatIjustheard.“Andhowexactly

areyouplanningtodothat?”Isquint.“Seriously.Inyoursixcenturiesofliving,haveyoueverevenheld
arealjob?”

But even though I’m dead serious and not at all joking, he throws his head back and laughs like I

was.Eventually calming downenough to say,“You honestly think noone will hireme?” He shakes his
headandlaughsevenharder.“Ever,please.Don’tyouthinkI’vebeenaroundlongenoughtohavehoneda
fewskills?”

Istarttorespond,wantingtoexplainthatwhileit’strulyremarkabletowatchhimpaintaPicasso

betterthanPicassowithonehandwhilesimultaneouslyoutdoingVanGoghwiththeother,Ireallydon’t
thinkthat’llhelphimlandthatcovetedbaristapositionattheStarbucksonthecorner.

ButbeforeIcansayit,he’sstandingbesideme,movingwithsuchspeedandgraceallIcanmanage

is, “Well, for someone who’s turned his back on his gifts, you still move awfully fast.” Aware of that
warmwonderfultingleswarmingmyskinasheslipshisarmsaroundmywaistandpullsmeclosetohis
chest,carefullyavoidingskin-on-skincontact.“Andwhatabouttelepathy?”Iwhisper.“Areyouplanning
toditchthattoo?”SoovercomebyhisproximityIcanbarelyekeoutthewords.

“I’venoplanstoditchanythingthatbringsmeclosertoyou,”hesays,gazeonmine,steadyandstill.

“Asfortherest—”Heshrugs,glancingaroundthelargeemptyspacebeforefindingmeagain.“Tellme,
whatmattersmore,Ever?Thesizeofmyhouse—orthesizeofmyheart?”

Ibitemylipandavertmygaze,thetruthofhiswordsleavingmefeelingsmallandashamed.
“DoesitreallymatterifIchoosethebusoveraBMW,andgenericoverGucci?Becausethecar,the

wardrobe,thezipcode—thosearejustnouns,thingsthatarefuntohavearound,sure,butintheend,they
havenothingtodowiththerealme.NothingtodowithwhoIreallyam.”

I swallow hard, focusing on anything but him. It’s not that I care about his BMW or faux French

chateaux, I mean, if I want those things I’ll just manifest them myself. But even though they aren’t
important,ifI’mgoingtobehonestthenIhavetoadmittheywerepartoftheinitialattraction—addingto
hissleek,shiny,mysteriouspersonathatluredmerightin.

ButwhenIfinallylookathimagain,standingbeforeme,strippedbareofalltheusualdazzleand

flash,honeddowntotheveryessenceofwhohereallyis,Irealizehe’sstillthesame,warm,wonderful
guyhe’sbeenallalong.Whichjustproveshispoint.Noneofthatotherstuffmatters.

Noneofithasanythingtodowithhissoul.
I smile, suddenly remembering the one place where we can be together—safe and secure and

protectedfromharm.ReachingforhisglovedhandasIgraspitinmine,saying,“Comeon,Iwanttoshow
yousomething,”andpullinghimalong.

ChapterSeven

AtfirstIwasworriedhe’drefusetovisitaplacethatnotonlyrequiresacertainamountofmagick

forentry,butthatisnothingbutmagickonceyouarrive.Butjustafterlandinginthatvastfragrantfield,he
wipestheseatofhisjeansandoffershishand,gazingallaroundashesays,“Wow.Idon’tthinkIwas
everabletomaketheportalsoquickly.”

“Please, you’re the one who taught me.” I smile, gazing at the meadow of pulsating flowers and

shiveringtrees,notinghoweverythinghereisreducedtoitsabsolutepurestformofbeautyandenergy.

Itiltmyheadback,closingmyeyesagainstthewarmhazyglowandshimmeringmist.Remembering

thelasttimeIwashere,howIdancedwithamanifestDameninthisverysamefield,delayingthemoment
whenI’dhavetoletgo.

“Soyou’reokaywithbeinghere?”Iask,unsurejusthowfarhisbanonmagickextends.“You’renot

mad?”

He shakes his head and takes my hand. “I never grow tired of Summerland. It’s a manifestation of

beautyandpromiseinitspurestform.”

Wemakeourwaythroughthepasture,buoyedbythegrassjustunderourfeetasourfingersgrazethe

tops of golden wild-flowers that bend and sway alongside us. Knowing anything is possible in this
wonderfulplace,anythingatall,including—justmaybe—us.

“Imissedthis.”Hesmiles,gazingallaround.“NotthatIrememberthelastfewweekswithoutit,but

still,itseemslikesuchalongtimesincewewerelasthere.”

“It felt strange coming without you,” I say, leading him toward a beautiful Balinese-style cabana

perched beside the rainbow-colored stream. “Though I did discover a whole other side I can’t wait to
showyou.Onlylater—notnow.”

Ipushthegauzywhitefabricasideandplopontothesoftwhitecushions,smilingasDamenlands

right beside me, the two of us lying side by side, gazing up at the elaborately carved coconut beams.
Headstogether,thesolesofourfeetjustafewinchesshy—theresultofmyelixir-fueledgrowthspurt.

“Whatisthis?”HeturnsontohissideasIdrawthecurtainsclosedwithmymind.Eagertoshutout

allthatsurroundsussowecanenjoyourownprivatespace.

“Isawoneonthecoverofatravelmagazinefeaturingsomeexoticresort,andIlikeditsomuchI

thoughtI’dmanifestone.Youknow,sowecould—hangout—and—stuff.”Iavertmygaze,heartracing,
faceflushing,knowingI’mquitepossiblythemostpatheticseductresshe’smetinhissixhundredyears.

Buthejustlaughs,pullingmesoclosewejustnearlytouch.Separatedonlybytheslimmestveilof

shimmering energy, a pulsating screen that hovers between us—allowing us to be near without harming

eachother.

I close my eyes, surrendering to the wave of warmth and tingle as our bodies come together. Two

hearts pumping in perfect unison, reaching and retreating, expanding and retracting, the tempo perfectly
synchronizedasthoughbeatingasone.Everythingaboutitfeelingsogood,sonatural,soright,Isnuggle
closer.Nestlingmyfaceinthehollowwherehisshouldermeetshisneck,longingtotastehissweetskin
andinhalehiswarmmuskyscent.AlowmoanescapingfromdeepinhisthroatasIclosemyeyesand
pressintohiships,mytonguetippedtowardhisskin,onlytohavehimspringfrommyreachsofastI’m
metwithamouthfulofcushion.

I scramble upright, seeing him move so quickly he’s reduced to a blur. Stopping only when he’s

safely ensconced on the other side of the curtain, eyes blazing, body trembling, as I beg him to tell me
whathappened.

Imovetowardhim,wantingtohelp.ButjustasIgetclose,hemovesagain,handheldbeforehim,

gazewarningmeaway.

“Don’ttouchme,”hesays.“Please,stayrightwhereyouare.Don’tcomeanycloser.”
“But—why?”Myvoicehoarse,unstable,handstremblingbymysides.“DidIdosomethingwrong?I

just thought—well—because we’re here—and since nothing bad can happen in Summerland—I just
thoughtitwouldbeokayifwemaybetriedto—”

“Ever,it’snotthat—it’s—”Heshakeshishead,hiseyesdarkerthanI’veeverseenthem.Sodarkthe

irises are indistinguishable from the pupils, blending right in. “And who says nothing bad can happen
here?” His tone so edgy, gaze so harsh, it’s clear he’s traveled a very long way from his usual state of
infalliblecalm.

Iswallowhardandstareattheground,feelingfoolish,ridiculous—tothinkIwassodesperatetobe

withmyboyfriendIriskedtakinghislife.

“I guess—I just assumed...” My voice fades, knowing very well what happens when one assumes.

Notonlydoyoumakeanassoutofuandme,butinthisparticularcase,thatverysameujustmightend
updead.“I’msorry.”Ishakemyhead,knowingit’scompletelyinadequateconsideringthelife-and-death
circumstanceswe’rein.“I—IguessIdidn’tthinkitthrough.Idon’tknowwhattosay.”

Ipullmyshouldersin,wrappingmyarmsaroundmywaist,tryingtomakemyselfsmaller,sosmall

I’lldisappearfromhissight.Andyet,Ican’thelpbutwonderexactlywhatkindofbadthingcouldhappen
inaplacewheremagickcomeseasily,andwoundsarehealedinstantly.Imean,ifwe’renotsafehere,
thenwhere?

Damen looks at me, answering the thought in my head when he says, “Summerland contains the

possibilityofallthings.Sofar,we’veonlyseenthelight,butwho’stosaythere’snotadarkside?Maybe
it’snotatallwhatwethink.”

Igazeathim,rememberingwhenIfirstmetRomyandRayneandhowtheysaidsomethingsimilar.

Watchingashemanifestsabeautifullycarvedwoodbench,thenmotionsformetosit.

“Come.”Henods,urgingmetowardhimasItakeaseatatthefarend,notwantingtogettooclose

andrisksettinghimoffagain.“There’ssomethingyouneedtosee—somethingyouneedtounderstand.So
please just close your eyes and clear your mind of any random thoughts and clutter as best you can.
KeepingyourselfopenandreceptivetoanyvisionsIsend.Canyoudothat?”

Inod,eyesshuttight,doingmybesttosweepmymindofsuchthoughtsas:What’sgoingon?Ishe

madatme?Ofcoursehe’smadatme!HowcouldIbesostupid?Buthowmadishe?Isitpossibleto
changehismindandstartoveragain?Myusualparanoidplay-listsetonpermanentrepeat.

Butevenafterclearingitoutandwaitingforwhatfeelslikeareasonableamountoftime,allI’ve

gottensofarisaheavyvoidofdensesolidblack.

“Idon’tgetit,”Isay,openingoneeyeandpeekingathim.
Buthejustshakeshishead,eyesshuttight,browsmergedinconcentration,ashecontinuestofocus

withallofhismight.“Listen,”hesays.“Andlookdeepdowninside.Justcloseyoureyesandreceive.”

Itakeadeepbreathandtryagain,butstill,allIgetisaforebodingsilenceandthefeelingofblack

emptyspace.

“Um,I’mreallysorry,”Iwhisper,notwantingtoupsethimbutsurethatI’mmissingthepoint.“I’m

notgettingmuchofanythingotherthansilenceanddarkness.”

“Exactly,” he whispers, unfazed by my words. “Now please, take hold of my hand and go deeper,

delvepastthesurfaceusingallofyoursenses,thentellmewhatyousee.”

Itakeadeepbreathanddoashesays,reachingforhishandandpushingpastthesolidwallofblack,

butallIgetismoreofthesame.

Until—
Until—
I’m sucked into a black hole, limbs flailing, unable to stop or slow down. Free-falling into the

darkness,myhorriblehigh-pitchedscreamtheonlysound.AndjustasI’msurethatthisfallhasnoend—
it stops. The scream. The fall. All of it. Everything. Leaving me to hang there. Untethered. Suspended.
Completelyaloneinthissolitaryplacewithnobeginningorend.Lostinthisdarkanddismalabysswith
no trace of light coming in. Abandoned in this infinite void, a lost and lonely world of permanent
midnight.Thehorriblerealizationslowlydawningonme—ThisiswhereIlivenow.

Ahellwithnoescape.
Itrytorun,scream,cryforhelp—butit’snouse.I’mfrozen,paralyzed,unabletospeak—completely

aloneforallofeternity.PurposelyheldapartfromeverythingIknowandlove—cutofffromeverything
thatexists.KnowingI’venochoicebuttosurrenderasmymindgoesblankandmybodylimp.

There’snouseinfightingwhennoonecansaveme.
Iremainlikethat,solitary,eternal,ashadowyawarenesscreepinguponme,tuggingfromaplacejust

outsideofmyreach—

Until—
Until—
I’m yanked out of that hell and into Damen’s arms, relieved to see his beautiful, anxious face

hoveringoverme.

“I’msosorry—IthoughtI’dlostyou—Ithoughtyou’dnevercomeback!”hecries,holdingmetight,

hisvoicelikeasobinmyear.

Iclingtohim,bodyshaking,heartracing,clothesdrenchedwithsweat.Neverhavingfeltsoisolated

before—so disconnected—from everything. From every—living—thing. Hugging him tighter, unwilling
toletgo,mymindconnectingwithhis,askingwhyhechosetoputmethroughthat.

Hepullsaway,cuppingmyfaceinhishandsashiseyessearchmine.“I’msorry.Iwasn’ttryingto

punish you, or harm you in any way. I only wanted to show you something, something you needed to
experiencefirsthandinordertounderstand.”

Inod,nottrustingmyvoice.Stillshakenfromanexperiencesoawfulitfeltlikethedeathofmysoul.
“MyGod!”Hiseyeswiden.“That’sit!That’sexactlywhatitis.Thesoulceasestoexist!”
“Idon’tunderstand,”Isay,voicehoarse,shaky.“Whatwasthathorribleplace?”
He looks away, fingers squeezing mine when he says, “The future. The Shadowland. The eternal

abyssI’dthoughtwasmeantonlyforme—thatI’dhopedwasmeantonlyforme...”Hecloseshiseyes
andshakeshishead.“ButnowIknowbetter.NowIknowthatifyou’renotcareful,extremelycareful—
you’llgotheretoo.”

Ilookathim,startingtospeak,buthecutsmeoffbeforeIcangettothewords.“Thepastfewdays

I’ve been getting these flashes—glimpses, really—of various moments from my past—both distant and
near.” He looks at me, carefully searching my face. “But the moment we came here—” He gestures
around. “It started trickling back, slowly at first until it all came surging forth, including the moments I
wasunderRoman’scontrol.Ialsorelivedmydeath.Thosefewbriefmomentsafteryoubrokethroughthe
circle, before you had me drink the antidote, as you know, I was dying. I watched my entire life flash
beforeme,sixhundredyearsofuncheckedvanity,narcissism,selfishness,andgreed.Likeanendlessreel
of all of my actions, every misdeed that I’d done—accompanied by the impact I had—the mental and
physicaleffectofmymistreatmentofothers.Andthoughtherewereafewdecentactshereandthere,the
majority,well,itamountedtocenturiesofmefocusingonnothingbutmyownself-interest,givingvery
littlethoughttoanythingoranyoneelse.Focusingsolelyonthephysicalworldtothedetrimentofmysoul.
LeavingmenodoubtIwasrightallalong,mykarma’stoblameforwhatwe’regoingthroughnow.”He
shakeshisheadandmeetsmygazewithsuchunflinchinghonestyIwanttoreachoutandtouchhim,hold
him,tellhimitwillallbeokay.ButinsteadIstayput,sensingthere’smoreandit’sabouttogetworse.

“Then,atthemomentofmydeath,insteadofcominghere,toSummerland—”Hisvoicecracksbut

heforceshimselftocontinue.“I—Iwenttoaplacetheexactoppositeofthis.Aplacesodarkandcold
it’smorelikeaShadowland.Experiencingthesamethingyoujustdid.Solitary,suspended,alone—leftto
staythatwayforallofeternity.”Helooksatme,willingmetounderstand.“Itwasexactlylikeyoufelt.It
wasasthoughIwasisolated,soulless—withnoconnectiontoanythingoranyoneelse.”

Istareintohiseyes,anominouschillblanketingmyskin,neverhavingseenhimsotired,sojaded,

so—regretful—before.

“AndnowIunderstandtheverythingthat’sescapedmealltheseyears—”
Ipullmykneestomychest,shieldingmyselffromwhatevercomesnext.
“Onlyourphysicalbodiesareimmortal.Oursoulsaremostcertainlynot.”
Iavertmygaze,unabletolookathim,unabletobreathe.
“Thisisthefutureyou’refacing.TheoneI’vegrantedyou,if,Godforbid,anythingshouldhappen,

thatis.”

My fingers instinctively fly to my throat, remembering what Roman said about my compromised

chakra,mylackofdiscernmentandweakness,wonderingifthere’ssomewaytoguardit.“But—howcan
youbesure?”Ilookathimasthoughcaughtinadream,somehorriblenightmarewithnowaytoescape.
“I mean, there’s a good chance you’re wrong since it happened so fast. So maybe that was just a
temporarystate.Youknow,likeIbroughtyoubacktolifesofastyoudidn’thavetimetomakethetrip
here.”

Heshakeshishead,hisgazemeetingminewhenhesays,“Tellme,Ever,whatdidyouseewhenyou

died? How did you spend those few moments between the time when your soul left your body and I
returnedyoutolife?”

Iswallowhardandlookaway,gazingatthetrees,theflowers,thecolorfulstreamflowingnearby—

remembering that day I found myself in this very same field. So taken by its heady fragrance, its
shimmeringmist,theall-encompassingfeelofunconditionallove,Iwastemptedtolingerforever,never
wantingtoleave.

“Thereasonyoudidn’tseetheabyssisbecauseyouwerestillmortal.You’ddiedamortal’sdeath.

ButthemomentIhadyoudrinkfromtheelixir,grantingyouinfinitelife,everythingchanged.Insteadofan
eternityinSummerlandortheplacebeyondthebridge—theShadowlandbecameyourfate.”

He shakes his head and looks away, so deeply mired in his private world of regret I’m afraid I’ll

neverreachhimagain.Butjustasquicklyhiseyesmeetminewhenhesays,“Wecanliveaneternityin

theearthplane,youandItogether.Butifsomethingshouldhappen,ifoneofusshoulddie—”Heshakes
hishead.“Theabyssiswherewe’llgo,andwe’llneverseeeachotheragain.”

Istarttospeak,desperatetorefuteit,tellhimhe’swrong,butIcan’t.It’snouse.AllIhavetodois

lookinhiseyestoseetherealtruth.

“And as much as I believe in the powerful healing magick of this place—just look at the way it

healedmymemory—”Heshrugsandshakeshishead.“Ican’taffordtogivein,nomatterhowsafemy
desireforyoumayseem.It’stoorisky.Andwe’venoproofit’llbeanydifferentherethanontheearth
plane.It’sagambleIcan’taffordtotake.NotwhenIneedtodoeverythingIcantokeepyousafe.”

“Keepmesafe?”Igape.“You’retheonewhoneedssaving!It’smyfaultallthishappenedinthefirst

place!IfIhadn’t—”

“Ever,please,”hesays,voicestern,willingmetolisten.“You’reinnowaytoblame.WhenIthink

aboutthewayI’velived—thethingsI’vedone—”Heshakeshishead.“Ideservenothingbetter.Andif
therewasanyquestionthatmykarmawastoblame,well,Ithinkitendshere.I’vespentthebetterpartof
sixhundredyearsdevotingmyselftophysicalpleasureandneglectingmysoul—andthisistheresult—the
wake-upcall,andunfortunately,I’vedraggedyoualong.Somakenomistake,myconcernisforyouand
youonly.You’remyonlypriority.MylifeisonlyimportantinthatIstaywelllongenoughtoprotectyou
fromRomanandwhoeverelsehemighthurt.Andthatmeanswecanneverbetogether.Never.It’sarisk
wecan’ttake.”

Iturntowardthestream,athousandthoughtsstormingmybrain.AndeventhoughIheardeverything

hejustsaid,eventhoughIexperiencedtheabyssformyself,Istillwouldn’tchangewhatIam.

“And the other orphans?” I whisper, remembering how I counted six, including Roman. “What

happenedtothem?DoyouknowiftheyturnedevillikeRomanandDrina?”

Damenshrugs,risingfromthebenchandpacingbeforeme.“Ialwaysassumedtheyweretoooldand

feeblebynowtoeverposearealthreat.That’swhathappensafterthefirstonehundredandfiftyyears—
you age. And the only way to reverse the process is to drink the elixir again. My guess is that Drina
stockpiled it while we were married and slipped it to Roman who eventually learned how to make his
ownandthenpassedittotheothers.”Heshakeshishead.

“So that’s where Drina is now,” I whisper, overcome with remorse when I realize the truth. No

matterhowevilshewas,shedidn’tdeservethat.Nobodydoes.“IsenthertotheShadowland—andnow
she’s—”Ishakemyhead,unabletofinish.

“Itwasn’tyouwhodidit,itwasme.”Hefillsthespacebesideme,sittingsoclosethere’sonlya

sliverofenergypulsatingbetweenus.“ThemomentImadeheranimmortal,Isealedherfate.JustlikeI
didyours.”

I swallow hard, comforted by his warmth along with his wanting to assure me that I’m truly not

responsibleforsendingmynumber-oneenemythroughallofmylivesstraightintothathell.

“I’msosorry,”hewhispers,gazefullofregret.“I’msorryIinvolvedyouinanyofthis.Ishould’ve

leftyoualone—should’vewalkedalongtimeago.Youwould’vebeensomuchbetteroffifyou’dnever
metme—”

I shake my head, unwilling to even visit that place, it’s far too late for looking back or second-

guessing. “But if we’re destined to be together—then maybe this is our fate.” Knowing he remains
unconvincedthesecondIreadhisexpression.

“Ormaybe I’ve forcedsomething that wasnever meant to be.”He frowns. “Didyou ever think of

that?”

I look away, taking in the surrounding beauty, knowing words alone can never change any of this.

Onlyactioncanhelp.Andluckyforus,Iknowjustwheretostart.

Istand,pullinghimupalongsidemeasIsay,“Comeon.Wedon’tneedRoman—don’tneedanyone

—Iknowjusttheplace!”

ChapterEight

WeheadfortheGreatHallsofLearning.StoppingjustshyofitssteepmarblestepsasIpeerathim,

wondering(hoping!)hecanseewhatIsee—theever-changingfaçadethat’srequiredforentry.

“Soyoureallydidfindit,”hesays,voicetingedwithaweaswewatchtherevolvingcollectionof

themostsacredandbeautifulplacesonEarth.TheTajMahalmorphingintotheParthenon,whichturns
intotheLotustemple,whichbecomestheGreatPyramidsofGiza,andsoon.Ourmutualacknowledgment
of its beauty and wonder allowing us into the grand marble hall lined with elaborately carved columns
straightoutofancientGreektimes.

Damengazesaround,faceamaskofabsolutewonderashetakesitallin.“Ihaven’tbeenheresince

—”

Ipeerathim,holdingmybreath,dyingtoknowthedetailsofthelasttimehewashere.
“SinceIcametofindyou.”
Isquint,unsurewhatthatmeans.
“Sometimes—”Helooksatme.“Iwasluckyenoughtojusthappenuponyou,endingupinthesame

placeatjusttherighttime.ThoughmoreoftenthannotI’dhavetowaitafewyearsbeforeitwasproper
tomeet.”

“Youmeanyouwerespyingonme?”Igape,hopingitwasn’tnearlyascreepyasitsounds.“WhenI

wasakid?”

He cringes, averting his gaze when he says, “No, not spying, Ever. Please. What do you take me

for?”Helaughsandshakeshishead.“Itwasmorelike—keepingtabs.Patientlywaitinguntilthetimewas
right.ButthelastfewtimeswhenIwasunabletofindyou,nomatterhowhardItried—andbelieveme,I
tried,livinglikeanomad,wanderingfromplacetoplace,sureI’dlostyouforever—Idecidedtocome
here.AndIranintosomefriendswhoshowedmetheway.”

“RomyandRayne.”Inod,neitherhearingnorseeingtheanswerinhishead,butsomehowsensing

it’s true. Overcome by an immediate rush of guilt for failing to even think of them until now. Not even
wonderinghowtheymightbe,wheretheymightbe,untilasecondago.

“Youknowthem?”Hesquints,clearlysurprised.
Ipressmylipstogether,knowingI’llhavetotellhimtherestofthestory,thepartsI’dhopedtoomit.
“Theyledmeheretoo—”Ipause,takingadeepbreathandlookingaway,preferringtotakeinthe

room than meet his quizzical gaze. “They were at Ava’s—or at least Rayne was. Romy was out—” I
shakemyheadandstartagain.“Shewasouttryingtohelpyouwhenyou—”

Iclosemyeyesandsigh,decidingtojustshowhiminstead.Everything.Allofit.Includingtheparts

I was too ashamed to put into words. Projecting the events of that day until there are no more secrets
between us. Letting him know how hard they fought to save him, while I was too stubborn, refusing to
listen.

But instead of being upset like I feared, he places his hands on my shoulders, gazing at me with

forgivenessashethinks,What’sdoneisdone.Wehavetomoveforward,there’snolookingback.

Iswallowhardandmeethisgaze,knowinghe’sright.It’stimetogetstarted,butwheretobegin?
“It’s better if we split up.” He nods, his words a surprise to my ears, and I’m just about to speak

whenheadds,“Ever,thinkaboutit.You’retryingtofindsomethingtoreversetheeffectsoftheelixirI
drank,whileI’mtryingtosaveyoufromtheShadowland,notexactlythesamething.”

I sigh, disappointed but having to agree. “I guess I’ll see you back at the house then. My house, if

that’sokay?”Iplacemyhandoverhisandgiveitasqueeze,reluctanttorevisithisdepressinglybarren
roomandunsurewherehestandsonthewholekarmacursethingnowthathismemory’sreturned.

Andnosoonerhashenoddedandclosedhiseyesthanhe’svanishedfromsight.
SoItakeadeepbreathandclosemyeyestoo,thinking:
Ineedhelp.I’vemadeahugeandhorriblemistakeandIdon’tknowwhattodo.Ineedtoeither

findanantidotetotheantidote—somethingthat’llreversetheeffectsofwhatRoman’sdone—orfinda
waytogettohim,convincehimtocooperatewithme—butonlyinawaythatwon’trequiremeto—um
—seriouslycompromisemyselfinawayI’mnotcomfortablewith...ifyouknowwhatImean...

Focusingmyintention,replayingthewordsagainandagain.Hopingit’llgrantaccesstotheakashic

records,thepermanentrecordofeverythingthathas,is,oreverwillbedone.PrayingIwon’tbeshutout
againlikethelasttimeIwashere.

But this time, when I hear that familiar buzz, instead of the usual long hallway leading to a

mysterious room, I find myself right smack in the middle of a cineplex, its lobby empty, snack bar
abandoned,withnoclueofwhatIshoulddountilasetofdoubledoorsopensbeforeme.

I step inside a dark theater with sticky floors, worn seats, and the scent of buttery popcorn

permeating the air. Squeezing down the aisle and choosing the best seat in the house, the one halfway
down and dead center, I prop my feet on the chair just before me as the lights go dim and a big tub of
popcornappearsinmylap.Watchingthereddrapesretractasthelargecrystalscreenbeginstoflicker
andflareinaprofusionofimagesthatquicklyracepast.

ButinsteadofthesolutionI’dhopedfor,allIgetisaseriesofclipsfrommoviesI’vealreadyseen.

Resultinginasortofhomemademontageofmyfamily’sfunniestmoments,liftedstraightfrommyoldlife
inOregonandunfoldingtoasoundtrackthatonlyRileycouldmake.

WatchingaclipofRileyandme,bothofushammingituponahomemadestageinourden,dancing

and lip-synching for an audience consisting of our parents and dog. Soon followed by an image of
Buttercup,oursweetyellowlab.Tonguestrainingtowardhernose,lickinglikemad,tryingtogettothe
chunkofpeanutbutterRileyhaddabbedthere.

Andeventhoughit’snotatallwhatI’dhopedfor,Iknowit’simportantallthesame.Rileypromised

she’dfindawaytocommunicatewithme,assuringmethatjustbecauseIcan’tseeheranymoredoesn’t
meanshe’snotstillaround.

So I push my quest aside, and sink down in my seat. Knowing she’s sitting beside me, silent and

unseen.Wantingtosharethismomenttogether,twosisterssharingthehome-movieversionofwhatused
tobe.

ChapterNine

BythetimeImakeitbacktomyroom,Dameniswaiting,sittingontheedgeofmybed,cradlinga

smallsatinpouchinthepalmofhisglovedhand.

“HowlongwasIgone?”Iask,ploppingdownbesidehimasIsquintatmybedsideclockandfigure

themath.

“There’snotimeinSummerland,”heremindsme.“Butontheearthplane,I’dsayyouweregonefor

awhile.Didyoulearnanything?”

IthinkaboutthehomemoviesIwatched,Riley’sversionof“TheBloomFamily’sFunniestVideos,”

thenIshakemyheadandshrug.“Nothinguseful.You?”

Hesmiles,handingoverthesilkpouchashesays,“Openandsee.”
I pull on the drawstring, slip a finger inside, and retrieve a black silk cord bearing a cluster of

colorful crystals held together by thin gold bands. Watching it catch and reflect the light as I dangle it
beforeme,thinkingit’sbeautifulifnotabitodd.

“It’s an amulet,” he says, watching me carefully as I take in the individual stones, each of them

bearing a different shape, size, and color. “They’ve been worn through the ages and are said to hold
magical properties for healing, protection, prosperity, and balance. Though this particular one, being
createdsolelyforyou,isheavyontheprotectionelementsincethat’swhatyouneed.”

Ilookathim,wonderinghowthiscouldpossiblyhelp.ThenIrememberthecrystalsIusedtomake

theantidotethatsavedhim,andhowitreallycould’veworked—ifRomanhadn’ttrickedmeintoadding
mybloodtothemix.

“It’scompletelyunique,assembledandcraftedwithyourownpersonaljourneyinmind.There’snot

anotheronelikeit,notanywhere.Iknowitdoesn’tsolveourproblem,butatleastit’llhelp.”

Isquintatthebundleofrocks,unsurewhattosay.Justabouttoslipitovermyheadandgiveitago,

when he smiles and says, “Allow me.” Gathering my long hair and draping it over my shoulder as he
reachesbehindmeandsecuresthesmallgoldenclasp,beforetuckingitundermyteewherenoonecan
see.

“Isitasecret?”Iask,expectingthecrystalstofeelcoldandhardagainstmyskinandsurprisedto

findthemquitewarmandconfortinginstead.

Hebrushesmyhairbackovermyshoulder,lettingitfalljustshyofmywaist.“No,it’snotasecret.

Though you probably shouldn’t flaunt it either. I have no idea just how far Roman’s advanced, so it’s
betternottodrawhisattentiontoit.”

“Heknowsaboutthechakras,”Isay,seeingthesurpriseinhisgazeandchoosingtoomitthefactthat

he’sactuallyresponsibleforthat.HavingunwittinglyrevealedallkindsofsecretswhileunderRoman’s
spell.Hefeelsbadlyenoughalready,sothere’snoreasontomakeitanyworse.

Itapmyfingersagainsttheamuletbeneathmyshirt,surprisedbyhowsoliditfeelsfromtheoutside,

compared to the inside, the part that rests on my skin. “But what about you? Don’t you need protection
too?”Watchingasheunearthsasimilaramuletfromunderhislong-sleevedtee,smilingashedanglesit
beforeme.“Howcomeyourslookssodifferent?”Iask,squintingattheclusterofsparklingstones.

“I told you, no two are alike. Just like no two people are alike. I’ve got my own issues to

overcome.”

“Youhaveissues?”Ilaugh,thoughseriouslywonderingwhattheycouldpossiblybe.He’sgoodat

everythinghedoes.AndImeaneverysinglething.

He shakes his head and laughs, a wonderful sound I don’t get to hear nearly enough anymore.

“Believeme,I’vegotmyshare,”hesays,laughingagain.

“Andyou’resurethesewillkeepussafe?”Ipressitagainstmychest,noticinghowitfeelslikea

partofmenow.

“That’stheplan.”Heshrugs,gettingupfromthebedandheadingforthedoorasheadds,“But,Ever,

pleasedousbothafavorandtrynottoputittothetest,okay?”

“What about Roman?” I ask, taking in his long, lean form as he rests against the jamb. “Don’t you

thinkweshouldcomeupwithsomekindofplan?Findawaytogethimtogiveuswhatweneedandbe
donewithallthis?”

Damenlooksatme,gazenarrowedonmine.“There’snoplan,Ever.EngagingwithRomanisexactly

whathewants.We’rebetterofffindingasolutiononourown,withoutrelyingonhim.”

“Buthow?Everythingwe’vetriedsofarhasbeenatotalbust.”Ishakemyhead.“Andwhyshould

werunourselvesragged,searchingforanswers,whenRoman’salreadyadmittedtohavingtheantidote?
HesaidallIhavetodoispaytherightpriceandhe’llhanditover—howhardcanthatbe?”

“Andyou’rewillingtopayhisprice?”Damenasks,voicesteadyanddeepashisdarkeyessweep

mine.

Iavertmygaze,cheeksheatingtoathousanddegrees.“Ofcoursenot!Oratleastnotthepricethat

youthink!”Ibringmykneestomychestandwrapmyarmsaroundthem.“It’sjust—”Ishakemyhead,
frustratedathavingtopleadmycase.“It’sjustthat—”

“Ever,thisisexactlywhatRomanwants.”Hisjawtightens,hisfeaturesharden,beforemeetingmy

gazeandsofteningagain.“Hewants to divide us, make us question each other, break us apart. He also
wantsustogoafterhimandstartsomekindofwar.You’venoreasontotrusthim,he’lllie,manipulate,
andmakenomistake,it’saverydangerousgamethatheplays.AndwhileIpromisetodoeverythingin
mypowertoprotectyou,youhavetohelpmeheretoo.Youhavetopromiseyou’llstayawayfromhim,
ignoreallhistaunts,andwon’trisetohisbait.I’llfindasolution.Figuresomethingout.Justplease,look
tomefortheanswers,notRoman,okay?”

Ipressmylipstogetherandlookaway,wonderingwhyIshouldpromiseanyofthatwhenthecureis

rightthereforthetaking.Besides,I’mtheonewhocausedthissituation.I’mtheonewhogotusintothis
mess.SoIshouldbetheonetogetusbothout.

Iswitchmygazebacktohis,anideabeginningtoform—onethatmightwork.
“So we’re clear about Roman?” He tilts his head and lifts his brow, unwilling to leave until I

consent.

Inod,justbarely,butstillenoughtoconvincehimtoheaddownthestairssofastIcan’tdistinguish

hisform.Theonlyhintofhishavingbeenherearethestonesagainstmychestandthesingleredtuliphe
leftonthebed.

ChapterTen

“Ever?”
I close the window on my computer and switch it to the essay I’m supposed to be writing for

English. Knowing Sabine would freak if she caught me running a Google search on ancient alchemical
formulas,ratherthanthehomeworkshe’sexpectingtosee.

BecauseasniceasitislyingbesideDamen,thebeatofourheartsconnectingasone,inthelongrun,

it’sjustnotenough.It’llneverbeenough.Iwantanormalrelationshipwithmyimmortalboyfriend.One
withnobarriers.OnewhereIcantrulyenjoythefeelofskinasopposedtothewayIrememberitinmy
head.AndI’llprettymuchstopatnothingtogetit.

“Didyoueat?”Sheplacesherhandonmyshoulderasshepeersatthescreen.
AndsinceIdidn’tprepare,didn’tguardmyselffromhertouch,that’sallittakestoseeherversionof

theinfamousStarbucksmeetandgreet.Which,unfortunately,isnotsodifferentfromMunoz’sversion—
thetwoofthemactingallhappyandgiddy,smilingateachotherwithanabundanceofhope.Andeven
though she seems really happy, and no doubt deserves to be happy especially after all that I’ve put her
through,IstillcomfortmyselfwiththevisionIhadafewmonthsback—theonewheresheclearlyendsup
withsomecuteguywhoworksinherbuilding.WonderingifIshouldsayordosomethingtotemperher
excitementsinceit’snotlikethislittleflirtationisgoinganywhere.ButknowingI’vealreadytakentoo
bigofariskbyoutingmyselftoMunoz,Idon’tsayaword.Ican’taffordtotipherofftoo.

Iswivelaroundinmychair,releasingmyselffromhergrip.Wantingtoavoidseeinganythingmore

thanIalreadyhave,waitingforherenergystreamtofade.

“Damen made me dinner,” I say, voice steady and low despite the fact that it’s not exactly true.

UnlessyoucounttheelixirIdrank.

She looks at me, gaze suddenly troubled as it narrows on mine. “Damen?” She steps back. “Now

there’sanameIhaven’theardinawhile.”

Icringe,wishingIhadn’tjustputitouttherelikethat.Ishould’vebrokenherinslowly,gottenher

usedtotheideaofseeinghimagain.

“Doesthismeanyou’rebacktogether?”
Ishrug,allowingmyhairtofallinmyfacesoit’spartiallyhidden.Graspingachunkandtwistingit

around, pretending to inspect for split ends even though I no longer get them. “Yeah, um, we’re still—
friendly.”Ishrug.“Imean,actually,we’remorethanfriends,we’remorelike—”

Dating and doomed—destined to spend an eternity in the abyss—madly in love but unable to

touch—

“Well,yeah,Imean,Iguessyoucouldsaywe’rebacktogetheragain.”Forcingasmilesowidemy

lipspracticallysplitdownthemiddle,butholdingitanyway,hopingit’llencouragehertojoinin.

“Andyou’reokaywiththat?”Sherunsherhandthroughhergoldenblondhair,ashadeweusedto

shareuntilIstarteddrinkingtheelixirwhichturnedmineevenlighter,thenperchesontheedgeofmybed,
crossesherlegs,anddropsherbriefcaseontothefloor—fourverybadsignsthatshe’ssettlinginforone
ofherlong,awkwardtalks.

Her gaze moves over me, taking in my faded jeans, my white tank top and blue tee, searching for

symptoms,hints,clues,somekindoftelltalesignofadolescentdistress.Havingonlyrecentlyruledout
anorexiaand/orbulimiawhenmyelixir-fueledgrowthspurtaddedfourinchestomyheightandbulkedup
myframewithathinlayerofmuscleeventhoughIneverworkout.

Butthistimeit’snotmyappearancethat’sgotherunnerved,it’smyonagain/offagainrelationship

withDamenthat’srunghercodered.Havingrecentlyfinishedyetanotherparentingbookclaimingthata
tumultuous relationship is major cause for concern. And even though that may be true, nothing about
Damenandmyrelationshipcouldeverbecondensedintoachapterinabook.

“Don’t get me wrong, Ever. I like Damen, I do. He’s nice and polite, and he’s certainly very

composed—andyet,there’ssomethingaboutthatcoolself-assurance,somethingthatseemsratheroddfor
ayoungmanhisage.Likehe’ssomehowtoooldforyou—or—”Sheshrugs,unabletoplaceit.

I push my hair off my face so I can see her better. She’s the second person today who’s noticed

somethingoffabouthim—aboutus.FirstitwasHavenwiththewholetelepathything,andnowSabine’s
takingissuewithhismaturityandpoise.Andeventhoughit’seasyenoughtoexplain,thefactthatthey’re
evennoticinginthefirstplaceiswhatworriesme.

“And while I know there’s only a few months between you, he somehow comes off as—more

experienced.Tooexperienced.”Sheshrugs.“AndI’dhateforyoutofeelpressuredintodoingsomething
you’renotquitereadyfor.”

Ipressmylipstogetherandtrynottolaugh,thinkinghowshecouldn’thavegottenitmorewrong.

AssumingthatI’mtheinnocentmaidenbeingchasedbythebigbadwolf,neverimaginingthatI’mactually
thepredatorinthisparticulartale,dangerouslypursuingmypreytothepointofriskinghislife.

“Becausenomatterwhathemaysay,you’reincontrolofyou,Ever.You’retheonewhodetermines

who,where,andwhen.Andnomatterhowyoumayfeelabouthim,oranyboyforthatmatter,theyhave
norighttopushtheiragendaon—”

“It’s not like that,” I tell her, cutting in before this gets any more embarrassing than it already has.

“Damen’s not like that. He’s a perfect gentleman, an ideal boyfriend. Seriously, Sabine, you’re way off
course.Justtrustmeonthisone,okay?”

Shelooksatmeforamoment,crisporangeaurawavering,wantingtobelieve,unsureifsheshould.

Then she picks up her briefcase and heads for the door, stopping just shy of it when she says, “I was
thinking—”

I look at her, tempted to peek at her thoughts, despite my vow to never intentionally breach her

privacylikethat—unlessit’sanemergencyofcourse,whichthisclearlyisnot.

“Sinceschool’slettingoutsoon,andsinceIhaven’theardyoumentionanysummerplans,Ithoughtit

might be good for you to find a job, spend a few hours each day working at something. What do you
think?”

What do I think? I gape, eyes bugging, mouth dry, at a complete loss for words. Well, I think I

should’vepeeredintoyourheadafterall,becauseclearlythisdoesqualifyasamajordistresscall!

“Nothingfulltimeoranythinglikethat.There’llbeplentyoftimeforthebeachandyourfriends.I

justthoughtitwouldbegoodforyouto—”

“Is this about money?” My mind reeling, desperate to find a way out. If it’s a simple matter of

pitchinginforthemortgageandgroceries,thenI’llgladlycomeupwithwhateversheneeds.Heck,she
caneventakewhatever’sleftofmyparent’slifeinsurancepolicyforallIcare.Butwhatshecan’thaveis
mysummer.Unh-uh.Noway.Notevenaday.

“Ever, of course it’s not about money.” She averts her gaze as her cheeks flush soft pink. Oddly

aversetodiscussingallthingsfinancialforsomeonewhomakesalivingasacorporatelitigator.“Ijust
thoughtitmightbegoodforyouto,youknow,meetsomenewpeople,learnsomethingnew.Getoutof
yourusualenvironmentforafewhourseachday,and—”

AndgetawayfromDamen.Notneedingtoreadherthoughtstoknowwhatthisisreallyabout.Now

thatsheknowswe’rebacktogethershe’smoredeterminedthanevertobreakusapart.AndwhileIget
howconcernedshewasbyallthemoodinessanddepressionIsubjectedhertowhenwewereapart,this
timeshe’sgotitallwrong.It’snotlikeshethinks.ThoughI’venoideahowtoexplainthattoherandstill
keepmysecretsintact.

“—and as it so happens, a summer internship just opened up at the firm, and I’m sure it’s just a

matter of speaking with the senior partners and the job will be yours.” She smiles, face radiant, eyes
bright,expectingmetojointhecelebrationaswell.

“But aren’t those positions usually reserved for law students?” I ask, sure I’m pathetically

underqualifiedtofillthoseparticularshoes.

But she just shakes her head. “It’s not that type of internship. This is more of a filing and phone

answering assignment. And there’s really no money in it either, though you will get school credit and a
smallendoftheseasonbonus.Ijustthoughtitmightdoyousomegood.Nottomentionhowitwillreally
beefupthosecollegeapplicationsofyours.”

College.YetanotherthingIusedtoobsessaboutbutnotanymore.Imean,whatpossibleusecouldI

have for all of those classes and professors when all I have to do is place my hand on a book or peek
insidemyteacher’sheadtoknowalltheanswers?

“I’dhateforanyoneelsetogetintherewhenIknowyou’rejustperfectforthejob.”
Istareather,unsurewhattosay.
“It’sgoodexperienceforapersonyourage,”sheadds,herindignanttonearesultofmysilence.“It’s

recommendedinallthebooks.Theysayitbuildscharacter,commitment,andthedisciplinetoshowupon
timeandgetthejobdone.”

Great.SoIhaveDr.Philtothankforruiningmysummer.CompletelyannoyedwithSabineuntilI

rememberhowshewaswhenIfirstgothere—calm,relaxed,andcompletelylaidback,allowingmeall
thespaceandfreedomIneeded.It’smyfaultshechanged.Mysuspension,myrefusaltoingestanything
otherthantheredelixir,andallthedramawithDameniswhatsentherovertheedge.Andthisiswhereit
led—tothedreadedsummerinternshipshe’sbentonsecuringforme.

ButnowaycanIspendthesummerjugglingamountainoffilesandincessantlyringingphoneswhen

I’mgoingtoneedallthefreetimeIcangettofindanantidoteforDamen.AndworkinginSabine’soffice,
withherandhercolleaguessnoopingovermyshoulder,justwillnotdo.

Thoughit’snotlikeIcansaythatoutright.It’llsetoffheralarms.Ineedtoplayitcool,letherknow

thatwhileI’venothingagainstdisciplineandcharacterbuilding,Iprefertotacklethosethingsonmyown.

“I’m totally cool with working,” I say, trying not to press my lips together, fidget, or break eye

contact, three definite giveaways that I’m not being entirely honest. “But since you do so much for me
already,I’d feel a lot better if Icould find my own job. I mean, I’mjust not sure I’m cut out for office
work,somaybeIcouldlookaroundalittle.Seewhatmyoptionsare.I’llevenpitchinwiththemortgage
andfood.It’stheleastIcando.”

“What food?” She laughs, shaking her head. “You barely eat! Besides, I don’t want your money,

Ever.ThoughIwillhelpyouestablishalineofcreditifyou’dlike.”

“Sure.” I shrug, forcing an enthusiasm I don’t really feel since I’ve absolutely no need for such

conventional things. “That would be great!” I add, knowing that the longer I can keep her mind off this
internship,thebetterforme.

“Okaythen.”Shedrumsherfingersagainstthedoorjambasshefinalizesherplan.“You’vegotone

weektofindsomethingonyourown.”

Igulp,tryingtokeeptheeyebuggingtoaminimum.Oneweek?Whatkindofaheadstartisthat

whenIdon’tevenknowwheretobegin?I’veneverhadajobbefore.Isitpossibletojustmanifestone?

“I know it’s not much time,” she says, reading my face. “But I’d hate for them to fill the position

whenIknowyou’dbeperfect.”

Sheheadsintothehallandclosesthedoorbetweenus,leavingmesideswiped,dumbstruck,staring

attheflickeringremnantsofherorangeyaura,hermagneticenergyfield,hoveringinsistentlyinthespace
whereshestood.ThinkinghowironicitisthatIwasjustmakingfunofDamenforassuminghecouldland
ajobwithoutanyexperienceonlytofindmyselffacingthesameexactfate.

ChapterEleven

Itossandturnallnight.Bedatangledmessofsweat-dampenedpillowsandblankets,bodyandmind

exhaustedbydreams.Wakingbriefly,gaspingforair,onlytobepulledunderagain,returningtothevery
sameplaceIfoughttoescape.

AndtheonlyreasonIwantittostopisbecauseRileyisthere.Laughinghappilyasshegrabsholdof

myhand,takingmeonatourofaverystrangeland.ButeventhoughIskiprightalongsideher,pretending
toenjoythetriptoo,themomentsheturnsherback,Iscrambleforthesurface,eagertoremovemyself
fromthisscene.

Because the truth is, it’s not really Riley. Riley is gone. Having crossed the bridge at my urging,

moving on to some unknown place. And even though she keeps yanking me back, yelling at me to pay
attention,tojusttrustherandstoprunning—Irefusetoobey.Surethatit’ssomekindofpunishmentfor
harmingDamen,sendingDrinatotheShadowland,andputtingeverythingIcareaboutatrisk—allowing
mysubconscioustoproducetheseguilt-inducedimages,sosugar-coatedwithhappiness,there’snoway
they’rereal.

But this last time, just as I’m about to run, Riley appears right before me, blocking my exit, and

yellingatmetostayput.Standingbeforealargestageandslowlydrawingthedrapes,revealingatall,
narrow,rectangularcube—likeaprisonofglass—containingadesperateandstrugglingDameninside.

IrushtohisaidasRileylookson,pleadingwithhimtohangintherewhileIhelphimbreakfree.

Buthecan’tevenhearme.Can’tevenseeme.Justcontinuestofightuntilsoovercomewithexhaustion,
withtheabsolutefutility,hecloseshiseyesandfadesstraightintotheabyss.

TheShadowland.
Thehomeforlostsouls.
Iboltfrommybed,bodyshaking,chilled,drenchedwithsweat,standinginthecenterofmyroom

withapillowclutchedtomychest.Overcomenotonlybythefeelingofutterdefeat,butbythehorrible
messagemyimaginedsisterhassent—tellingmethatnomatterhowhardItry,Ican’tsavemysoulmate
fromme.

Irunformycloset,changingintosomeclothesbeforegrabbingsomesneakersandheadingforthe

garage.Knowingit’stooearlytogotoschool,tooearlytogoanywhere.ButIrefusetogiveup.Refuseto
believeinnightmares.Ihavetostartsomewhere.HavetousewhatIgot.

ButjustasI’mabouttoclimbintomycar,Ithinkbetter.Realizingthewholeprocessofopeningthe

garagedoorandstartingtheenginewillriskwakingSabine.AndeventhoughIcaneasilystepoutsideand
manifestanothercar,bike,Vespa,orwhateverelseImightwant,Idecidetotryrunninginstead.

I’veneverbeenmuchofarunner.FarmoreusedtodraggingmyfeetthrougheveryforcedlapinP.E.

than striving for any sort of personal best. But that was before I became immortal. Before I was gifted
withincrediblespeed.AspeedIhaven’tevenbeguntotestthelimitsof,sincethelasttimeIranwasthe
firsttimeIrealizedIevenhadthepotential.ButnowthatI’mfacedwiththeperfectopportunitytoseejust
howfarandfastIcangobeforestopping,dropping,orcrumblingtothegroundwithadebilitatingcaseof
sidecramps,Ican’twaittotryitout.

Islipoutthesidedoorandheadforthestreet.AtfirstthinkingIshouldwarmup,startoffinanice

slow jog before hitting the asphalt at full throttle. But no sooner have I started than a major surge of
adrenaline kicks in, coursing through my body like the highest-grade rocket fuel. And the next thing I
know,it’sfullspeedahead.Runningsofastmyneighbor’shousesarereducedtoavisualblurofstucco
andstone.Jumpingfallentrashcansanddodgingpoorlyparkedcars,asIracefromstreettostreetwith
thegraceandagilityofajunglecat.Havingvirtuallynoawarenessofmylegsormyfeet,justtrustingthey
won’tfailme.Thatthey’llgetmetomydestinationinmiraculoustime.

AndnomorethanafewsecondshavepassedwhenI’mstandingbeforeit,theoneplaceIsworeI’d

neverreturnto,preparedtodotheonethingIpromisedDamenIwouldn’t—approachingRoman’sdoor,
hopingtobrokersomekindofdeal.

ButbeforeIcanevenraisemyhandtoknock,Romanisthere.Cladinadeeppurplerobeoverblue

silkpajamas,hismatchingvelvetslipperswithembroideredgoldenfoxespeekingoutfromthehem.His
gazesleek,narrowed,lookingmeoverwithoutatraceofsurprise.

“Ever.”Hecockshisheadtotheside,allowingforanunobstructedviewofhisflashingOuroboros

tattoo.“Whatbringsyoutotheneighborhood?”

Myfingersplayattheamuletjustundermyshirt,heartracingbeneathit,hopingDamen’sright,that

it’llprovidethenecessaryprotection—shoulditcometothat.

“Weneedtotalk,”Isay,tryingnottocringeashiseyessailoverme,enjoyinganice,long,leisurely

cruise.

Hesquintsintothenight,thenbackatme.“Dowe?”Heliftshisbrow.“AndhereIhadnoidea.”
I start to roll my eyes, but remembering my purpose for coming here, I settle for pressing my lips

togetherinstead.

“Recognizethedoor?”Herapshisknuckleshardagainstthewood,elicitinganicesolidthump,asI

wonder what he could possibly be up to. “Of course you don’t,” he says, lips quirking at the sides.
“That’sbecauseit’snew.Iwasforcedtoreplacetheoldoneafteryourlastvisit.Youremember?When
youbustedyourwayinsoyoucouldtossmysupplyofelixirdownthedrain?”Helaughsandshakeshis
head. “Very naughty of you, Ever. And quite a mess I must say. I hope you’ll manage to behave better
today.”Heleansagainstthedoorframeandwavesmein,gazingatmeinawaysodeep,sointimate,it’s
allIcandonottosquirm.

Iheaddownthehallandintotheden,noticinghowthedoorisn’ttheonlythingthat’schangedsinceI

waslasthere.GonearetheframedBotticelliprintsandabundanceofchintz,allofitreplacedbymarble
andstone,darkheavyfabrics,roughplasteredwalls,andblackironthingsshapedintoscrolls.

“Tuscan?”Iturn,startledtofindhimstandingsonearIcanseetheindividualdarkpurpleflecksin

hiseyes.

Heshrugs,refusingtobackupandgivemesomespace.“SometimesIgetalittlehankeringforthe

oldcountry.”Hesmiles,aslowwideningofhischeeks,displayingshinywhiteteeth.“Asyouwellknow,
Ever,there’snoplacelikehome.”

Iswallowhardandturnaway,tryingtodeterminemyquickestescapesinceIcan’taffordtomake

eventheslightestmistake.

“Sotellme,towhatdoIowethismagnificenthonor?”Heglancesoverhisshoulderasheheadsfor

the bar. Removing a bottle of elixir from the wine refrigerator and pouring it into a cut crystal glass,
beforeofferingittome.ButIjustshakemyheadandwaveitaway,watchingashecarriesitovertothe
couchwhereheplopshimselfdown,spreadshislegswide,andreststheglassonhisknee.“I’massuming
you didn’t drop by in the dead of night to admire my latest decorating scheme. So tell me, what’s the
purposeofthis?”

Iclearmythroat,forcingmyselftolookhimsquareintheeyewithoutflinching,wavering,fidgeting,

orexhibitinganyothersignofweakness.Awareofhowthiswholesituationcanchangeinaninstant—
howeasilyIcanturnfrommildcuriositytoirresistibleprey.

“I’mheretocallatruce,”Isay,alertforsomekindofreactionbutgettingonlyhispenetratinggaze.

“Youknow,acease-fire,aproclamationofpeace,a—”

“Please.”Hewaveshishand.“Sparemethedefinition,luv.Icansayitintwentylanguagesandforty

dialects.You?”

Ishrug,knowingI’mluckytohavesaiditintheone.Watchingasheswirlshisdrink,theiridescent

redliquidflashingandsparkingasitrunsupthesidesandsplashesbackdown.

“And just what sort of truce are you after? You of all people should know how it works. I’ve no

intention of giving you anything, unless you’re willing to give up something of your own.” He pats the
narrowspacejustbesidehim,smilingasthoughI’dactuallyconsiderjoininghimthere.

“Whydoyoudothis?”Iask,unabletocontainmyfrustration.“Imean,you’remoreorlessdecent

looking,you’reimmortal,you’vegotallthegiftsthatgowithit—youcanprettymuchhaveanyoneyou
want,sowhydoyouinsistonbotheringme?”

Hethrowshisheadbackandlaughs,agiantroarthatfillsuptheroom.Finallycalmingdownenough

to level his gaze, looking at me as he says, “Decent looking?” He shakes his head and laughs again,
placinghisglassonthetableandretrievingapairofgoldennailclippersfromajewel-encrustedcase.
“Decentlooking,”hemutters,shakinghishead,takingamomenttocheckouthisnails,beforereturning
his focus to me. “But you see, luv, that’s just it. I can have anything I want. Anything or anyone. It all
comessoeasy.Tooeasy.”Hesighs,gettingtoworkonhisnails,soabsorbedbythetask,I’mwondering
ifhe’llcontinuewhenhesays,“Itallgetsalittletediousafterthefirst—oh—hundredorsoyears.And
whileyou’refartoonewtounderstandanyofthis,somedayyou’llrealizejusthowbigofafavorI’ve
doneyou.”

Isquint,havingnoideawhathecouldpossiblymean.Afavor?Isheserious?
“Yousureyouwon’thaveaseat?”Hewagshisnailclippertowardtheoverstuffedchairjusttomy

right,urgingmetotakeit.“You’remakingmeouttobeaverybadhost,insistingonstandingtherelike
that.Besides,doyouhaveanyideahowfetchingyoulook?Alittle—bedridden—sure,butinthesexiest
way.”

Henarrowshiseyesuntilthey’resleekasacat’s,lipspartingjustenoughforhistonguetoescape.

ButIjuststayputandpretendnottonotice.EverythingwithRomanisagame,andtakingaseatwouldbe
concedingdefeat.Thoughremaininglikethis,watchinghistonguewethislipsashisgazelingersinall
thewrongplaces,doesn’tfeellikemuchofawin.

“You’re even more delusional than I thought if you think you’ve done me a favor,” I say, voice

hoarse,scratchy,alongwayfromstrong.“You’recrazy!”Iadd,regrettingittheinstantit’sout.

ButRomanjustshrugs,unfazedbymyoutburstashereturnstohisnails.“Trustme,it’smorethan

justafavor,luv.I’vegivenyouapurpose.Araisond’êtreastheysay.”Heglancesatme,browraised.
“Tellme,Ever,areyounotcompletelyfixatedonfindingawayto—consummate—withDamen?Areyou
notsodesperateforasolutionyouactuallyconvincedyourselfitwasagoodideatocomehere?”

Iswallowhardandstareathim.Ishould’veknownbetter,should’veheededDamen’sadvice.
“You’retooimpatient.”Henods,smoothingtheedgesofhisfreshlyclippednails.“What’stherush

whenyouhaveallofinfinitylaidoutbeforeyou?Thinkaboutit,Ever,howexactlywouldyouspendyour
eternityifitweren’tforme?Showeringeachotherwithhugebouquetsofbloodyredtulips?Havingat
eachothersooftenitcouldn’thelpbutgrowboring?”

“Thisisridiculous.”Iglare.“Andthefactthatyouseeitlikethis—likeit’ssomechivalrousdeed

that you’ve done—” I shake my head, knowing there’s no need to continue. He’s delusional, insane,
determinedtoseethingsinhisownselfishway.

“Six hundred years I yearned for her,” he says, tossing his nail clippers aside, gaze never once

leavingmine.“Andwhy,youask?WhywouldIbotherwiththesamewomanforsolongwhenIcanhave
anyone?”Helooksatmeasthoughwaitingfortheanswer,butwebothknowI’venointentionofgoing
there. “It wasn’t just her beauty like you think—though I will admit, it did spur things at the start.” He
smiles,eyesreminiscent.“No,itwasthesimplefactthatIcouldn’thaveher.NomatterhowhardItried,
nomatterhowlongIpined,Iwasneverallowed”—helooksatme,gazeheavy,intense—“admittance—if
youwill.”

I roll my eyes. I can’t help it. The fact that he wasted centuries pining for that monster is of no

interesttome.

But he just continues, ignoring my pained expression when he says, “Make no mistake, Ever, I’m

abouttosharesomethingveryimportant,somethingyoureallyshouldkeepinmind.”Heleansforward,
armsonknees,voicesteadyandlow,filledwithnewurgency.“Wealwayswantwhatwecan’thave.”He
leans back, nodding as though he just shared the key to enlightenment. “It’s human nature. We’re
hardwiredthatway.Andasmuchasyou’dprefernottobelieveit,it’stheonlyreasonDamen’sspentthe
lastfourhundredyearslongingforyou.”

I look at him, face placid, body still, aware that he’s trying to hurt me, prodding the usual spots,

knowingthishasbeenoneofmyfearsfromthemomentIfirstlearnedofourhistory.

“Face it, Ever, even Drina’s incredible beauty wasn’t enough to keep his interest. I’m sure you’re

awareofjusthowquicklyhetiredofher?”

I swallow hard, stomach like a hard bitter marble. Since when is two hundred years considered

quickly?ButIguesswhenyou’redealingwitheternityeverythingisrelative.

“It’snotabeautycontest,”Isay,cringingwhenIhearthewordsspokenaloud.Imean,seriously,is

thatthebestIcoulddo?

“Ofcourseit’snot,luv.”Romanshakeshishead,pityinhisgaze.“Ifitwas,Drinawouldwin.”He

settlesback,armsspreadacrossthecushions,glassrestingontop,daringmetorespond.“Letmeguess,
you’ve convinced yourself it’s about two souls meeting as one, destined for each other, and all of that
—puppylove?”Helaughs,noddingwhenheadds,“Thatiswhatyou’rethinking,right?”

“Youdon’twanttoknowwhatI’mthinking.”Inarrowmygaze,determinedtogettothepointnow

thatmypatience’sdissolved.“Ididn’tcomeheretobeboredbyyourphilosophicallitanies,Icamehere
because—”

“Becauseyouwantsomethingfromme.”Henods,settingdownhisdrink,glassmeetingwoodwitha

solid,wetthwomp.“Inwhichcase,I’minthedriver’sseat,whichmeansyou’reinnopositiontosetthe
pace.”

“Whydoyoudothis?”Ishakemyhead,havinggrownboredwiththisgame.“Whydoyoubother

whenyouknowI’mnotinterested?SurelyyourealizethatnomatterwhatyoudotoDamenandme,it’ll
neverbringDrinaback.What’sdoneisdone.Itcanneverbechanged.And,intheend,allofthisgame
playing,allofthisnonsenseyouengagein—allitreallydoesispreventyoufromlivingyourlife—from

movingon.”Icontinuetostare,gazeunwavering,convincing.Projectinganimageofhimhandingoverthe
antidoteandcooperatingwithme.“So,I’maskingyou,inasreasonableawayasIcan—pleasehelpme
undowhatyou’vedonetoDamen,sowecanallcoexist.”

Heshakeshishead,lidssquinchedtight.“Sorry,darlin’,thepriceisset.Nowit’sjustamatterof

whetheryou’rewillingtopay.”

Ileanagainstthewall,tired,defeated,butnotlettingon.Knowingtheonethinghewantsistheone

thingI’llnevergive.ThesameoldgameDamenwarnedmeabout.“You’llneverhaveme,Roman.Never,
ever,foraslongasI—”

Notevengettingtothemoredegrading,insultingpartthatcomesnextwhenherisesfromthecouch,

movingsoquicklyhisbreathhitsmycheeklongbeforeIcanblink.

“Relax,” he whispers, face looming so close I can make out each flawless pore on his skin. “As

much fun as that might be, providing an amusing diversion at least, I’m afraid that’s not it. I’m after
something far more esoteric than a virginal shag. Though, if you’d like to make a go of it, no strings
attached,thenIassureyou,darlin’,I’mcertainlyupforthetask.”Hesmiles,deepblueeyesboringinto
mine,projectingthemovieheplaysinhishead,theonestarringhim,andme,andaking-sizedbed.

Ilookaway,breathcomingragged,toofast,summoningeveryounceofmywillnottoslammyknee

inhisgroinwhenhisnoseglancesmyear,mycheek,myneck,inhalingmyscent.

“Iknowwhatyou’regoingthrough,Ever,”hemurmurs,lipsbrushingthetipofmyear.“Longingfor

something so close and yet—you can never quite taste it. It’s the kind of pain most people will never
experience.Butweknow,don’twe?YouandIarejoinedinthatway.”

Iunclenchmyfistsandfighttosteadymyself.KnowingIcan’triskdoinganythingrash,can’tafford

tooverreact.

“Nottoworry.”Hesmiles,slippingjustoutofmyreach.“You’reasmartgirl.I’msureyou’llfigure

itout.Andifnot—”Heshrugs.“Well,nothingchanges,right?Everythingstaysexactlythesame.Youand
Iwithourfatesintertwined—forallofinfinity.”

Heslipsdownthehall,movingsofastit’samomentbeforeIcanmakeouthisform.Tiltinghishead

andurgingmetowardthedoor,practicallypushingmeontohisstoopwhenhesays,“Sorrytocutthisso
short.ThoughIdosowithyourreputationinmind.IfDameneverfoundoutyouwerehere—well,that
couldberathertragicforyou,couldn’tit?”

He smiles, all shiny white teeth, golden hair, tanned skin, and blue eyes—the ultimate California

posterboybeckoning—ComelivethegoodlifeinLagunaBeach!AndI’mfuriouswithmyself—furious
for being so stupid—for not listening to Damen—for putting us further at risk. Handing Roman yet one
morethingtolordovermyhead.

“Sorryyoudidn’tgetwhatyoucamefor,luv,”hepurrs,hisattentionpulledbyavintageblackJaguar

thatpullsintothedrive,containingagorgeousdark-hairedcouplewhoheadrightinside.Closingthedoor
behindthemasheadds,“Whateveryoudo,steerclearofMarco’scaronyourwayout,he’llflipifyouso
muchassmudgeit.”

ChapterTwelve

Iwalkhome.Oratleast,that’sthedirectionIoriginallyheadin.ButsomewherealongthewayItake

aturn.Andthenanother.Andanother.Myfeetmovingsoslowlytheypracticallydrag,knowingthere’sno
needtorun,nothingtoprove.Despitemystrengthandspeed,I’mnomatchforRoman.He’sthemasterof
thisgameandI’mmerelyhispawn.

Icontinue,deepintotheheartofLaguna,ortheVillage,asit’scalled.Tooawaketogohome,too

ashamed to see Damen, making my way through the dark, empty streets until stopping before a small,
well-tended cottage, with flowering plants flanking either side of the door and a woven welcome mat
placedjustso,makingitappearwarm,friendly,completelybenign.

Onlyit’snot.Notevenclose.Nowit’smorelikeacrimescene.AndunlikethelasttimeIwashere,

thistimeIdon’tbotherknocking.There’snopoint.Ava’slonggone.Afterstealingtheelixirandleaving
Damentofendforhimself,shehasnointentionofreturning.

Iunlockthedoorwithmymindandstepin,takingaquicklookaroundbeforeImovepasttheden

andintothekitchen.Surprisedtofindtheusuallywell-orderedroomreducedtoanabsolutemess—the
sinkpiledhighwithdirtyglassesanddishesasthetrashoverflowstothefloor.AndeventhoughI’msure
it’snotAvawho’sdonethis,clearlysomeoneishere.

Icreepdownthehall,peeringintoaseriesofemptyroomsuntilIgettotheindigodoorattheend—

the one that leads to Ava’s so-called sacred space where she used to meditate and try to reach the
dimensions beyond. Opening the door just a crack and squinting into the dark, making out two sleeping
figures sprawled on the floor. Skimming my hand along the wall and fruitlessly searching for a light,
beforerememberingmyabilitytoilluminatetheroomonmyown—onlytofindthelasttwopeopleIever
expectedtosee.

“Rayne?”Ikneeldownbesideher,holdingmybreathassherollsoverandopensoneeye.
“Ohhey,Ever.”Sherubshereyesandstrugglestosit.“OnlyI’mnotRayne,I’mRomy.Rayne’sover

there.”

Iglanceathertwinatthefarsideoftheroom,notingthescowlthatcrossesherfacethesecondshe

realizesit’sme.

“What’reyoudoinghere?”Iask,focusingonRomyagainsinceshe’salwaysbeenthenicerofthe

two.

“Welivehere.”Sheshrugs,tuckingherwrinkledwhiteshirtintoherblueplaidskirtasshegetsoff

thefloor.

Iglancebetweenthem,takingintheirpaleskin,largedarkeyes,andstraight,black,shoulder-length

hair with the razor-slashed bangs, noticing how they’re both still dressed in the same private school
uniforms as the first day we met. But unlike in Summerland where they always appear so clean and
pristine,nowthey’reprettymuchtheopposite—sadlydisheveledandcompletelyuncaredfor.

“But you can’t live here. This is Ava’s house.” I shake my head. The idea of them squatting here

leaves me extremely unnerved. “Maybe you should think about going home. You know, back to
Summerland?”

“Wecan’t.”Raynepullsonherkneesocks,makingsurethey’reofexactequalheight,unintentionally

providingtheonlyrealcluethathelpsmetellthemapart.“Thankstoyou,we’restuckhereforever,”she
mumbles,takingamomenttoglareatme.

IglanceatRomy,hopingshe’llexplain.Butshejustshakesherheadathersister,beforelookingat

me.“Ava’sgone.”Sheshrugs.“Butdon’tletRaynegiveyouthewrongimpression.We’requitehappyto
seeyou.Wehadarunningbetonhowsoonyou’dshow.”

Mygazedartsbetweenthem,laughingnervouslyasIsay,“Oh,really?Whowon?”
Raynerollshereyesandpointsathersister.“Shedid.Iwassureyou’dabandonedusforgood.”
Ipause,somethingaboutthewayshejustsaidthat—“Wait,youmeanyouguyshavebeenherethis

wholetime?”

“Wecan’tgetback.”Romyshrugs.“We’velostourmagick.”
“Well,I’msureIcanhelpyoureturn.Imean,youdowanttoreturn—right?”Ilookatthem,seeing

RaynesmirkasRomyjustnods.Knowingthis’llbealoteasierthantheythinksinceallIhavetodois
maketheportal,getthemsettled,thensaymygood-byesandmakethereturntripbacktoLagunaalone.

“We’dlikethatverymuch,”Romysays.
“And we’d like to leave now,” Rayne adds, eyes narrowed. “After all, it’s the very least you can

do.”

Iswallowhard.Ideservethat,butIstillwonderwho’smoredesperateforthemtoleave,themor

me?

ImotiontowardRayneasIheadforthefuton,wonderingwhyneitherofthemthoughttosleeponit

insteadofthefloor.“Come,”Isay,glancingovermyshoulder.“Yousithereonmyright,andRomy,you
sit here.” I pat the lumpy cushion. “Now grab my hands and close your eyes, then focus on seeing the
portalwithallofyourmight.Envisioningthatgoldenshimmeroflightasthoughit’sbeforeyou.Andas
soon as the image is clear, I want you to see yourself stepping right through, knowing I’m right there
besideyou,keepingyousafe.Okay?”

Ipeekatthem,seeingthemnodbeforewegothroughthemotions,re-creatingalltherightsteps.But

justasIstepthroughthelightandintothatvastfragrantfield,IopenmyeyesandfindI’malone.

“Toldyou,”Raynesays,thesecondIreturn.Standingbeforeme,eyesangry,accusing,small,pale

handsclutchingherplaidskirtedhips.“Toldyouourmagickisgone.We’restuckherenowwithnoway
togetback.Andit’sallbecausewetriedtohelpyou!”

“Rayne!”Romyshakesherheadathersister,thenglancesatmewithanapologeticlookonherface.
“Well,it’strue!”Raynescowls.“Itoldyouweshouldn’triskit.Itoldyoushewouldn’tlisten.Isaw

it clear as day. The overwhelming possibility she’d make the wrong choice—which, I might add, she
did!”Sheshakesherheadandfrowns.“Itwentexactlyaspredicted.Andnowwe’retheonespayingthe
price.”

Oh,you’renottheonlyones,Ithink.Hopingthey’velosttheirabilitytoreadmindsaswell,since

I’mimmediatelyshamedbythethought.Nomatterhowmuchshe’sannoyingme,Iknowshe’sright.

“Listen,”Isay,swallowinghardasIglancebetweenthem,needingtodefusethis.“Iknowhowbad

youwanttogetback.Trustme,Ido.AndI’mgoingtodoeverythingIcantohelpyou.”Inod,seeingthem

glanceateachother,twoidenticalfacesmarredbycompletedisbelief.“Imean,I’mnotexactlysurehow
I’m going to do it, but just trust that I will. I’ll do everything I can to help you get back. And in the
meantime,I’lldoeverythingIcantokeepyoubothcomfortableandsafe.Scout’shonor.Okay?”

Raynelooksatme,rollinghereyesandheavingasigh.“JustgetusbacktoSummerland,”shesays,

armscrossingherchest.“That’sallwewant.Nothingshortofthatwilldo.”

Inod,refusingtolethergettomewhenIsay,“Understood.ButifI’mgoingtohelpyou,I’llneed

youtoanswersomequestions.”

Theylookateachother,Rayne’sgazesignalingasilent:Noway,asRomyturns,noddingatmeas

shesays,“Okay.”

AndeventhoughI’mnotquitesurehowtophraseit,it’ssomethingI’vebeenwonderingforawhile

now,soIjustdivein.“I’msorryifthisoffendsyou,butIneedtoknow—areyouguysdead?”Iholdmy
breath, fully expecting them to be mad, or at the very least insulted—pretty much any reaction but the
laughterIget.Watchingastheyfallalloverthemselves,Raynedoubledover,slappingherknee,asRomy
rollsoffthefuton,practicallyconvulsing.“Well,youcan’tblamemeforasking.”Ifrown,definitelythe
onewho’sinsulted.“Imean,wedidmeetinSummerlandwhereplentyofdeadpeoplehangout.Notto
mentionhowyou’rebothunnaturallypale.”

Rayne leans against the wall, fully recovered from her laughing fit and smirking at me. “So we’re

pale.Bigdeal.”Sheglancesathersister,thenbackatme.“It’snotlikeyou’reexactlyrockin’atan.And
yet,youdon’tseeusassumingyou’reamemberofthedearlydeparted.”

Iwince,knowingit’strue,butstill.“Yeah,well,youhadanunfairadvantage.ThankstoRileyyou

knewallaboutmelongbeforewemet.YouknewexactlywhoIamandwhatIam,andifIhaveanyhope
ofhelpingyou,thenI’mgonnahavetoknowafewthingstoo.Soasmuchasyoumayresentit,asmuchas
youmaywanttoresist,theonlywaywe’regonnagetanywhereisifyoutellmeyourstory.”

“Never,”Raynesays,staringathersister,warninghernottorebel.
But Romy ignores her and turns right to me. “We’re not dead. Not even close. We’re more like

—refugees.Refugeesfromthepast,ifyouwill.”

Iglancebetweenthem,thinkingallIhavetodoislowermyguard,focusmyquantumremote,and

touchthemfortheirentirelifestorytoberevealed,butfiguringIshouldatleasttrytogettheirversion
first.

“A long time ago,” she starts, peering at her disapproving sister before taking a deep breath and

forgingahead.“Averylongtimeago,infact,wewerefacinga—”Shesquinchesherbrow,searchingfor
justtherightword,noddingatmewhenshesays,“Well,let’sjustsaywewereabouttobecomevictims
of a terribly dark event, one of the most shameful times in our history, but we escaped by fleeing to
Summerland.Andthen,well,Iguesswelosttrackoftimeandwe’vebeenthereeversince.Oratleast
untillastweekwhenwecametohelpyou.”

Raynegroans,droppingtothefloorandburyingherfaceinherhands,butRomyjustignoresher,still

lookingatmewhenshesays,“Butnowourworstfearhascometrue.Ourmagickisgone,we’venowhere
togo,andnoideahowtosurviveinthisplace.”

“Whatsortofpersecutiondidyouflee?”Iask,watchingherclosely,searchingforclues.“Andhow

longagoisverylongago?Justwhatarewedealingwithhere?”Wonderingiftheirhistorystretchesas
farbackasDamen’s,oriftheybelongtoamorerecentpast.

They gaze at each other, communicating a wordless agreement that shuts me right out. So I move

towardRomy,graspingherhandsoquicklyshehasnotimetoreact.Immediatelypulledintohermind—
her world—seeing the story unfold as though I’m right there. Standing on the sidelines, an unnoticed
observer,fullyimmersedinthechaosandfearofthatday,witnesstoimagessohorribleI’mtemptedto

turnaway.

Watching as an angry mob swarms their home, voices raised—torches high—their aunt barring the

doorasbestshecan,makingtheportalandurgingthetwinstowardthesafetyofSummerland.

Justabouttostepthroughtheportalandjointhemwhenthedoorgiveswayandthetwinsdisappear.

Separatedfromeverythingtheyonceknew,havingnoideawhatbecameoftheirauntuntilavisittothe
Great Halls of Learning showed them the torturous trial of false accusations she was forced to endure.
Refusingtoconfesstoanykindofsorcery,havingtakentheWiccanRedeof“Anitharmnone,dowhatye
will,”andknowingshe’ddonenothingwrong,sherebuffedheroppressorandheldherheadhigh—allthe
waytothegallowswhereshewasbrutallyhung.

I stagger back, fingers seeking the amulet just under my tee, something about their aunt’s gaze so

eerilyfamiliar,leavingmeshaky,unsettled,remindingmyselfthatI’msafe,they’resafe—thatthingslike
thatdon’thappenthesedays.

“Sonowyouknow.”RomyshrugsasRayneshakesherhead.“Ourwholestory.Everythingaboutus.

Doyoublameusforchoosingtohide?”

Iglancebetweenthem,unsurewhattosay.“I—”Iclearmythroatandstartover.“I’msosorry.Ihad

noidea.”IglanceatRayne,seeinghowsherefusestolookatme,thenoveratRomywhosolemnlybows
herhead.“IhadnoideayouguysescapedtheSalemWitchTrials.”

“Notexactly,”Raynesays,beforeRomychimesin.
“Whatshemeansiswewerenevertried.Ourauntstoodaccused.Onedayshewasreveredasthe

mostsought-after midwife, andthe next, shewas rounded up andtaken away.” Shesucks in her breath,
eyeswellingupasthoughitwereyesterday.

“Wewould’vegonewithher,wehadnothingtohide,”Raynesays,liftingherchinandnarrowingher

gaze.“Anditcertainlywasn’tClara’sfaultthatpoorbabydied.It’sthefatherwhodidit.Hedidn’twant
thebabyoritsmother.SohedidawaywiththembothandblamedClara.Cryingwitchsoloudtheentire
townheard—butthenClaramadetheportal,andforcedustohide,andshewasjustabouttojoinuswhen
—well,youknowtherest.”

“Butthatwasoverthreehundredyearsago!”Icry,stillunusedtotheideaofanexistencethatlong

despitemyimmortality.

Thetwinsshrug.
“So if you haven’t been back since—” I shake my head, the monumental size of this problem just

beginning to unfold. “I mean, do you have any idea how much things have changed since you were last
here?Seriously.It’slikeawholedifferentworldfromtheonethatyouleft.”

“It’snotlikewe’reidiots.”Rayneshakesherhead.“ThingsprogressinSummerlandtoo,youknow.

Newpeoplearriveallthetime,manifestingthethingsthey’reattachedto,allthestufftheycan’tbeartolet
go.”

Butthat’snotwhatImeant,infact,notevenclose.Iwasn’tjustreferringtocarsversushorse-drawn

carriages, and trendy boutiques versus hand sewn—but more their ability to get along in the world—
blendingin,adapting,notstandingoutintheglaringwaythattheydo!Takingintheirrazor-slashedbangs,
their large dark eyes and extremely pale skin, knowing their twenty-first-century make over is far less
aboutauniformchangethanacompleteandtotaloverhaul.

“Besides,Rileypreparedus,”Romysays,elicitingaloudgroanfromRayne,andmyfullattention

fromme.“Shemanifestedaprivateschoolandconvincedustoenroll.That’swheretheseuniformscame
from.Shewasourteacher,coachingusonallthemodernways,includingourspeech.Shewantedusto
returnandwasdeterminedtoprepareusforthetrip.Partlybecauseshewantedustolookafteryou,and
partlybecauseshethoughtwewerecrazyformissingoutonourteens.”

Ifreeze,suddenlygraspinganewunderstandinginRiley’sinterestinthem—onethat’sgotfarlessto

dowithme,andeverythingtodowithher.“Howoldareyouguys?”Iwhisper,lookingtoRomyforthe
answer. “Or should I say, how old were you when you first arrived in Summerland?” Knowing they
haven’tagedadaysince.

“Thirteen,”Romysays,knittingherbrow.“Why?”
Iclosemyeyesandshakemyhead,stiflingalaughasIthink:Iknewit!
Rileyalwaysdreamedofthedayshe’dbethirteen,abonafideteenagerhavingfinallymadeittothe

important double digits. But after dying at twelve, she chose to hang around the earth plane, living her
adolescence vicariously through me. So it only makes sense she’d try to convince Romy and Rayne to
return,notwantinganyoneelsetomissoutlikeher.

And if Clara can find the strength, and Riley the hope, in situations so incredibly dire and bleak,

surelyIcanovercomeRoman.

I glance between the twins, knowing they can’t stay here on their own or come home to live with

Sabineandme,thoughthereissomeonewho’squiteableandready,ifnotentirelywillingtolendusa
hand.

“Grabyourstuff,”Isay,headingforthedoor.“I’mtakingyoutoyournewhome.”

ChapterThirteen

ThesecondwestepoutsideIrealizewe’llneedacar.AndsinceI’mmoreinterestedinspeedthan

comfort, especially after seeing the way the twins cling to each other as they gaze around warily, I
manifestsomethingthat’llgetustherefastandquicklyherdthemin.OrderingRomytositonRayne’slap
as I get myself settled and step on the gas, navigating the streets with surprising skill, while the twins
practicallyhangoutthewindow,gapingatallthatwepass.

“Haveyouguysbeeninsidethiswholetime?”Iglanceatthem,neverhavingseenanyonereacttothe

beautyofLagunaBeachinquitethesameway.

Theynod,neveronceavertingtheirgaze.SquirmingintheirseatasIpulluptothegate.Allowing

theuniformedguardtopeerthroughthewindowandscrutinizethem,beforelettingusin.

“Whereareyoutakingus?”Rayneeyesmesuspiciously.“What’swiththeguardsandbiggates?Is

thissomekindofprison?”

Iheadupthehill,glancingatherwhenIsay,“Don’tyouhavegatedcommunitiesinSummerland?”

Neveractuallyhavingseenonemyself,butthenagainIhaven’tlivedthereforthelastthreecenturieslike
theyhave.

Theyshaketheirheads,eyeswide,clearlyonedge.
“Nottoworry.”IturnontoDamen’sstreetandintohisdrive.“It’snotaprison,that’snotwhatthe

gatesarefor.They’remoretokeeppeopleoutratherthanin.”

“Butwhywouldyouwanttokeeppeopleout?”theyask,twochildlikevoicesblendingintoone.
I squint, having no idea how to answer since it’s not like I was raised like this either, all the

communitiesinmyoldhoodwereopenaccess.“Iguessit’smeanttokeeppeople—”Istarttosaysafe,
butthat’snotreallyiteither.“Anyway.”Ishakemyhead.“Ifyou’regoingtolivehere,thenyoubetterget
usedtoit.That’sprettymuchallthereis.”

“Butwe’renotgoingtolivehere,”Raynesays.“Yousaidthiswasjustatemporaryfixuntilyoufind

awaytogetusback,remember?”

Itakeadeepbreathandgripthewheelharder,remindingmyselfhowscaredshemustfeel,nomatter

howbrattyshegets.

“Ofcourseit’stemporary.”Inod,forcingasmile.Oratleastitbetterbe,becauseifnot,someone’s

goingtobeextremelydispleased.Iclimboutofthecarandmotionforthemtofollow,saying,“Readyto
seeyournewtemporaryhome?”

Iheadforthedoor,thetwoofthemcloseatmyheelsasIstandrightbeforeit,debatingwhetheror

notIshouldknockandwaitforDamentoopenitorjuststriderightinsincehe’sprobablyasleep.And

I’mjustabouttodothelatterwhenDamenswingsthedooropen,takesonelookatme,andsays,“Areyou
okay?”

Ismile,tackingonatelepathicmessageof:Beforeyousayanything—anythingatall—justtryto

staycalmandgivemeachancetoexplain—hiseyescurious,questioningasIsay,“Canwecomein?”

Hemovesaside,eyeswidewithshockwhenRomyandRaynestepoutfrombehindmeandbarrel

rightintohim.Skinnyarmswrappedaroundhiswaist,gazingupathimadoringlyastheysqueal,“Damen!
It’syou!It’sreallyyou!”Andasniceasthislittlereunionis,Ican’thelpbutnoticehowtheirreactionto
him,withalltheloveandexcitement,isprettymuchtheoppositeoftheirreactiontome.

“Hey.” He smiles, ruffling their hair and bending down to plant a kiss on the top of their heads.

“Howlonghasitbeen?”Hepullsawayandsquints.

“Last week,” Rayne says, complete adoration displayed on her face. “Seconds before Ever added

herbloodtotheantidoteandwreckedeverything.”

“Rayne!”Romyglancesbetweenhersisterandme,shakingherhead.ButIjustletitgo.Thisisone

battleI’llneverwin.

“Imeantbeforethat.”Damensquintsintothedistance,tryingtorememberthedate.
Theylookathim,amischievousgleamintheireyeswhentheysay,“Itwasjustoversixyearsago

whenEverwasten!”

Igape,eyespracticallypoppingoutofmyheadasDamenlaughs.“Ah,yes.AndIhaveyoutwoto

thank for helping me find her. And since you know how much she means to me, I’d appreciate your
kindnesstowardher.That’snottoomuchtoask—isit?”HechucksRayneunderthechin,causingherto
smileashercheeksflushbrightpink.

“SotowhatdoIowethisincrediblehonor?”Heleadsusintothestillemptylivingroom.“Ofbeing

reunitedwithmylonglostfriends,who,Imightadd,haven’tagedadaysincewemet.”

Theylookateachotherandgiggle,clearlypreparedtobecharmedbyanythinghesays.AndbeforeI

caneventhinkofareply,findtherightwordstoslowlybreakhiminandgethimusedtotheideaoftheir
livingwithhim,theylookateachotherandshout,“Eversaidwecouldlivewithyou!”

Damenglancesatme,smilestillplantedonhisface,asalookofpurehorrorcreepsintohiseyes.
“Temporarily,”Iadd,gazemeetinghis,sendingabarrageoftelepathicredtulipshisway.“Justuntil

IfindawaytogetthembacktoSummerland,ortheirmagickreturns,whichevercomesfirst.”Tackingon
a mental note of: Remember when you said you wanted to improve your karma, to make up for your
past?Well,whatbetterwaythantohelpsomeoneinneed?Andthiswayyoucankeepthehouse,since
you’ll need the extra space. It’s the perfect solution. Everyone wins! Nodding and smiling so eagerly
I’mlikeabobbleheaddoll.

Damenglancesfirstatme,thenthetwins,laughingandshakinghisheadwhenhesays,“Ofcourse

youcanstay.Foraslongasyouneed.Sowhatdoyousayweallheadupstairssoyoucanpickoutyour
rooms?”

Isigh,myperfectboyfriendprovinghimselfevenmoreperfect.Followingbehindasthetwinsrace

upthestairs—happy,giggling,completelytransformednowthatthey’reinDamen’scare.

“Can we have this room?” They ask, eyes lighting up as they stand in the doorway of Damen’s

specialroomthat’sstilldevoidofhisthings.

“No!” I answer too quickly, wincing when they turn, eyes narrowed and glaring at me. But even

though I feel bad about the negative start, I’m determined to return this room to its normal state, and
there’snowayIcandothatifthey’recampinginit.“It’staken,”Iadd,knowingitdidnothingtosoftenthe
blow.“Butthere’splentymore,thisplaceishuge,you’llsee.There’sevenapool!”

Romy and Rayne glance at each other before marching down the hall, heads bobbing together,

whisperingquietly,notbotheringtohidetheirannoyancewithme.

Youcould’vejustgivenittothem,Damenthinks,closeenoughtosendachargethroughmyveins.
Ishakemyheadandwalksilentlyalongsidehim,telepathicallyreplying,Iwanttoseeitfilledwith

yourthings.Eventhoughtheynolongermeananythingtoyou,theymeanagreatdealtome.Youcan’t
justtossoutthepast—can’tjustturnyourbackonthethingsthatdefinedyou.

Hestops,turningtomeashesays,“Ever,wearenotdefinedbyourthings.It’snottheclothesthat

wewear,thecarsthatwedrive,theartweacquire—it’snotwherewelive—buthowwelivethatdefines
us.”Hisgazeboresintomine,ashegathersmeintoatelepathicembrace,theeffectseemingsoreal,it
robsmeofbreath.“It’souractionsthatarerememberedlongafterwe’regone,”headds,smoothingmy
hairashislipstelepathicallymeetmine.

True.Ismile,enhancingtheimagehecreatedwithtulipsandsunsetsandrainbowsandcupidsand

all manner of clichéd romantic themes that make us both laugh. Except that we’re immortal, I add,
determined to sway him to my side. Which means none of that really applies. So with that in mind,
maybewecanjust—

ButIdon’tevengettofinishbeforethetwinscallforus,shouting,“Thisroom!Iwantthisone!”
Since the twins are so used to being together, I was sure they’d want to share the same space and

evengetbunkbedsorsomething.Butthemomenttheycheckedoutthesizeofthenextroom,andtheone
afterthat,theyeachstakedtheirclaimandneverlookedback.Spendingthenextseveralhoursdirecting
Damen and me to decorate down to their most minute specifications, demanding we manifest beds,
dressers,andshelves,onlytochangetheirminds,haveusemptytheroom,andstartalloveragain.

But as long as Damen was using his magick, I didn’t complain. I was far too relieved to see him

manifestingagain,evenifhewasstillrefusingtomanifestanythingforhimself.Bythetimewefinished,
thesunwasstartingtorise,andIknewI’dbetterreturnhomebeforeSabinewokeupandnoticedIwas
gone.

“Don’tbesurprisedifIdon’tmakeittoschooltoday,”hesays,walkingmetothefrontdoor.
Isigh,hatingthethoughtofgoingwithouthim.
“I can’t leave them here on their own. Not until they get settled in.” He shrugs, hooking his thumb

overhisshoulderandpointingupstairswherethetwinsarefinally,mercifully,asleepintheirbeds.

I nod, knowing he’s right, and vowing to get them back to Summerland soon, before they get too

comfortablehere.

“I’mnotsurethat’sthesolution,”hesays,sensingmythoughts.
Isquint,unsurewherehe’sgoing,butgettinganuncomfortablepinginmygutnonetheless.
“I’vebeenthinking—”Hecockshisheadtotheside,thumbtracinghisstubble-linedchin.“They’ve

been through a lot—losing their home, their families, everything they’ve ever known and loved—their
livestakensoabruptly,theyhadn’thadachancetoevenlivethem—”Heshakeshishead.“Theydeserve
arealchildhood,youknow?Afreshstartintheworld—”

I gape, wanting to respond but the words just won’t come. Because while I also want them to be

happyandsafeandallofthosethings,asfarastherestgoes,we’renolongeronthesamepage.Iwas
planningforashortlittlevisit,acoupleofdays,orattheveryworst—weeks.NeveroncedidIentertain
theideaofbecomingsurrogateparents,especiallytotwinswho’rejustafewyearsyoungerthanme.

“Itwasjustathought.”Heshrugs.“Ultimately,thedecisionistheirs.It’stheirlife.”
Iswallowhardandavertmygaze,tellingmyselfthisisnothingthathastobesettledjustyet,heading

towardmymanifestedcarwhenDamensays,“Ever.Seriously?ALamborghini?”

Icringe,flushingunderhisgaze.“Ineededsomethingfast.”Ishrug,knowinghe’snotbuyingitthe

secondIseehisface.“Theywerescaredofbeingoutside,soIneededtogetthemherequickly.”

“And did it need to be shiny and red as well?” He laughs, glancing between the car and me and

shakinghishead.

I press my lips together and look away, refusing to say anything more. I mean, it’s not like I was

planningtokeepit.I’llgetridofitthesecondIgethomeandpullintomydrive.

Iopenthedoorandclimbin,suddenlyrememberingthethingImeanttoaskhimbefore.Takinginthe

elegantlinesofhisfaceasIsay,“HeyDamen—how’dyouopenthedoorsoquickly?How’dyouknow
wewerehere?”

Helooksatme,eyesmeetingmineasthesmileslowlyfadesfromhisface.
“Imean,itwasfourinthemorning.Ididn’tevenhaveachancetoknockandyouwerealreadythere.

Weren’tyouasleep?”

Andeventhoughachunkofflashyredmetalstandsbetweenus,it’sasthoughhe’srightthere,gaze

sendingshiversovermyskinwhenhesays,“Ever,Icanalwayssensewhenyou’renear.”

ChapterFourteen

AfteralongdayatschoolwithoutDamen,thesecondthefinalbellrings,Igetinmycarandheadfor

hishouse.Butinsteadofmakingaleftatthelight,IpullanillegalU-turn.TellingmyselfIshouldallow
himsomespace,givehimachancetobondwiththetwins—whenthetruthis,betweentheirheroworship
ofDamenandRayne’sglaringanimositytowardme—well,I’mjustnotreadytofacethemagain.

I head toward downtown Laguna, figuring I’ll stop by Mystics and Moonbeams, the metaphysical

bookstorewhereAvaonceworked.ThinkingmaybeLina,thestore’sowner,canhelpmefindasolution
tomymoremysticalproblemswithoutmydivulgingjustwhatitisthatI’mafter.Which,consideringhow
suspicioussheis,shouldprovetobequiteafeat.

After manifesting the best parking space I can, which in overcrowded Laguna happens to be two

blocksaway,Istuffthemeterfullofquartersandmakemywaytowardthedoor,onlytobemetbyabig
redsignreading:BEBACKINTEN!

I stand before it, lips pressed together as I glance all around, making sure no one is watching as I

mentally flip the sign over while making the dead bolt retreat. Silencing the bell on the door as I slip
insideandheadforthebookshelves,relishingthechancetobrowseonmyown,freeofLina’sscrutiny.

The tips of my fingers graze the long row of spines, waiting for some kind of signal, a sudden

warming,anitchatthetips,somethingtoalertmetojusttherightone.Butnotgettinganything,Igrabone
near the end and close my eyes, pressing my palms to the front and back covers, eager to see what’s
inside.

“How’dyougetinhere?”
Ijump,bumpingintotheshelfjustbehindme,knockingapileofCDstothefloor.
Cringingatthemessatmyfeet,scatteredjewelcaseseverywhere,someofthemcracked,asIsay,

“Youscaredme—I—”

I drop to my knees, heart racing, face flushing, wondering not just who he is but how he could’ve

possibly managed to sneak up on me when it should be impossible to do so. A mortal’s energy always
announcesitselflongbeforetheiractualpresencedoes.Soisitpossiblethathe—isn’tmortal?

Isneakaquickpeekashekneelsdownbesideme,takinginhistannedskin,definedarms,andheavy

clumpofgoldenbrowndreadlocksspillingoverhisshoulderandhalfwaydownhisback.Watchingashe
gathers the damaged jewel cases into his hands, searching for some kind of sign that’ll out him as an
immortal,maybeevenarogue.Afacethat’stooperfect—anOuroborostattoo—butwhenhecatchesme
looking,hesmilesinawaythatnotonlydisplaysthemostdisarmingsetofdimplesperfectlypunctuating
eachcheek,butasetofteeththatarejustcrookedenoughtoprovehe’snothinglikeme.

“Youokay?”heasks,gazingatmewitheyessogreenIcanbarelyremembermyname.
I nod, standing awkwardly and rubbing my palms on my jeans, wondering why I’m so breathless,

unnerved,forcingthewordsfrommylipswhenIsay,“Yeah.I’m—fine.”Inadvertentlytackinganervous
laughontotheendthat’ssohighpitchedandfoolishIcringeandturnaway.“I,um—Iwasjust,browsing
themerchandise,”Iadd,realizingjustafterI’vesaiditthatIprobablyhavemorerighttobeherethanhe
does.

GlancingovermyshouldertofindhimgazingatmeinawayIcan’tread,Itakeadeepbreathand

pullmyshouldersback.“Ithinktherealquestionis,how’dyougetinhere?”Takinginhissandybarefeet
and wet board shorts hanging dangerously low on his hips, averting my gaze before I can see anything
more.

“Iowntheplace.”Henods,stackingthefallenCDs,theonesthataren’tcracked,backontotheshelf

beforeturningtome.

“Really?”Iturn,eyesnarrowedwhenIadd.“CuzIhappentoknowtheowner,andyoudon’tlooka

thinglikeher.”

He cocks his head to the side, squinting in faux contemplation and rubbing his chin as he says,

“Really?Mostpeopleclaimtoseearesemblance.Though,Ihavetoadmit,I’mwithyou,neverseenit
myself.”

“You’re related to Lina?” I gape, hoping my voice didn’t sound as panicked to his ears as it did

mine.

“She’smygrandmother.”Henods.“Name’sJude,bytheway.”
Heoffershishand,long,tanned,fingersextended,waitingformine.Buteventhoughmycuriosity’s

piqued,Ican’tdoit.Despitemyinterest,despitemywonderingwhyhemakesmefeelso—flusteredand
offbalance—Ican’triskthebarrageofknowledgeasingletouchbringswhenmypsyche’sdisturbed.

Inod,respondingwiththisstupid,embarrassingsortofhalfwave,asImumblemyname.Tryingnot

towincewhenhegivesmeanoddlookandlowershishandagain.

“So,nowthatthat’scovered—”Heslingshisdamptoweloverhisshoulder,sendingasprayofsand

throughtheroom.“I’mbacktomyoriginalquestion,whatareyoudoinginhere?”

Iturn,feigningsuddeninterestinabookondreaminterpretationwhenIsay,“I’mstickingwithmy

originalanswer,whichwasbrowsing, in case you’ve forgotten. Surely you allow browsers in here?” I
turn, meeting his gaze—those amazing sea green eyes reminding me of an ad for a tropical getaway.
Something about them so—indefinable—startling—and yet—strangely familiar—though I’m sure I’ve
neverseenhimbefore.

Helaughs,pushingatangleofgoldendreadsoffhisfaceandexposingascarsplicingrightthrough

his brow, gaze landing just to my right as he says, “And yet, after all the summers I’ve spent here,
watchingcustomersbrowsethemerchandise,I’veneveronceseensomeonebrowsequitelikeyou.”

Hislipspullatthesides,ashiseyesstudymine.ThenIturn,cheeksheating,heartracing,takinga

moment to compose myself before turning back to say, “You’ve never seen someone browse the back
cover?That’salittleodd,don’tyouthink?”

“Notwiththeireyesclosed.”Hetiltshisheadtothesideandfocusesonthespacetomyrightonce

again.

I swallow hard, flustered, shaky, knowing I need to change the subject before I sink any deeper.

“MaybeyoushouldbemoreconcernedwithhowIgotinhereinsteadofwhatI’mdoinginhere,”Isay,
wishingIcouldtakeitbackthesecondit’sout.

Helooksatme,gazenarrowed.“FiguredIleftthedooropenagain.AreyousayingIdidn’t?”
“No!” I shake my head, hoping he doesn’t notice the way my cheeks color and heat. “No, that’s—

that’sexactlywhatI’msaying.Youdidleavethedooropen,”Iadd,tryingnottofidget,blink,pressmy
lips together, or otherwise give myself away. “Wide open in fact, which is not only a waste of air-
conditioningbuttotally—”Istop,mystomachgoingweirdwhenIseethesmileatplayonhislips.

“So,afriendofLina’s,huh?”Hemovestowardtheregister,droppinghistowelonthecounterina

wet,sandythud.“Neverheardhermentionyoubefore.”

“Well,weweren’texactlyfriends.”Ishrug,hopingitdidn’tlookasawkwardasitfelt.“Imean,I

metheronceandshehelpedmewith—wait,whydidyoujustphraseitlikethat?Youknow,allpasttense.
IsLinaokay?”

Henods,perchingonastool,grabbingapurplecardboardboxfromadrawerandflippingthrougha

bunch of receipts. “She’s on one of her annual retreats. Picks a different one each year. This time it’s
Mexico.TryingtodetermineiftheMayanswererightandtheworldwillendin2012.What’syourtake?”

Helooksatme,greeneyescurious,insistent,boringrightintomine.ButIjustscratchmyarmand

shrug,neverhavingheardthatparticulartheorybeforeandwonderingifitappliestoDamenandme.Is
thatwhenwe’llheadfortheShadowland,orwillwebeforcedtowanderabarrenEarth—thelasttwo
survivorsresponsibleforrepopulatingtheland—only—ironyalert—ifwetouch,Damendies—

Ishakemyhead,eagertoescapethatparticularthreadbeforeitcanreallytakeholdandmesswith

myhead.Besides,I’mhereforareasonandIneedtostickwiththeplan.

“Sohowdoyouknowher?Ifyouweren’texactlyfriends.”
“ImetherthroughAva,”Isay,hatingthefeelofhernameonmylips.
Herollshiseyes,mumblingsomethingunintelligibleandshakinghishead.
“Soyouknowher?”Ilookathim,allowingmygazetotravelhisface,hisneck,hisshoulders,his

smoothtannedchest,makingmywaydowntohisnavel,beforeforcingmyselftolookawayagain.

“Yeah,Iknowher.”Hepushestheboxaside,gazemeetingmine.“Justupanddisappearedtheother

day—intothinairfromwhatIcantell—”

Oh,youdon’tknowthehalfofit,Ithink,carefullywatchinghisface.
“—calledherhouse,hercell,butnothing.Finallydidadrive-bytomakesureshewasokayandthe

lightswereonsoit’sclearshe’sbeendodgingme.”Heshakeshishead.“Leftmewithabunchofangry
clients,demandingareading.Whowould’vethoughtshe’dturnouttobesuchaflake?”

Yes,whowould’vethought?Certainlynotthepersonwhowasfoolishenoughtoplaceherdeepest

darkestsecretsrightintohergreedy,outstretched,hands...

“Stillhaven’tfoundanyonegoodenoughtoreplaceherthough.Andletmetellya,it’sprettymuch

impossible to give readings and take care of the store. That’s why I stepped out just now.” He shrugs.
“SurfwascallingandIneededabreak.GuessIleftthedooropenagain.”

Hiseyesmeetmine,sparklinganddeep.AndIcan’ttellifhetrulybelievesheleftthedooropen,or

if he suspects me. But when I try to peer into his head to see for myself I’m stopped by the wall he’s
erected to safeguard his thoughts from people like me. All I have to go by is the brilliant purple aura I
failedtoseebefore—itscolorwavingandshimmering,beckoningtome.

“SofarallIgotareastackofapplicationsfromamateurs.ButI’msodesperatetogetmyweekends

back,I’mreadytotosstheirnamesinabowlandpickonejusttogetitoverwith.”Heshakeshishead
andflashesthosedimplesagain.

And even though part of me can’t believe what I’m about to do, the other part, the more practical

part,urgesmeon,recognizingtheperfectopportunitywhenit’sstandingbeforeme.

“MaybeIcanhelp.”IholdmybreathasIwaitforhisreply.Butwhenmyonlyresponseisasetof

narrowedlidsaccompaniedbytheslightestcurlingoflips,Iadd,“Seriously.Youdon’tevenhavetopay
me!”

Hesquintsevenfurther,thoseamazinggreeneyespracticallydisappearingfromsight.
“WhatImeantwasyoudon’thavetopaymeallthatmuch,”Isay,notwantingtocomeoffassome

weird desperate freak who gives it away for free. “I’ll work for just over minimum wage—but only
becauseI’msogoodI’llbelivingoffthetips.”

“You’repsychic?”Hefoldshisarmsandtiltshisheadback,gazingatmewithcompletedisbelief.
Istraightenmypostureandtrynottofidget.Hopingtoappearprofessional,mature,someonehecan

trusttohelprunhisstore.“Yup.”Inod,unabletokeepfromwincing,unusedtoconfidingmyabilitiesto
anyone,muchlessastranger.“Ijustsortofknowthings—informationjustsortofcomestome—it’shard
toexplain.”

Helooksatme,wavering,thenfocusingjusttomyrightashesays,“Sowhatexactlyareyouthen?”
Ishrug,fingersplayingwiththezipperonmyhoodie,drawingitupanddown,downandup,having

noideawhathemeans.

“Areyouclairaudient,clairvoyant,clairsentient,clairgustance,clairscent,orclairtangency?Which

isit?”Heshrugs.

“Alloftheabove.”Inod,havingnoideawhathalfthosethingsmean,butfiguringifit’sgotanything

evenremotelytodowithpsychicabilities,thenIcanprobablydoit.

“Butyou’renotmediumistic,”hesays,asthoughit’safact.
“Icanseespirits.”Ishrug.“Butonlytheonesthatarestillhere,nottheoneswho’vecrossed—”I

stop,pretendingtoclearmythroat,knowingit’sbetternottomentionthebridge,Summerland,oranyof
that.“—Ican’tseetheoneswho’vecrossedover.”Ishrug,hopinghedoesn’ttrytopushitsincethat’sas
farasI’llgo.

Hesquints,gazeroamingfromthetopofmypaleblondheadandallthewaydowntomyNikeclad

feet.Agazethatmakesmywholebodyquiver.Reachingforalong-sleevedteestashedunderthecounter
andyankingitoverhisheadbeforehelooksatmeandsays,“Well,Ever,ifyouwannaworkhere,you’re
gonnahavetopasstheaudition.”

ChapterFifteen

Judelocksthefrontdoorthenleadsmedownashorthallandintoasmallroomontheright.Ifollow

behind,handsflexedbymysides,staringatthepeacesignonthebackofhisteeandremindingmyselfthat
ifhedoesanythingcreepyIcantakehimdownquicklyandmakehimregretthedayheeverwentafterme.

Hemotionstowardapaddedfoldablechairfacingasmallsquaretablecoveredbyshinybluecloth,

taking the seat just opposite me and propping his bare foot on his knee as he says, “So, what’s your
specialty?”

Igazeathim,handsfolded,focusingontakingslowdeepbreathswhiletryingnottosquirm.
“Tarotcards?Runes?IChing?Psychometry?Whichisit?”
Iglanceatthedoor,knowingIcouldreachitinafractionofasecond,whichmightcauseastir,but

sowhat?

“Youaregoingtogivemeareading,right?”Hisgazelevelsonmine.“Youdorealizethat’swhatI

meant by audition?” He laughs, displaying a matching set of dimples as he swings his dreads over his
shoulderandlaughssomemore.

Istareatthetablecloth,tracingthebumpyrawsilkwithmyfingers,heatrisingtomycheekswhenI

rememberDamen’slastwords,howhecanalwayssenseme,andhopinghewasjustsayingthat—thathe
can’tsensemenow.

“Idon’tneedanything,”Imumble,stillunwillingtomeethisgaze.“AllIneedisaquicktouchof

yourhandandI’mgoodtogo.”

“Palmistry.”Henods.“NotwhatIwould’veexpected,butokay.”Heleanstowardme,handsopen,

palmsup,readytogo.

Iswallowhard,seeingthedeeplyetchedlines,butthat’snotwherethestorylives—atleastnotfor

me.“Idon’tactuallyread’em,”Isay,voicebetrayingmynervousness,asIworkupthecouragetotouch
him.“It’smorethe—theenergy—Ijust—tuneintoit.That’swherealltheinfois.”

Hepullsback,studyingmesocloselyIcan’tmeethiseyes.KnowingIneedtojusttouchhim,getit

overwith.AndIneedtodoitnow.

“Is it just the hand, or—?” He flexes his fingers, the calluses lining his palms rising and falling

again.

Iclearmythroat,wonderingwhyI’msonervous,whyIfeellikeI’mbetrayingDamen,whenallI’m

tryingtodoislandajobthat’llmakemyaunthappy.“No,itcanbeanywhere.Yourear,yournose,even
yourbigtoe—doesn’tmatter,itallreadsthesame.Thehand’sjustmoreaccessible,youknow?”

“Moreaccessiblethanthebigtoe?”Hesmiles,thoseseagreeneyesseekingmine.

I take a deep breath, thinking how coarse and rough his hands appear, especially compared to

Damen’swhosearealmostsofterthanmine.Andsomehow,evenjustthethoughtofthatmakesthiswhole
momentfeeloff.Nowthatourtouchisforbidden,justbeingalonewithanotherguyfeelssordid,illicit,
wrong.

Ireachtowardhim,eyesshuttight,remindingmyselfit’sjustajobinterview—thatthere’sreallyno

reason I can’t land this thing quickly and painlessly. Pressing my finger to the center of his palm and
feelingthesoft,gentlegiveofhisflesh.Allowinghisstreamofenergytoflowthroughme—sopeaceful,
serene,it’slikewadingintothecalmestofseas.SodifferentfromtherushoftingleandheatI’vegrown
usedtowithDamen—atleastuntiltheshockofJude’slifestoryunfolds.

IyankmyhandbackasthoughI’vebeenstung,fumblingfortheamuletjustundermytop,notingthe

alarmonhisfaceasIrushtoexplain.“I’msorry.”Ishakemyhead,angrywithmyselfforoverreacting.
“NormallyIwouldn’tdothat.NormallyI’mwaymorediscreet.Iwasjustalittle—surprised—that’sall.
I didn’t expect to see anything quite so—” I stop, knowing my inane babbling is only making it worse.
“Normally, when I give readings, I hide my reactions much better than that.” I nod, forcing my gaze to
meet his, knowing whatever I say won’t hide the fact that I choked like the worst kind of amateur.
“Seriously.”Ismile,lipsstretchinginawaythatcan’tbeconvincing.“I’mliketheultimatepokerface.”
Peeringathimagainandseeingthisisn’tquiteworking.“Apokerfacethatisalsofullofempathy and
compassion,” I stammer, unable to stop this runaway train. “I mean, really—I’m just—full of it—” I
cringe,shakingmyheadasIgathermythingssoIcancallitaday.There’snowayhe’llhiremenow.

Heslidestotheedgeofhisseat,leaningsocloseIstruggletobreathe.“Sotellme,”hesays,gaze

likeahandonmywrist,holdingmeinplace.“Whatexactlydidyousee?”

Iswallowhard,closingmyeyesforamomentandreplayingthemovieIjustsawinmyhead.The

imagessoclear,dancingbeforeme,asIsay,“You’redifferent.”Ipeerathim,hisbodyunmoving,gaze
steady,allowingnocluesastowhetherornotI’montrack.

“But then, you’ve always been different. Ever since you were little you’ve seen them.” I swallow

hardandavertmygaze,theimageofhiminhiscrib,smilingandwavingatthegrandmotherwhopassed
yearsbeforehisbirthnowetchedonmybrain.“Andwhen—”Ipause,notwantingtosayit,butknowing
thatifIwantthejob,thenI’dbettergettoit.“Butwhenyourfather—shothimself—backwhenyouwere
ten—youthoughtyouweretoblame.Convincedyourinsistenceonseeingyourmother,who,bytheway
passedjustoneyearbefore,somehowsenthimovertheedge.Itwasyearsbeforeyouacceptedthetruth,
thatyourfatherwasjustlonely,depressed,andanxioustobewithyourmotheragain.Evenso,sometimes
youstilldoubtit.”

Igazeathim,notinghowhehasn’tsomuchasflinched,thoughsomethinginthosedeepgreeneyes

hintsatthetruth.

“Hetriedtovisitafewtimes.Wantingtoapologizeforwhathedid,buteventhoughyousensedhim,

you blocked it. Sick of being teased by your classmates and scolded by the nuns—not to mention your
fosterdadwho—”Ishakemyhead,notwantingtocontinue,butknowingImust.“Youjustwantedtobe
normal.”Ishrug.“Treatedlikeeveryoneelse.”Itracemyfingersoverthetablecloth,throatbeginningto
tighten,knowingexactlyhowitfeelstolongtofitin,allthewhileknowingyounevertrulycan.“Butafter
youranawayandmetLina,who,bytheway,isnotyourrealgrandmother—yourrealgrandparentsare
dead.” I look at him again, wondering if he’s surprised that I knew that but he gives nothing away.
“Anyway,shetookyouin,fedyou,clothedyou,she—”

“Shesavedmylife.”Hesighs,leaningbackinhisseat,longtannedfingersrubbingathiseyes.“In

morewaysthanone.Iwassolostandshe—”

“Acceptedyouforwhoyoureallyare.”Inod,seeingthewholestorybeforeme,asthoughI’mright

there.

“Andwho’sthat?”heasks,handssplayedonhisknees,gazingatme.“WhoamIreally?”
Ilookathim,notevenpausingwhenIsay,“Aguysosmartyoufinishedhighschoolintenthgrade.A

guy with such amazing mediumistic abilities you’ve helped hundreds of people and asked very little in
exchange. And yet, despite all of that, you’re also a guy who’s so—” I look at him, lips lifting at the
corners.“WellIwasgoingtosaylazy—butsinceIreallydowantthisjobI’llsaylaid-backinstead.”I
laugh, relieved when he laughs along with me. “And given the choice you’d never work another day.
You’dspendtherestofeternityjustsearchingforthatoneperfectwave.”

“Isthatametaphor?”heasks,acrookedsmileonhisface.
“Notinyourcase.”Ishrug.“Inyourcase,it’safact.”
Henods,leaningbackinhischair,gazingatmeinawaythatmakesmystomachdance.Dropping

forward again, feet flat on the floor when he says, “Guilty.” Eyes wistful, searching mine. “And now,
since there are no secrets left, since you’ve peered right into the core of my soul—I have to ask, any
insightsintomyfuture—acertainblondeperhaps?”

Ishiftinmyseat,preparingtospeakwhenhecutsmerightoff.
“AndI’mtalkingtheimmediatefuture,asinthisFridaynight.WillStaciaeveragreetogooutwith

me?”

“Stacia?”Myvoicecracksasmyeyespracticallypopoutofmyhead.SomuchforthepokerfaceI

wasbraggingabout.

Watching as he closes his eyes and shakes his head, those long, golden dreadlocks contrasting so

nicelywithhisgorgeousdarkskin.“AnastasiaPappas,akaStacia,”hesays,unawareofmysighofrelief,
thrilledtoknowit’ssomeotherhorribleStaciaandnottheoneIknow.

Tuningintotheenergysurroundinghernameandknowingrightawaythatit’snevergonnahappen—

atleastnotinthewaythathethinks.“Youreallywanttoknow?”Iask,knowingIcouldsavehimalotof
wastedeffortbytellinghimnow,butdoubtinghereallywantstohearthetruthasmuchasheclaims.“I
mean,wouldn’tyouratherjustwaitandseehowitplays?”Ilookathim,hopinghe’llagree.

“Isthatwhatyou’regoingtosaytoyourclients?”heasks,backtobusinessagain.
I shake my head, looking right at him. “Hey, if they’re fool enough to ask, then I’m fool enough to

tell.”Ismile.“SoIguessthequestionis,howbigofafoolareyou?”

He pauses, hesitates for so long that I worry that I took it too far. But then he smiles, right hand

extendedasherisesfromhisseat.“Foolenoughtohireyou.NowIknowwhyyouwouldn’tshakehands
thefirsttimearound.”Henods,squeezingmyhandforafewsecondstoolong.“That’soneofthemost
amazingreadingsI’veeverhad.”

“Oneof?”IliftmybrowinmockoffenseasIreachformybagandwalkalongsidehim.
Helaughs,headingforthedoorandglancingatmewhenhesays,“Whydon’tyoustopbytomorrow

morning,sayaroundten?”

Ipause,knowingthere’snowayIcanpossiblydothat.
“What?Youprefertosleepin?Jointheclub.”Heshrugs.“Butbelieveme,ifIcandoit,you can

too.”

“It’snotthat.”Ipause,wonderingwhyI’msoreluctanttotellhim.Imean,nowthatI’vegotthejob

whatdoIcarewhathethinks?

Helooksatme,waiting,gazeaddinguptheseconds.
“It’sjust—Ihaveclass.”Ishrug,thinkinghowclasssoundssomucholderthanschool,likeI’min

collegeorsomething.

Hesquints,lookingmeoveragain.“Where?”

“Um,overatBayView,”Imumble,tryingnottowincewhenIsayitoutloud.
“Thehighschool?”Hiseyesnarrowfurther,newlyinformed.
“Wow,youreallyarepsychic.”Ilaugh,knowingIsoundnervous,stupid,comingcleanwhenIadd,

“I’mfinishingupmyjunioryear.”

He looks at me for a moment—too long a moment—then he turns and opens the door. “You seem

older,”hesays,thewordssoabstractI’mnotsureiftheyweremeantformeorforhim.“Stopbywhen
youcan.I’llshowyouhowtoworktheregisterandafewotherthingsaroundhere.”

“You want me to sell stuff? I thought I was just giving readings?” Surprised to hear my job

descriptionexpandingsoquickly.

“Whenyou’renotgivingreadingsyou’llbeworkingthefloor.Isthataproblem?”
Ishakemyheadasheholdsthedooropen.“Just—justonething.”Ibitedownonmylip,unsurehow

toproceed.“Well,twothingsactually.First—doyoumindifIgobyadifferentname—youknow,forthe
readings and stuff? I live with my aunt, and while she’s totally cool and all, she doesn’t exactly know
aboutmyabilities,so—”

“Be whoever you want.” He shrugs. “No worries. But since I need to start booking appointments,

whodoyouwanttobe?”

Ipause,nothavingthoughtthisthroughuntilnow.WonderingifIshouldchooseRachelaftermybest

friendinOregon,orsomethingevenmorecommonlikeAnneorJennyorsomethinglikethat.Butknowing
howpeoplealwaysexpectpsychicstobeaboutasfarfromnormalasitgets,Igazetowardthebeachand
choosethethirdthingIsee,bypassingTreeandBasketballCourtasIsay,“Avalon.”Immediatelyliking
thesoundofit.“Youknow,likethetownonCatalinaIsland?”

Henods,followingmeoutsideasheasks,“Andthesecondthing?”
Iturn,takingadeepbreathandhopinghe’lllistenwhenIsay,“YoucandobetterthanStacia.”
Helooksatme,gazemovingovermyface,clearlyresignedtothetruthifnotexactlythrilledtohear

itfromme.

“Youhaveaserioushistoryoffallingforallthewronggirls.”Ishakemyhead.“Youdoknowthat,

right?”

Iwaitforaresponse,somerecognitionofwhatIjustsaid,buthejustshrugsandwavesmeaway.

StillwatchingasIheadformycar,havingnoideaIcanhearhimwhenhethinks:Don’tIknowit.

ChapterSixteen

ThemomentIpullintothedriveSabinecallsmycell,tellingmetojustgoaheadandorderapizza

fordinnersinceshehastoworklate.AndeventhoughI’mtemptedtotellheraboutmynewjob,Idon’t.I
mean,obviouslyIneedtoinformher,iffornootherreasonthantosparemetheoneshe’slinedup,but
still,there’snowayIcanadmittogettingthisparticularjob.She’llthinkit’sweird.EvenifIomitallthe
stuffaboutgettingpaidtogivereadings(andbelieveme,I’dneverdreamofmentioningthat)she’llstill
thinkajobatametaphysicalbookstoreisstrange.Maybeevensilly.Whoknows?

Sabine’sfartooreasonableandrationaltoevergetbehindsuchathing.Preferringtoliveinaworld

that’ssturdyandsolid,thatmakesperfectsense,versustherealonethatisanythingbut.AndwhileIhate
alwayshavingtolietoher,Ireallydon’tseehowIhavemuchofachoice.There’sjustnowayshecan
everlearnthetruthaboutme,letalonethatI’llbegivingreadingsunderthecodenameofAvalon.

I’ll just tell her I got a job somewhere local, someplace normal, like a regular bookstore, or a

Starbucksperhaps.AndthenofcourseI’llhavetofindawaytobackthestoryupincaseshedecidesto
followuponallthat.

Iparkinthegarageandheadupthestairs,tossingmybagontomybedwithoutevenlooking,then

headingformyclosetasIyankoffmytee.JustabouttounzipmyjeanswhenDamensays,“Don’tmind
me,I’mjustsittinghereenjoyingtheview.”Icovermychestwithmyarms,heartbeatingtripletimeas
Damenletsoutalow,sweetwhistleandsmilesatme.

“Ididn’tevenseeyou.Ididn’tevensenseyouforthatmatter,”Isay,reachingformyteeagain.
“Guessyouweretoodistracted.”Hesmiles,pattingthespacerightbesidehim,facecreasingwith

laughterwhenIpullonmyshirtbeforejoininghim.

“What’reyoudoinghere?”Iask,notreallyinterestedintheanswer,justgladtobenearhimagain.
“IfiguredsinceSabine’sworkinglate—”
“How’dyou—”ButthenIshakemyheadandlaugh.Ofcourseheknows.Hecanreadeveryone’s

mind, including mine, but only when I want him to. And even though I usually leave my shield down,
makingmythoughtsaccessibleforhimtoview,rightnowIjustcan’t.IfeellikeIneedtoexplain,tellmy
sideofthestory,beforehecanpeekinmyheadanddrawhisownconclusions.

“Andsinceyoudidn’tcomebyafterschool—”Heleanstowardme,eyesseekingmine.
“Iwantedtogiveyousometimewiththetwins.”Ipullapillowontomybellyandfingertheseam.

“Youknow,soyoucouldgetusedtobeingtogetherand—stuff—”Ishrug,meetinghisgaze,knowinghe’s
notbuyingit,notforasecond.

“Oh, we’re quite used to each other.” He laughs. “I assure you of that.” He shakes his head. “It’s

beenquiteaday—verybusyandvery—interesting,forlackofabetterword.Butwemissedyou.”He
smiles,eyesgrazingovermyhair,myface,mylips,likethesweetestlingeringkiss.“Itwould’vebeenso
muchbetterifyou’dbeenthere.”

Iavertmygaze,doubtinganyofthat’stheslightestbittrue.MutteringundermybreathwhenIsay,“I

bet.”

Hetouchesmychin,makingmefacehim,facemaskedwithconcernwhenheasks,“Hey,what’sthis

about?”

Ipressmylipstogetherandlookaway,scrunchingmypillowsotightitthreatenstoburst,wishingI

hadn’tsaidanythingbecausenowIhavetoexplain.“I’mjust—”Ishakemyhead.“I’mjustnotsosurethe
twinswouldagree.”Ishrug.“Theyprettymuchblamemeforeverything.Andit’snotliketheydon’thave
apoint.Imean—”

ButbeforeIcanfinish,Irealizesomething—Damenistouchingme.
Liketouchingmetouchingme.
Forreals.
Noglove,notelepathicembrace,justgoodold-fashionedskin-on-skincontact—oratleast,almost

contact.

“How’dyou—”Ilookathim,hiseyesshiningwithlaughterwhenhecatchesmegapingathisbare,

glovelesshand.

“You like?” He smiles, grasping my arm and lifting it high, both of us watching as the thin veil of

energy,theonlythingseparatingmyskinfromhis,pulsatesbetweenus.“I’vebeenworkingonitallday.
Nothing’sgoingtokeepmefromyou,Ever.Nothing.”Henods,hisgazemeetingmine.

Ilookathim,mindracingwithpossibilities,ofallthiscouldmean.Enjoyingthealmostfeelofhis

skin, separated only by the thinnest shroud of pure, vibrating energy, invisible to everyone but us. And
whileitdoessomewhattempertheusualrushoftingleandheat,andwhileitcouldnevercomparetothe
realthing,Imisshimsomuch—justbeingwithhim—I’lltakewhatIcanget.

Ileanintohim,watchingtheveilexpanduntilitstretchesfromourheadstoourtoes.Allowingusto

lietogetherinthewaythatweusedto—oratleastalmostinthewaythatweusedto.

“Muchbetter.”Ismile,handsroaminghisface,hisarms,hischest.“Nottomentionhowit’sfarless

embarrassingthantheblackleatherglove.”

“Embarrassing?”Hepullsawayandlooksatme,mockoutragedisplayedonhisface.
“Comeon.”Ilaugh.“Evenyou have to admit it was a total fashion faux pas. I thought Miles was

goingtohaveaseizureeverytimehesawit,”Imurmur,inhalinghiswonderful,warm,muskyscentasI
burymyfaceinhisneck.“Sohow’dyoudoit?”Mylipsgrazinghisskin,longingtotasteeverylastinch.
“How’dyouharnessthemagickofSummerlandandbringitbackhere?”

“It’s got nothing to do with Summerland,” he whispers, lips at the curve of my ear. “It’s just the

magickofenergy.Besides,youshouldknowbynowthatmosteverythingyoucandothere,canbedone
hereaswell.”

Igazeathim,rememberingAvaandalltheelaborategoldjewelryanddesignerclothessheusedto

manifestthere,andhowupsetshealwayswaswhentheydidn’tsurvivethereturntriphome.

ButbeforeIcanevenmentionit,hesays,“Whileit’struethatthethingsmanifestedtherecan’tbe

transferredhere, if youunderstand how themagick works, if youtruly get howeverything is really just
madeupofenergy,thenthere’snoreasonyoucan’tmanifestthesamethingshere.LikeyourLamborghini,
forinstance.”

“I’dhardlycallitmyLamborghini,”Isay,cheeksflushingdespitethefactthatitwasn’tsolongago

whenhehadathingforexoticcarstoo.“ThesecondIwasdonewithitIsentitrightback.Imean,it’snot

likeIkeptit.”

Hesmiles,buryinghishandinmyhairandsmoothingtheendsbetweenthetipsofhisfingers.“In

betweenmanifestingthingsforthetwins,Iperfectedit.”

“Whatkindsofthings?”Iask,movingsoIcanbetterseehim,immediatelydistractedbythesightof

hislips, remembering howwarm and silkythey once felt onmine, wondering ifthis new energy shield
willallowustoexperiencethatagain.

“Itallstartedwiththeflat-screenTV.”Hesighs.“Or,shouldIsayflatscreenssincetheyendedup

requiringoneforeachoftheirrooms,plusanothertwoforthedenthatthey’llshare.AndnotlongafterI
gotthemallhookedupandworking,theysatdowntowatchandnotfiveminutesintheywereinundated
withimagesofthingstheycouldn’tlivewithout.”

I squint, surprised to hear that, since the twins never seemed to care all that much about material

thingsbackinSummerland,butmaybethat’sbecausematerialthingstendtolosemostoftheirvalueonce
youcanmanifestwhateveryouwant.Iguesslosingtheirmagickhasmadethemjustlikeanyoneelse—
longingforeverythingjustoutoftheirreach.

“Trust me, they’re an advertiser’s dream.” He smiles, shaking his head. “Falling right into that

covetedyouthmarketofthirteentothirty.”

“Exceptforthefactthatyoudidn’tactuallybuyanyofthosethings,didyou?Youjustclosedyour

eyesandmadethemappear.Hardlythesameasgoingtothestoreandchargingitonyourcreditcard.In
fact, do you even have a credit card?” Never having seen him even carry a wallet, much less a pile of
plastic.

“Noneed.”Helaughs,fingerskimmingthebridgeofmynosebeforehislipsmeetthetip.“Buteven

thoughIdidn’tactuallygooutandbuyallofthosethingsasyousogenerouslypointedout...”Hesmiles.
“Thatdoesn’tmakethosecommercialsanylesseffective,whichwasreallymypoint.”

Ipullaway,knowinghe’sexpectingmetolaugh,oratleastsaysomethinglightheartedinreply,butI

can’t.AndeventhoughIhatetodisappointhim,Istillshakemyheadandsay,“Eitherway,youneedtobe
careful.”Ishiftmybodysomygazecanbettermeethis.“Youshouldn’tspoilthemsomuch,ormakethem
socomfortablethey’rereluctanttoleave.”Hesquintsatme,clearlynotfollowingmymeaning,soIrush
aheadtoexplain.“WhatImeanis,youneedtorememberthatlivingwithyouisatemporarysolution.Our
maingoalistolookafterthemuntilwecanrestoretheirmagickandgetthembacktoSummerland,which
iswheretheybelong.”

He rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling. Turning his face toward mine as he says, “About

that.”

Iholdmybreathandlookathim,mystomachdippingeversoslightly.
“I’vebeenthinking—”Hesquints.“Who’stosaySummerlandiswheretheybelong?”
Ibalk,anargumentpressingforthfrommylipsuntilheraiseshisfingerandstopsitrightthere.
“Ever, the question as to whether or not they return, well, don’t you think that’s something they

shoulddecide?I’mnotsurewe’retheoneswhoshouldbemakingthosechoices.”

“But we’re not choosing,” I say, voice shrill, unsteady. “That’s what they want! Or at least that’s

whattheysaidthenightIfoundthem.Theywerefuriouswithme,blamingmeforthelossoftheirmagick,
forstrandingthemhere—oratleastRaynewas;Romy—well,RomywasjustRomy.”Ishrug.“Butstill.
Areyousayingthat’schanged?”

He closes his eyes for a moment, before leveling his gaze back on mine. “I’m not sure they even

knowwhattheywantatthispoint,”hesays.“They’realittleoverwhelmed,excitedbythepossibilitiesof
beinghere,andyettooterrifiedtoevenstepoutside.Ijustthinkweshouldgivethemsometimeandspace
andkeepourmindsopentothepossibilityofthemstayingalittlebitlongerthanplanned.Oratleastuntil

they’refullyadjusted,andbetterabletodecideforthemselves.Besides,Iowethem,it’stheleastIcan
do.Don’tforgettheyhelpedmefindyou.”

I swallow hard and avert my gaze, torn between wanting what’s best for the twins while worried

abouttheimpactit’llhaveonDamenandme.Imean,they’vebeenherelessthanadayandI’malready
mourningmyaccesstohim,whichisatotallyselfishwaytoviewtwopeopleinneed.Still,Idon’tthink
youhavetobepsychictoknowthatwiththetwoofthemaround,requiringallkindsofassistance,times
likethis—whenit’sjustDamenandme—willbeseverelylimited.

“Isthatthefirsttimeyoumet?InSummerland?”Iask,seemingtorememberRaynesayingsomething

aboutDamenhelpingthem,nottheotherwayaround.

Damenshakeshishead,eyesonminewhenhesays,“No,thatwasjustthefirsttimeI’dseenthemin

alongtime.Weactuallygowayback—allthewaybacktoSalem.”

Ilookathim,jawdropped,wonderingifhewasthereduringthetrials,thoughhe’squicktodispel

that.

“It was just before the trouble started, and I was only passing through. They’d gotten into some

mischiefandcouldn’tfindtheirwayhome—soIgavethemarideinmycarriageandtheirauntwasnever
thewiser.”Helaughs.

AndI’mjustabouttomakesomecrappylittlecomment,somethingabouthimspoilingandenabling

themfromtheverystart,whenhesays,“They’vesufferedanextraordinarilyhardlife—losingeverything
they’veeverknownandlovedataveryyoungage—surelyyoucanrelatetothat?IknowIcan.”

I sigh, feeling small and selfish and embarrassed that I even needed to be reminded of that.

DeterminedtosticktothepracticalwhenIsay,“Butwho’sgoingtoraisethem?”Hopingitwillseemlike
myconcernsarefarlessaboutmeandmoreaboutthem.Imean,withalloftheirunmitigatedweirdness,
nottomentiontheirtotallybizarrehistory,wherewouldtheygo?Whocouldpossiblylookafterthem?

“We’regoingtolookafterthem.”Damenrollsontohissideandmakesmefacehimagain.“Youand

I.Together.We’retheonlyoneswhocan.”

Isigh,wantingtoturnaway,butdrawntothewarmthofhisall-encompassinggaze.“I’mjustnotsure

we’refittobeparents.”Ishrug,handmovingoverhisshoulder,gettinglostinhistangleofhair.“Orrole
models, or guardians, or whatever. We’re too young!” I add, thinking it’s a good and valid point, and
expectingjustaboutanyreactionbutthelaughterIget.

“Tooyoung?”Heshakeshishead.“Speakforyourself!Ihavebeenaroundforawhile,youknow.

Plentylongenoughtoqualifyasasuitableguardianforthetwins.Besides.”Hesmiles.“Howhardcanit
be?”

Iclosemyeyesandshakemyhead,rememberingmyfeebleattemptstoguideRileybothinhuman

andghostform,andhowIfailedmiserably.Andtobehonest,I’mjustnotsureI’mupforitagain.“You
havenoideawhatyou’regettinginto,”Itellhim.“Youcan’tevenbegintoimaginewhatit’sliketoguide
twoheadstrong,thirteen-year-oldgirls.It’slikeherdingcats—completelyimpossible.”

“Ever,”hesays,voicelow,coaxing,determinedtoeasemyconcernsandchaseallthedarkclouds

away.“Iknowwhat’sreallybotheringyou,believeme,Ido.Butit’sjustfivemoreyearsuntiltheyturn
eighteenandheadoffontheirown,andthenwe’llhavethefreedomtodowhateverwewant.What’sfive
yearswhenwehaveallofeternity?”

ButIshakemyheadagain,refusingtobeswayed.“Iftheyheadoffontheirown,”Isay.“If.Believe

me,thereareplentyofkidswhostickaroundthehouselongafterthat.”

“Yes, but the difference is, you and I won’t let them.” He smiles, eyes practically begging me to

lightenupandsmiletoo.“We’llteachthemallthemagickthey’llneedtogaintheirindependenceandget
byontheirown.Thenwe’llsend’emoffandwish’emwellandgosomewhereonourown.”

And the way he smiles, the way he gazes into my eyes and smooths my hair off my face makes it

impossibletostaymad,impossibletowasteanymoretimeonatopiclikethiswhenmybody’ssoclose
tohis.

“Five years is nothing, when you’ve already lived for six hundred,” he says, lips at my cheek, my

neck,myear.

Isnugglecloser,knowinghe’sright,despitethefactthatmyperspective’salittledifferentfromhis.

Havingneverspentmorethantwodecadesinanyoneincarnationmakesfiveyearsspentbabysittingthe
twinsseemlikeaneternity.

Hepullsmetohim,armslockedtightlyaroundme,comfortingmeinawayIwishcouldlastforever.

“Arewegood?”hewhispers.“Arewefinishedwiththis?”

Inod,pressingmybodyhardagainsthis,havingnoneedforwords.TheonlythingIwantnow,the

onlythingthat’llmakemefeelbetteristhereassuringfeelofhislips.

Ishiftmybodysoit’scoveringhis,conformingtothebendofhischest,thevalleyofhistorso,the

bulknearhiships.Heartsbeatinginperfectcadence,vaguelyawareoftheslimveilofenergypulsating
betweenusasIlowermymouthtohis—pressingandpushingandkneadingtogether—weeksoflonging
risingtothesurface—untilallIwanttodoisinfusemybodywithhis.

Hemoans,alowprimalsoundcomingfromdeepwithin,handsclutchedatmywaist,bringingme

closer’tilthere’snothingbetweenusbuttwosetsofclothesthatneedtobeshed.

Ifumbleathisflyashepullsatmytee,breathmeetinginshort,raggedgaspsasourfingershurryas

fastastheycan,unabletocompletetheirtasksquicklyenoughtosatisfyourneed.

AndjustasI’veunbuttonedhisjeansandstarttoslidethemdown,Irealizewe’vegottensoclose,

theenergyveilwaspushedout.

“Damen!”Igasp,watchingasheleapsfromthebed,breathcomingsoheavyandfast,hiswordsare

clippedattheend.

“Ever—I’m—”Heshakeshishead.“I’msorry—Ithoughtitwassafe—Ididn’trealize—”
I reach for my tee and cover myself, cheeks flushed, insides aflame, knowing he’s right, we can’t

taketherisk—can’taffordtogetcaughtuplikethat.

“I’msorrytoo—Ithink—IthinkmaybeIpusheditawayand—”Ibowmyhead,allowingmyhairto

fallintomyface,feelingsmallandexamined,sureI’mtoblame.

Themattressdipsashereturnstomyside,theveilfullyrestoredasheliftsmychinandmakesme

facehimagain.“It’snotyourfault—I—Ilostfocus—IwassocaughtupinyouIcouldn’tmaintainit.”

“It’sokay.Really,”Isay.
“Noit’snot.I’molderthanyou—Ishouldhavemorecontrol—”Heshakeshisheadandstaresatthe

wall,jawclenched,gazefaraway,eyessuddenlynarrowingasheturnsbacktomeandsays,“Ever—how
doweknowifthisisevenreal?”

Isquint,havingnoideawhathemeans.
“Whatkindofproofdowehave?HowdoweknowRoman’snotjustplayingus,havingabitoffun

atourexpense?”

Itakeadeepbreathandshrug,realizingIhavenoproofatall.MyeyesmeetinghisasIreplaythe

scene from that day, all the way to the end where I add my blood to the mix and make Damen drink,
realizingtheonlyproofIhaveisRoman’sextremelyunreliableword.

“Who’s to say this is even legit?” His eyes widen as an idea begins to form. “Roman’s a liar—

we’venoreasontotrusthim.”

“Yeah, but—it’s not like we can test it. I mean, what if it’s not a big game, what if it is legit? We

can’ttaketherisk—canwe?”

Damensmiles,risingfromthebedandheadingformydeskwherehecloseshiseyesandmanifestsa

tallwhitecandleinanelaborategoldholder,asharpsilverdagger,itsbladepointyandsmooth,itshandle
encrustedwithcrystalsandgems,andagold-framedmirrorhesetsdownbesidethem,motioningforme
tojoinhimashesays,“NormallyIwouldsayladiesfirst—butinthiscase—”

Heholdshishandovertheglassandraisestheknife,placingtheedgetohispalmandtracingthe

curve of his lifeline, watching his blood flow onto the mirror, pooling, coagulating, before closing his
eyesandsettingthecandleaflame.Thewoundalreadyhealedbythetimehepassesthebladethroughthe
blaze,cleansing,purifying,beforehandingittomeandurgingmetodothesame.

Ileantowardhim,inhalingdeeplyasIquicklyslicethroughmyflesh.Atfirstwincingatthesharp

stab of pain, then watching fascinated, as the blood pours from my palm and onto the mirror where it
slowlycreepstowardhis.

We stand together, bodies still, breath halted, watching as two ruby red splotches meet, mingle,

coalesce—theperfectembodimentofourgeneticmakeupjoiningasone—theverythingRomanwarned
usagainst.

Waitingforsomethingtohappen,somesortofcatastrophicpunishmentforwhatwe’vebothdone—

butgettingnothing—noreactionatall.

“Well,I’llbedamned—”Damensays,eyesmeetingmine.“It’sfine!Perfectly—”
Hiswordscutshortbythesuddensparkandsizzleasourbloodbeginstoboil,conductingsomuch

heat a huge plume of smoke bursts from the mirror and fills up the air—crackling and spitting until the
bloodevaporatescompletely.Leavingbehindonlythesheerestlayerofdustonaburnt-outmirror.

Exactlywhat’llhappentoDamenifourDNAshouldmeet.
Wegape,speechless,unsurewhattosay.Butwordsarenolongernecessary,themeaningisclear.
Roman’snotplaying.Hiswarningwasreal.
DamenandIcanneverbetogether.
UnlessIpayhisprice.
“Well.”Damennods,strugglingtoappearcalmthoughhisfaceisclearlystricken.“GuessRoman’s

notnearlytheliarIaccusedhimofbeing—atleastnotinthiscase.”

“Whichalsomeanshehastheantidote—andallIhavetodonowis—”
ButIcan’tevenfinishbeforeDamen’scuttingmeoff.“Ever,please,don’tevengothere.Justdome

afavor and stayaway from Roman.He’s dangerous, and unstable,and I don’twant you anywhere near
him, okay? Just—” He shakes his head, and runs his hand through his hair, not wanting me to see how
distraughthereallyisandheadingforthedoorashesays,“Justgivemesometimetofigurethingsout.
I’llthinkofaway.”

Helooksatme,soshakenbytheeventshe’sdeterminedtokeephisdistance.Manifestingasingle

redtulipintomynewlyhealedpalminplaceofakiss,beforeheadingdownthestairsandoutmyfront
door.

ChapterSeventeen

Thenextday,whenIgethomefromschool,Haven’sonmyfrontsteps,eyessmearedwithmascara,

royalbluebangshanginglimpinherface,withablanketedbundleclutchedtightinherarms.

“IknowIshould’vecalled.”Shescramblestoherfeet,faceredandswollenasshesniffsbackthe

tears.“IguessIdidn’treallyknowwhattodo,soIcamehere.”Sherearrangestheblanket,showingmea
solidblackcatwithamazinggreeneyesthatappearsveryweak.

“Isheyours?”Iglancebetweenthem,noticinghowbothoftheiraurasareraggedandfrayed.
“She.”Havennods,fussingwiththeblanketandraisingitbacktoherchest.
“Ididn’tknowyouhadacat.”Isquint,wantingtohelpbutunsurewhattodo.Mydadwasallergic,

sowealwayshaddogs.“Isthiswhyyouweren’tatschooltoday?”

Shenods,followingmeintothekitchenwhereIgrababottleofwaterandpouritintoabowl.
“Howlonghaveyouhadher?”Iask,watchingassheplacesthecatinherlapandbringsthebowlto

herface.Butthecat’snottheleastbitinterestedandquicklyturnsaway.

“Few months.” She shrugs, giving up on the water and smoothing the top of her head. “Nobody

knows. Well, outside of Josh, Austin, and the maid who’s sworn to secrecy, but nobody else. My mom
wouldflip.Godforbidareallivingthingmessupherdesignerdecoratingscheme.”Sheshakesherhead.
“She lives in my room, mostly under the bed. But I leave the window cracked so she can get out and
wanderaroundnowandthen.Imean,Iknowthey’resupposedtolivelongerifyoukeep’eminside,but
whatkindoflifeisthat?”Shelooksatme,hernormallybrightsunshinyauraturnedgraywithworry.

“What’shername?”Ipeeratthecat,keepingmyvoicetoawhisper,tryingtohidemyconcern.From

whatIcansee,she’snotlongforthisworld.

“Charm.”Thecornersofherlipsliftingeversoslightlyassheglancesbetweenus.“Inamedherthat

becauseshe’slucky—oratleastitseemedthatwayatthetime.Ifoundherjustoutsidemywindowthe
first time Josh and I kissed. It seemed so romantic.” She shrugs. “Like a good sign. But now—” She
shakesherhead,andlooksaway.

“MaybeIcanhelp,”Isay,anideabeginningtoform.OneI’mnotsurewillwork,butstill,fromwhat

IcanseeI’vegotnothingtolose.

“She’snotexactlyakitten.She’sanoldladynow.Thevettoldmetokeephercomfortableforas

longasIcan.AndItotallywould’vekeptherhomesinceshereallylikesitundermybed,butmymom’s
decidedtoredoallthebedroomseventhoughmydad’sthreateningtosell,andnowthedecoratoristhere,
alongwithaRealtor,andeveryone’sfightingandthehouseisamess.AndsinceJoshisauditioningfor
thisnewband,andsinceMilesisgettingreadyforhisperformancetonight,IthoughtI’dcomehere.”She

looksatme.“Notthatyouwerelastchoiceoranything.”Shecringes,realizingwhatshejustsaid.“It’s
justthatyou’realwayssobusywithDamenandIdidn’twanttobotheryou.Butifyou’rebusy,Idon’t
havetostay.Imean,ifhe’scomingoverorsomething,Icanjust—”

“Trustme.”Ileanagainstthecounterandshakemyhead.“Damen’s—”Istareatthewall,wondering

justhowtophraseit.“Damen’sprettybusythesedays.SoIdoubthe’llbedroppingbyanytimesoon.”

IglancebetweenherandCharm,readingherauraandknowingshe’sevenmoredistraughtthanshe

seems.AndeventhoughIknowit’snotright,ethical,orwhatever,eventhoughIknowit’sthecircleof
lifeandyou’renotsupposedtointerfere,Ican’tstandtoseemyfriendsufferlikethis,notwhenIhavea
halfbottleofelixirsittinginsidemybag.

“I’m just—sad.” She sighs, scratching just under Charm’s chin. “I mean, obviously she’s lived a

goodlonglifeandall,butstill.Whydoesithavetobesosadwhenitends?”

Ishrug,barelylistening,mindbuzzingwiththepromiseofanewidea.
“It’ssoweirdhowlikeoneminuteeverything’sfine—ormaybeevennotsofine—butstill,you’reat

leasthere.Andthenthenext—gone.LikeEvangeline.Nevertobeseenorheardfromagain.”

Idrummyfingersagainstthegranitecounter,knowingthat’snotexactlytrue,butunwillingtorefute

it.

“IguessIjustdon’tgetthepoint.It’slike,whyshouldyoubothergettingattachedtoanythingif,A:

It’s never gonna last, and B: It hurts like hell when it’s over?” She shakes her head. “Because if
everything’sfinite,ifeverythinghasadefinitebeginning,middle,andend,thenwhyevengetstartedinthe
firstplace?What’sthepointwheneverythingjustleadstoTheEnd?”

She blows her bangs out of her eyes and looks at me. “And I don’t mean death like—” She nods

towardhercat.“Althoughthat’swhereweallendup—nomatterhowhardwefight.”

IglancebetweenherandCharm,noddingasthoughI’mrightthere.LikeI’mjustlikeeveryoneelse.

Waitingmyturninalongmorbidline.

“Imeandeathinamoremetaphoricalway.Inanothinglastsforeverway,youknow?Becauseit’s

true,nothing’sbuilttolast.Nothing.No.Thing.”

“ButHaven—”Istart,stoppingthesecondsheshootsmealookmeanttosilence.
“Listen,beforeyoutrytosellmeallthatbrightsidenonsenseyou’rejustdyingtospout,nameone

thing that doesn’t end.” She narrows her gaze in a way that sets me on edge, making me wonder if she
knowsaboutme,ifshe’stryingtobaitmesomehow.ButwhenItakeadeepbreathandlookatheragain,
it’sclearshe’sbattlingherownsetofdemons,notme.

“Can’tdoit,right?”Sheshakesherhead.“UnlessyouweregoingtosayGod,oruniversallove,or

whatever, but that’s not what I’m talking about, anyway. I mean, Charm is dying, my parents are on the
verge of divorcing, and, let’s face it, Josh and I are going to end eventually too. And if it’s purely an
inevitablefact,then—”Sheshakesherheadandwipeshernose.“Well—Imayaswelltakecontrolofthe
situationandbetheonewhodecideswhen.Hurthim,beforehecanhurtme.Becausetwothingsarefor
sure,A:It’sgoingtoend,andB:Someone’sboundtogethurt.Andwhyshouldthatsomeonebeme?”She
looks away, nose runny, lips twisted. “Mark my words, from this point on, I’m Teflon Girl. Everything
runsrightoffme,nothingcanstick.”

Ilookather,sensingthisisn’tquitethewholestory,butwillingtotakeheratherword.“Youknow

what?You’reright.You’reabsolutelyright,”Isay,seeingherlookupinsurprise.“Everythingis finite.”
EverythingbutRoman,Damen,andme!“Andyou’realsorightthatyouandJoshwillprobablyendat
some point, and not just because everything ends like you said, but because that’s just the way it goes.
Mosthighschoolrelationshipsdon’tmakeitpastgraduation.”

“IsthathowyouseeyouandDamen?”ShepicksatCharm’sblanketwhilelookingatme.“Thatyou

guyswon’tmakeitpastgradnight?”

Ipressmylipstogetherandavertmygaze,knowingI’mprettymuchtheworld’sworstliarwhenI

say,“I—Itrynottothinkaboutittoomuch.ButwhatImeantwas,justbecausesomethingendsdoesn’t
meanit’sabadthingorthatsomeone’sboundtogethurt,orthatitshould’veneverhappenedinthefirst
place,orwhatever.Becauseifeachstepbringsustothenext,thenhowwillweevergetanywhere,how
canweevergrowifweavoideverythingthatmighthurtus?”

Shelooksatme,noddingonlyslightly,asthoughsheseesmypointbutwon’tfullyconcede.
“Soweprettymuchhavenochoicebuttocontinue,tojustgetoutthereandhopeforthebest.And

who knows, we might even learn a thing or two along the way.” I look at her, knowing I haven’t
completelysoldit,soIadd,“IguesswhatI’mtryingtosayis,youcan’trunawayjustbecausesomething
won’t last. You have to hang in there, let it play out. It’s the only way you’ll ever advance.” I shrug,
wishingIcouldbealittlemoreeloquent,butthereitis.“Thinkaboutit,ifyoudidn’trescueyourcat,if
you didn’t say yes when Josh asked you out—well, there’s a lot of wonderful moments you would’ve
missed.”

Shelooksatme,stillwantingtoargue,butnotsayingaword.
“Joshisareallysweetguy,andhe’scrazyaboutyou.Idon’tthinkyoushouldthrowhimoverboard

sosoon.Besides,”Isay,knowingshehearsmebutisnottrulylistening,“youshouldn’tmakethosekinds
ofdecisionswhenyou’refeelingsostressed.”

“Howaboutmoving,then?Isthatagoodenoughreason?”
“Joshismoving?”Isquint.Ihadn’tseenthatcoming.
Sheshakesherhead,scratchingCharmonthespotbetweenherearswhenshesays,“NotJosh.Me.

Mydadkeepstalkingaboutsellingthehouse,butdamnifhe’lldiscussitwithAustinorme.”

Ilookather,temptedtopeerinsideherheadandseeformyself,butstickingtomyearliervowto

allowmyfriendstheirprivacy.

“All I know for sure is that the phrase resale value comes up all the time.” She shakes her head,

looking at me when she says, “But you know what this really means, if any of this is actually true? It
meansIwon’tbegoingtoBayViewnextyear.Iwon’tgettograduatewithmyclass.Iwon’tbegoingto
anyOrangeCountyhighschoolforthatmatter.”

“Iwon’tletthishappen,”Isay,gazelockedonhers.“There’snowayyou’releaving.Youhaveto

graduatewithus—”

“Well,that’sveryniceandall.”Sheshrugs.“ButI’mnotsureyoucanstopit.It’salittleoutofyour

league,don’tyouthink?”

Iglancebetweenherandhercat,knowingit’snotatalloutofmyleague. Finding an antidote for

Damen? Maybe. Helping my best friend stay in her zip code and save her cat? Not so much. There’s
plentyIcando.Plenty.ButstillIjustlookatherandsay,“We’llworksomethingout.Justtrustme,okay?
Maybe you can move in here with me and Sabine?” Nodding as though I mean it, even though Sabine
wouldneverhaveit.Butstillneedingtoputsomethingoutthere,providesomekindofcomfortsinceit’s
notlikeIcanvoicewhatI’mhopingtodo.

“You’ddothat?”shesquints.“Really?”
“Ofcourse.”Ishrug.“Whateverittakes.”
Sheswallowshardandgazesaround,shakingherheadwhenshesays,“YouknowI’dnevertakeyou

uponit,butstill,it’snicetoknowthatevenwithallourroughspotsyou’restillmybestfriend.”

Isquint,havingalwaysassumeditwasMilesnotme.
“Well,youand Miles.” She laughs. “I mean, I can have two best friends—an heir and a spare, as

theysay?”Shewipeshernoseagain,shakingherheadwhensheadds,“IbetIlooklikecrap,right?Go

ahead,tellme,Icantakeit.”

“You don’t look like crap,” I say, wondering why she’s suddenly focused on her looks. “You look

sad.There’sadifference.Besides,doesitmatter?”

“It does if you’re considering whether or not you should hire me.” She shrugs. “I’ve got a job

interview,butthere’snowayIcangolookinglikethis.Andit’snotlikeIcanbringCharm.”

Igazeathercat,watchingthelife-forceenergyslowlyslippingaway,knowingIhavetomovefast,

beforeit’stoolate.“I’llkeepher.It’snotlikeI’mgoinganywhereanyway.”

Shelooksatme,waveringonwhetherornotsheshouldleaveherpoordyingcatinmycare.ButI

justnod,comingaroundtohersideofthecounterandliftingCharmoutofherarmsasIadd,“Seriously.
Justgodowhatyouneedtodo,andI’llbabysit.”Ismile,urginghertoagree.

Shehesitates,glancingbetweenmeandCharm,thenrummagesthroughheroversizedbagforasmall,

handheldmirror,beforewettingherfingerandclearingthemascaratracksfromhercheeks.

“I shouldn’t be long.” She grabs a black pencil and draws a thick, smudgy line around each eye.

“Maybeanhour?Twoatthemost?”Shelooksatme,tradingthepencilforblush.“Allyouhavetodois
hold her and give her some water if she wants. But she probably won’t. She doesn’t want much of
anythingnow.”Shecoatsherlipswithaswipeofglossandrearrangesherbangs,beforeslingingherbag
overhershoulderandheadingforthedoor.Climbingintohercarassheturnstomeandsays,“Thanks.I
need this job more than you think. Need to start saving some money so I can emancipate myself like
Damen.I’mtiredofthiscrap.”

Ilookather,unsurewhattosay.Damen’ssituation’sunique.Notatallwhatitseems.
“Andyeah,Iknow,Iprobablywon’tbeabletosupportmyselfinquitethesamestyleasDamen,but

still,I’dratherliveinsomecrappystudiosomewherethanbesubjecttomyparents’impulsivedecisions
andwhims.Anyway,yousureyou’reokaywiththis?”

Inod,huggingCharmtighter,mentallyurginghertoholdon,justalittlebitlonger,untilIcanhelp.
Havenslidesherkeyintotheignition,theengineturningasshesays,“IpromisedRomanIwouldn’t

belate.AndifIhurry,Imightbeontime.”Checkingherappearanceintherearviewmirrorassheshifts
inreverse.

“Roman?”Ifreeze,myexpressiononeofpurepanicbutunabletochangeit.
She shrugs, backing out of my drive as she calls, “He’s the one who scored me the interview.”

Wavingasshedisappearsdownthestreet,leavingmewithadyingcatinmyarms,andnowordstowarn
her.

ChapterEighteen

“Youcan’tdoit,”hesays,barelyhavingopenedthedoorbeforehe’salreadyshakinghishead.
“You don’t even know what I’m here for.” I frown, hugging Charm tightly to my chest, wishing I

hadn’tcomehere.

“Thecatisdyingandyouwanttoknowifit’sokaytosaveitandI’mtellingyouit’snot.Youcan’t

doit.”Heshrugs,readingthesituationmorethanmymind,whichIpurposelyblockedsohecan’tview
myvisittoRoman,whichwouldreallysethimonedge.

“Doyoumeancan’tasinnotpossible?Liketheelixirwon’tworkonafeline?Orcan’t as in the

moralsense,asindon’tplayGod,Ever?”

“Doesitmatter?”Heliftshisbrow,steppingtothesideandallowingmein.
“Of course it matters,” I whisper, TV noise drifting down from upstairs, the twins’ daily dose of

realityshows.

He heads into the den, plopping onto the couch and patting the space right beside him. And even

though I’m annoyed by the way he’s acting, not even giving me a chance to explain, I still join him,
rearrangingtheblanket,hopingonelookatCharmwillconvincehim.

“Ijustdon’tthinkyoushouldjumptoconclusions,”Isay,shiftingmybodysoI’mfacinghim.“It’s

notassimpleasyouthink.It’snotblackorwhite,it’smostlyallgray.”

Heleanstowardme,gazesofteningashemoveshisthumbbackandforthunderCharm’swhiskered

chin.“I’msorry,Ever.Really.”Hegazesatmebeforepullingaway.“Buteveniftheelixirdidwork—
which,bytheway,I’mnotsureitwouldsinceI’venevertrieditonananimalbefore,butevenifitdid
—”

“Really?” I look at him, surprised to hear that. “You’ve never had a pet you couldn’t bear to part

with?”Myeyesgrazeoverhim,takinghimin.

“NotonethatIcouldn’tbeartolose,no.”Heshakeshishead.
Inarrowmyeyes,notsurehowIfeelaboutthat.
“Ever, back in my day we didn’t keep pets in quite the same way. And after I drank the elixir, I

wasn’tinterestedinowninganythingthatmighttiemedown.”

Inod,catchingthewayhegazesatCharmandhopingthere’sroomtonegotiate.“Fine.Nopets.Iget

it,” I say. “But do you get how someone might become so attached to their kitty they can’t bear to say
good-bye?”

“Are you asking if I know about attachment?” He looks at me, gaze heavy, steady, fixed right on

mine.“Aboutlove,andtheunbearablegriefthatcomeswhenit’slost?”

Igazedownatmylap,feelingjuvenile,foolish.Ishould’veseenthatcoming.
“There’smuchmoreatstakethanjustsavingacatorgrantingeternallife—ifthereevenissucha

thingintheanimalkingdom.Therealquestionis,howwillyouexplainittoHaven?Whatwillyoutell
herwhenshereturnsonlytofindthedyingcatsheleftinyourcareisnowmiraculouslycured—maybe
evenbecomingakittenagain,whoknows?Howwillyoupossiblyexplainthattoher?”

Isigh,nothavingthoughtaboutthat.Hadn’treallyconsideredthatifitdoeswork,Charmwon’tjust

behealed,butphysicallytransformed.

“It’snotaboutitnotworking—I’venoclueaboutthat.Andit’snotaboutyourrighttoplayGod—

you and I both know I’m the last one who should judge such a thing. It’s more about safeguarding our
secrets.AndwhileIknowyouhaveonlythebestintentionsatheart,intheend,helpingyourfriendwill
only ignite her suspicion. Raising questions that can never be answered simply or logically without
revealingtoomuch.Besides,Haven’salreadyontous,orontosomethingatleast.Sonow,morethanever,
it’simportantforustolaylow.”

Ipressmylipstogether,swallowingpastthelumpinmythroat,hatingthatI’vegotsomanyamazing

toolsatmydisposal,allofthesemagicalabilities,butunabletousethem,tohelpthosewhomIlove.

“I’m sorry,” he says, hand hovering over my arm, hesitating to make contact until the veil comes

along. “But as sad as it seems, it really is just the natural course of events. And believe me, animals
acceptthesethingsfarbetterthanpeopledo.”

Ileanintohisshoulder,intohistouch,amazedbyhispowertocomfortmenomatterhowbadthings

get.“Ijustfeelsobadforher—herparentsarealwaysfighting—shemighthavetomove—it’smakingher
questionthepointofeverything.KindoflikeIdidwhenmyworldfellapart.”

“Ever—” he starts, gaze soft, lips looming so close I can’t help but press mine against them—the

momentcutshortwhenthetwinssquealtheirwaydownthestairs.

“Damen—Romywon’tletme—”Raynestops,standingbeforeus,darkeyeswiderthanusualwhen

shesays,“Omigodisthatacat?”

IglanceatDamen.SincewhendoesRayneusewordslike“omigod”?
Buthejustshakeshisheadandlaughs.“Don’tgettooclose.”Heglancesbetweenthem.“Andkeep

yourvoicedown.Thisisaverysickcat.I’mafraidshedoesn’thaveverylong.”

“Then why don’t you save it?” Rayne asks, prompting Romy to nod in agreement, the three of us

gazingatDamen,oureyeswideandpleading.

“Becausewedon’tdothingslikethat,”hesays,voicesternandparental.“That’snothowit’sdone.”
“ButyousavedEver,andshe’snotnearlyascute,”Raynesays,kneelingbeforeme’tilherfaceis

levelwithCharm’s.

“Rayne—”Damenstarts.
Butshejustlaughs,glancingbetweenuswhenshesays,“Justjoking.YouknowI’mjoking,right?”
Ilookather,knowingshe’snot,butnotwillingtopressit.Justabouttogetup,wantingtogetCharm

back before Haven returns, when Romy kneels down beside me and places her hand on Charm’s head,
closinghereyesasshechantsaseriesofindecipherablewords.

“Nomagick,”Damenscolds.“Notinthiscase.”
ButRomyjustsighs,andsitsbackonherheels.“It’snotlikeitworksanyway,”shesays,stillgazing

atCharm.“ShelooksjustlikeJinxatthatage,doesn’tshe?”

“Whichtime?”Raynegiggles,nudginghersisterastheybothstarttolaugh.
“Wemayhaveextendedherlifeafewtimes,”Romysays,cheekspinkassheglancesbetweenus,

promptingmetolookatDamenandthink:See?

Buthejustshakeshishead.Again—Haven?

“Canwegetacat?”Romyasks.“Ablackkittylikethis?”Tuggingonhissleevewhilegazingathim

inawaythat’shardtoresist.“They’rewonderfulcompanionsandverygoodaroundthehouse.Whatdo
yousay?Canwe?Please?”

“It’llhelpusgetourmagickback,”Rayneadds,noddingathim.
IlookatDamen,readinghisexpressionandknowingit’sasgoodasdone.Whateverthetwinswant,

thetwinsget.It’sassimpleasthat.

“We’ll discuss it later,” Damen says, attempting a stern look, but the gesture’s empty, everyone

knowsitbuthim.

Igetupfromthecouchandheadforthedoor,needingtogetCharmbacktothehousebeforeHaven

returns.

“Areyouupsetwithme?”Damengraspsmyhandandleadsmetomycar.
Ishakemyheadandsmile.It’simpossibletobemadathim,oratleastnotforverylong.“I’mnot

gonna lie, I was hoping you’d be on my side.” I shrug, coaxing Charm into her carrier, before leaning
against the door and pulling him close. “But it’s not like I don’t get your point. I just wanted to help
Haven,that’sall.”

“Justbethereforher.”Henods,darkgazeonmine.“That’sallshereallywantsfromyouanyway.”
Heleansintokissme,gatheringmeintohisarms,hishandsmovingovermeandwarmingmetomy

core.Pullingawaytogazeatmewiththosedeepsoulfuleyes,therocktomyfeather,myeternalpartner,
whoseintentionsaresosolidandgoodIcanonlyhopeheneverlearnsofmybetrayal,renegingonmy
promisenottovisitRomanjustaftersayingIwouldn’t.

Hecupsmyfacebetweenthepalmsofhishandsandpeersintomyeyes.Sensingmymoodshiftsso

easilyit’sasthoughtheyarehis.

Iavertmygaze,thinkingaboutHaven,Roman,thecat,andallthemountingmistakesIcan’tseemto

stop making. Then clearing the thoughts and shaking my head, unwilling to visit that place when I say,
“See you tomorrow?” Barely finishing the words before he leans in to kiss me again, a slip of energy
pulsatingbetweenhislipsandmine.

Holdingthemomentforaslongaswecan,neitherofuswillingtobreakaway,untilatwinchorusof,

“Ew!Gross!Dowereallyhavetowatchthat?”trailsfromthewindowupstairs.

“Tomorrow.”Damensmiles,seeingmesafelyintomycarbeforeheadinginside.

ChapterNineteen

Everything started out fine. As fine and normal as any other day. I woke up, showered, dressed,

stoppedbythekitchentotosssomecerealdownthesinkbeforechasingitwithsomeOJI’dswishedina
glass—myusualmorningroutinesoSabinewillthinkIatethebreakfastshemade.

NoddingandsmilingthewholewaytoschoolasMilesyammersonandonaboutHolt,orFlorence,

or Holt and Florence, as I sit there beside him, stopping, turning, speeding, slowing, chasing yellow
lights,waitingforthemomentwhenIcanseeDamenagain.Knowingthemeresightofhimwillturnall
darknesstolight,eveniftheeffectisjusttemporary.

ButthemomentIpullintothelotthefirstthingIseeisamammoth-sizedSUVparkedrightnexttothe

spaceDamen’ssavingforme.AndImeanmammoth,asin:bigandugly.Andsomethingaboutthesightof
Damenleaningagainstthatwhaleofacarfillsmewithdread.

“Whatthehell?”Milesgapes.“Yougiveupridingthebussoyoucandriveabusinstead?”
IclimboutofmyMiata,glancingbetweenBigUglyandDamen,hardlybelievingmyearswhenhe

starts quoting a slew of statistics about its superb safety rating and roomy back seats. I mean, I don’t
rememberhimeveroncecaringaboutthesafetyratingwhenhewaschauffeuringme.

That’sbecauseyou’reimmortal,hethinks,sensingmythoughtsasweheadforthegate.ButmayI

remindyou,thetwinsarenot,andsincetheyarenowinmycare,it’smyjobtokeepthemfromharm.

Ishakemyhead,gazenarrowedasItrytothinkofasnappyreply.MythoughtsinterruptedbyHaven

whosays,“You’redoingitagain.”Shecrossesherarmsandglancesbetweenus.“Youknow,yourwhole,
weird,pseudotelepathything.”

“Whoevencaresaboutthat?”Milesscreeches.“Damen’sdrivingabus!”Hehookshisthumbover

hisshoulder,jabbingtowardthebig,blackmonstrosityandwincingatthesightofit.

“Isitabusoramomcar?”Havensquints,shieldinghereyesfromthesun.Glancingateachofus.

“Whateveritis,onething’sforsure,it’stragicallymiddle-aged.”

Miles nods, fully warmed up to the subject now. “First the glove and now this?” He frowns at

Damen,disappointmentcloudinghisface.“Ihavenoideawhatyou’reupto,butdude,youareseriously
losingyouredge.You’renotevenclosetotherockstaryouwerewhenyoufirstcametothisschool.”

Iglanceathim,eyesnarrowedinsilentagreement.ButDamenjustlaughs,tooconcernedwiththe

propercareandfeedingofthetwinstobotherwithwhatanyonethinks—includingme.Andwhilethat’s
obviouslythewayagood,responsible,parental-typefigureshouldthink,somethingaboutitreallybugs
me.

MilesandHavencontinue,teasingDamenabouthisnew,surprisinglystodgyways,asItagalong,a

sliver of energy pulsating between us as he grabs my hand and thinks, What’s going on? Why are you
actinglikethis?Isthisbecauseofthecat?Ithoughtyouunderstoodallofthat?

Istarestraightahead,focusedonMilesandHaven,sighingloudlyasImentallyreply:It’s not the

cat.Wesettledthatyesterday.She’sbackatHaven’s,markingherdays.It’sjust—well,it’slike,hereI
am, making myself crazy, trying to find a solution so we can be together, and all you seem to care
about is manifesting HDTVs and the world’s ugliest babyproof car so you can cart the twins around
town!Ishakemyhead,knowingIneedtostop,beforeIgoanyfurtherandreallyhavesomethingtoregret.

“Everything’schanging,”Isay,notrealizingIsaiditoutlouduntilthewordsringinmyears.“And

I’msorryifI’mactinglikeabrat,butI’mjustsofrustratedthatwecan’tbetogetherinthewaythatwe
want. And I miss you. I miss you so bad I can’t stand it.” I pause, eyes stinging, throat hot and tight,
threatening to close up completely. “And now that the twins are living with you, and with my new job
startingandall,well,it’slike,we’resuddenlythrustintothissuperstressful,middle-agedlife.Andtrust
me,seeingyournewcarjustnowdidn’thelp.”Ipeerathim,thinkingthere’snowayI’mridinginthat
thing. Instantly ashamed when I see him looking at me with such love and compassion I can’t help but
fold.“IguessIwashopingthissummerwouldbegreat,youknow?Iwashopingwecouldhavesomefun
—justthetwoofus.Butnowit’snotlookingsogood.And,justtotopthingsoff,didIevenmentionthat
Sabine is dating Munoz? My history teacher? This Friday night, dinner at eight!” I scowl, hardly
believingthispatheticlifeactuallybelongstoasupposedlypowerful,newlyimmortal,almostseventeen-
year-oldgirl.

“Yougotajob?”Hestopsinplaceashiseyessearchmine.
“OutofeverythingIjustsaidthat’swhatyou’refocusingon?”Ishakemyheadandpullhimalong,

laughinginspiteofmyself.

Buthejustlooksatme,gazefixedonmineashesays,“Where?”
“MysticsandMoonbeams.”Ishrug,watchingMilesandHavenwaveastheyturndownthehalland

headforclass.

“Doingwhat?”heasks,notreadytodropitjustyet.
“Retail stuff, mainly.” I gaze at him. “You know, working the register, restocking shelves, giving

readings,stufflikethat.”Ishrug,hopinghewon’tpaymuchnoticetothatlastpart.

Psychicreadings?Hegapes,stoppingjustshyofourclassroom.
Inod,staringlonginglyasmyclassmatesspillthroughthedoor,preferringtojointhemthanhavingto

finishwhatIstarted.

“Doyouthinkthat’ssmart?Drawingthatkindofattentiontoyourself?”Backtotalkingagainnow

thatwe’realoneinthehall.

“Probably not.” I shrug, knowing it’s most definitely not. “But Sabine insists the discipline and

stabilitywilldomesomegood.Orsoshesays.Shejustwantstokeeptabsonme.Andshortofinstalling
anannycam,thisistheeasiest,leastinvasiveway.Sheevenhadthishorrible,soul-sucking,nine-to-five
gig all set up and ready to go, so when Jude said he needed some help around the store, well, I didn’t
havemuchchoicebutto—what?”Ipause,seeingthelookonhisface,eyesguarded,hardtoread.

“Jude?”HiseyesnarrowingtowhereIcanjustbarelyseethem.“Ithoughtyousaidsomeonenamed

Linaownedthestore.”

“Linadoesownthestore.Jude’shergrandson,”Isay,onlythat’snotentirelytrue.“Well,he’snother

realgrandson,it’smorelike,shelooksafterhim.Helpedraisehimafterheranawayfromhislastfoster
home—or—whatever.”Ishakemyhead.ThelastthingIwantedwastostartaconversationaboutJude,
especially with the way Damen’s gone high alert. “I thought it might help, you know, allow unlimited
accesstobooksandthingsthatmighthelpus.Besides,it’snotlikeI’mworkingthereundermyrealname.

I’musinganalias.”

“Letmeguess.”Hepeersintomyeyes,seeingtheanswerdisplayedinmythoughts.“Avalon.Cute.”

Hesmiles,butonlybrieflybeforehe’sgoneseriousagain.“Butyouknowhowitworks,right?It’snot
likeaconfessionalwhereyou’reshieldedbyascreen.Peopleexpectface-to-facecontact.Theywantto
seeyoutoknowwhetherornottheycantrustyou.Sowhatexactlyareyouplanningtodowhensomeone
youknowjusthappenstowalkinforanimpromptutarotcardreading?Didyoueventhinkaboutthat?”

I frown, wondering why he has to take what I thought was a pretty good deal and turn it into a

problem.AndI’mjustabouttodeliversomesnappyreply,saysomethinglike:Hello?I’mpsychic.I’ll
knowbeforetheyevengetthroughthedoor!whenRomanappears.

Romanand—someoneelse—someonevaguelyfamiliar—someonenamedMarcowhowaslastseen

inavintageJaguar,pullinguptohishouse.

Walkingsidebyside,legsmovingswiftly,eyesfocusedonmine.Roman’sgazetaunting,mocking,

theproudownerofmydirtylittlesecret.

Damenmovestoshieldme,gazeonRomanashethinks:Stay calm. Don’t do a thing. I’ll handle

this.

I peer over his shoulder, watching as Roman and Marco barrel toward us like an oncoming train.

Gazing at me with eyes so deep, so blue, everything blurs but his moist grinning lips and flashing
Ouroborostattoo.AndthelastthingIthink,beforeI’msuckedincompletely,isthatthisismyfault.IfI’d
keptmypromisetoDamenandstayedawayfromhim,Iwouldn’tbefacingthisnow.

His energy swirls toward me, tugging, pulling, luring me in, sucking me into a spiral of darkness,

bombarding me with images of Damen—the tainted antidote—my ill-advised visit—Haven—Miles—
Florence—the twins—all of it coming so quickly I can barely distinguish between them. But the
individual images themselves aren’t important—it’s the whole he wants me to see. All of it meant to
illustrateonesinglething:Roman’sinchargenow—therestofusarejustpuppets,pulledbyhisstrings.

“Mornin’,mates!”hesings,releasingmefromhisgripasmybodyfallslimpagainstDamen’s.
ButdespitehissweetmurmuringsasheushersmeawayfromRomanandintotheroom,despitethe

softreassurancesintendedtosoothe,convincedthatwe’vejustdodgedabulletandit’soverfornow,I
happentoknowit’sonlybegun.

Moreiscoming.
There’snodoubt.
Roman’snextshotisaimedsolelyatme.

ChapterTwenty

After lunch I head for Mystics and Moonbeams. Eager to start my on-the-job training, hoping it’ll

provideanicedistractionfromthemessotherwiseknownasmylife.

It was bad enough when Damen kept disappearing between classes so he could check in on the

twins,butbylunch,whenIassuredhimIwasfine,thatRomanwouldn’tbotherme,andthatheshouldjust
stayhome,IheadedforourtableonlytolearnthatHavenhasboardedtheRomantrain.Pickingaparta
vanilla-frostedcupcakewhilegushingaboutthebigpartheplayedinsecuringherthejobatthevintage
store,despiteherarrivingattheinterviewtenminuteslate.

And all I could do was mumble an occasional word of dissent, which didn’t go over so well. So

afterherthirdexcruciatinglydramaticeyeroll,aftertellingmetorelaxandunclenchfortheumpteenth
time,Itossedmyuneatensandwichandmadeforthegate.Vowingtokeepaneyeonher,dowhateverit
takestokeepthemfromgettingtogether.Justonemoreitemonmygrowingto-dolist.

Ipullintothealley,parkinginoneoftwospacesbehindthestorebeforeheadingtowardthefront,

half expecting to find the door locked, figuring Jude couldn’t resist the call of killer waves on such a
beautifulday,andsurprisedtofinditwideopen,withJudebehindtheregister,ringingasale.

“Ohhey,here’sAvalonnow.”Henods.“IwasjusttellingSusanaboutournewpsychicreader,and

youwalkinoncue.”

Susanturns,lookingmeover,scrutinizing,accessing,addingupallthepartsinherhead.Sureshe’s

aced the equation when she says, “Aren’t you a little—young to be giving readings?” She gives me a
smuglook.

I smile, an awkward slanting of lips, as my gaze darts between them, unsure how to respond,

especiallywiththewayJude’slookingatme.

“Beingpsychicisagift,”Imumble,nearlychokingontheword.Rememberingatime,notlongago,

whenIscoffedatthethought,sureitwasanythingbut.“It’sgotnothingtodowithage,”Iadd,watching
herauraflickerandflare,knowingI’vefailedtoconvinceher.“Youeitherhaveit,oryoudon’t.”Ishrug,
diggingmyselfaverydeephole.

“So,shouldIbookyouareading?”Judeasks,smilinginawaythat’shardtoresist.
ButnotforSusan.Shakingherheadandclutchingherbag,sheheadsforthedoor,saying,“Youjust

givemeacallwhenAvacomesback.”

Thebellclangsloudlyasthedoorclosesbehindher.“Well,thatwentwell.”Ishrug,turningtoward

Judeandwatchinghimfilethereceiptbeforeadding,“Ismyagegoingtobeaproblemhere?”

“Yousixteen?”heasks,barelyglancingatme.

Ipressmylipstogetherandnod.
“Thenyou’reoldenoughtoworkhere.Susan’sapsychicjunkie,shewon’tresistforlong.She’llbe

onyoursign-upsheetbeforeyouknowit.”

“Psychic junkie? Is that anything like a groupie?” I follow him to the office in back, noticing he’s

wearingtheexactsametrunksandpeace-signteeasbefore.

“Can’tmakeamovewithoutconsultingthecards,thestars,whathaveyou.”Henods.“ThoughI’m

guessingyougatheredyourshareofregularsinthecourseofallthereadingsyou’vegiven.”Heglances
overhisshoulderasheopensthedoor,eyesnarrowed,knowing,inawayIcan’tmiss.

“Aboutthat—”Istart,figuringImayaswellconfesssincehe’sobviouslyontomeanyway.
But he just turns, hand raised, determined to stop me when he says, “Please, no confessionals.”

Smiling and shaking his head. “If I have any hope of enjoying those huge swells out there, then I don’t
havetheluxuryofregrettingmydecision.Thoughyoumightwanttorethinkthatbitaboutitbeingagift.”

Ilookathim,surprisedtohearhimsaythatsinceallthepsychicsI’vemet,which,okay,prettymuch

consistsofjustAva,butstill,mostofthemthinkit’smostcertainlysomethingyou’rebornwith.

“I’mthinkingofaddingsomeclassestotheschedule,psychicdevelopmentstuff,maybeeventhrow

in some Wicca as well, and trust me, we’ll get a lot more sign-ups if everyone thinks they have a fair
shot.”

“Butdothey?”Iask,watchingasheheadsforanextremelymessydeskandrifflesthroughapileof

papersneartheedge.

“Sure.”Henods,pickingupasheet,lookingitover,thenshakinghisheadasheswapsitforanother.

“Everyone has the potential, it’s just a matter of developing it. With some it comes easy, they couldn’t
ignore it if they tried, with others—they have to dig a little deeper to find it. And you? When did you
know?”

Helooksatme,thoseseagreeneyesmeetingmineinawaythatmakesmystomachdance.Imean,

one minute he’s talking abstractedly, thumbing through papers as though he’s barely minding his words,
thenthenexteverythingstops,hisgazeisonmine,andit’sliketimehasstoodstill.

Iswallowhard,unsurewhattosay,partofmelongingtoconfess,knowinghe’soneofthefewwho

wouldunderstand,buttheotherpartresists—Damen’stheonlyonewhoknowsmystory,andIfeellikeI
shouldkeepitthatway.

“Justbornwithit,Iguess.”Iliftmyshoulders,cringingatthewaymyvoiceroseattheend.Myeyes

dart around the room, hoping to avoid the topic as well as his gaze when I add, “So—classes. Who’s
teachingthose?”

Heshrugs,tiltinghisheadinawaythatallowshisdread-lockstofallintohisface.“GuessIwill,”

hesays,pushingthembackandrevealingthescaronhisbrow.“It’ssomethingI’vebeenwantingtodofor
awhileanyway,butLina’salwaysbeenagainstit.IfigureImayaswelltakeadvantageofhernotbeing
heretoseeifitworks.”

“Why’ssheagainstit?”Iask,stomachsettlingwhenheleansbackandpropshisfeetonhisdesk.
“Shelikestokeepitsimple—books,music,angelfigurines,withtheoccasionalreadingthrownin.

Safe.Benign.Mainstreammysticismwherenoonegetshurt.”

“Andyourway?Peoplegethurt?”Istudyhim,tryingtopinpointjustwhatitisabouthimthatsets

meonedge.

“Notatall.Mygoalistoempowerpeople,helpthemlivebetter,morefulfilledlives,byaccessing

theirownintuition,that’sall.”Heglancesatme,greeneyescatchingmestaring,makingmystomachgo
weirdagain.

“AndLinadoesn’twanttoempowerpeople?”Iask,feelingallflutteryunderhisgaze.

“Withknowledgecomespower.Andsincepowertendstocorrupt,shethinksit’stoobigarisk.Even

thoughI’vegotnoplanstogoanywherenearthedarkarts,she’sconvincedthey’llfindtheirwayin,that
theclassesIteachwillonlyleadtoharder,darkerstuff.”

Inod,thinkingofRomanandDrinaanddefinitelyseeingLina’spoint.Powerinthewronghandsis

indeedadangerousthing.

“Anyway,youinterested?”Hesmiles.
Myeyesmeethis,unsurewhathemeans.
“Inteachingaclass?”
Ibalk,wonderingifhe’sjokingorserious,thenseeinghe’sneither,justputtingitoutthere.“Trust

me,Idon’tknowthefirstthingaboutWicca,or—oranyofitreally.I’venoideahowitworks.I’mbetter
offjustgivingtheoccasionalreading,andmaybeeventryingtoorganizethismess.”Igesturetowardhis
desk,theshelves,justabouteveryavailablesurfacethat’sburiedbeneathamoundofpapersandjunk.

“Iwashopingyou’dsaythat.”Helaughs.“Oh,andjustsoyouknow,Iclockedoutthemomentyou

walkedin.Gonesurfingifanyoneasks.”Hegetsup,movingtowardthesurfboardleaningagainstthefar
wall.“Idon’texpectyoutogetitcompletelyorganizedoranything,it’stoobigamess.Butifyoucould
getitintosomekindoforder,well—”Henods,lookingatme.“Youjustmightgetagoldstar.”

“I’dratherhaveaplaque,”Isay,pretendingtobeserious.“Youknow,somethingnicethatIcanhang

onthewall.Orevenastatuette.Oratrophy—atrophywouldbegood.”

“Howaboutyourownparkingspaceoutback?Icanprobablyswingthat.”
“Trustme,youalreadyhave.”Ilaugh.
“Yeah, but this one will have your name on it. Reserved for you only. No one will be allowed to

park in it, not even off hours. I’ll post a big warning that reads: CAUTION! THIS SPACE RESERVED
FORAVALONONLY.ALLOTHERSWILLBETOWEDAWAYATTHEIROWNEXPENSE.”

“You’ddothat?Forreals?”Ilaugh,eyesmeetinghis.
He grabs his board, fingers gripping the edge as he heaves it under his arm. “You get this place

cleanedupandthere’snolimittotherewardsthatawaityou.TodayEmployeeoftheMonth,tomorrow
—”Heshrugs,tossinghisdreadsoffhisforeheadandexposinghisamazinglycuteface.

Our gazes lock, and I know he’s caught me again—caught me looking—wondering—thinking he’s

cute.SoIquicklylookaway,scratchingatmyarm,fiddlingwithmysleeve,anythingtomovepastthis
momenttowardsomethinglessawkward.

“There’samonitorinthecornerthere.”Henodstowardthefarwall,backtobusinessagain.“That,

combined with the bell on the door, should alert you to anyone coming in when you’re working back
here.”

“That,thebellonthedoor,andthefactthatI’mpsychic,”Isay,tryingtosoundlighthearted,though

myvoiceisalittleshaky,havingnotfullyrecoveredfromtheawkwardnessbefore.

“LikethewayyouaccessedyourpowerswhenIsnuckuponyou?”heasks,smilinginaniceopen

way,thoughhiseyesareholdingback.

“Thatwasdifferent.”Ishrug.“Youobviouslyknowhowtoshieldyourenergy.Mostpeopledon’t.”
“And you know how to shield your aura.” He squints, head cocked to the side, those golden

dreadlocks falling halfway down his arm as he focuses in on my right. “But I’m sure we’ll get to that
later.”

Iswallowhard,pretendingnottonoticehowhisvibrantyellowauragoesalittlepinkattheedges.
“Anyway,it’sallprettyself-explanatory.Thefilesneedtobealphabetized,andifyoucouldseparate

’embysubject,that’dbegreat.Oh,anddon’tbothertaggingthecrystalsorherbsifyou’renotfamiliar
withthem,I’dhatetoget’emconfused.Thoughifyouarefamiliar—”Hesmiles,browraisedinsucha

wayIimmediatelystartscratchingmyarmagain.

Igazeatthegleamingpilesofcrystals,someofwhichIrecognizefromtheelixirsImadeandthe

amuletIwearatmyneck,butmostofwhicharesoforeignthey’renotevenvaguelyfamiliar.

“Doyouhaveabookorsomething?”Iask,hopinghedoessinceI’dlovetolearnmoreabouttheir

amazing abilities. “You know, so I can”—Find a way to sleep with my immortal boyfriend someday
—“soIcangetthemalltaggedproperly—and—stuff.”Inod,hopingtoappearlikeahardworkerrather
thantheself-motivatedslackerIam.Watchingashedropshissurfboardandturnsbacktowardhisdesk,
shuffling through a pile of books and retrieving a small, thick, well-worn tome from the bottom of the
stack.

Turningitoverinhishands,andgazingatthebackwhenhesays,“Thishasitall.Ifacrystal’snotin

it, it doesn’t exist. It’s also loaded with pictures so you can identify them. Anyway, it should help,” he
adds,tossingittome.

Icatchitbetweenthepalmsofmyhands,itspagesvibratingwithlifeasthecontentssurgethrough

me.TheentirebooknowimprintedonmybrainasIsmileandsay,“Believeme,italreadyhas.”

ChapterTwenty-One

Istareatthemonitor,makingsureJudehasleftbeforetakingtheseatbehindthedeskandgazingat

thepileofcrystals.Knowingthebookalonewasn’tenough—theyneedtobehandledtobeunderstood.
ButjustasIreachforalargeredrockmarkedbystreaksofyellow,mykneeknocksagainstthesideofthe
desk,andmyentirebodygrowsitchyandwarm—asuresignthatsomethingneedsmyattention.

I push the chair back and lean forward, peering under the desk, noticing how the sensation grows

strongerthelowerIgo.FollowingthefeelinguntilI’veslidoffmyseatanddroppedtothefloor,fumbling
around for the source, the tips of my fingers growing unbearably hot the second I touch the bottom left
drawer.

Ileanbackonmyheels,squintingattheoldbrasslock—thekindofdeterrentmeanttokeephonest

peoplehonest,anddissuadethosewhodon’tknowhowtomanipulateenergylikeme—closingmyeyes
as I ease the drawer open, only to find a pile of hanging files that are no longer hanging, an ancient
calculator, and a pile of old and yellowed receipts. Just about to close it again when I sense the false
bottombeneath.

Iscoopupthepapersandtossthemasidebeforeliftingthehatchandexposinganold,worn,leather-

boundtome,itspagescurledandfrayinglikealostancientscroll,thewordsBookofShadowsinscribed
onitsfront.Iplaceitontothedeskbeforeme,thensitthereandstare.Wonderingwhysomeonewouldgo
tosomuchtroubletokeepthisbookhidden—andfromwhom?

IsLinahidingitfromJude?
Orisittheotherwayaround?
Andsincethere’sonlyonewaytofindout,Iclosemyeyesandpressmypalmtoitsfront,planning

toreaditinmyusualwayuntilI’mslammedbyasurgeofenergysointense,sofrenetic,sochaotic—it
practicallysnapcracklesmybones.

I’mhurledbackward,mychairhittingthewallwithsuchforceitleavesahugedent.Theflickering

remnants of random images still quivering before me, and knowing full well why it was hidden—it’s a
book of witchcraft and spells. Divinations and incantations. Containing powers so potent it would be
completelycatastrophicinthewronghands.

Isteadymybreathandstareatthecover,calmingmyselfbeforeIattempttothumbthroughit.Fingers

twitching,touchingonlytheedges,asIpeeratacursivesosmallit’snearlyimpossibletodecipher.The
bulkofthepagesinscribedwithallmannerofsymbols,remindingmeofthealchemicaljournalsDamen’s
fatherusedtokeep—carefullywrittenincodeinordertoprotectthesecretswithin.

Ifliptothemiddle,takinginafine,detailedsketchofagroupofpeopledancingunderafullmoon,

followedbythoseofsimilarpeopleengagedincomplexrituals.Fingershoveringabovethescratchyold
paperandsuddenlyknowingdeepinmybonesthatthisisnomistake.Iwasmeanttofindthisbook.

JustlikeRomanhypnotizedmyclassmatesandputthemallunderhisspell,allIhavetodoisweave

therightincantationtoconvincehimtodivulgetheinformationIneed!

Iturnthepage,eagertofindtherightone,justasthebellontheshopdoorringsandIpeeratthe

monitortoconfirmit.Unwillingtobudge’tilI’msurethey’renotgoingtoturnrightaroundandleave,that
they’re truly committed to staying. Watching as the small, slim, black-and-white figure makes her way
throughtheroom—nervouslyglancingoverhershoulderasthoughexpectingtofindsomeonethere.And
justasI’mhopingshe’llleave,shegoesstraightforthecounter,placesherhandsontheglass,andwaits
patiently.

Great.Igetupfromthedesk.JustwhatIneed—acustomer.Calling,“CanIhelpyou?”beforeI’ve

evenhadachancetoturnthecornerandseethatit’sHonor.

The second she sees me she gasps, jaw dropping, eyes widening, appearing almost—frightened?

Thetwoofusgapeateachother,wonderinghowtomovepastthis.

“Um,doyouneedsomething?”Isay,voicesoundingmoreconfidentthanIfeel,asthoughIreallyam

inchargearoundhere.Takinginherlongdarkhair,therecentadditionofcopperstreaksglintingunderthe
lights,realizingI’veneverseenheraloneuntilnow.Neveroncebeenconfrontedbyher,justthetwoof
us,withoutStaciaorCraig.

My mind wanders to the book in the back, the one I left on the desk, the one I need to return to

immediately,hopingwhateveritisthatshewantscanbehandledquicklyandeasily.

“MaybeI’minthewrongplace.”Shepullshershouldersin,twistingasilverringaroundandaround

ashercheeksspotbrightpink.“IthinkI—”Sheswallowshardandglancesbackatthedoor,motioning
awkwardlyasshesays,“IthinkImadeamistake,soI’m—I’mjustgonnago—”

Iwatchassheturns,herauraglowingatremulousgrayassheheadsforthedoor.AndeventhoughI

don’t want to do it, even though I have a potentially life-changing, problem-solving book to return to, I
say,“It’snotamistake.”Shestops,shouldershunched,lookingsmallanddiminutivewithouttheaidof
herbullyfriend.“Seriously,”Iadd.“Youmeanttocomehere.Andwhoknows?MaybeIcanhelp.”

Shetakesadeepbreath,pausingforsolongI’mabouttospeakagainwhensheturns.“There’sthis

guy.”Shepicksatthehemofhershortsandgazesatme.

“Jude.” Sensing the answer without reading her thoughts or touching her skin, just knowing the

momentmyeyesmeethers.

“Yeah, um, I guess. Anyway, I um—” She shakes her head and starts again. “Well, I was just

wonderingifhewashere.Hegavemethis.”Shepullsacrumpledpieceofpaperfromherpocketand
laysitflatagainsttheglass,smoothingthecreasesasshepeersupatme.

“He’s not here,” I mumble, eyes grazing over the flyer advertising his Psychic Development Class

level 1, thinking how he wasted no time. “You want to leave a message? Or sign up?” I study her
carefully, never having seen her so shy and uncomfortable before—with the ring twisting, eye darting,
kneetwitching—andknowingit’sbecauseofme.

Sheshrugs,gazingdownatthecounterasthoughfascinatedbythejewelryinside.“No,um,don’tsay

anything. I’ll just come back some other time.” She takes a deep breath and pulls her shoulders back,
tryingtosummonsomeoftheusualrevulsionreservedjustforme,butfailingmiserably.

Andeventhoughpartofmewantstosootheher,calmher,convinceherthere’sreallynoreasonto

actlikethis—Idon’t.Ijustwatchassheleaves,makingsurethedoorclosesbehindherbeforeheading
backtothebook.

ChapterTwenty-Two

“Sohowwasyourfirstdayatwork?”
I drop onto the couch, kick off my shoes, and prop my feet up on the carved wood coff ee table,

closingmyeyes,andsighingdramaticallyasIsay,“Actually,itwasaloteasierthanyou’dthink.”

Damenlaughsandsinksdownbesideme.Smoothingmyhairoffmyfacewhenhesays,“Thenwhat’s

withallthefatigueandtheatrics?”

Ishrug,scrunchingdownevenlower,sinkingasdeepasIcanintotheplush,overstuffedcushions,

eyesstillclosedasIsay,“Idon’tknow.Maybeit’sgotsomethingtodowiththebookIfound.Itleftme
feelingalittle—fragmented.Butthen,itmighthavesomethingtodowithmysurprisevisitwith—”

“Youreadabook?”Hislipstraildownthelengthofmyneck,fillingmybodywithtingleandheat.

“Asin,thetraditionalway?”

I move closer, throwing my leg over his and snuggling in, eager for the almost feel of his skin.

“Believeme,Itriedtotaketheeasywayoutandjustsenseitinstead,butitwaslike—Idon’tknow—it
wastheweirdestexperience.”Ilookathim,willinghiseyestomeetmine,buttheyremainclosedashe
burieshisfaceinmyhair.“Itwaslike—liketheknowledgeinsidewastoopowerfultobereadinthat
way,youknow?Anditgavemethisterriblejoltofelectricity—likeashockthatrattledmybones.Which
onlymademeevenmorecurious,whichiswhyItriedtoreaditthenormalway.OnlyIdidn’tgetvery
far.”

“Outofpractice?”Hesmiles,lipsnowatmyear
“More like I couldn’t understand it.” I shrug. “It’s mostly in code. And the parts that are English,

well,itwaslike—oldeEnglish.Youknow,likethekindyouusedtospeak.”Ipullawayandpeerathim,
smilingwhenIseethelookofmockoutragedisplayedonhisface.“Nottomentiontheprintwasreally
smallanditwasfilledwithalltheseweirdsketchesandsymbolsmakingupspellsandinvocations,that
sort of thing. What—why are you looking at me like that?” I pause, sensing a major energy shift as his
bodygrowstense

“What’sthenameofthisbook?”heasks,gazefocusedonmine.
I squint, screwing my lips to the side, trying to remember what the fancy gold lettering said. “The

Book of—Something—” I shake my head, feeling more tired and fragmented than I prefer to let on,
especiallyafterseeingtheconcernonhisface.

“Shadows.”Henods,wearingafrown.“TheBookofShadows.Isthatit?”
“So you know it?” I shift, arranging my body until I’m fully facing him, his gaze serious, fixed, as

thoughweighingsomethinghemayormaynottellme.

“I’mfamiliar.”Hestudiesmyface.“Butonlywithitsreputation.I’veneverhadachancetoreadit

myself.But,Ever,ifit’sthesametomeI’mthinkingof—”Heshakeshishead,disquietcloudinghisface.
“Well,itcontainssomeextremelypowerfulmagick—magickthatneedstobeapproachedwiththeutmost
cautionandcare.Magickthatdefinitelyshouldnotbetoyedwith,understand?”

“So I guess you’re saying it works.” I smile, hoping to lighten the mood, but knowing I’ve failed

whenhedoesn’treturnit.

“It’s nothing like the magick we use. It may seem like it at first, and I suppose that when stripped

downtoitsveryessence,itdoesamounttothesamesortofthing.Butwhenweevoketheenergyofthe
universetomanifestform,wecallupononlythepurestandbrightestoflightwithnodarknessatall.And
even though most magick practitioners or witches are good, sometimes when people get involved in
witchcraft they get in over their heads, and wind up taking a much darker path, calling on a more
malevolentforcetogetthejobdone.”

Igape,neverhavingheardhimevenacknowledgeadarkforcebefore.
“Everything we do is always based either for the greater good, or our own good. We never do

anythingtocauseanyharm.”

“Iwouldn’tsaynever,”Imumble,rememberingallthetimesI’vebeatenStaciaatherowngame,or

atleasttriedto.

“PettyschoolyardsquabbleishardlywhatI’mgettingat.”Hedismissesmythoughts.“WhatImeant

was,wemanipulatematternotpeople.Butresortingtospellcastingtogetwhatyouwant—”Heshakes
hishead.“Well,that’sawholeothergame.AskRomyandRayne.”

Ilookathim.
“They are witches, you know. Good witches, of course, ones who were taught very well—though

unfortunatelyforthem,theirschoolingwascutabitshort.ButtakeRoman,forinstance,he’stheperfect
exampleofwhatcangowrongwhenone’sego,greed,andinsatiableneedforpowerandrevengesteer
themtowardthedarkside.Hisrecentuseofhypnosisisaprimeexampleofthat.”Helooksatme,shaking
hishead.“Pleasetellmeyoudidn’tfindthisbookontheshelf—outwherejustanyonecangetit.”

Icrossmylegsandshakemyhead,fingerstracingtheseamonhissleeve.“Itwasnothinglikethat,”I

say. “This copy was—old. And I mean, really, really old. You know, all fragile and ancient—like it
shouldbeinamuseumorsomething.Trustme,whoeveritbelongstodidn’twantanyonetoknowaboutit;
theywenttogreatlengthstohideit.Butyouknowthatcan’treallystopme.”Ismile,hopinghe’llsmile
too,buthisgazeremainsunchanged,worriedeyesstaringrightintomine.

“Whodoyouthinkisusingit?LinaorJude?”heasks,usingtheirnamessocasuallyyou’dthinkthey

werefriends.

“Doesitmatter?”Ishrug.
He studies me a moment longer, then averts his gaze. Mind wandering to some long-ago place,

somewhereI’veneverbeen.“So,isthatit,then?AbriefencounterwiththeBookofShadows,andyou’re
alltuckeredout?”hesays,returningtome.

“Tuckered?”Iliftabrowandshakemyhead.Hisoddchoiceofwordsneverfailstoamuseme.
“Toodated?”Hislipscurveintoagrin.
“Alittle.”Inod,laughingalongwithhim.
“You shouldn’t make fun of the elderly. It’s quite rude, don’t you think?” He playfully chucks me

underthechin.

“Quite.”Inod,quietedbythefeelofhisfingersstrayingovermycheek,downmyneck,alltheway

tomychest.

We rest our heads against the cushions and gaze at each other, his hands moving nimbly, deftly,

makingtheirwayovermyclothes,bothofuswishingitcouldleadtosomethingmore,butdeterminedto
becontentedwiththis.

“Sowhatelsehappenedatwork?”hewhispers,pressinghislipstomyskin,theever-presentveil

hoveringbetweenus.

“Didsomeorganizing,cataloging,filing—oh,andthenHonorcamein.”
Hepullsaway,featuresrearrangedintohisItoldyousogaze.“Relax.It’snotlikeshewaslooking

forareadingoranything.Oratleastshedidn’tseemtobe.”

“What’dshewant?”
“Jude,Iguess.”Iliftmyshoulders,inchingmyfingersunderthehemofhisshirt,feelinghissmooth

expanseofskinandwishingIcouldcrawlundertheretoo.“Itwasweirdseeingheralonethough.You
know, without Stacia or Craig. It’s like she was a totally different person—all shy and awkward,
completelytransformed.”

“You think she likes Jude?” His fingers trace the line of my collarbone, his touch so warm, so

perfect,barelydimmedbytheveil.

Ishrug,buryingmyfaceintheshallowVofhisshirt,inhalinghiswarmmuskyscent.Determinedto

ignore the way my stomach just dipped when he spoke. Having no idea what it means or why I should
careifHonorlikesJude,butpreferringtopushitawaynonetheless.“Why?DoyouthinkIshouldwarn
him?Youknow,tellhimwhatshe’sreallylike?”Mylipspushingintothehollowatthebaseofhisneck,
rightnexttothecordthatholdshisamulet.

Heshifts,rearranginghislimbs,pullingawayashesays,“Ifhe’sasgiftedasyousay,thenheshould

be able to read her energy and see for himself.” He gazes at me, voice careful, measured, overly
controlled in a way I’m not used to. “Besides, do we even know what she’s really like? From what
you’vedescribed,weonlyknowherundertheinfluenceofStacia.Shemaybequiteniceonherown.”

Isquint,tryingtoimagineanicerversionofHonor,butunabletogetthere.“Butstill,”Isay.“Jude

hasahabitoffallingforallthewronggirlsand—”Istop,meetinghisgazeandsensingthatthingshave
takenadefiniteturnfortheworse,thoughI’venoideawhy.“Youknowwhat?Nevermindallthat.It’s
boring and stupid and not worth our time. Let’s talk about something else, okay?” I lean toward him,
aimingmylipstowardtheedgeofhisjaw,anticipatingtheprickleandscratchofthestubblethatgrows
there.“Let’stalkaboutsomethingthathasnothingtodowithmyjob,orthetwins,oryouruglynewcar
—”Hopinghewasmoreamusedthanoffendedbythat.“Somethingthatdoesn’tmakemefeelquiteso
—oldandboring.”

“Areyousayingyou’rebored?”Helooksatme,eyeswide,aghast.
Iliftmyshouldersandscrunchmyface,wishingIcouldpretendotherwise,butalsonotwantingto

lie.“Alittle.”Inod.“Imean,I’msorrytosayit,butthiswholecuddlingonthecouchwhilethekidssleep
upstairs—”Ishakemyhead.“It’sonethingwhenyou’rebabysitting,butit’salittlecreepywhenthekids
areessentiallyyours.Imean,Iknowwe’restilladjustingandall—but—well—IguesswhatI’mtryingto
sayis,it’sstartingtofeellikearut.”Ipeerathim,lipspressedtightlytogether,unsurehowhe’lltakethat.

“Youknowhowtogetoutofarut,don’tyou?”Hejumpstohisfeetsoswiftlyhe’sashiny,darkblur.
Ishakemyhead,recognizingthatlookinhiseyefromwhenwefirstmet.Backwhenthingswerefun,

exciting,unpredictableineveryway.

“Theonlyescapeistobreakfree.”Helaughs,graspingmyhandandleadingmeaway.

ChapterTwenty-Three

Ifollowhimthroughthekitchenandouttothegarage,wonderingwherehecouldpossiblybetaking

mesinceanicetriptoSummerlandcanbehadfromthecouch.

“Whataboutthetwins?”Iwhisper.“Whatiftheywakeandfindwe’renothere?”
Damenshrugs,leadingmetohiscarandglancingoverhisshoulderashesays,“Noworries,they’re

sleepingsoundly.Besides,Ihaveafeelingthey’llstaythatwayforawhile.”

“Anddidyouhaveanythingtodowiththat?”Iask,rememberingthetimeheputtheentirestudent

bodytosleep—includingtheadministratorsandteachers—andI’mstillnotsurehowhedidit.

Helaughsandopensmydoor,motioningformetogetin.ButIshakemyheadandstandmyground.

NowayamIridinginthemommobile—theveryembodimentoftherutthatwe’rein.

Helooksatmeforamoment,thenshakeshisheadandcloseshiseyes,browsmergingtogetherashe

manifestsashinyredLamborghiniinstead.JustliketheoneIdrovetheotherday.

ButIshake myheadagain, havingnoneed foranew brandof funwhenthe oldonewill do.SoI

close my eyes and wish it away, replacing it with an exact replica of the shiny black BMW he used to
drive.

“Pointtaken.”Henods,wavingmeinwithamischievousgrin.
AndthenextthingIknowwe’reracingdownthedriveandontothestreet,slowingjustenoughfor

thegatetoopen,beforetakingCoastHighwayinablurofspeed.

I gaze at him, trying to peer into his mind and see just where we’re going, but he just laughs,

purposelyerectinghispsychicshield,determinedtosurpriseme.

He hops on the freeway and cranks up the stereo, laughing in surprise when the Beatles come on.

“TheWhiteAlbum?”Heglancesatmeashenavigatestheroadatnear-recordspeeds.

“Whateverittakestogetyoubackinthiscar.”Ismile,havinglistenedtothestory(manytimes)of

histimespentinIndialearningtranscendentalmeditationrightalongsidethem,backwhenJohnandPaul
wrotemostofthesesongs.“Infact,ifI’vemanifesteditcorrectly,thenthatstereowillplaynothingbut
theBeatlesfromnowon.”

“HowamIevergoingtoadapttothetwenty-firstcenturyifyou’redeterminedtokeepmerootedin

thepast?”Helaughs.

“Iwaskindofhopingyouwouldn’tadapt,”Imumble,gazingoutthewindowatablurofdarkness

andlight.“Changeisoverrated—oratleastyourmorerecentchangesare.Sowhatdoyousay?Isshea
keeper?Canwebanishthebiguglymommymobile?”

Iturntowardhim,watchingasheexitsthefreewayandmakesaseriesofsharpturnsbeforeclimbing

averysteephillandstoppingbeforeasculptureinfrontofahugelimestonebuilding.

“What’sthis?”Isquint,knowingwe’resomewhereinL.A.fromthelookandfeelofthetown,butnot

exactlysurewhere.

“TheGetty.”Hesmiles,settingthebrakeandjumpingouttoopenmydoor.“Haveyoubeen?”
I shake my head and avoid his gaze. An art museum is about the last place I expected—or even

wanted—togo.

“But—isn’t it closed?” I glance around, sensing we’re the only ones here, other than the armed

guardswhoareprobablystationedinside.

“Closed?”Helooksatmeandshakeshishead.“YouthinkI’mgoingtoletsomethingasmundaneas

thatstopus?”Heslipshisarmaroundmeandleadsmeupthestonesteps,lipsatmyearwhenheadds,“I
knowamuseum’snotyourfirstchoice,buttrustme,I’mabouttoproveaverygoodpoint.Onethat,from
whatyoujustsaid,clearlyneedsillustrating.”

“What?ThatyouknowmoreaboutartthanIdo?”
Hestops,hisfaceseriouswhenhesays,“I’mgoingtoprovethattheworldreallyisouroyster.Our

playground.Whateverwewantittobe.There’snoneedtoeverfeelboredortogetintoarutonceyou
understandthatthenormalrulesnolongerapply—atleastnotforus.Wecandoanythingwewant,Ever,
anything at all. Open, closed, locked, unlocked, welcome, unwelcome—none of it matters, we do what
wewant—whenwewant.There’snothingornoonewhocanstopus.”

Notentirelytrue,Ithink,ruminatingontheverythingwe’veneverbeenabletodointhepastfour

hundredyears,which,ofcourse,istheonethingIreallywantustodo.

Buthejustsmiles,kissingmeontheforeheadbeforegraspingmyhand,leadingmetothedoorashe

says,“Besides,there’sanexhibitI’mdyingtosee,andsincethere’snocrowditshouldn’ttakelong.And
Ipromise,after,wecangowhereveryouwant.”

Istareattheimposinglockeddoorsriggedwiththemosthigh-techalarmsthatareprobablyriggedto

other high-tech alarms, that are surely rigged to machine gun–wielding guards with their fingers just
itchingtopressthetrigger.Heck,there’sprobablyahiddencameratrainedonusnow,andanotamused
guardtuckedsomewhereinsidereadytopushthepanicbuttonunderhisdesk.

“Areyouseriouslygoingtotryandbreakin?”Igulp,palmsdamp,heartclatteringagainstmychest,

hopinghe’sjokingeventhoughheclearlyisnot.

“No,”hewhispers,closinghiseyesandurgingmetoclosemine.“I’mnotgoingtotry,I’mgoingto

succeed.Andifyoudon’tmind,youcouldreallyhelpthisalongbyclosingyoureyesandfollowingmy
lead.” Leaning even closer, lips at my ear when he adds, “And I promise, no one gets caught, hurt, or
jailed.Really.Crossmyheart.”

Ipeerathim,assuringmyselfthatsomeonewho’slivedforsixhundredyearshassurvivedhisshare

of scrapes. Then I take a deep breath and plunge in. Copying the series of steps he envisions until the
doorsspringopen,thesensorsturnoff,andtheguardsallfallintoalongdeepsleep.OratleastIhopeit’s
longanddeep.Longanddeepwouldbegood.

“Ready?”Helooksatme,lipscurvingintoagrin.
I hesitate, hands shaking, eyes darting, thinking that rut we were in is starting to look pretty good.

ThenIswallowhardandstepin,cringingwhenmyrubbersolemeetsthepolishedstonefloor,resultingin
themosthigh-pitched,screechy,cringe-worthysound.

“What do you think?” he says, face eager, excited, hoping I’m enjoying myself as much as he. “I

consideredtakingyoutoSummerland,butthenIfiguredthat’sexactlywhatyou’dexpect.SoIdecidedto
showyouthemagickofstayingrighthereontheearthplaneinstead.”

Inod,stillaboutasfarfromexcitedasitgetsbuttryingtohideit.Scopingouttheginormousroom

withitstallceilings,glasswindows,andplethoraofcorridorsandhallsthatprobablymakeitincredibly
brightandwelcominginthedaytime,butkindofcreepyatnight.“Thisplaceishuge.Haveyoubeenhere
before?”

Henods,headingfortheroundinfodeskinthecenter.“Once.Rightbeforeitofficiallyopened.And

though I know there’s lots of important works to see, there’s one exhibit in particular I’m extremely
interestedin.”

He swipes a guest guide off the stand, pressing his palm to the front until the desired location

appearsinhishead.Thendroppingitbackinitsslot,heleadsmedownaseriesofhallsandupafew
stairs, our path lit only by a series of security lights and the glint of the moon shining in through the
windows.

“Isthisit?”Iask,watchingashestandsbeforealuminouspaintingtitledMadonnaEnthronedwith

St.Matthew,bodystillwithawe,expressiontransformedtooneofpurebliss.

He nods, unable to speak as he takes it all in, struggling to compose himself before turning to me.

“I’vetraveledalot.Livedinsomanyplaces.ButwhenIfinallyleftItalyjustoverfourcenturiesago,I
sworeI’dneverreturn.TheRenaissancewasover,andmylife—well—Iwasmorethanreadytomove
on. But then I heard about this new school of painters, the Carracci family in Bologna, who’d learned
their craft from the masters, including my dear friend Raphael. They started a new way of painting,
influencingthenextgenerationofartists.”Hemotionstothepaintingbeforeus,facefilledwithwonderas
hesoftlyshakeshishead.“Justlookatthesoftness—thetextures!Theintensityofcolorandlight!It’sjust
—”Heshakeshishead.“It’sjustbrilliant!”hesays,voicetingedwithreverence.

Iglancebetweenthepaintingandhim,wishingIcouldseeitinthesamewayashe.Notassomeold,

priceless,highlyregardedpicturehangingbeforeme,butasatruethingofbeauty,anobjectofglory,a
miracleofsorts.

He leads me to the next one, our hands grasped together as we marvel at a painting of Saint

Sebastian,hispoor,palebodypiercedwitharrows—allofitappearingsorealIactuallyflinch.

Andthat’swhenIgetit.Forthefirsttimeever,IcanseewhatDamensees.Finallyunderstanding

that the true journey of all great art is in taking an isolated experience and not just preserving it, or
interpretingit,butsharingitforalltime.

“Youmustfeelso—”Ishakemyheadandpressmylipstogether,searchingforjusttherightword.“I

don’t know—powerful—I guess. To be able to create something as beautiful as this.” I peer at him,
knowinghecaneasilycreateaworkwithasmuchbeautyandmeaningasthosethathanghere.

Buthejustshrugs,movingontothenextoneashesays,“Otherthanourartclassatschool,Ihaven’t

paintedinyears.IguessI’mmoreofanappreciatorthanacreatornow.”

“Butwhy?Whywouldyouturnyourbackonagiftlikethat?Imean,itisagift,right?There’sno

wayitcanbeanimmortalthingsincewe’veallseenwhathappenswhenItrytopaint.”

He smiles, leading me across the room and stopping before a magnificent rendition called Joseph

andPotiphar’sWife.Gazesearchingeverysquareinchofthecanvaswhenhesays,“Honestly?Powerful
doesn’tevenbegintodescribehowIfeelwithabrushinmyhand,ablankcanvasbeforeme,andafull
palette of paint by my side. For six hundred years I’ve been invincible, heir to the elixir sought by all
men!”Heshakeshishead.“Andyetnothingcanrivaltheincrediblerushtheactofcreationbrings.Of
craftingsomethingyoujustknowisdestinedtobegreatforalltime.”

Heturnstowardme,handatmycheek.“Oratleastthat’swhatIbelievedupuntilIsawyou.Because

seeing you for the very first time—” He shakes his head, eyes gazing into mine. “Nothing can ever
comparewiththatveryfirstglimpseofourlove.”

“You didn’t stop painting for me—did you?” I hold my breath, hoping I wasn’t the cause of his

artisticdemise.

Heshakeshishead,gazereturningtothepaintingbeforehimashisthoughtstravelalongwayaway.

“Ithadnothingtodowithyou.It’sjust—well—atsomepoint,therealityofmysituationsetin.”

Isquint,havingnoideawhatthatmeans,orwhathecouldpossiblybegettingat.
“AcruelrealityIprobablyshould’vesharedwithyoubefore.”Hesighs,lookingatme.
Igazeathim,stomachfillingwithdread,unsureIwanttoheartheanswerwhenIask,“Whatdoyou

mean?”Sensingfromthelookinhiseyesjusthowmuchhe’sstrugglingwiththis.

“The reality of living forever,” he says, eyes dark, sad, focused on mine. “A reality that seems

incrediblyvastandinfiniteandpowerful,withnolimitsinsight—untilyourealizethetruthlurkingbehind
it—thetruthofwatchingyourfriendsallwitheranddiewhileyoustaythesame.Onlyyou’reforcedto
watchitfromafar,becauseoncetheinequitybecomesobvious,you’venochoicebuttomoveon,togo
somewherenewandstartoveragain.Andagain.Andagain.”Heshakeshishead.“Allofwhichmakesit
impossibletoforgeanyrealbonds.Andtheironicthingis,despiteourunlimitedaccesstopowersand
magick,thetemptationtomakeabigimpactoreffectanyrealchangeissomethingthatmustbeavoidedat
allcosts.It’stheonlywaytoremainhidden,withoursecretsintact.”

“Because—”Icoax,wishinghe’dstopbeingsocrypticandjustgettothepoint.Hemakesmeso

nervouswhenhestartstalkinglikethis.

“Becausedrawingthatkindofattentionguaranteesthatyournameandlikenesswillberecordedin

history,somethingofwhichwemustworktoavoid.Becausewhileeveryonearoundyouwillgrowold
anddie,Haven,Miles,Sabine,andyes,evenStacia,Honor,andCraig—youandIwillstayexactlythe
same, completely unchanged. And, trust me, it doesn’t take long before people start to notice how you
haven’tchangedabitsincethedayyoufirstmet.Wecan’truntheriskofbeingrecognizedfiftyyearsfrom
nowbyanearlyseventy-year-oldHaven.Can’taffordtheriskofhavingoursecretrevealed.”

He grabs hold of my wrists, gazing at me with such intensity I actually feel the weight of his six

hundredyears.And,likealways,whenhe’stroubledlikethis,myonlywishistowhiskitaway.

“CanyouevenbegintoimagineifSabine,orHaven,orMilesdiscoveredthetruthaboutus?Canyou

imaginewhatthey’dthink,whatthey’dsay,whatthey’ddo?That’swhypeoplelikeRomanandDrinaare
sodangerous—theyflauntwhattheyare,completelyignoringthenaturalorderofthings.Makenomistake,
Ever,thecycleoflifeisthereforareason.AndwhileImayhavescoffedatthatinmyyouth,feelingquite
fullofmyselfforrisingaboveit,Inolongerdo.Besides,intheend,there’sreallynofightingit.Whether
youreincarnatelikeourfriends,orremainthesamelikeus,yourkarmawillalwayscatchup.Andnow
thatI’veexperiencedtheShadowland,I’mevenmoreconvincedthatlifeasnatureintendedit,istheone
andonlyway.”

“But—ifthat’swhatyoubelieve—thenwheredoesthatleaveus?”Iask,achillblanketingmyskin,

despite the warmth of his hands. “I mean, to hear you say it, we should lay low, and just live for
ourselves,ratherthanusingourincrediblepowersforanyrealchange.Andhowcanthatpossiblyhelp
yourkarmaifyoudon’tuseyourgiftstohelpothers?Especiallyifyoudosoanonymously?”Thinkingof
Havenandmyhopesofhelpingher.

ButbeforeIcanfinish,Damen’salreadyshakinghishead,lookingatmewhenhesays,“Wheredoes

thatleaveus?Exactlywhereweare.”Heshrugs.“Together.Forever.Aslongaswe’revery,verycareful
andcontinuetowearouramulets,thatis.Andasforusingourpowers?Well,I’mafraidit’smuchmore
complicatedthansimplyrightingallwrongs.Whilewemayjudgethingsasgoodorbad,karmadoesn’t.
It’sasimplecaseoflikegetslike,theultimatebalancingact,nothingmore,nothingless.Andifyou’re
determinedtofixeverysituationyou deem as bad, or difficult, or somehow unsavory, then you rob the
person of their own chance to fix it, learn from it, or even grow from it. Some things, no matter how

painful,happenforareason.AreasonyouorImaynotbeabletograspatfirstsight,notwithoutknowing
aperson’sentirelifestory—theircumulativepast.Andtojustbargeinandinterfere,nomatterhowwell-
intentioned,wouldbeakintorobbingthemoftheirjourney.Somethingthat’sbetternotdone.”

“Soletmegetthisstraight.”AnedgecreepingintomyvoiceIdon’ttrytohide.“Havencomestome

andsays,mycatisdying.AndeventhoughI’mprettysureIcanfixit,Idon’tbecauseitwouldresultin
toomanyquestionsIcouldneverexplainanddrawunduesuspicion.Fine,Igetit.Idon’tlikeit,butIget
it.Butwhenshesays,myparentsmightbedivorcing,Imighthavetomove,anditfeelslikemyentire
worldiscavingin—tellingmethiswithnoinklingwhatsoeverthatI’mintheperfectpositiontohelpher,
to maybe even reverse some of those things by—I don’t know.” I shrug, feeling totally frustrated now.
“Butanyway,mypointis,somethinglikethathappenstoourgoodfriendandyou’retellingmewecan’t
help? Because it would mess with her journey, or her karma, or whatever it is that you said? I mean,
explaintomehowthathelpsmykarmabykeepingthegoodstomyself.”

“I advise you to not get involved,” he says, turning back toward the painting and away from me.

“Haven’sparentswillcontinuetofightnomatterwhatyoudo,andevenifyoumiraculouslypaidoffher
house,thinkingyoucouldsaveit”—helooksoverhisshoulder,givingmeapointedlook,sensingthat’s
exactlywhatIplannedtodo—“well,they’dprobablyendupsellingitsotheycouldsplittheproceeds
andendupmovinganyway.”Hesighs,voicesofteningwhenhelooksatmeandadds,“I’msorry,Ever.I
don’tmeantosoundlikesomejadedoldman,butmaybeIam.I’veseenfartoomuchandmadesomany
mistakes—you’venoideahowlongittookmetolearnallthesethings.Buttherereallyisaseasonfor
everything—justliketheysay.Andwhileourseasonmaybeeternal,wecanneverleton.”

“And yet, how many famous artists painted your portrait? How many gifts did you receive from

MarieAntoinette?”Ishakemyhead.“I’msurethoseportraitslivedon!I’msuresomeonekeptajournal
andputyournameinit!AndwhataboutyourmodelingdaysinNewYork?Whataboutthat?”

“Idon’tdenyanyofit.”Heshrugs.“Iwasvain,fullofmyself,atextbooknarcissist—andboydidI

havefun.”Helaughs,facetransformingintotheoneIknowandlove,thesexyDamen,thefunDamen,so
opposite of this forebearer of doom. “But you’ve got to understand, those portraits were all privately
commissioned,evenbackthenIknewbetterthantoallowthemtobepubliclydisplayed.Andasforthe
modeling,itwasjustafewpicturesforasmall-timeadcampaign.Iquitthenextday.”

“Sowhydidyoustoppainting?Imean,itseemslikeagreatwaytorecordanunnaturallylonglife.”

Myheadbeginningtospinfromallofthis.

Henods.“Theproblemwasmyworkwasbecomingverywellknown.Iwasexalted,andbelieve

me, I exalted in my exaltedness.” He laughs and shakes his head. “I was painting like a madman,
completely obsessed, uninterested in anything else. Amassing a very large collection that drew far too
muchattentiontomyselfbeforeIproperlyrealizedtherisk,andthen—”

Ilookathim,heartcrashingwhenIseetheimageunfoldinhishead.“Andthentherewasafire,”I

whisper,seeingviolent,orangeflamesriseintoadarkenedsky.

“Everythingwasdestroyed.”Henods.“Including,forallappearancesanyway,me.”
Isuckinmybreath,meetinghiseyes,unsurewhattosay.
“Andbeforetheycouldevenextinguishtheflames,Iwasgone.TravelingalloverEurope,fleeing

fromplacetoplacelikeanomad,agypsy,avagabond,evenchangingmynameafewtimesuntilenough
timehadpassedandpeoplestartedtoforget.FinallysettlinginParis,where,asyouknow,wefirstmet—
and,well,youknowtherest.But,Ever—”Helooksintomyeyes,wishinghedidn’thavetosayit,but
knowingit’snecessarytoputitintowords,eventhoughIalreadyknowwhatcomesnext.“Allofthisisto
saythatatsomepoint—notlongfromnow—youandIwillhavetomove.”

Andthemomenthesaysit,IcanhardlybelieveIhadn’tthoughtofitbefore.Imean,it’ssoobvious,

hiding right in plain sight. And yet somehow I was able to ignore it, look the other way, pretending it
wouldbedifferentforme.Whichjustshowsyouwhatdenialcando.

“Youprobablywon’tagemuchpastthis,”hecontinues,handsmoothingmycheek.“Andtrustme,it

won’tbelongbeforeourfriendsstarttonotice.”

“Please.”Ismile,desperatetoaddalittlelightnesstothisdark,heavyspace.“MayIremindyouthat

we live in Orange County? A place where plastic surgery is practically the norm! Nobody ages here.
Seriously.Nobody.Heck,wecancarryonjustasweareforthenexthundredyears!”Ilaugh,butwhenI
lookatDamen,seethewayhiseyespeerintomine,it’sclearthegravityofthesituationtrumpsmysmall
joke.

Iheadforthebenchinthecenteroftheroom,ploppingontoitasIburymyfaceinmyhands.“What

doItellSabine?”Iwhisper,asDamensitsbesideme,slippinganarmaroundmeandeasingmyfears.“I
mean,it’snotlikeIcanfakemyowndeath.Thatcrime-sceneinvestigationstuff’salittlemoreadvanced
thanitwasinyourday.”

“We’lldealwithitwhenthetimecomes,”hesays.“I’msorry,Ishould’vementionedthisbefore.”
ButwhenIlookintohiseyes,Iknowitwouldn’thavemattered.Wouldn’thavemadetheleastbitof

difference. Remembering the day when he first presented the whole idea of immortality to me, how
carefulhewastoexplainthatI’dnevercrossthebridge,neverbewithmyfamilyagain.ButIwentforit
anyway.Pushedthethoughtrightoutofmyway.FiguringI’dfindsomekindofloophole,discoveraway
toworkaroundallofthat—willingtoconvincemyselfofjustaboutanythingifitmeantbeingwithhimfor
eternity.Andit’snodifferentnow.

And though I have no idea what I’ll say to Sabine, or how I’ll even begin to explain our sudden

desertiontoourfriends,intheend,allIwantistobewithhim.It’stheonlywaymylifefeelscomplete.

“We’ll enjoy a good life, Ever, I promise you that. You’ll never experience any lack, and you’ll

neverbeboredagain.Notafterrealizingthegloriouspossibilitiesofallthatexists.Thoughasidefrom
youandme—allofouroutsideconnectionswillbeextremelyshortlived.There’sjustnogettingaround
it,noloopholelikeyouthink.It’sanecessity,pureandsimple.”

I take a deep breath and nod, remembering when I first met him and how he said something about

beingbadatgood-byes.Buthejustsmiles,respondingtomythoughtswhenhesays,“Iknow.You’dthink
it’d get easier, right? But it never really does. I usually find it easier to just disappear and avoid them
altogether.”

“Easierforyoumaybe,thoughI’mnotsosureaboutthoseyou’veleftbehind.”
Henods,risingfromthebenchandpullingmeupalongsidehim.“I’mavainandselfishman,what

canIsay?”

“That’snotwhatImeant—”Ishakemyhead.“Ijust—”
“Please.”Helooksatme.“There’snoneedtodefendme.IknowwhatIam—oratleastwhatIused

tobe.”

Hegetsup,leadingmeawayfromthepaintingshecameheretosee.OnlyI’mnotreadytogo.Not

yet. Anyone who’s forfeited their greatest passion, just simply walked away like he has, deserves a
secondchance.

Iletgoofhishandandshutmyeyestightly,manifestingalargecanvas,awideselectionofbrushes,

acomprehensivepaletteofpaints,andwhateverelsehemightneed,beforehecanstopme.

“What’sthis?”Hegazesbetweentheeaselandme.
“Wow,itreallyhasbeenalongtimeifyoucan’tevenrecognizethetoolsofthetrade.”Ismile.
Hepeersatme,gazeintense,unwavering,butImeetitwithequalstrength.
“Ithoughtitmightbeniceforyoutopaintalongsideyourfriends.”Ishrug,watchingashegrabsa

brush from the table, turning it over in the palm of his hand. “You said we could do anything we want,
right?Thatthenormalrulesnolongerapply?Wasn’tthatthepointofthistrip?”

Helooksatme,expressionwarybutyielding.
“And if that’s the case, then I think you should paint something here. Create something beautiful,

grand, everlasting, whatever you want. And as soon as you’re finished, we’ll mount it alongside your
friends.Leavingitunsigned,ofcourse.”

“I’mfarpastthepointofneedingmyworktoberecognized,”hesays,lookingatme,eyesfilledwith

light.

“Good.” I nod, motioning toward the blank canvas. “Then I expect to see a work of pure inspired

genius with no ego involved.” Hand on his shoulder, giving him a nudge when I add, “You should
probablygetstartedthough.Unlikeus,thisnightisfinite.”

ChapterTwenty-Four

IglancebetweenthepaintingandDamen,palmpressedtomychest,atacompletelossforwords.

KnowingwhateverIsaycouldneverdescribewhat’sbeforeme.Absolutelynowordswilldo.

“It’sso—”Ipause,feelingsmall,undeserving,definitelynotworthyofanimagesogrand.“It’sso

beautiful—andtranscendent—and”—Ishakemyhead—“andnowayisthatme!”

Helaughs,eyesmeetingminewhenhesays,“Ohit’syouallright.”Smilingashetakesitallin.“In

fact,it’stheembodimentofallyourincarnations.Asortofcompilationoftheyouofthelastfourhundred
years.YourfieryhairandcreamyskinhailingstraightfromyourlifeinAmsterdam,yourconfidenceand
convictionfromyourPuritandays,yourhumilityandinnerstrengthtakenfromyourdifficultParisianlife,
your elaborate dress and flirtatious gaze lifted straight from your London society days, while the eyes
themselves—”Heshrugs,turningtowardme.“Theyremainthesame.Unchanging,eternal,nomatterwhat
guiseyouwear.”

“And now?” I whisper, gaze focused on the canvas, taking in the most radiant, luminous, glorious,

wingedcreature—atruegoddessdescendingfromtheheavensabove,eagertobestowtheEarthwithher
gifts.Knowingit’squitepossiblythemostbeautifulimageI’veeverseen,butstillnotgettinghowitcould
reallybeme.“Whatpartofmeistakenfromnow?Otherthantheeyes,Imean.”

Hesmiles.“Whyyourgossamerwings,ofcourse.”
Iturn,assuminghe’sjokinguntilIseetheseriousexpressionmarkinghisface.
“You’requiteunawareofthem,Iknow.”Henods.“Buttrustme,they’rethere.Havingyouinmylife

islikeagiftfromabove,agiftIsurelydon’tdeserve,butoneIgivethanksforeveryday.”

“Please. I’m hardly that good—or kind—or glorious—or even remotely angelic like you seem to

think.” I shake my head. “Especially not lately, and you know it,” I add, wishing I could hang it in my
roomwhereIcouldseeiteveryday,butknowingit’sfarmoreimportanttoleaveitrighthere.

“Yousureaboutthis?”Heglancesbetweenhisbeautifulunsignedpaintingandthoseofhisfriends.
“Absolutely.”Inod.“Imagineallthechaosthat’llensuewhentheyfinditprofessionallyframedand

mountedonthiswall.AndImeanthegoodkindofchaos,bytheway.Besides,justthinkofallthepeople
who’llbecalledupontostudyit,tryingtodeterminejustwhereitcamefrom,howitgothere,andwho
could’vepossiblycreatedit.”

Henods,glancingatitonelasttimebeforeturningaway.ButIgrabhishandandpullhimbackto

me,saying,“Hey,notsofast.Don’tyouthinkweshouldnameit?Youknow,addalittlebronzeplaque
liketheotheroneshave?”

Heglancesathiswatch,morethanalittledistractednow.“I’veneverbeenmuchgoodattitlingmy

work,alwaysjustwentwiththeobvious.Youknow:BowlofFruit,orRedTulipsinaBlueVase.”

“Well,it’sprobablybetternottonameitEverwithWings,AngelicEver,oranythingremotelylike

that.Youknow,justincasesomeonedoesrecognizeme.Buthowaboutsomethingalittlemore—Idon’t
know—storylike?Lessliteral,morefigurative.”Itiltmyheadandgazeathim,determinedtomakethis
work.

“Anysuggestions?”Helooksatmebriefly,beforehisgazebeginstowander.
“Howabout—enchantment—orenchanted—or—Idon’tknow,somethinglikethat?”Ipressmylips

tightlytogether.

“Enchantment?”Heturnstowardme.
“Well,you’reobviouslyundersomekindofspellifyouthinkthatresemblesme.”Ilaugh,watching

hiseyeslightupashelaughsalongwithme.

“Enchantmentitis.”Henods,backtobusinessagain.“Butweneedtomakethisplaquequick—I’m

afraidwe—”

Inod,closingmyeyesandenvisioningtheplaqueinmyhead,whispering,“WhatshouldIuseforthe

artist—anonymousorunknown?”

“Either,”hesays,voicehurried,anxious,eagertomoveon
ChoosingunknownbecauseIlikethesoundofit,Ileanforwardtoinspectmywork,asking,“What

doyouthink?”

“Ithinkwebetterrun!”
Hegraspsmyhandandpullsmealongsidehim,movingsofastmyfeetneveroncetouchtheground.

Racingdownthelongseriesofhalls,takingthestairsasthoughthey’renoteventhere.Theentrydoorjust
withinviewwhenthewholeroomgoesbrightandthealarmbeginstosound.

“Omigod!”Icry,paniccrowdingmythroatashepicksupthepace.
Voice hoarse and ragged when he says, “I didn’t plan on staying so long—I—I didn’t know—”

Stoppingaswereachthefrontdoorjustasthesteelcagedescends.

I turn to him, heart crashing, skin slick with sweat, aware of the footsteps behind us, the shouts

ringing out. Standing mutely beside him, unable to move, unable to scream, his eyes closed in deep
concentration,urgingthecomplexalarmsystemtogodormantagain.

Butit’stoolate.They’realreadyhere.SoIraisemyarmsinsurrender,readytoacceptmyfate,when

thesteelcageascendsandI’myankedoutthedoorandtowardthebloomingfieldsofSummerland.

OratleastIenvisionedSummerland.
Damenenvisionedussafelyensconcedinhiscar,headingtowardhome.
Andsowefindourselvesinthemiddleofabusyhighwayinstead—aslewofspeedingcarshonking

andskiddingaswescrambletoourfeetandhurrytotheside,gazingallaroundandcatchingourbreathas
wetrytodeterminewhereweare.

“Idon’tthinkthisisSummerland,”Isay,glancingatDamenashebreaksintoalaughsocontagious,

it gets me going as well. The two of us huddled on the side of a litter-strewn highway, in some
undeterminedlocation,fallingalloverourselves.

“How’sthatforbreakingoutofarut?”Hegasps,shouldersshakingaswecontinuetolaugh.
“Ialmosthadaheartattackbackthere—Ithoughtforsurewe’d—”Icatchmybreathandshakemy

head.

“Heynow.”Hepullsmenear.“Didn’tIpromiseI’dalwayslookafteryouandkeepyoufromharm?”
I nod, remembering the words, but unfortunately the last few minutes are still etched on my brain.

“Howaboutacarthen?Acarwouldbegoodaboutnow,don’tyouthink?”

Hecloseshiseyes,transferringtheBMWfromtheretohere,ormaybehemanifestedabrandnew

oneinstead,it’simpossibletotellsincetheybothlookthesame.

“Canyouevenimaginewhatthoseguardsthoughtwhenfirstweandthenthecardisappeared?”He

holdsthedooropenandushersmein,adding,“Thesecuritycameras!”beforeclosinghiseyesandtaking
careofthemtoo.

I watch as he pulls into traffic, a happy grin spread wide across his face. Realizing he’s actually

enjoyingthis.Thatthoselastfewminutesofdangergothimevenmoreexcitedthanthepaintingdid.

“It’sbeenawhilesinceIpusheditlikethat.”Heglancesatme.“Butjustsoyouknow,I’mholding

youpartlyresponsible.Afterall,you’retheonewhoconvincedmetolinger.”

I look at him, eyes grazing over his face, really taking him in. And even though my heartbeat may

never return to normal again, it’s been far too long since I’ve seen him like this—this—happy—this
—carefree—this—dangerous—inthewaythatfirstmadehimattractivetome.

“Sowhat’snext?”Heslalomsthroughthetraffic,handonmyknee.
“Um,home?”Ilookathim,wonderingwhatcouldpossiblytopanoutinglikethat.
Helooksatme,clearlygameformore.“Areyousure?Becausewecanstayoutaslongasyoulike,I

don’twantyoutogetboredagain.”

“IthinkIunderestimatedbored.”Ilaugh.“I’mstartingtoseehowithasitsplace.”
Damennods,leaningtowardmeandpressinghislipstomycheek,almostrear-endinganEscalade

thesecondhetakeshiseyesofftheroad.

Ilaugh,pushinghimbacktowardhisseat.“Really.Ithinkwepushedourluckenoughforonenight.”
“Asyouwish.”Hesmiles,squeezingmykneeasheturnsbacktowardtheroad,focusedonhome.

ChapterTwenty-Five

EventhoughI’dhopedtobelonggonebythetimeMunozswungbytopickupSabine,thesecondI

pullintomydriveIglanceatmyrearviewmirroronlytofindhimrighttherebehindme.

Early.
Tenminutesearlyinfact.
The same ten minutes I’d earmarked for racing home from work and changing into something

properlysomber,beforefleeingthesceneandheadingforHaven’sfrontyardwhereCharm’smemorial
servicewillbeheld.

“Ever?”HeclimbsoutofhisshinysilverPrius,janglinghiskeysandsquintingatme.“Whatareyou

doinghere?”Hetiltshisheadasheapproaches,envelopingmeinacloudofAxebodyspray.

Islingmybagovermyshoulder,slammingmycardoormuchharderthanplanned.“Funnything.I—

um—Iactuallylivehere.”

Helooksatme,facesostillI’mnotsurehehearduntilheshakeshisheadandrepeats,“Youlive

here?”

Inod,refusingtosayanythingmore.
“But—”Hegazesaround,takinginthestonefaçade,thefrontsteps,therecentlyclippedlawn,the

bedsofflowersbeginningtobloom.“ButthisisSabine’shouse—isn’tit?”

Ipause,temptedtotellhimno,thatthisfauxTuscan,LagunaBeachMcMansionisn’tSabine’shouse

atall.Thathe’sobviouslymadesomekindofmistakeandendedupatmyhouseinstead.

ButjustasI’maboutto,Sabinepullsrightupbesideus.Jumpingoutofhercarwithwaytoomuch

enthusiasmwhenshesays,“Oh!Paul!SosorryI’mlate—theofficewascrazyandeverytimeItriedto
leave something else got in the way—” She shakes her head, gazing up at him in a way that’s far too
flirtatiousforafirstdate.“Butifyoucouldjustgivemeaminute,I’llrunupstairsandchangesowecan
getgoing.Itshouldn’ttakelong.”

Paul?
I glance between them, noting her happy, lilting, singsongy tone, and not liking the sound of it, not

likingitatall.It’stoointimate.Tooforward.SheshouldbeforcedtocallhimMr.Munozlikewedoat
school.Atleastuntiltheendoftonight,afterwhich,ofcourse,they’llmutuallydecidetogotheirseparate
ways...

Hesmiles,rakinghishandthroughhislongish,wavybrownhair,liketheworstkindofshow-off.I

mean,justbecausehehasexceptionallycoolhairforateacher,doesn’tmeanheshouldflauntitlikethat.

“I’mafewminutesearly,”hesays,gazelockedonhers.“Soplease,takeasmuchtimeasyouneed.

I’mfinetalkingwithEverhere.”

“Soyou’vemet?”Sabinerestsheroverstuffedbriefcaseagainstherhip,glancingbetweenus.
Ishakemyhead,blurting,“No!”beforeIcanstop.UnsureifI’msayingnotoherquestion,ortothis

whole situation. But still, there it is, an unequivocal no, and I’ve no plans to rescind it. “I mean, yeah,
we’vemetandallbut—justnow.”Ipause,theireyesnarrowed,asconfusedasIamastowherethisis
going.“WhatImeanis,it’snotlikewekneweachotherbeforeoranything.”Ipeeratthem,knowingI’ve
onlyconfusedthemmore.“Anyway,he’sright.Youshouldjust—um—goupstairsandgetready—and—”
IjabmythumbtowardMunozsincethere’snowayI’mcallinghimPaul,nowayI’mcallinghimanything.
“Andwe’lljusthanghereuntilyou’reready.”Ismile,hopingtokeephimoutside,onthedriveway,far
frommyden.

Butunfortunately,Sabine’smannersaremuchbetterthanmine.AndI’vebarelyfinishedthesentence

beforesheshakesherheadandsays,“Don’tberidiculous.Comeinsideandrelax.And,Ever,whydon’t
youorderyourselfapizzaorsomethingsinceIhaven’thadtimetogettothestore.”

I follow, lagging behind as much as I can without literally dragging my feet. Partly in protest, and

partlybecauseIcan’triskbumpingintoeitherofthem,nottrustingmyquantumremotetobarmefroma
sneakpeekoftheirdate.

Sabine unlocks the front door, glancing over her shoulder as she says, “Ever? Okay? You’re good

withthepizza?”

Ishrug,rememberingthetwoslicesofvegetarianJudeleftme,whichIproceededtotearintolittle

bitsandflushdownthetoiletassoonasheleft.“I’mgood.Igrabbedalittlesomethingatwork.”Imeet
her gaze, thinking this just might be the perfect time to tell her, knowing she won’t freak with Munoz
(Paul!)standingnearby.

“Yougotajob?”Shegapes,allwide-eyedandslackjawedrightthereintheentryway.
“Um,yeah.”Ipullmyshouldersinandstartscratchingmyarmeventhoughitdoesn’titch.“Ithought

Itoldyou,no?”

“No.”Sheshootsmealookthat’sloadedwithmeaning—noneofitgood.“Youdefinitelyfailedto

mentionit.”

I shrug, picking at the hem of my shirt, trying to appear unconcerned. “Oh, well, there it is. I’m

officiallyemployed.”Chasingitwithalaughthat,eventomyears,ringsfalse.

“Andjustwheredidyougetthisjobofyours?”sheasks,voicelowered,gazefollowingMunozas

heheadsintotheden,eagertoavoidallthebadmojoI’vesobrilliantlyintroduced.

“Downtown.Ataplacethatsellsbooksand—stuff.”
Shesquints.
“Listen,” I say. “Why don’t we discuss this later? I’d hate for you guys to be late or anything.” I

glancetowardthedenwhereMunozishunkereddownonthecouch.

Sheglancesattheden,expressiongrim,voicelowandurgentwhenshesays,“I’mgladyoufounda

job, Ever, don’t get me wrong. I just wish you would’ve told me, that’s all. We’ll need to find a
replacementforyouatworknow,and—”Sheshakesherhead.“Well,we’lltalkaboutthislater.Tonight.
WhenIgetback.”

AndeventhoughI’mthrilledtolearnthatherplanswithMunozdonotextendtothemorning,Istill

lookatherandsay,“Um,here’sthething.Haven’scatdied,andshe’shavingthismemorialservice,and
she’sreallyupset,whichmeansitcouldrunreallylate,so—”Ishrug,notbotheringtofinish,allowingher
tofillintheblanksthatI’veleft.

“Tomorrowthen.”Sheturns.“NowgotalktoPaulwhileIchange.”
Sherunsupthestairs,briefcaseswinging,heelspounding,asItakeadeepbreathandmakeforthe

den,takingmyplacebehindabig,sturdyarmchair,hardlybelievingit’scometothis.

“Just so you know, I’m not calling you Paul,” I say, taking in his designer jeans, untucked shirt,

hipsterwatch,andshoesthatarewaytoocoolforanyteachertowear.

“That’s a relief.” He smiles, gaze light and easy, resting on mine. “Might get kind of awkward at

school.”

Iswallowhard,fiddlingwiththebackofthechair,unsurejustwhereI’mexpectedtotakeitfrom

here. Because even though my entire life is undeniably weird, being forced to make entertaining banter
withmyhistoryteacherwhoknowsoneofmybiggestsecretstakesittoawholenewlevel.

But apparently I’m the only one who’s uncomfortable around here. Munoz is completely relaxed,

sitting back on the coach, foot resting on knee, the absolute picture of ease. “So what exactly is your
relationshiptoSabine?”heasks,armsspreadwideacrossthecushions.

“She’smyaunt.”Istudyhim,checkingforsignsofdisbelief,confusion,surprise,butallIgetisan

interestedgaze.“Shebecamemylegalguardianwhenmyparentspassedaway.”Iliftmyshouldersand
lookathim.

“Ihadnoidea.I’msosorry—”Hescruncheshisface,voicefadingassadnessfillsupthespace.
“Mysisterdiedtoo.”Inod,caughtupinitnow.“AsdidButtercup.Shewasourdog.”
“Ever—”Heshakeshisheadinthewaypeopledowhentheycan’tevenbegintoimaginewhatit’s

liketobeyou.“I—”

“Idiedtoo,”Iadd,beforehecanfinish.Notwantingtohearhisawkwardcondolences,strugglingto

findjusttherightwordswhenthetruthis,thosewordsdon’texist.“Idiedrightalongsidethem—butonly
forafewseconds,andthenIwas—”broughtback,resurrected,giventheelixirthatgrantseternallife
—Ishakemyhead.“Well,thenIwokeup.”Ishrug,wonderingwhyIjustconfessedallofthat.

“Isthatwhenyoubecamepsychic?”Hisgazeisunwavering,fixedrightonmine.
I glance toward the stairway, making sure Sabine’s nowhere near, then I glance at Munoz and just

nod.

“Ithappens,”hesays,neithersurprisednorjudgmental,morematteroffact.“I’vereaduponitabit.

It’salotmorecommonthanyou’dthink.Alotofpeoplecomebackchangedoralteredinsomeway.”

I gaze down at the chair, fingers tracing along the top of the cushion, glad for the information but

realizingIhavenocluehowtorespond.

“And from the way you’re fidgeting and glancing at the stairs every five seconds, I’m guessing

Sabinedoesn’tknow?”

Ilookathim,tryingtolightenthemoodwhenIsay,“Sowho’spsychicnow?Meoryou?”
But he just smiles, searching my face with a new understanding that, thankfully, erases the look of

pitythatlivedtherebefore.

Westaylikethat,himlookingatme,mestudyingthechair,thesilencelingeringforsolongIfinally

shakemyheadandsay,“Trustme,Sabinewouldn’tunderstand.She’d—”Idigthetoeofmysneakerinto
the carpet’s tight weave, unsure just where to take it from here but knowing it’s imperative that I make
myself clear. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, she’s a great person, really smart, and a super successful
lawyerandall,butit’slike—”Ishakemyhead.“Well,let’sjustsayshe’sabigfanofblackandwhite.
She’snotsobigongray.”Ipressmylipstogetherandlookaway,knowingI’vesaidmorethanenough,
butneedingtomakeonefinalthingclear.“Butpleasedon’ttellheraboutme—okay?Imean,youwon’t—
willyou?”

I peer at him, holding my breath as he considers, taking his time as Sabine heads down the stairs.

AndjustwhenI’msureIcan’ttakeanothersecondhesays,“We’llmakeadeal.Youstopcuttingclassand
Iwon’tsayaword.How’sthat?”

How’sthat?Ishekidding?He’spracticallyblackmailingme!
I mean, I know I’m not in the best position—especially since I’m the only one with something to

lose,butstill.Iglanceovermyshoulder,seeingSabinepauseinfrontofthemirror,double-checkingher
teeth for stray lipstick tracks, as I turn toward him and whisper, “What does it matter? There’s only a
weekleft!AndwebothknowI’mgettinganA.”

Henods,risingfromhisseat,asmilewideninghischeeksashetakesinSabine,thoughhiswords

aredirectedatme.“Whichiswhyyouhavenogoodreasonnottobethere,right?”

“Tonotbewhere?”Sabineasks,lookingwaytoobeautifulwithhersmokyeyemakeup,fluffyblond

hair,andanoutfitthatStaciaMillerwouldprobablysellakidneyforifsheweretwentyyearsolder.

Istarttospeak,nottrustingMunoznottoblowmycover,buthejumpsrightin,voiceoverpowering

minewhenhesays,“IwasjusttellingEvertogetonwithherplans.There’snoneedtostickaroundand
entertainme.”

SabineglancesbetweenusuntilhergazerestsonPaul.Andeventhoughit’snicetoseeherlooking

sorelaxedandhappyandeagertogetthenightgoing,thesecondheplaceshishandonthesmallofher
backandleadshertowardthefrontdoor,it’sallIcandonottohurl.

ChapterTwenty-Six

By the time I get to Haven’s, everyone’s gathered, looking on as Haven stands just outside the

windowwhereshefirstfoundhercat,sayingafewwordsinCharm’smemory,whilehuggingasmallurn
toherchest.

“Hey,”Iwhisper,sidlingupbesideDamenandglancingatthetwins.“WhatdidImiss?”
Hesmiles,lookingatmeashethinks:Sometearswereshed—somepoemswereread—Heshrugs.

ThoughI’msureshe’llforgiveyourlateness—eventually.

I nod, deciding to show Damen the reason for my lateness—presenting the entire debacle in full

Technicolorglory.WatchingasHavensprinklesCharm’sashesoverthegroundastheimagesfromjusta
fewmomentsbeforestreamfrommymindtohis.

Heslideshisarmaroundme,comfortingmeinjusttherightway,placingafullbouquetofredtulips

brieflyintomyhands—carefultomakeitappearanddisappearbeforeanyonesees.

Wasitreallythatbad?HeglancesatmeasHavenhandstheurntoherlittlebrotherAustin,who

scruncheshisnoseandpeersinside.

Worse.Ishakemyhead,stillwonderingwhyIchosetoconfideinMunoz—ofallpeople.
Imovecloser,leaningmyheadonhisshoulderasIadd:Andthetwins?Whataretheydoinghere?I

thoughttheywereafraidtogooutside?

TheystandbesideHaven,facesidenticalwiththeirsolemndarkeyesandrazor-slashedbangs—but

thesimilaritiesendthere,havingditchedtheirusualprivateschooluniformsforonesoftheirown.With
Romystrivingfortheall-AmericanwholesomenessofaJ.Crewcatalogmodel,whileRayne’slookhails
straightfromtheHotTopicaisleswithheredgyblackminidress,tornblacktights,andtoweringplatform
MaryJaneshoes.ThoughIdoubttheyactuallyshoppedatthosestores.NotwhenDamencanjustmanifest
forthem.

He shakes his head, arm tightening around me as he responds to my thoughts. Nope, that’s where

you’re wrong. They’re venturing out. Eager to explore the world outside of TV, magazines, and my
CrystalCovegatedcommunity.Hesmiles.Believeitornot,theychosethoseoutfitsthemselves.Even
paidforthemtoo.UsingthemoneyIgavethem,ofcourse.Helooksatme.Just think, yesterday the
mall,todayacatfuneral,andtomorrow—whoknows?Heturns,smilinginawaythatlightsuphisface
asHavensaysafinalfarewelltothecatpracticallynoonehereknew.

“Shouldn’twehavebroughtsomething?”Iask.“Youknow—flowersorsomething?”
“We did.” Damen nods, lips grazing my ear when he adds, “Not only did we bring those flowers

over there”—he points to a giant bouquet made of colorful spring blooms—“but we also made a very

generous, though anonymous, donation to the ASPCA in Charm’s memory. I thought she’d appreciate
that.”

“Helpingpeopleanonymously?”Igazeathim,takingintheslantofhisbrow,thecurveofhislips

andlongingforthemtopressagainstmine.“Ithoughtyouwereagainstallofthat?”

He looks at me, obviously misconstruing the words I’d meant as a joke. But just as I’m about to

explain,Joshmotionsforustocomeover.

HepeersatHaven,makingsureshecan’thear,beforeturningtous,saying,“Listen,Ineedyourhelp.

Imessedup.”

“How?”Isquint,eventhoughtheanswerjustappearedinmyhead.
Hecramshishandsintohispockets,dyedblackhairfallingintohiseyeswhenhesays,“Igothera

kitten.Thisguyinmyband—well,hisgirlfriend’scatjusthadalitterandIthoughtitmighthelpherget
overCharmsoItooktheblackone—butnowshewon’teventalktome.SaysIdon’tunderstand.She’s
seriouslymad.”

“I’msureshe’llcomearound,justgivehersometime,andshe’ll—”
But he’s already shaking his head. “Are you kidding? Did you hear her just now?” He glances

betweenus.“ThewayshewentonandonabouthowCharmwasoneofakind,howshecanneverbe
replaced.”Heshakeshisheadandlooksaway.“Thatwasforme,makenomistake.”

“Everyonefeelsthatwayafterlosingapet.I’msureifyou—”Istop,gazingintoeyessodefeatedI

knowI’mnotmakingadent.

“Noway.”Heliftshisshoulders,lookingather,thelossclearonhisface.“Shemeantit.She’ssad

aboutCharm,madatme,andnowI’vegotthiskitteninthebackseatofmycarandnoideawhattodo
withit.Ican’tbringithome,mymom’llkillme,andMilescan’ttakeitbecauseofthewholeItalything,
soIthoughtmaybeyouguyswouldwanther.”Hisgazedartsbetweenus,silentbutpleading.

Itakeadeepbreathandglancetowardthetwins,knowingtheywouldlovenothingmorethanapet

oftheirown,especiallyafterthewaytheyreactedtoCharm.Butwhatbecomesofitoncetheirmagick’s
restoredandtheyheadbacktoSummerland?Isitpossibletobringthecatwiththem?Orwillshebecome
ourresponsibility?

But when they turn, the two of them gazing at me, Romy’s face lifting into a smile while Rayne’s

drops to a scowl, I know I need all the help I can get where they’re concerned, and a cute little kitten
mightbeagoodstart.

IlookatDamen,knowingthemomentoureyesmeetthatwe’reonthesamepage.
WeheadforJosh’scarashesays,“Let’shavealook.”
“Omigod!Areyouserious?She’sseriouslyours?Forreals?”Romycradlesthetinyblackkittenand

glancesbetweenus.

“She’sallyours.”Damennods.“ButyoushouldthankEver,notme.Itwasheridea.”
Romylooksatme,agrinspreadwideacrossherfaceasRaynetwistshermouthtotheside,pursing

herlipsinawaythatmakesitclearshe’ssureshe’sbeingplayed.

“Whatshouldwenameher?”RomyglancesbetweenusbeforefocusingsolelyonRayne.“Anddon’t

sayJinxthesecond,orJinxsquared,oranythinglikethat,becausethiskittydeservesherownname.”She
hugsthekittentighttoherchest,plantingakissonthetopofhertinyblackhead.“Shealsodeservesa
muchbetterfatethantheotherJinxhad.”

I look at them, about to ask what happened when Rayne says, “That’s all in the past. But Romy’s

right,weneedtofindtheperfectname.Somethingstrongandmystical—somethingtrulyworthyofakitty
likethis.”

We sit, the four of us sprawled across the various chairs and couches in Damen’s oversized den.

DamenandIsharingacushion,limbsentwinedasourmindssiftthroughlonglistsofsuitablenamesuntil
Iclearmyvoiceandsay,“HowaboutLuna?”Iglancebetweenthem,hopingthey’lllikeitasmuchasI
do.“Youknow,liketheLatinwordformoon?”

“Please.”Raynerollshereyes.“WeknowwhatLunameans.Infact,I’mprettysureweknowway

moreLatinthanyou.”

I nod, struggling to keep my voice calm and composed, refusing to rise to her bait, when I add,

“Well,Iwasthinkingthatsincetheysaycatsareconnectedtothemoonandall—”Istop,takingonelook
atherfaceandknowingthere’snopointingoingon,she’sdeadsetagainstit.

“Youknow,itusedtobesaidthatcatswerethechildrenofthemoon,”Damensays,determinednot

onlytorescueme,butalsotoprove,onceandforall,whyI’mworthyoftheirrespect.“Becauselikethe
moon,theybothcometolifeatnight.”

“ThenmaybeweshouldnameherMoonChild,”Raynesays.Noddingwhensheadds,“Yes,that’sit!

MoonChild.It’ssomuchbetterthanLuna.”

“Noitisn’t.”Romygazesdownatthesleepingcatinherlap,strokingthenarrowspacebetweenher

ears. “Moon Child’s all wrong. Lumpy. Too much. A name should be only one word. And this kitty is
clearlyaLunatome.Luna.That’swhatwe’recallingherthen?”

Sheglancesbetweenus,countingthreenoddingheads,andonethatrefusestobudgejusttospiteme.
“Sorry,Rayne.”Damenclaspsmyhand,asliverofenergytheonlythingthatseparateshispalmfrom

mine.“I’mafraidthemajorityrulesinthiscase.”Henods,closinghiseyesashemanifestsanexquisite
velvetcollarofthedeepestpurplethatinstantlyappearsaroundLuna’sneck.RomyandRaynegasping,
eyesshiningwithdelightwhenhemanifestsamatchingvelvetbed.“Perhapsyoushouldplaceherthere
now,”hesays.

“Butwe’rebothsocomfortablelikethis!”Romywhines,notwantingtopartwithherpet.
“Yes,butwealsohavelessonstogetto,don’twe?”
Thetwinsglanceateachother,thenrisesimultaneously,carefullyplacingLunainhernewbedand

hovering at its edge, making sure she’s sleeping comfortably, before turning back to Damen, ready to
begin.Takingtheseatsjustacrossfromhim,anklescrossed,handsfoldedinlaps,moreobedientthanI’ve
everseenthem.ReadyforwhateverDamen’sgotplanned.

What’sthisabout?Ishiftasweuntangleourlimbs.
“Magick.” He nods, glancing between them. “They need to practice daily if their powers are to

return.”

“Howdoyoupractice?”Isquint,wonderingifit’sanythingliketheclassesJude’splanningtoteach.

“Imean,arethereexercisesandtests,likeinschool?”

Damenshrugs.“It’sreallymoreaseriesofmeditationsandvisualizations—thoughfarmoreintense

andofamuchlongerdurationthantheonesIputyouthroughonourfirstjourneytoSummerland,butthen,
youdidn’trequireasmuch.Eventhoughthetwinshailfromalonglineofverygiftedwitches,I’mafraid
that as it stands now, they’re back to stage one. Though I’m hoping that with regular practice, they’ll
recapturetheirabilitiesinreasonabletime.”

“Howlongisreasonable?”Iask.WhenwhatIreallymeanis:Howsoondowegetourlifeback?
Damenshrugs.“Fewmonths.Maybelonger.”
“Would the Book of Shadows help?” Realizing just after it’s out, that I shouldn’t have said it.

Damen’sexpressionisnotatallhappy,thoughthetwinsarenowpoisedontheedgeoftheirseats.

“YouhavetheBookofShadows?”Raynesays,asRomyjustsitsthereandgapes.
I glance at Damen, seeing he’s none too pleased, but since the book could very well help them as

muchasIhopeitcanhelpme,Isay,“Well,Idon’texactlyhaveit,butIhaveaccesstoit.”

“Likeforreal?LikearealBookofShadows?”Raynephrasesherwordslikeaquestion,thoughher

gazetellsmeshe’ssureit’safake.

“Idon’tknow.”Ishrug.“Istheremorethanone?”
ShelooksatRomy,shakingherheadandrollinghereyesbeforeDamencansay,“Ihaven’tseenit,

butfromEver’sdescription,I’msurethatit’sreal.Andquitepowerfultoo.Toopowerfulforyouatthe
moment.Butmaybelater,afterwe’veprogressedthroughourmeditationswecan—”

ButRomyandRaynearenolongerlistening,theirattentionfocusedsolelyonmeastheyrisefrom

theirseatsandsay,“Takeusthere.Please.Weneedtoseeit.”

ChapterTwenty-Seven

“How will you get in?” Romy whispers, edging up alongside me and gazing at the door, a wary

expressioncrossingherface.

“Duh!”Rayneshakesherhead.“It’seasyforthem.Alltheyhavetodoisunlockthedoorwiththeir

minds.”

“True.”Ismile.“Buthavingakeyishandytoo.”Janglingitsotheycanseebeforeinsertingitinto

thelock.CarefultoavoidDamen’sgaze,thoughit’snotlikeIneedtoseetoknowhedisapproves.

“So this is where you work,” Romy says, stepping inside and gazing around. Moving lightly,

gingerly,asthoughshe’safraidtomessanythingup.

Inod,placingmyfingeragainstmylipsintheinternationalsignforshushasIleadthemtowardthe

backroom.

“Butifthestore’sclosed,andwe’retheonlyoneshere,thenwhydowehavetoshush?”Rayneasks,

herhigh-pitchedvoicepracticallybouncingoffthewalls,wantingmetoknowthatwhileshe’spleased
thatI’mabouttoshowhertheBookofShadowsitdoesn’textendmuchfurtherthanthat.

I open the door to the back office and motion them inside, telling them to sit, while Damen and I

consultinthehall.

“Idon’tlikethis,”hesays,eyesdark,focusedonmine.
Inod,verywellawareofthatbutdeterminedtostandmyground.
“Ever, I’m serious. You have no idea what you’re getting into. This book is powerful—and in the

wronghands—dangerousaswell.”

Ishakemyhead,saying,“Listen,thetwinsarefamiliarwiththisbrandofmagick,muchmoresothan

youandme.Andifthey’renotworried,thenhowbadcoulditbe?”

Helooksatme,refusingtobudge.“Therearebetterways.”
I sigh, wanting to get started and frustrated to be dealing with this. “You act like I’m going to

introducethemtoevilspellsormakethembadwitcheswithwartsandblackhats,whenallIwantisthe
same thing as you—for them to get their power back.” Careful to shield my mind so he can’t hear the
unspokenpart,therealtruthbehindthisvisit—thatIspentmostofyesterdayatworkstrugglingtomake
sense of the book to no avail—that I need help if I’ve any hope of convincing Roman to hand over the
antidote.Knowingit’sbetterunsaid.Damenwouldsonotapprove.

“Therearebetterwaysofdoingthis,”hesays,voicepatientbutfirm.“Ihavetheirlessonsmapped

out,andifyou’lljustgiveitthetimeto—”

“Howmuchtime?Weeks,months,ayear?”Ishakemyhead.“Maybewecan’taffordtowastethat

kindoftime,didyoueverthinkofthat!”

“We?”Hisbrowsmergeashisgazestudiesmine,ahintofunderstandingforminginhiseyes.
“We,them,whatever.”Ishrug,knowingIbettermoveon.“Letmejustshowthemthebookandseeif

it’s even the real deal. I mean, we don’t even know if it really works, maybe my reaction was—well,
maybethatwasjustme.Comeon,Damen,please?Whatcouldithurt?”

Helooksatme,convinceditcouldhurtplenty.
“Justonequicklook—onlytodetermineifit’srealornot.Thenwe’llheadrightbackhomeandget

startedwithyourlesson,okay?”

Buthedoesn’tsayanything.Justnodsandmotionsmein.
I head for the chair on the other side of the desk, settling in and leaning toward the drawer when

Raynesays,“Justsoyouknow,weheardeverything.Ourhearingisexceptional.Maybeyoushouldstick
withtelepathyinstead.”

Determinedtoignoreher,Iplacemyhandonthelock,closingmyeyesasIopenitwithmymind,

flicking a quick glance at Damen as I rummage inside. Digging past the pile of papers, the folders, and
tossingthecalculatoraside,beforereachingthefalsebottom,grabbingholdofthebook,andploppingit
ontothedesk.Fingerstingling,earsbuzzingfromtheenergyitcontains.

Thetwinsrushforward,gazingupontheancienttomewithmorereverencethanI’veeverseenfrom

thembefore.

“So,whatdoyouthink?Isitreal?”Mygazedartsbetweenthem,sobreathlessIcanbarelyformthe

words.

Romytiltsherhead,facequizzical,untilRaynereachesforwardandopenstotheveryfirstpage.The

twoofthemgasping,twinintakesofbreath,astheireyesgrowwideandtheytakeitallin.

Rayneperchesontheedgeofthedesk,anglingthebooksoitfacesherandhersister,asRomyleans

across her lap, tracing her fingers along the series of symbols—markings that are completely
indecipherabletome—thoughfromthewaytheirlipsmovemakesperfectsensetothem.

I glance at Damen standing directly behind them, his face belying any emotion as he watches the

twinsmumbleandgiggle,jostlingeachotherinexcitementastheyflipthroughthepages.

“So?”Isay,unabletotakethesuspenseandneedingaverbaleitherway.
“Real.”Raynenods,eyesstillfocusedonthepage.“Whoeverputthistogetherknewtheirstuff.”
“Youmean,there’smorethanone?”Isquint,glancingbetweenthem,barelyabletomeettheireyes

undertheirlushfringeoflashesandjagged-cutbangs.

“Sure.” Romy nods. “There’s tons. Book of Shadows is just a generic title for a spell book. They

thinkthenameoriginatedduetothefactthatthebookshadtobekepthidden,intheshadowssotospeak,
becauseoftheircontent.”

“Yeah,” Rayne cuts in, “but some also say it’s because they were often read and written by

candlelight,whichcastsshadowsasyouknow.”

Romy shrugs. “Either way, they’re written in code to avoid the danger of falling into the wrong

hands.Butthetrulypowerfulones,theoneslikethis”—shestabsthepagewithherindexfinger,whichis
newlypaintedballetslipperpink—“areextremelyrareandhardtofind.Hiddenawayfortheverysame
reason.”

“Soit’spowerful?Andreal?”Irepeat,needingitconfirmedonemoretime.
Raynelooksatme,shakingherheadlikeI’mtoodensetobebelieved,whilehersisternods,saying,

“Youcanactuallyfeeltheenergyofthewordsonthepage.It’squitepowerful,Iassureyou.”

“So,youthinkit’llbeusefulthen?Youthinkitmighthelpus—you—withyourneeds?”Eyesdarting

betweenthem,hopingthey’llsayyeswhilecarefullyavoidingDamen’sgaze.

“We’realittlerusty—”Romystarts.“Sowecan’tsayforsure—”
“Speakforyourself,”Raynesays,flippingbacktowardthefrontuntilfindingthepagethatshewants.

RepeatingastreamofwordsIcan’tevenbegintounderstandasthoughit’shernativetongue.“Seethat?”
Shewavesherhandintheair,laughingasthelightsflickeronandoff.“Iwouldn’texactlycallthatrusty.”

“Yes,butsincetheyweresupposedtoburstintoflames,you’restillalongwaysaway,”Romysays,

armsfolded,browraised.

“Burstintoflames?”IglanceatDamen.Hewasright,thisisdangerousinthewronghands—their

hands.

But Romy and Rayne just laugh, falling all over themselves when they say, “Psych! We totally

psychedyou!Ha!”

“Youaretoogullibletobebelieved!”Rayneadds,seizinganychancetomakeafoolofme.
“AndyouguyshavebeenwatchingwaytoomuchTV,”Isay,slammingthebookshutandmovingit

away.

“Wait!Youcan’ttakethat!Weneedit!”Twosetsofhandsfranticallyreachingandgraspingmyway.
“Itdoesn’tbelongtome.Soit’snotlikewecantakeithomeoranything,”Isay,holdingitjustoutof

reach.

“Buthowwillwegetourmagickbackifyouhideitlikethat?”Romy’sfacedropstoapout.
“Yeah,”Rayneadds,shakingherhead.“FirstyoumakeusleaveSummerlandandnow—”Stopping

onlywhenDamenraiseshishandtosilencethem.

“Ithinkit’sbestyouputthataway,”hesays,eyesonmine,jawclenchedtight.“Now,”headds,with

newurgency.

Inod,thinkinghe’smoreupsetthanIthought,takingastandandinsistingIsticktoourdeal.UntilI

followhisgazetothemonitorandwatchasadarkblurryfigurewalksin.

ChapterTwenty-Eight

Islide the draweropen, frantically shovingthe book inside asa soft thudof footsteps makes their

waydownthehall.

BarelygettingitclosedbeforeJudestickshisheadinandsays,“Workinglate?”
HestepsintotheroomandoffershishandtoDamenwhohesitates,takingamomenttosizehimup,

beforeofferinghisown.EvenafterreleasingJude’sgriphisgazeremainsfocused,unmoving,hismindfar
away.

“So, what’s going on here? Is this take-your-family-to-work day?” Jude smiles, though it doesn’t

quitereachhiseyes.

“No!Wewerejust—”Iswallowhard,havingnoideawhatcomesnext,meetinghisdeepknowing

gazeandquicklylookingaway.

“We were looking at your Book of Shadows,” Rayne says, arms folded, eyes narrowed. “And we

werewonderingwhereyougotit?”

Judenods,lipsliftingatthecornerswhenhesays,“Andyouare?”
“RomyandRayne.”Inod.“They’remy—”Iglanceatthem,wonderinghowtoexplainthem.
“Nieces,”Damensays,gazelockedonJude.“They’restayingwithmeforawhile.”
Judenods,glancingatDamenbrieflybeforereturningtome.Movingjustshyofthedeskashesays,

“Well,ifanyonecouldfindit,it’syou.”

I swallow hard, glancing at Damen who continues to eye Jude in a way I’ve never seen from him

before.Likehisentirebeingisonafull-scalealert—posturestiff,featurescontrolled,eyesnarrowingto
thedeepest,darkestpoints,allthewhiletakinghimin.

“AmIfired?”Iask,laughingalittle,butmostlyI’mserious.
Jude shakes his head. “Why would I fire my very best psychic? My only psychic!” He smiles.

“Funny,thatbook’sbeeninthedrawersincelastsummerandyetnoonefoundit’tilnow.”Heshrugs.“So
what’syourinterestinitanyway?Ithoughtyouweren’tintomagickandstuff?”

I swivel back and forth in my seat, uncomfortable, squirmy, especially with the way Damen keeps

lookingathim.“I’mnot,butthetwinsareverymuchinto—”

“Wicca,”Damensays,placingaprotectivehandoneachoftheirshoulders.“They’reinterestedin

learning more about Wicca, and Ever thought this book might help. Though obviously, it’s far too
advanced.”

Jude looks at Damen, slowly taking him in. “Looks like I just got my second and third sign-up for

class.”

“There’s another?” I say, quickly, without thinking, glancing briefly at Damen and feeling an

inexplicableflushrisetomycheeks.

Judeshrugs.“Ifsheshows.Seemedprettyinterestedthough.”
Honor. I know it without even peering into his mind. Honor’s the first sign-up, and I’ve no doubt

she’llshow.

“Class?”Damenasks,handsstillonthetwins,gazedartingbetweenJudeandme.
“Psychic Development level one.” He shrugs. “With a small emphasis on self-empowerment and

magick.I’mthinkingweshouldstartsoon,maybeeventomorrow.Whywait?”

Romy and Rayne look at each other, eyes blazing with excitement. But Damen shakes his head

saying,“No.”

Judelooksathim,faceeasy,relaxed,nottheleastbitdaunted.“Awcomeon,Iwon’tevencharge.

I’mnewatthisanyway,soit’sagoodchanceformetotryitalloutandseewhatworksandwhatdoesn’t.
Besides,it’sjustasimpleintroductorycourse,nothingheavy,ifthat’swhatyou’reworriedabout.”

Theireyesmeet,andeventhoughIknowtheheavypartisprettymuchDamen’snumber-oneconcern,

it’sclearlynothisonlyconcern.

No,thissuddenedginess,thisuncharacteristicguardedness,hassomethingtodowithJude.
Andme.
Judeandmetogether.
AndifIdidn’tknowbetter,I’dthinkhewasjealous.ButIdoknowbetter,and,unfortunately,that

sortofbehaviorisrelegatedonlytome.

Thetwinspleadwithhim,largebrowneyesgazingintohis.“Please!”theysay,voiceshigh-pitched,

intertwining.“Wereally,really,reallywanttotakethisclass!”

“It’llhelpuswithourmagick!”Romynods,smilingasshetugsonhishand.
“And get us out of the house so Ever can’t complain about your lack of privacy anymore!” Rayne

adds,managingtoinsultmeevenassheaimstoconvince.

Judelooksatme,browsraisedinamusement,butIquicklylookaway,holdingmybreathuntilIhear

Damen say, “We’ll get there on our own, you need to be patient.” His words final, leaving no room to
negotiate.

Jude nods, shoving his hands deep into his pockets as he gazes between us. “No worries. If you

change your mind, or just want to stop by and monitor, feel free. Who knows, maybe you’ll learn
something?”

Damen’seyesnarroweversoslightly,butstillit’senoughtopersuademetostandupandsay,“So,

I’mstillonthescheduletomorrow?”

“Brightandearly.”StudyingmecloselyasImaneuveraroundthedeskandintothewelcomingcrook

ofDamen’sarm.“Iwon’tbeinuntillater,”headds,movingfortheseatIjustvacatedandsettlingin.“So
ifthatgirl—”Hesquints,lookingatme.

“Honor.”Inod.
SeeingDamengapeinsurpriseasJudelaughsandsays,“Wow,youreallyarepsychic.Anyway,if

shecomesin,tellherwe’llstartsometimenextweek.”

ChapterTwenty-Nine

“Your boyfriend seems cool.” Jude looks at me, leaning on the edge of the counter, coffee mug in

hand.

“That’sbecauseheiscool.”Inod,thumbingthroughtheappointmentbook,seeingI’mbookedfora

two o’clock, followed by a three, a four, and a five—and relieved to see that the names aren’t even
slightlyfamiliar.

“Soheis—yourboyfriend,then?”Hetakesaquicksipofhisdrink,eyeingmefromoverthetopof

thecup.“Icouldn’tbesure.Seemskindofold,youknow?”

Islamthebookshutandreachformywater,eventhoughI’dreallypreferagulpofimmortaljuice

instead.ButeversinceRomanshowedupIvowedtocutbackonmypublicconsumption.“We’reinthe
same class.” I shrug, returning his gaze. “Which would make us the same age, no?” Hoping to avoid
furtherscrutinybyphrasingitlikethat.

ButJudecontinuestostare,gazedeepeningwhenhesays,“Idon’tknow,doesit?”
Iswallowhardandlookaway,heartbeatingovertimeasIthink,Doeshesensesomethingtoo?Is

heontous?

“Could mean he was held back—for—” He smiles, those sea green eyes sparkling, full of light.

“Severaldecades—atleast?”

Iliftmyshoulders,determinedtoignoretheinsultifthat’swhatitwas.RemindingmyselfthatJude’s

not just my boss—providing a job that gets Sabine off my back—but also the keeper of the Book of
Shadows,atomeIdesperatelyneedtogettoagain.

“So,how’dyoumeetHonor?”Iask,leaningdowntotinkerwiththejewelrydisplay.Rearranging

thesilverchainswiththeirgemstonependants,tuckingthepricetagsaway.Hopingtoappearnonchalant,
blasé,asthoughI’mjustfillingupthesilenceandnotbecauseIcare.

Heleaveshiscuponthecounteranddisappearsintotheback,fiddlingwiththestereosystemuntil

theroomfillswiththesoundofcricketsandrain,thesameCDheplayseveryday.“Iwashangingaflyer
overatthisplace.”Hereturnstothecounterandpointstothenameonhiscup.

“Was she alone or with someone?” I squint, imagining Stacia egging her on, making her approach

him,assomekindofdare.

Helooksatme,eyessearchingmyfaceforsolongIavertmygazeandbusymyselfwiththerings,

organizingthembycolorandtype,ashecontinuestostudyme.

“Didn’tnotice.”Heshrugs.“ShejustaskedabouttheclasssoIgaveheraflyertotakewithher.”
“Did you talk? Did she tell you why she’s interested?” Blowing my cover as a person who’s only

mildlycuriousthemomentthewordsescape.

Hesquints,gazedeepeningashesays,“Saidshe’shavingboyfriendproblemsandwantedtoknowif

Iknewanygoodspellsshecouldcast.”

Igape,unsureifhe’sjoking,untilhelaughs.
“What’swithalltheinterest?Shetrytostealyourboyfriendorsomething?”
Ishakemyhead,shuttingthejewelrycaseandmeetinghisgazewhenIsay,“No,herbestfrienddid.”
Judeeyesme,voicecarefulwhenhesays,“Andwasshesuccessful?”
“No! Of course not!” Cheeks flushing, heart racing, knowing I answered too quickly to ever be

believed.“Butthatdoesn’tstopherfromtrying,”Iadd,knowingthatwasnobetter.

“Doesn’tstopher,ordidn’tstopher?Shestillatit?”Heliftshiscupandtakesalongpull,hisgaze

neveronceleavingmyface.

Ishrug,stilltryingtorecoverfrommypreviousoutburst.KnowingI’mtheonewhostartedallthis.
“So,youinthemarketforaspellofyourown?Somethingthat’llkeepthegirlsawayfromDamen?”

Browraised,voicegivingnohintifitwasajoke.

Ishiftonmystool,unnervedbytheweightofhisgaze,notlikingthesoundofDamen’snameonhis

lips.

“GuessthatexplainsyoursuddeninterestintheBookofShadows,”Judesays,refusingtoletitgo.
I roll my eyes and move away from the counter, not caring if it’s an insubordinate act. This

conversationisover.I’mmakingthatclear.

“Isthisgoingtobeaproblem?”heasks,hisvoicecarryingatoneIcan’tread.
Istopjustshyofthebookshelf,unsurewhathe’sreferringto.Turningtoreadhissunshinyaura,and

stillnothavingaclue.

“I know you don’t want people to know about you, and now there’s some girl from your school

droppingin...”Heshrugs,allowingmetofillintherest.

Ishrugtoo,realizingthelistofpeoplewhoknowmypsychicsecretisreallystartingtogrow.First

Munoz,thenJude,andsoonHonor,whichmeansStaciawillfollow(thoughshealreadysuspectsanyway)
—andthenofcoursethere’sHavenwhoproclaimstobe“onto”usaswell.Andtheawfulpartis—allof
thiscanbetracedbacktome.

Iclearmythroat,knowingIhavetosaysomethingthoughI’venoideawhat.“Honor’snot—”nice,

pleasant,kind,decent,atallwhatsheseems—butthetruthis,thatmoredescribesStacia.Honor’smuch
moreofanenigmatome.

Judelooksatme,waitingforthefinish.
But I just turn away, face obscured by a chunk of blond hair when I say, “Honor’s not someone I

knowallthatwell.”

“Guessthatmakestwoofus.”Hegrins,tossingbackthelastofhiscoffeebeforecrumblinghiscup

and projecting it toward the trash where it lands with a thud. His gaze seeking mine when he says,
“Thoughshedoesseemalittlelostandunsure,andthat’sexactlythekindofpersonwetrytohelparound
here.”

Bysix,myfifthclient,alast-minutewalk-in,isgonefortheday,andI’minthebackroomsmoothing

myhairfromtheblackwigIdecidedtowear.

“Better.”Judenods,glancingupfromhiscomputerbriefly,beforereturningtohiswork.“Theblond

suitsyou.Thatblackwasalittleharsh,”hemumbles,tappingthekeyboardandshakinghishead.

“Iknow.IlookedlikeaseverelyanemicSnowWhite,”Isay,lookingatJudeaswelaugh.
“So,what’dyouthink?”heasks,backtohiscomputerscreen.
“Ilikedit.”Inod,movingawayfromthemirrorandclosertothedeskwhereIperchontheedge.“It

wasgood.Imean,someofitwaskindofdepressingandall,butit’snicetobeabletohelpsomeonefora
change,youknow?”Watchinghisfingersmoveacrossthekeyboardsofastmyeyescanhardlykeepup.
“Because honestly, I wasn’t so sure. But I think it went okay. I mean, you didn’t get any complaints or
anything—didyou?”

Heshakeshishead,squintingasheshufflesthroughastackofpapersathisside.“Didyouremember

toshieldyourself?”Hetakesamomenttogazeupatme.

Iliftmyshoulders,havingnoideawhathemeans.TheonlyshieldingI’veeverdoneisthekindthat

shutsoffeveryone’senergy,whichwouldmakeitprettymuchimpossibletogiveareading.

“Youneedtoprotectyourself,”hesays,pushingawayhislaptoptobetterfocusonme.“Bothbefore

andafterareading.Hasnooneevershownyouhowtoleaveyourselfopenwhilestillshieldingyourself
fromunwantedattachments?”

I shake my head, wondering if that’s even necessary for an immortal like me. Unable to imagine

anyone’senergybeingstrongenoughtodragmedown,butit’snotlikeIcansharethatwithhim.

“Wouldyouliketolearnhow?”
Ishrug,scratchingmyarmasIglanceattheclock,wonderinghowlongit’lltake.
“Itwon’ttakelong,”hesays,readingmyexpression,alreadymovingawayfromthedesk.“Andit

really is important. Think of it like washing your hands—it releases all the negative stuff your clients
carrywiththem,makingsureitcan’tcontaminateyourlife.”

Hemotionsformetotakeoneoftheseatsasheperchesontheadjacentone,regardingmeseriously

as he says, “I would guide you through a meditation that’ll help strengthen your aura—but since I can’t
actuallyseeyouraura,Ihavenoideaifitneedsstrengthening.”

Ipressmylipstogetherandcrossmyrightlegovermyleft,shiftinguncomfortablyinmyseat,unsure

howtorespond.

“Sometimeyou’llhavetotellmehowyouhideitlikethat.I’dlovetolearnyourtechnique.”
Iswallowhardandnodslightly,asthoughImightjustdothatsomeday,butnotnow.
Keeping his voice low and smooth, almost to a whisper, he says, “Close your eyes and relax,

breathing slowly and deeply as you picture a swirl of pure golden energy with each intake of breath,
followedbyaswirlofdarkmistwitheachouttake.Breathinginthegood—riddingyourselfofthebad.
Continuingthiscycleagainandagain,allowingonlygoodenergytoworkitswaythroughyourcells,until
youfeelcleansedandwholeandreadytobegin.”

Idoashesays,remindedofthegroundingmeditationAvaonceputmethrough,concentratingonmy

breath, keeping it slow, steady, and even. At first feeling self-conscious under the weight of his gaze,
knowinghe’sstudyingmecloserthanhewouldifmyeyeswereopen,butsoon,I’mpulledintotherhythm
—pulsecalming,mindclearing,concentratingonnothingbutbreathing.

“Then, when you’re ready, imagine a cone of the most brilliant, golden white light reaching down

fromtheheavensanddescendinguponyou—growingandexpandinginsizeuntilitbathesyoucompletely
—surrounding your entire being and allowing no lower energies or negative force fields to creep in—
keepingallyourpositivityfullyintact,safefromthosewhomightleechit.”

Iopenaneye,peekingathim,neverhavingthoughtofsomeonetryingtostealmychi.
“Trustme,”hesays,wavinghishand,motioningformetoclosemyeyesandreturntothemeditation

again. “Now imagine that same light as a powerful fortress, repelling all darkness while keeping you
safe.”

SoIdo.Seeingmyselfinmymind,sittingonthatchair,withaconeoflightextendingfromabove

andmovingdownpastmyhair,overmytee,andwellpastmyjeanstomyflip-flopsbelow.Enveloping
mecompletely,keepingthegoodstuffin,andthebadstuffout—justlikehesaid.

“Howdoesitfeel?”heasks,voicemuchcloserthanIexpected.
“Good.”Inod,holdingtheconeoflightinmymind,keepingitsteadyandbright.“Itfeelswarmand

—welcoming—and—good.” I shrug, more interested in enjoying the experience than rooting around for
justtherightword.

“You need to repeat that every day—but this is the longest it should ever take. Once you’ve

imprintedyourselfwiththeconeoflight,allyouneedtodotomaintainitisafewofthosedeepcleansing
breaths,followedbyaquickimageofyousealedbythelight,andyou’regoodtogo.Thoughit’snotabad
ideatorenewitnowandthen—especiallysinceyou’reabouttobecomeverypopulararoundhere.”

Heplaceshishandonmyshoulder,palmflatandopen,fingerssplayedacrossthecottonofmytee,

thesensationsoshocking,sojolting,theimagessorevealing,Ijumptomyfeet.

“Damen!”Icry,voicehoarse,scratchy,asIturntofindhimatthedoor,watchingme—watchingus.
Henods,gazemeetingmineinwhat,atfirstseemshisusuallovingway—filledwithacompleteand

total reverence for me. But the longer it holds, the more I sense something behind it. Something dark.
Troubling.Somethinghe’sdeterminedtokeep.

Imovetowardhim,claspinghishandasitreachestowardmine,awareoftheprotectiveshieldof

energythathoversbetweenus—anenergyIwascertainnoonecouldsee,untilInoticeJudesquinting.

I peer at Damen, unable to determine the big hidden thing in his gaze, wondering what he’s doing

here,ifhesomehowsensedthis.

Hisarmtightensaroundme,pullingmenearwhenhesays,“Sorrytointerrupt,butEverandIhave

somewheretobe.”

Igazeup,drinkinghimin—thesmoothplanesofhisface,theswellofhislips—thetingleandheat

strummingfromhisbodytomine.

Juderisesandfollowsusintothehall,saying,“Sorry.Didn’tmeantokeephersolong.”Hishand

reaching toward me, glancing my shoulder then falling away as he adds, “Oh, I forgot—the book! Why
don’tyoutakeit,it’snotlikeIneeditaroundhere.”

Heturnsbacktowardthedesk,abouttoretrieveitfromthedrawer,andeventhoughI’mtemptedto

grabitandrun,withthewayDamenstiffensasJude’sauragrowsbrighter—well,it’sbeginningtofeel
like a test. And it’s all I can do to force the words past my lips when I say, “Thanks, but not tonight.
DamenandIhaveplans.”

Damen’s energy relaxes, returning to normal as Jude’s gaze dances between us. “No worries,” he

says.“Anothertime.”Holdingthegazeforsolong,I’mthefirsttoturnaway.

LeadingDamenoutthedoorandontothestreet,determinedtoshakeoffJude’senergy,alongwiththe

thoughtsandimagesheunwittinglyshared.

ChapterThirty

“Soyoukeptit.”Ismile,settlingintohisBMW,happytoseehe’skeptitinplaceofBigUgly.
He looks at me, eyes still serious but voice light when he says, “You were right. I went a little

overboardwiththewholesafetything.Nottomention,thisisamuchbetterride.”

I gaze out the window, wondering what sort of adventure he’s planned, but figuring he wants to

surprisemeasusual.Watchingashepullsontothestreetandweavesthroughthetrafficuntilwe’reclear
ofallcarsandhepicksupthespeed.Pushingthegasandacceleratingsoquickly,Ihavenoideawhere
we’regoing,untilwe’realreadythere.

“What’sthis?”Igazearound,amazedbyhisabilitytoalwaysdotheleastexpectedthing.
“Ifiguredyou’dneverbeenhere.”Heopensmydoorandtakesmyhand.“WasIright?”
I nod, taking in a barren desert landscape, dotted only by the occasional shrub, a mountainous

backdrop, and thousands of windmills. Seriously thousands. All of them tall. All of them white. All of
themturning.

“It’sawindmillfarm.”Henods,hoistinghimselfontothetrunkofhiscaranddustingoffaspacefor

me to sit too. “It produces electricity by harnessing the wind. In just one hour it can make enough
electricitytorunatypicalhouseholdforamonth.”

Iglanceallaround,takingintheturningbladesandwonderingwhatthesignificancecouldbe.“So,

why’dwecomehere?I’malittleconfused.”

Hetakesadeepbreath,gazefaraway,expressionwistfulwhenhesays,“Ifindmyselfdrawntothis

place. I guess because I’ve borne witness to so much change during the last six hundred years, and
harnessingthewindisaveryoldidea.”

Isquint,stillnotgettingitsimportance,butdefinitelysensingthereisone.
“Despite all the technological changes and advances I’ve seen—some things—things like this—

remainprettymuchthesame.”

I nod, silently urging him on, sensing something much deeper in his words, but knowing he’s

choosingtodolethemoutslowly.

“Technology advances so quickly, making the familiar obsolete at an increasingly rapid pace. And

whilethingslikefashionmayseemtoadvanceandchange,ifyoulivelongenough,yourealizeit’sreally
justcyclical—thereadaptingofoldideasmadetoseemnew.Butwhileeverythingaroundusseemstobe
inaconstantstateofflux—peopleattheirverycoreremainexactlythesame.Allofusstillseekingthe
things we’ve sought all along—shelter, food, love, greater meaning—” He shakes his head. “A quest
that’simmunetoevolution.”

He looks at me with eyes so deep and dark, I can’t imagine what it’s like to be him. To have

witnessedsomuch,toknowsomuch,tohavedonesomuch—andyet,despitewhathethinks,he’snotthe
slightestbitjaded.He’sstillfullofdreams.

“And once the basics are covered, once we’ve secured food and shelter, we spend the rest of our

timejustlookingtobeloved.”

He leans toward me, lips cool and soft as they brush my skin—fleeting, ephemeral, like a sweet

desertbreeze.Pullingawaytogazeatthewindmillsagainwhenhesays,“TheNetherlandsisknownfor
theirwindmills.Andsinceyoudidspendalifetimethere,Ithoughtyoumightwanttovisit.”

Isquint,thinkinghesurelymisspoke.We’venotimeforthattrip—dowe?
Watchingashesmiles,gazegrowinglighterashesays,“Closeyoureyesandcomewithme.”

ChapterThirty-One

Wetumbleforward,handsclaspedtogetheraswelandwithathud.Takingamomenttolookaround

whenIsay,“Omigod—thisis—”

“Amsterdam.”Henods,eyesnarrowingasheadjuststothemist.“OnlynottherealAmsterdam,the

Summerlandversion.Iwould’vetakenyoutotherealone,butIfiguredthistripwasshorter.”

Igazeallaround,takinginthecanals,thebridges,thewindmills,thefieldsofredtulips—wondering

ifhecreatedthatlastpartforme,thenrememberinghowHollandisfamousforitsflowers—especially
itstulips.

“Youdon’trecognizeit,doyou?”heasks,studyingmecarefullyasIshakemyhead.“Giveitsome

time,youwill.I’verecreateditfrommemory,howIrememberitbackinthenineteenthcenturywhenyou
andIwerelastthere.It’saprettygoodcopyifIsaysomyself.”

He leads me across the street, pausing long enough to allow an empty carriage to pass, before

continuingtoasmallstorefront,itsdoorwideopen,asalivelycrowdoffacelesspeoplegatherinside.
Watchingmecarefully,eagertoseeifamemory’ssparked,butImoveaway,wantingtogetafeelonmy
own,tryingtopicturetheformermeinthisplace—thered-haired,green-eyedme—walkingamongthese
white walls, wood floors at my feet, gazing at the line of paintings dotting the perimeter as I weave
through the patrons who begin to fade at the edges before strengthening again. Knowing that Damen’s
responsibleforkeepingthemhere,havingmanifestedtheirveryexistence.

I move along the walls, assuming this is a re-creation of the gallery where we first met, though

disappointedtofinditnottheleastbitfamiliar.Notinghowallthepaintingsblurandfadeuntilthey’re
completelyimperceptible,exceptfortheonejustbeforeme,theonlyonethat’sintact.

I lean forward, squinting at a girl with abundant titian hair—a luxurious blend of reds, golds, and

brownscontrastingsobeautifullywithherexpanseofpaleskin.Paintedinawaysotangible,sosmooth,
soinviting—it’sasthoughonecouldstepin.

Mygazeroamsthelengthofher,seeingshe’snudethoughstrategicallycovered.Theendsofherhair

dampandconforming,tumblingoverhershouldersandhangingwellpastherwaist,whileherhandsare
folded,restingatopapinkflushedthighturnedslightlyin.Thoughit’stheeyesthatgrabme,madeofthe
deepestgreenandholdingagazesodirect,soopen,asthoughstaringatalover,nottheleastbitashamed
athavingbeencaughtinthisstate.

Mystomachtwitches,whilemyheartbeginstoflutter,andeventhoughI’mawareofDamenstanding

righttherebesideme,Ican’tlookathim.Can’tincludehiminthis.Somethingiscreepinguponme,the
birthofanideatugging,nudging,demandingtobeknown.AndbeforeI’veevenblinked,Iseeit.Assure

asIseethegiltframesurroundingthecanvas,Iknowthatthewomanisme!

Thepriorme.
TheDutchme.
Theartist’smusemewhofellforDamenthenightwemetinthisgallery.
Butthethingthatdisturbsme,thethingthatkeepsmequietandstill,isthesuddenrealizationthatthe

unseenlovershegazesuponisn’tDamen.

It’ssomebodyelse.
Someoneunseen.
“Soyourecognizeher.”Damen’svoicesmooth,matter-of-fact,nottheleastbitsurprisedthatIdo.

“It’s the eyes, right?” He peers at me, face very close when he adds, “The color may change, but their
essencestaysthesame.”

Iglanceathim,takinginthelushfringeoflashesthatnearlyobscurethewistfulnessofhisgaze—

promptingmetoquicklyturnaway.

How old was I? Not trusting my voice with the words. The face appearing unlined and youthful,

thoughtheconfidenceisthatofawoman,notagirl.

“Eighteen.”Henods,continuingtostudyme.Gazepushing,probing,wantingmetobethefirstoneto

sayit,pleadingformetojustspeakup—tosparehimthistask.Followingmygazetothepaintingashe
adds,“Youwerebeautiful.Truly.Justlikethis.Hecapturedyouso—perfectly.”

He.
Sothereitis.
Theedgeinhisvoicespeakingvolumes—revealingeverythinghiswordsonlyhintat.Heknowsthe

identityoftheartist.Knowsitwasn’thimIunclothedmyselffor.

Iswallowhard,eyesnarrowingasItrytomakesenseoftheblack,angularscrawlatthebottomright

corner.Decipheringaseriesofconsonantsandvowels,acombinationoflettersthatmeannothingtome.

“BastiaandeKool,”Damensays,gazingatme.
Iturn,myeyesmeetinghis,unabletospeak.
“Bastiaan de Kool is the artist who painted this. Painted you.” He turns toward the portrait, eyes

roamingoveritagain,beforereturningtome.

Ishakemyhead,feelinglight,woozy—everythingIoncethoughtIknew—aboutme—aboutus—the

entirefoundationofourlivessuddenlygonetenuousandweak.

Damennods,there’snoneedtopressit.Bothofusrecognizingthetruthdisplayedrightbeforeus.
“In case you’re wondering, it was over before the paint even dried. Or at least that’s what I

convincedmyselfof—”Heshakeshishead.“Butnow—well,I’mnolongersure.”

I gape, eyes wide, uncomprehending. What could this painting—this century-old version of me—

haveanythingtodowithus—thewaywearenow?

“Wouldyouliketomeethim?”heasks,gazeshadowed,distant,difficulttoread.
“Bastiaan?”Thenameoddlycomfortableonmylips.
Damennods,willingtomanifesthimifI’llonlyagree.ButjustasI’mabouttorefuse,heplaceshis

handonmyarmandsays,“Ithinkyoushould.Itonlyseemsfair.”

Itakeadeepbreath,focusingonthewarmthofhishandashecloseshiseyesindeepconcentration,

summoningatall,rangy,slightlydisheveledguyfromwhatwasonceemptyspace.Lettinggoofmyarmas
hemovesaway,allowingmeplentyofroominwhichtostudy,observe,beforewerunoutoftimeandhe
fades.

I move toward him, walking slow, wide circles around this blank, hollow stranger—this bright,

empty,creation—soulless,unreal.

Noting his traits in an offhand way—the height making him appear even slighter, the hint of lean,

sinewymusclelightlypaddinghisbones—theclothesthatarecleanandofdecentqualityandcut,hanging
slightlyoffkilter,theskinsopaleandflawlessitnearlymatchesmyown,whilehishairisdark,wavy,
brushedtotheside,agoodchunkofbangfallingheavilyintoastartlingpairofeyes.

Igasp,forcingtheairintomylungsashesoonfadesaway,hearingDamensay,“Wouldyoulikeme

torefreshhimagain?”Obviouslyhatingtodoso,butwillingtoobligeifIask.

ButIjustcontinuetostandthere,staringintoaswirlofvibratingpixelsthatsoonvanishcompletely.

KnowingIdon’tneedhimrevivedtoknowwhoheis.

Jude.
Theguywhowasstandingbeforeme,theDutchartistwhowentbythenameofBastiaandeKoolin

thenineteenthcentury—hasnowreincarnatedintothiscenturyasJude.

Ireachforsomethingtosteadyme,feelingshaky,empty,offbalance.Realizingtoolatethatthere’s

nothingtocatchme,untilDamenquicklymovestomyside.

“Ever!”hecries,voicesourgentitresonatestomycore,hisarmstighteningaroundme,shieldingme

in a way that feels just like home. Manifesting a soft, plushy couch where he guides me to sit, his gaze
hoveringoverme,anxious,unnerved,havingnointentionofupsettingmelikethis.

I turn, holding my breath as my eyes meet his, afraid of finding something different, something

changed,nowthatit’salllaidoutintheopen.Nowthatwebothknowitwasn’talwaysjusthim.

Thattherewasoncesomeoneelse.
AndIknowhimtoday.
“Idon’t—”Ishakemyhead,feelingembarrassed,guilty,asthoughI’vesomehowbetrayedhimby

unknowinglyseekinghimout.“I’mnotsurewhattosay—I—”

Damenshakeshishead,hishandatmycheek,drawingmenear.“Don’tthinkthat,”hesays.“Noneof

this is your fault. You hear me? None of it. It’s just karma.” He pauses, gaze holding mine. “It’s just
unfinishedbusiness—sotospeak.”

“But what could be unfinished?” I ask, having an inkling of an idea of where this is going and

refusingtotakepartinthatjourney.“Thatwasoverahundredyearsago!Andlikeyousaid,itwasover
beforethepainteven—”

ButbeforeIcangetthere,he’sshakinghishead,handonmycheek,myshoulder,myknee,ashesays,

“I’mnolongersosureaboutthat.”

Ilookathim,fightingtheurgetopullaway.Wishinghe’dstop.Wantingtoleave.Nolongerlikingit

here.

“ItseemsI’veinterfered,”hesays,facehard,judgmental,thoughit’sajudgmentreservedonlyfor

him.“ItseemsIhaveahabitofintrudingonyourlife,meddlingindecisionsthatshould’vebeenyours.
Pushingafatethat”—hepauses,jawclenched,gazesteady,thoughhislipquiversinawaythatreveals
thepriceofallthis—“thatwasnevermeanttobeyours—”

“What are you talking about?” I cry, voice high, urgent, sensing the energy surrounding his words,

andknowingit’sabouttogetworse.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He looks at me, the light in his eyes fractured into millions of bits—a

kaleidoscopeofdarknessthatmayneverbefixed.

Herisesfromthecouchinonequick,sinuousmoveuntilhe’sfillingthespacejustbeforeme.But

beforehecanspeak,beforehecanmakethingsevenworse,IrushaheadwhenIsay,“Thisisridiculous!
Allofit!Everything!It’sdestinythat’sbroughtustogetheragainandagain.We’resoulmates!Yousaidit
yourself!AndfromwhatI’velearned,that’sexactlyhowitworks—soulmatesfindeachother,timeand
again, against all odds, no matter what!” I reach for his hand but he’s slipped just out of reach, pacing

beforeme,avoidingmytouch.

“Destiny?” He shakes his head, voice harsh, gaze cruel, but all of it directed inwardly. “Was it

destinywhenIpurposelyroamedtheearthinsearchofyou—overandoveragain—unabletorestuntilI’d
found you?” He stops, eyes meeting mine. “Tell me Ever, does that sound like destiny to you? Or
somethingthatwasforced?”

Istarttospeak,lipspartingwidethoughnowordswillcome,watchingasheturnstowardthewall

andstaresatthegirl.Thatproudandbeautifulgirlwhosegazemovesrightpasthim—towardsomebody
else.

“SomehowIwasabletoignoreallofthis,pushitasideforthelastfourhundredyears,convincing

myself it was our fate, that you and I were meant to be. But the other day, when you dropped by after
work,Isensedsomethingdifferent—ashiftinyourenergy.Andthenlastnight,atthestore—Iknew.

Istareathisback,thesolidsquareofhisshoulders—hislean,muscledform.Rememberinghowhe

actedsostrangely,soformal,andthinkinghowitallmakesperfectsense.

“ThemomentIsawhiseyes,Iknew.”Heturns,hisgazemeetingmine.“Sotellme,Ever,tellmethe

truth,wasitnotthesamewaywithyou?”

I swallow hard, wanting to look away, but knowing I can’t. He’ll misread it, assume I’m holding

back. Remembering the moment Jude caught me alone in his store, the way my heart raced, my cheeks
flushed,alongwiththeodd,nervousdanceinmygut.OnemomentIwasfineandthenext—amess.And
allbecauseJude’sdeepseagreeneyesmetmine...

Itcouldn’tmean—
Couldn’tpossibly—
Couldit?
Irise from thecouch, moving towardhim ’til our bodiesare mere inchesapart. Wanting to assure

him,assureme.Findawaytoprovethatnoneofitmeantanything.

ButthisisSummerland.Andthoughtsareenergy.AndI’mafraidhejustwitnessedmine.
“It’snotyourfault,”hesays,voicehoarse,rough.“Pleasedon’tfeelbad.”
I shove my hands in my pockets, pushing as deep as they’ll go, determined to steady myself in a

worldthat’snolongerstable.

“IwantyoutoknowhowsorryIam.Andyet—”Heshakeshishead.“Sorryjustdoesn’tcutit.It’s

woefullyinadequate,andyoudeservebetterthanthat.I’mafraidtheonlythingIcandonow—theonly
thingthat’llmakethingsright,isto—”

His voice breaks, prompting me to lift my face until it’s even with his. The two of us standing so

closetheslightestmoveforwardcouldeasilybridgethegap.

ButjustasI’mabouttomaketheleap,hebacksaway,gazesteady,featuresdrawntight,determined

tobeheardwhenhesays,“I’msteppingaside.It’stheonlythingIcandoatthispoint.Fromthismoment
on,Iwillnolongerinterferewithyourfate.Fromthispointon,everymovetowardyourdestinyisyours
andyoursalonetomake.”

Myvisiongoesblurry,throathotandtight.Surelyhecan’tmeanwhatIthink?
Canhe?
Gazinguponhimashestandsbeforeme,myperfectsoulmate,theloveofmylives,theonepersonI

wassurewasmyshelternowleavingmyside.

“I’venorighttobargeintoyourlifeinthewaythatIhave.Nevergivingyouthechancetochoosefor

yourself.Andyouknowwhattheworstpartis?”Helooksatme,eyesfilledwithsuchself-loathingI’m
pressedtolookaway.“Iwasn’tevennobleenough,wasn’tevenmanenough,toplayfair.”Heshakeshis
head. “I used every trick in the book, all the powers at my disposal to annihilate the competition. And

whileI’venowaytochangethepastfourhundredyears—northeimmortalityI’veforceduponyou—I’m
hoping that now—by stepping aside—I’ll allow you some smidgen of freedom in allowing you to
choose.”

“BetweenyouandJude?”Igape,voicerisingtothepointofhysteria,wantinghimtosayit.Justsay

it.Quitdancingarounditandgettothepoint.

Buthejustcontinuestostandthere,world-wearygazefocusedonmine.
“Well,thereisnochoice!Nochoiceatall!Judeismyboss—he’snottheleastbitinterestedinme—

orIinhim!”

“ThenyoufailtoseewhatIsee,”Damensays,asthoughit’safact—somelarge,solidobjectparked

rightbeforeme.

“That’s because there’s nothing to see. Don’t you get it? All I see is you!” I gaze at him, vision

blurry,handsshaky,feelingsoawfulandemptyasthougheachbreathjustmightbemylast.

ButassoonasI’vesaidit,Damenhighlightsthepaintingagain.Causingittoglowinawaythatcan’t

beignored.Buteventhoughhethinksit’ssignificant,thatgirlisastrangertome.Mysoulmayhaveonce
occupiedherbody,butit’snolongerhome.

I start to speak, wanting to explain that, but no words will come. Only a long piercing wail that

coursesfrommymindtohis.Asoundthatmeanspleaseanddon’t—asoundwithoutend.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, immune to my plea. “I’ll always be close, somewhere nearby.

Abletosenseyou,keepingyousafe.Butasfortherest—”Heshakeshishead,voicedefeated,sad,but
determinedtobeheard.“I’mafraidIcannolonger—I’mafraidI’llhaveto—”

ButIwon’tlethimfinish,can’tlethimfinish,cuttingrightinwhenIcry,“I’vealreadytriedalife

withoutyou,whenIwentbackintime,andguesswhat?Fatesentmerightback!”Gazeblurredbytears,
but I don’t turn away. I want him to see it. Want him to know exactly what his misguided altruism is
costingme.

“But,Ever,thatdoesn’tmeanyouweremeanttobewithme,maybeyouweresentbacktofindJude,

andnowthatyouhave—”

“Fine,” I say, refusing to let him finish, not when I have plenty more evidence proving my case.

“Then what about the time you held your hand close, making me focus on our tingle and heat, claiming
that’sexactlyhowitfeelsbetweensoulmates?Whataboutthat?Didyounotmeanit?Areyoutakingit
back?”

“Ever—”Heshakeshisheadandrubshiseyes.“Ever,I—”
“Don’t you get it?” I shake my head, sensing his energy, knowing it won’t make the least bit of

differencebutcontinuinganyway.“Don’tyouseethatIonlywantyou?”

Hebringshishandtomycheek,fingerssosoftandloving—acruelreminderofwhatI’llnolonger

have—histhoughtstravelingthedistancefromhisheadtomine,pleadingwithmetounderstand,togiveit
sometime.

Pleasedon’tthinkthisiseasyforme.Ihadnoideahowpainfulitistoactwithouttheslightest

hintofself-interest—maybethat’swhyInevertriedbefore?Hesmiles,attemptingabitoflevitythatI
refusetoaccept.Wantinghimtofeelasawfulandemptyasme.Irobbedyouofeverseeingyourfamily
again—putyourverysoulatrisk—hisgazenarrowsonmine—But,Ever,you’vegottolisten,youmust
understand,it’stimeforyoutochoosetheonethingyoustillcan—withoutinterferencefromme!

“I’vealreadychosen,”Isay,voicewooden,weary,tootiredtofight.“Ichoseyouandyoucan’ttake

it back.” I look at him, knowing my words are useless, he’s fixed on his plan. “Damen, seriously, so I
knew him hundreds of years ago in a country I haven’t visited since. Big deal! One life—out of how
many?”

Helooksatmeforamoment,thencloseshiseyes,voicebarelyawhisperashesays,“Itwasn’tjust

onelife,Ever.”Fadingthegallerythoughkeepingthewindmillsandtulipsashemanifestsawholeworld
beforeme—severalworldsinfact—Paris—London—NewEngland—alllinedupinarow,placedright
inthemiddleofAmsterdamwherewebothstand.Worldsthatstaytruetotheirtime—thearchitecture,the
clothing—allindicativeoftheirperiod—yetdevoidoftheircitizens—populatedonlybythree.

Me in all of my guises—a lowly Parisian servant—spoiled London society girl—daughter of a

Puritan—withJudealwaysbesideme—aFrenchstableboy—aBritishEarl—afellowparishioner—each
ofusdifferent,changing,thoughtheeyesarethesame.

AndIwatch,focusingononevignetteatatime,thesceneplayingbeforemelikeawell-stagedplay.

My interest in Jude always waning the moment Damen comes on the scene—just as magical and
mesmerizingasheistoday,usingallofhistrickstostealmeaway.

Istandthere,breathless,noideawhattosay.AllIknowisthatIwantittofade.
I face him, understanding why he feels like he does, but knowing it doesn’t make the least bit of

difference.Nottome.Notwheremyheartisconcerned.

“Soyou’vemadeupyourmind.Fine.Idon’tlikeit,butfine.ButwhatIreallyneedtoknowisjust

howlongarewetalkinghere?Coupledays?Aweek?”Ishakemyhead.“Justhowlongwillittakefor
youtoacceptthefactthatnomatterwhathappens,nomatterwhatyoumaythinkorsay,nomatterhow
unfairthefightmayhaveseemed,Ichooseyou.I’vealwayschosenyou.Formethere’sonlyyou.”

“Thisisn’tsomethingyoucanattachadateto—you’vegottogiveyourselftime,timetoreleaseyour

attachmenttome—timetomoveon—”

“Justbecauseyou’redeterminedtodothis,justbecauseyouwanttomakethingsrightdespitewhat

I say, just because you invented the game doesn’t mean you make all the rules. Because if you’re truly
intentonlettingmechoose,thenIchooseuntiltheendoftoday.”

Heshakeshishead,eyesappearingtheslightestbitlighter,andifI’mnotmistaken,tingedwithahint

ofrelief.

Andinthatmoment,Iknow—aglimmerofhopethatmakesmyheartsoar.Hehatesthisjustasmuch

asIdo.I’mnottheonlyonearoundhereinneedofanenddate.

“Theendoftheyear,”hesays,jawclenchedinawaythattellsmehe’stryingtobenoble,gallant,

ridiculouslyso.“Thatshouldallowplentyoftime.”

Ishakemyhead,barelyallowinghimthechancetofinishwhenIsay,“Bytheendoftomorrow.I’m

sureI’llhavemydecisionbythen.”

Buthe’snothavingit,refusingtoevennegotiate,saying,“Ever,please,we’veourwholelivesahead

ofusifthat’swhatyouchoose.Trustme,there’sreallynohurry.”

“Theendofnextweek.”Inod,voicetightening,wonderinghowI’llpossiblymakeit’tilthen.
“Theendofthesummer,”hesays,thewordsfinalashisgazemeetsmine.
Istandbeforehim,unabletospeak.ThinkinghowthesummerI’vebeenanticipatingsincewefirst

gottogether—imaginingthreemonthsoffrolicandfunintheLagunaBeachsun—hasquicklydeteriorated
intotheloneliestseason.

Knowingthere’snomoretosay,Imoveaway.Ignoringhishandreachingformine,wantingtomake

thereturntriptogether.

If he’s so determined for me to choose my own path, then I choose to start now. By leaving the

galleryandheadingontothestreet,makingmywaythroughAmsterdam,Paris,London,andNewEngland,
withoutoncelookingback.

ChapterThirty-Two

ThemomentIturnthecorner,Irun.Feetmovingsoquickly,it’sasthoughIcanoutrunDamen,the

gallery,everything,allofit.Thecobblestonefirstfadingtopavementthengrass,runningpastallofmy
usualSummerlandhaunts,determinedtomanifestoneofmyown—aplacewhereDamencan’tgo.

Making my way to the top of the wooden bleachers at my old school, facing the scoreboard that

reads “GO BEARS!” and claiming the seat in the far right corner where I tried my first (and last)
cigarette, where I kissed my ex-boyfriend Brandon for the very first time, and where my former friend
Rachel and I once reigned supreme, giggling and flirting in our cheerleading outfits, totally unaware of
justhowcomplicatedlifecanbe.

I place my feet on the bench right before me and bring my head to my knees, choking back great,

shoulder-heaving sobs as I try to make sense of what happened. Sniffling into a handful of manifested
tissuesasIgazeblearyeyedatafootballfieldcrowdedwithfaceless,namelessplayersrunningthrough
theirpracticedrillsastheirhair-tossinggirlfriendsgossipandflirtfromtheside.Hopingsuchafamiliar,
normalscenewillsomehowprovidethecomfortIneed—thenmakingitfadewhenIonlyfeelworse.

Thisisnolongermylife.Nolongermyfate.
Damen’smyfuture.There’snodoubtinmymind.
Even though I get all jumpy and nervous whenever Jude’s near, even though there’s an undeniable

something whenever we meet—it doesn’t mean anything. Doesn’t mean he’s The One. It’s merely the
effectofourpastfamiliarity,asubconsciousrecognition,nomore.

Justbecauseheplayedapartinmyhistorydoesn’tmeanhehasaroleinmyfutureotherthanbossat

asummerjobIneverwould’vegonelookingforifSabinehadn’tmademe.SohowcanIpossiblybeat
fault?Howcanthispossiblybeanythingotherthanjustaweirdcoincidence,apeskypartofmypastthat,
throughnofaultofmine,refusestodie?

Imean,it’snotlikeIwentlookingforthis—right?
Right?
Buteventhoughmyheartknowsthetruth,Ican’thelpbutwonderjustwhatweoncemeanttoeach

other.

DidIreallyemergefromalakenotcaringifhesawthenudeme?Orwasthatportraittakenstraight

fromhisoveractiveimagination?

Whichonlyleadsmetomorequestions—onesI’dprefertoignore,like:
WasInotreallyavirginforthelastfourhundredyearslikeIthought?
DidIactuallysleepwithJudeandnotDamen?

Andifso,isthatwhyIfeelsoshyandweirdaroundhimnow?
Igazeattheemptyfieldbeforeme,turningitintotheRomanColiseum,theEgyptianPyramids,the

Acropolis in Athens, the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul, the Opera House in Sydney, St. Mark’s Square in
Venice,theMedinainMarrakech—watchingthescenerywhirlandchange,becomingalltheplacesIhope
tovisitsomeday,knowingonlyonethingforsure:

I’vegotthreemonths.
ThreemonthswithoutDamen.
Three months of knowing he’s out there, somewhere, but unable to touch him, access him, be with

himagain.

Threemonthsinwhichtolearnenoughmagicktosolveallourproblemsandgethimbackforgood.
KnowingmorethanI’veeverknownanything—thathealoneismyfuture,mydestiny,nomatterwhat

camebefore.

I focus back on the scenery, the Grand Canyon morphing into Machu Picchu, which becomes the

GreatWallofChina,knowingthere’splentyoftimeforthislater,butfornow,I’vegottogoback.

Backtotheearthplane.
Backtothestore.
HopingtocatchJudebeforeheclosesupshop,needinghimtoteachme,onceandforall,howto

readthatbook.

ChapterThirty-Three

All week I avoided Sabine. I didn’t think it was possible, but between school, my new job, and

Miles’sfinalHairsprayperformance,Iwasprettymuchscot-freeuntilthemomentI’mabouttotossmy
breakfastdownthesink.

“So.”Shesmiles,sidlingupbesideme,dressedinworkoutclothesandglisteningwiththeglowof

goodhealthandsweat.“Don’twehavesomethingtotalkabout?Aconversationyou’veworkedhardto
delay?”

Ireachformyglassandshrug,unsurewhattosay.
“How’syournewjob?Everythingokay?”
Inod,easy,noncommittal,asthoughI’mfartoointerestedinchuggingthisjuicetorespond.
“BecauseIcanprobablystillsqueezeyouinonthatinternshipifyou’dlike—”
I shake my head and finish the remains, including the pulp. Rinsing my cup and placing it into the

dishwasher as I say, “Not necessary.” Catching the expression on her face and adding, “Really. It’s all
good.”

Shestudiesme,gazeintense,reallytakingmein.“Ever,whydidn’tyoumentionthatPaulwasyour

teacher?”

I freeze, but only for a moment before I turn my attention to a bowl of cereal I have no interest in

eating.GrabbingaspoonandswirlingthecontentsaroundandaroundasIsay,“BecausePaul with the
coolshoesanddesignerjeansisn’tmyteacher.Mr.Munozwiththedorkglassesandpressedkhakisis.”I
liftthespoontomymouth,carefullyavoidinghergaze.

“Ijustcan’tbelieveyoudidn’tsayanything.”Sheshakesherheadandfrowns.
Ishrug,pretendingIdon’twanttospeakwithmymouthfull,whenthetruthis,Idon’twanttospeak.
“Doesitbotheryou?ThatI’mdatingyourteacher?”Shesquints,slidingthetoweloffherneckand

pressingittoherforehead.

Istirthecerealaroundandaround,knowingthere’snowayIcaneatanymore,notaftershe’sstarted

allthis.“Aslongasyoudon’ttalkaboutme.”Istudyherclosely,readingheraura,herbodylanguage,
notingthewayshejustshifteduncomfortably,andstoppingjustshortofpeeringintoherhead.“Imean,
youdon’ttalkaboutme,right?”Iadd,gazefixedonhers.

Butshejustlaughs,avertinghereyesasaflushbloomsonhercheeks.“Turnsoutwe’vegotmuch

moreincommonthanthat.”

“Yeah? Like what?” I mash my spoon against my cereal, displacing my frustration onto my Froot

Loopsandturningthemintoasoggy,rainbow-coloredmess.WonderingifIshouldbreakthenewstoher

now or save it for later. The startling revelation that this love match won’t last—not according to the
visionIsawofherpairedupwithsomecute,namelessguywhoworksinherbuilding—

“Well,forstarterswe’rebothfascinatedbytheItalianRenaissance—”
Ilookather,fightingtheurgetorollmyeyes.HavingneverheardhermentionthatandI’velived

withherfornearlyayear.

“WebothloveItalianfood—”
Ohyeah,definitelysoulmates.Theonlytwopeoplewhoactuallylikepizzaandpastaandstuff

drenchedwithredsauceandcheese...

“AndasofFriday,he’llbespendingquiteabitoftimeinmybuilding!”
Istop.Stopeverything.Includingbreathingandblinking,soIcanstandthereandgape.
“He’sworkingasanexpertwitnessonacasethat—”
Her lips keep moving, hands gesturing, but I stopped listening a few sentences back. Her words

drownedbythesoundofmyowncrashingheart,accompaniedbythesilentscreamthatcrowdseverything
out.

No!
Itcan’tbe.
Can’t.Be.
Canit?
Remembering the vision that night in the restaurant—Sabine getting together with a cute guy who

works in her building—a guy, who, without the glasses I didn’t even recognize as Munoz! Knowing
immediatelywhatthisreallymeans—thisisit—herdestiny—MunozisTheOne!

“Youokay?”Herhandreachesformineasconcerncloudsherface.
But I pull away quickly, avoiding her touch. Swallowing hard as I paste a smile onto my face,

knowingshedeservestobehappy—heck,evenhedeservestobehappy.Butstill—whydotheyhaveto
behappytogether?Seriously,outofallthemenshecoulddate,whydoesithavetobemyteacher,theone
whoknowsmysecret?

Ilookather,forcinganodasIdropmybowlinthesink,fleeingforthedoorasIsay,“Yeah—it’sall

good,seriously.Ijust—Idon’twanttobelate.”

ChapterThirty-Four

“Hey, it’s Sunday we don’t even open ’til eleven.” Jude props his surfboard against the wall and

squints.

Inod,barelyglancingawayfromthebook,determinedforittomakesense.
“Needhelp?”Hetosseshistowelonachairandmovesaroundthedeskuntilhe’sstandingbehind

me.

“Ifitinvolvesmoreofthishandydandycodetranslatoryoumade,”Itapthesheetofpaperbeside

me,“oranythingevenresemblingyourlonglistofmeditations,thennothanks,I’vehadallIcantake.But
if you’re finally going to tell me how to read this thing, without assuming the lotus position, picturing
beamsofwhitelight,and/ormakingmeimaginelong,spindlyrootsgrowingfromthesolesofmyfeetand
extending deep into the earth, then yes, by all means, go ahead and try.” I slide the book toward him,
carefultotouchonlyitsedge,catchingaquickglimpseofhisamusedface,thattropicalgaze,thespliced
brow,beforelookingaway.

He places his hand on the desk and leans toward the book, fingers splayed against the old,

pockmarkedwood,bodysocloseIcanfeelthepushofhisenergymergeintomyspace.“There’sanother
waythatmightwork.Well,forsomeonewithyourgiftsanyway.Butthewayyouhandlethatthing,only
touchingtheedges,keepingyourdistance,it’sprettyclearyou’reafraid.”

Hisvoicedriftsoverme,soothingandcalm.Promptingmetoclosemyeyesforamomentandallow

myself to feel it, really feel it, without trying to stop it or push it away. Eager to prove Damen wrong,
reportbackthatIgaveitafairshotandthere’snotasingletraceoftingleorheattobefound.Eventhough
Judelikesme—likesmeinthesamewayIlikeDamenandDamenlikesme—eventhoughIsawitinthe
visionheunwittinglyshowedmethatday—it’sone-sided.Allabouthim,nottheslightestbitreciprocated
byme.TheonlythingI’mgettingisadecreaseinstressandanxiety,aserenitysolanguid,sorelaxed,it
soothesmyjanglednerves,and—

Hetapsmeontheshoulder,yankingmeoutofmyreverieandmotioningformetojoinhimonthe

smallcouchinthecornerwherehebalancesthebookonhisknees.Urgingmetoplacemyhandonthe
page,shutmyeyes,clearmyhead,andintuitthemessageinside.

At first nothing happens, but that’s because I’m filled with resistance. Still smarting from the last

energyslamthatpracticallyfriedmyinsidesandleftmetiredandfragmentedfortherestoftheevening.
ButthesecondIdecidetoletgoandgivein,tojusttrustintheprocessandallowthebuzztoflowthrough
me,I’movercomewithabarrageofenergythat’ssurprisingly,almostembarrassinglypersonal.

“Gettinganything?”heasks,voicelow,gazefixedonme.

I shrug, turning to him when I say, “It’s like—it’s like reading someone’s diary. Or at least that’s

whatI’mgetting—you?”

Henods.“Same.”
“ButIthoughtitwouldbemorelike—Idon’tknow,likeabookofspells.Youknow,adifferentone

oneachpage.”

“Youmeanagrimoire.”Hesmiles,displayingtwoamazingdimplesandcharminglycrookedfront

teeth.

Ifrown,unfamiliarwiththeword.
“It’s like a recipe book for spells, containing very specific data—dates, times, ritual performed,

resultsoftheritual,thatsortofthing.Strictlybusiness,nothingbutthefacts.”

“Andthis?”Itapmynailagainstthepage.
“Morelikeajournal,asyousaid.Ahighlypersonalaccountofawitch’sprogress—whatshedid,

whyshedidit,howshefelt,theresults,etcetera.Whichiswhythey’reoftenwrittenincode,orTheban
likethis.”

MyshouldersdroopasIscrewmylipstotheside,wonderingwhyeverybitofprogressI’maboutto

makeactuallyresultsintwogiantstepsback.

“Youwerelookingforsomethingmorespecific?Alovespellperhaps?”
Ipeerathim,eyesnarrowed,wonderingwhyhejustsaidthat.
“Sorry.”Heshrugs,eyesgrazingmyface,lingeringonmylipsforafewsecondstoolong.“Seems

liketroubleinparadisewiththewayyouandDamenareavoidingeachotherthesedays.”

I close my eyes for a moment, forcing the sting to retreat. It’s been one week. One week without

Damen—hissweettelepathicmessages—hiswarmandlovingembrace.Theonlyhintthatheevenexists
is the fresh supply of elixir I found in my fridge. An elixir he must’ve slipped in while I slept, taking
everyprecautiontogetthejobdonebeforeIcouldwake.Eachpassinghoursopainful,soagonizing,so
lonely—I’venoideahowI’llgetthroughthesummerwithouthim.

Jude’s energy shifts, his aura pulling back just as a sensitive shade of blue flickers at the edges.

“Well,whateveryouseek,”hesays,backtobusinessagain.“You’llfinditinhere.”Hethumpsthepage
withhisthumb.“Youjusthavetogiveitsometimetotakeitallin.It’saverydetailedaccount,andthe
contentgoesprettydeep.”

“Where’dyoufindit?”Itakeinthesprayofdreadlockshittingjustshyofhislips.“Andhowlong

haveyouhadit?”Iadd,suddenlyneedingtoknow.

Heshrugs,avertinghisgaze.“Pickeditupsomewhere—someguyIonceknew.”Heshakeshishead.

“Itwasalongtimeago.”

“Vaguemuch?”Ismile,givingasortofhalflaughhefailstoreturn.“Seriously.You’reonlynineteen

—howlongagocouldithavebeen?”Istudyhimclosely,rememberingthetimeIaskedthesamequestion
ofDamen—wellbeforeIknewwhathewas.AsuddenchillprickingmyskinasItakehimin,thecrooked
teeth,thescarmarkinghisbrow,thetangleofdread-locksfallingintothosefamiliargreeneyes—assuring
myselfhe’smerelysomeoneIknewfrommypast,thathe’snothinglikeme.

“GuessI’mnotsobigontrackingtime,”hesays,thelaughthatfollowsuncommitted,forced.“Itryto

liveinthemoment—thenow.Still,must’vebeenfour—maybefiveyearsago—whenIfirststartedgetting
intothisstuff.”

“AnddidLinafindit?Isthatwhyyouhideit?”
Heshakeshishead,faceflushingwhenhesays,“Asembarrassingasitistoadmit,shecameacross

apoppetI’dmadeandcompletelyfreakedout.Thoughtitwasavoodoodoll.Misreadthewholething.”

“Poppet?”Mygazefixedonhis,havingnoideawhatthatis.

“Asortofmagicaldoll.”Heshrugs,embarrassedgazemeetingmine.“Iwasakid,whatcanIsay?I

wasmisguidedenoughtothinkitwouldconvinceacertaingirltolikeme.”

“Anddidit?”Iholdmybreath,studyinghimcarefully,wonderingwhythosesimplewordscausea

pinginmygut.

“Linadestroyeditbeforeitcouldwork.Justaswell.”Heshrugs.“Turnsoutshewastrouble.”
“Yourusualtype.”ThewordsrushingforwardbeforeIcanstopthem.
Helooksatme,eyesglinting.“Oldhabitsdiehard.”
Wesitlikethat,eyeslocked,breathhalted,themomentgrowing,stretching,untilIfinallybreakaway

andreturntothebook.

“I’dlovetohelpyou,”hesays,voicelowanddeep.“ButIgetthefeelingyourjourney’stooprivate

forme.”

Iturn,abouttospeak,whenheadds,“Noworries.Igetit.Butifit’sspellcastingyou’reafter,there

areafewthingsyoushouldknow.”Hisgazemeetsmine,makingsurehehasmyfullattentionbeforehe
goeson.“One,it’salastresort—onlytobeusedwhenallotheravenuesareexhausted.Andtwo,spells
arereallyjustrecipesforchange,togetwhatyouwant,oralteracertainsituationthatneeds—altering.
Butinorderforittowork,yourgoalshavetobeclear—youneedtovisualizetheoutcomeyouwantand
directallofyourenergytowardit.”

“Likemanifesting,”Isay,wishingIhadn’twhenIseehisgazechange.
“Manifestingtakestoolong—magick’smoreimmediate—oratleastitcanbe.”
I press my lips together, knowing better than to explain how manifesting can also be instantaneous

once you understand how the universe works. But then again, you can’t manifest what you don’t know,
makingtheantidote,amongotherthings,strictlyofflimits.

“Think of this like a giant cookbook.” He taps the page with his nail. “One with liner notes.” He

smiles.“Butnothinginhereisfixed,youcanaltertherecipestosuityourownneeds,andchooseyour
ownsetoftoolsaccordingly—”

“Tools?”Ilookathim.
“Crystals,herbs,elements,candles,phasesofthemoon—thatkindofthing.”
IthinkbackontheelixirsImade,justbeforeIwentbackintime,havingthoughtofitmoreinterms

ofalchemythanmagick,thoughIguessinsomeways,it’sprettymuchthesamething.

“Italsohelpsifyoucastyourspellinverse.”
“Likeapoem?”Ilookathim,startled.Maybethisisn’tgoingtoworkafterall.Iprettymuchsuckat

thatkindofthing.

“Doesn’t have to be Keats, just something that rhymes and has some sort of meaning for what you

wantittodo.”

Ifrown,feelingdisheartenedbeforeIevenbegin.
“And,Ever—”
Ilookathim.
“If you’re wanting to cast a spell on a person, you might want to rethink it. Lina was right. If you

can’t convince someone to see things your way, or cooperate with you, by using more mundane means,
there’saprettygoodchanceit’snotmeanttobe.”

Inodandlookaway,knowingthatmaybetrueforsomesituations,butnotmine.
Mineisdifferent.

ChapterThirty-Five

“I stopped by your work.” Haven studies me closely, gaze moving from my hair, to the black silk

cordholdingmyamulet,justbarelyvisibleatthebaseofmytee,beforesettlingbackonmyface.

InodbrieflybeforereturningmyattentiontoHonor,watchingasshelaughswithStaciaandCraig

andtherestoftheA-listcrewasthougheverythingwerenormal—butit’snot.Notforher.She’sdipping
intomagicknow—aseriousstudentofthecraft,accordingtoJude.Allwithoutherringleader’sconsent.

“Thoughtmaybewecouldgrablunchorsomething,butthehotguybehindthecountersaidyouwere

busy.”Fingerspickingatthefrostingonherchai-lattecupcake,gazeneveroncestrayingfromme.

Mileslooksupfromhisphone,browsmerged,eyesdartingbetweenus.“Excuseme?There’sahot

guyandnobodyinformedme?”

I turn toward them, Haven’s words just now making an impact. She went to my work! She knows

whereIwork!Whatelsemightsheknow?

“Oh, he’s hot all right.” Haven nods, still looking at me. “Muy caliente, for sure. But apparently

Ever’sdeterminedtokeepitasecret.Didn’tevenknowheexisted’tilIsawformyself.”

“How’d you know where I work?” I ask, trying to keep it casual, nonchalant, not let on just how

alarmedIreallyam.

“Thetwinstoldme.”
Thisjustwentfrombadtoevenworse.
“Iranintothematthebeach.Damen’steachingthemtosurf.”
Ismile,butit’safeebleonethatfeelsfalseonmyface.
“Guessthatexplainswhyyoudidn’ttellusaboutyournewjob—youdidn’twantyourbestfriends

movinginonyourhottiecoworker.”

Milesstaresatme,abandoninghistextingforsomethingfarjuicier.
“He’s my boss.” I shake my head. “And it’s not like it’s a secret or anything, I just haven’t had a

chancetomentionit,that’sall.”

“Yes,becauseourlunchtimechatsaresoscintillatingyoujustcouldn’tsqueezeitin.Please.”Haven

rollshereyes.“Sonotbuyingit.”

“Um,hello?Descriptorswouldbeniceaboutnow!”Milesleansforward,faceeager,eyesdarting

betweenus.

ButIjustshrug,watchingasHavensmilesandsetsdownhercupcake,brushingthecrumbsfromher

black denim lap as she says, “Picture the tannest, most aqua-eyed, hot-bodied, rockin’ the golden
dreadlocks,laid-backsurferboy,hottieoftheentireMcHottieclanthatyoucanevenpossiblyimagine—

thentimesitbytenandthat’shim.”

“Seriously?”Milesgapes,staringatme.“Like,forreals?”
Isigh,tearingmysandwichtoshredsasHavensays,“Trustme,wordscannotdescribetheextreme

measure of hotness. The only ones who can even come close are Damen and Roman, but then, they’re
prettymuchinaclassbythemselves,sotheydon’treallycount.Howoldisheanyway?”Shelooksatme.
“Seemstooyoungtobeaboss.”

“Nineteen.”Ishrug,notwantingtotalkaboutwork,Jude,orprettymuchanythingelseonthatlist.

ThisisexactlythekindofthingDamenwarnedmeabout.ThekindofthingIneedtoavoid.“Speakingof
hotties,how’sJosh?”Ismile,makingforaprettyawkwardseguebuthopingit’llwork.

Watchingheraurawaverandflareasshefocusesonhercupcakeandsays,“Itendedthesecondhe

triedtogivemethekitten.Youshould’veseenhim,smilingasthoughitwassomemiraculousgift.”She
rollshereyesandripshercupcakeinhalf.“Imean,seriously.Howcluelesscanyouget?”

“Hewasjusttryingtobenice—”Milesstarts,butHavenisn’thavingit.
“Please.”Shescowls.“IfhetrulyunderstoodwhatIwasgoingthrough,heneverwould’vepushed

someCharm replacement onme. Some adorablekitty that’s only realdestiny is todie once I’ve grown
extremelyattachedtohersoIcanexperiencethemaximumamountofpainandsuffering.”

MilesrollshiseyesasIsay,“Itdoesn’talwayshavetobelikethat—”
Butshecutsrightin.“Ohreally?Nameonething—onelivingthing—thatdoesn’teitherdieorleave

you or both? Last time I asked you that question, you choked. So, Miles, you with the rolling eyes and
smirkinglips,goahead,knockyourselfout,nameonethingthat—”

Miles shakes his head, hands raised in surrender, hating all confrontation and gladly forfeiting the

gamebeforeitcanstart.

Havensmirks,satisfiedwithourcombinedfailurewhenshesays,“Trustme,allIdidwasbeathim

tothechase.Itwould’veendedeventuallyanyway.”

“Well.”Milesshrugs,returningtohistext.“Forwhatit’sworth,Ilikedhim.Ithoughtyouweregood

together.”

“Thenyoudatehim.”Havensmirks,tossingacupcakesprinklehisway.
“Nothanks.Tooskinnyandcute.”Hesmiles.“NowEver’sbossontheotherhand—”
IglanceatMiles,checkinghisauraandseeinghe’smostlyjoking—mostly.
“Hisname’sJude.”Isigh,resignedtotheconversationcomingfullcircleagain.“AndasfarasIcan

tellheonlylikesgirlsthatdon’tlikehimback,butyou’rewelcometotakeyourbestshot.”Iclosemy
lunchpack,zippingitshutwithanuneatenapple,bagfullofchips,andashreddedsandwichinside.

“Maybeyoushouldinvitehimtomygoingawayparty,”Milessays.“Youknow,soIcantreatmyself

toanicelonggood-bye.”Hebrusheshishandthroughhiscroppedbrownhairandlaughs.

“Aboutthat—”Havensays,eyespartiallyobscuredbythefalseeyelashesshe’sbeenexperimenting

with.“Mymomjusttoreuptheden—likeliterallytoreitup.Carpetrippedout,furniturecleared,walls
knockeddown—which,ontheonehand,isnicesincethere’snowaytheycansellthehousewhenit’sall
rippeduplikethat,butitalsomeansthere’snowaywecanpartyatmyhousesoIwashoping—”

“Sure.”Inod,metbytwofacessoshockedI’mashamed.Realizingtheirregularvisitstomyhouse,

ourFriday-nightpizzaeating,Jacuzzi-soakingritual,endedthemomentDamenenteredmylife.Butnow
thathe’sgone—oratleastdeterminedtostayawayforawhile—maybeit’stimetostartupagain.

“YousureSabinewon’tmind?”Milesasks,voicehopefulbutcautious.
Ishakemyhead.“Aslongasyoudon’tmindMunozdroppingby,it’sallgood.”Irollmyeyes.
“Munoz?Youmeanthehistoryteacher?”Theygape.Mytwobestfriendslookingasshockedand

bug-eyedasIwaswhenIfirstfoundout.

“They’redating.”Inod,knowingasmuchasIhateit,Icertainlycan’tstopit.
Havenpushesherroyalbluebangsoffherfaceandleanstowardme.“Wait—letmegetthisstraight,

yourauntSabineisdatingthehottiehistoryteacher?”

“Who’shotforteachernow?”Mileslaughs,nudgingherarm.
But Haven just shrugs. “Please. Don’t act like you haven’t noticed. I mean, as far as old guys go,

especiallyoneswhowearglassesandkhakis,he’ssmokin’.”

“Please don’t call him smokin’.” I laugh in spite of myself. “And just so you know, at night he

ditchesthespecsandswapstheDockersfordesignerdenim.”

Havensmiles,risingfromthebench.“That’sitthen.Partyatyourhouse.ThisI’vegottosee.”
“IsDamencoming?”Milesslipshisphoneinhispocket,eyeingmecarefully.
“Um—Idon’tknow—maybe.”Ishrug,pressingmylipstogetherandscratchingmyarmsoferventlyI

mayaswellwearasignthatsays:HEY—CHECKMEOUT!I’MLYING!“Imean,he’sprettybusythese
dayslookingafterthetwinsandall—”

“Isthatwhyhe’sblownoffschoolallweek?”Havenasks.
Inod,mumblingsomenonsenseabouttakinghisfinalsearly,butmyheartisn’tinit,anditshows.

Seeingthemnodinassent,butonlytoappeaseme,theireyesandaurassayotherwise,they’renotbuying
awordofit.

“JustmakesureJude’sthere,”Milessays,themerementionofhisnamemakingmystomachdance.
“Yeah,I’llneedhimasabackupincasemydatedoesn’tworkoutlikeIhope.”Havensmiles.
“Youhaveadate?”MilesandIbothsay,voicesblendingaswetakeamomenttogawk.
“Who?”Iask.
JustasMilessays,“Thatwasfast!”
ButHavenjustsmiles,wavingoverhershoulderassheheadsforclass,singing,“You’llsee!”

ChapterThirty-Six

SinceIkeptmypromisetoMunozbyattendinghistory(whichwaswaymoreawkwardformethanit

wasforhim),andsinceImadenosuchpromisetoanyofmyotherteachers,Iskiptherestofthedayand
headforthestore.

MythoughtsdriftingtoDamenasIcruiseCoastHighway,visualizinghimsoclearlyhemanifestsin

the seat right beside me. Gazing at me with those dark, smoldering eyes, lips parted, enticing, as he
pressesasprayofredtulipsontomylap—causinganachesopalpable,Ibanishhimwellbeforehecan
fade. Knowing a manifest Damen will never do. Not when the real one is out there—somewhere—
waitingforthreemonthstoend.

ButIcan’twait.Irefusetowait.Theonlywaytoridmyselfofthishollowemptyfeelingistoget

Damenback.AndtheonlywaytodothatistocrackRoman’scode.Getmyhandsonthatantidoteonce
andforallandthenallofmyproblemsaresolved.

But short of returning to his house, I’ve no clue where to find him. Like Damen, he’s pretty much

blowingoffthelastdaysofschool.

Ipullintothealleyandclaimthesmallspaceinback,stormingthroughthedoorwithsuchspeedand

force,JudeglancesupinconfusionasIheadbehindthecounterandreachfortheappointmentbook.

“Trustme,ifI’dknownyouwereditching,Iwould’vescheduledsomereadings,butasitstands,I

gotnothing.”

“I’mnotditching,”Imumble,eventhoughwebothknowIam.“Okay,maybeIam.”Ishrug,glancing

athim.“Butit’sthelastweekofschoolsoit’sreallynobiggie.Youwon’ttellanyone,willyou?”

He dismisses the thought with a wave of his hand, lifting his shoulders as he says, “Just wish I’d

known.Iwould’vebroughtmyboard.”

“Youcanstillgetit.”Iheadfortheshelvesandbeginrearrangingsomebooks.Wantingtoputsome

distance between us so I can avoid the enticing wave of calm his proximity brings. “Seriously,” I add
whenIseehe’snotmoving.“I’llkeepaneyeontheplace.”

Helooksatme,gazesteady,focusedonmine.“Ever—”hestarts.
Ilookathim,sensingwherethisisgoingandeagertodispelanyfearsbeforehecangetthere.“You

don’thavetopayme,”Isay,armsloadedwithbooks.“I’mnotherefortheovertime.Infact,Idon’teven
careifyoupaymeatall.”

Henarrowshisgazeforonebeat,thentwo.Tiltinghisheadtothesidewhenhesays,“Youreally

don’t,doyou?”

Ishrugandreturnallthebooks,takingamomenttolinethemupperfectlybeforeanswering,“Nope,I

reallydon’t.”Feelinggoodtounburdenyetanotherillusionofmine,nomatterhowsmall.

“Exactly what are you here for?” he asks, voice catching in a way I can’t help but notice. “The

book?”

I turn, feeling all nervous and squirmy as my gaze settles on his. “Is it that obvious?” I lift my

shoulders,forcingalaugh.

Relieved when he smiles and jabs his thumb over his shoulder as he says, “Go ahead, have fun. I

won’ttellDamenwhatyou’reupto.”

IshoothimalookmakingitclearI’movertheDamenjokes,untilIseethathe’sserious.
“Sorry.”Heshrugs.“Butit’sprettyclearhe’snotintoit.”
Ishrug,neitherconfirmingnordenying.There’snowayI’mdiscussingDamenwithhim.Headingfor

thebackroomandsettlinginatthedesk,justabouttounlockthedrawerwithmymindwhenIseethat
he’sfollowed.

“Oh, um, I forgot that it’s locked,” I mumble, feeling false and ridiculous as I motion toward the

drawer,knowingI’mtheworstactresseverbutstillgoingthroughthemotions.

Heleansinthedoorway,shootingmealookthatmakesitclearhe’snotbuyingit.“Didn’tseemto

stopyouthelasttime,”hesays,voicelowanddeep.“OreventhefirsttimeIfoundyouinthestore.”

Iswallowhard,unsurewhattosay.AdmittingmyabilitiesisbreakingDamen’smostcardinalrule.

TheweightofJude’sgazeheavyonmineasIsay,“Ican’t—I—”

Heliftsabrow,knowingIverywellcan.
“Ican’tdoitinfrontofyou,”Ifinish,knowingit’sfoolishtokeepupthisruse.
“Doesthishelp?”Heplacesahandovereacheyeandgrins.
Igazeathimforamoment,hopinghewon’tpeekthroughhisfingers,thenItakeadeepbreathand

closemyeyestoo,seeingthelockspringopen,beforeretrievingthebook.Placingitonthedeskashe
takesaseat,headcockedtotheside,footbalancedonhiskneewhenhesays,“Youknow,you’repretty
special,Ever.”

Ifreeze,fingershoveringabovetheancienttome,heartbeatingovertime.
“I mean, your gift is special.” He looks at me, eyes squinting, shoulders lifting, the color on his

cheeks deepening as he adds, “I’ve never met anyone with abilities like yours. The way you absorb
informationfromabook,aperson—andyet—”

Igazeathim,throattightandhot,sensingthebeginningsofsomethingI’dratheravoid.
“Andyet—you’venoideaofwhostandsbesideyou.Rightbesideyou,infact.”
I sigh, wondering if this is the moment when he thrusts a pamphlet at me and goes into full-blown

testimonymode,buthejustmotionstomyright,smilingandnoddingasthoughsomeone’srightthere.But
whenIturntolook,allIgetisblankspace.

“AtfirstIthoughtforsureyou’darrivedinthisstoretoteachme.”Hesmiles,readingmyexpression

when he adds, “You do know there’s no such thing as coincidence—the universe is far too precise for
randomevents.Youcamehereforareason,whetheryourealizeitornot,and—”

“IwasledherebyAva,”Isay,uncomfortablewithwherethisisgoingandwantingittostop.“AndI

returnedtoseeLinanotyou.”

But he just nods, completely unfazed. “And yet, you returned at a time when Lina wasn’t here,

makingitpossibleforyoutofindme.”

IshiftinmyseatandfocusonthebooksinceIcan’tlookathim.Notafterwhathejustsaid.Notafter

mytriptoAmsterdamwithDamen.

“Everhearthephrasewhenthestudentisreadytheteacherappears?”
Ishrug,glancingathimbrieflybeforelookingdownagain.

“Wemeetthepeoplewe’resupposedtowhenthetimeisjustright.AndeventhoughI’msureIhave

plenty to learn from you, I’d really like to teach you something if you’ll let me—if you’re open to
learning.”

Icanfeelhisgaze,heavyandintense,andknowingmyoptionsarefew,Ijustshrug.Seeinghimnod

andlooktomyright,tiltinghisheadasthoughsomeone’sthere.

“There’ssomeonewhowantstosayhello,”hesays,gazefixedonthatspot.“Thoughshewarnsme

you’reskepticalsoI’llhavetoworkextrahardtoconvinceyou.”

I stare at him, neither blinking nor breathing. Thinking that if this is a joke—if he’s tricking me in

someway—thenI’ll—

“DoesthenameRileymeananythingtoyou?”
Iswallowhard,unabletospeak.Mymindspeedingbackward,searchingeveryconversationwe’ve

everhad,lookingforthemomentwhenImighthaverevealedthat.

Helooksatme,patient,waiting.ButIjustnod,unwillingtoofferanythingmore.
“Shesaysshe’syoursister—youryoungersister.”Givingmenotimetoreplywhenheadds,“Oh,

andshe’sbroughtsomeonewithher—orrather—”Hesmiles,pushinghisdreadsoffhisfaceasthoughto
seebetter.“Orrathersomething—it’sadog—ayellow—”

“Lab,”Isay,almostinvoluntarily.“That’sourdog—”
“Butterball.”Henods.
“Cup. Buttercup.” Eyes narrowing, wondering how he got that one wrong if Riley’s truly standing

besidehim.

Buthejustnods,goingontosay,“Shesaysshecan’tstaylongsinceshe’skeepingquitebusythese

days,butshewantsyoutoknowthatshe’swithyou,alotmorethanyouthink.”

“Really?”Ifoldmyarmsandleanbackinmyseat.“Thenwhydoesn’tsheshowherself?”Ifrown,

abandoningmyvowtokeepsilentandindulgingmyfrustrationwithher.“Whydoesn’tshedosomething
tomakeherselfknown?”

Judegivesahalfsmile,lipsquirkingthetiniestbitwhenhesays,“She’sshowingmeatrayof—”He

pauses,squintingashecontinues,“brownies.Shewantstoknowifyouenjoyedthem?”

Ifreeze,rememberingthebrowniesSabinemadeafewweeksago,andhowthesmallestpiecewas

markedwithmyinitial,thelargestwithRiley’s,justlikesheusedtodobackwhenmymomusedtomake
them—

IlookatJude,throatsotightnowordscangetpast.Strugglingtocomposemyselfashesays,“She

alsowantstoknowifyouenjoyedthemovie—theonesheshowedyouin—”

Summerland.Iclosemyeyes,fightingbacktears,wonderingifmyblabbermouthsisterisgoingto

tellhimaboutthat,buthejustshrugs,andendsitrightthere.

“Tellher—”Istart,voicesohoarseandscratchyI’mforcedtoclearmythroatandstartagain.“Tell

heryestoeverything—allofit.Andtellherthat—thatIloveher—andmissher—andtopleasesayhito
MomandDad—andthatshereallyneedstohelpmefindawaysoIcantalktoheragain—becauseIneed
—”

“That’swhereIcomein,”hesays,voicequiet,subdued,eyesseekingmine.“Shewantsmetobeour

go-betweensinceshecan’tspeakdirectlytoyou—atleastnotoutsideofyourdreams.Thoughshewants
youtoknowshecanalwayshearyou.”

Ilookathim,skepticismtakingoveragain.Ourgo-between? Would Riley really want that? Does

that mean she trusts him? And if so, why? Does she know about our past? And what’s that about our
dreams—lasttimesheappearedinmydreamitwasmorelikeanightmare.Ariddle-fillednightmarethat
didn’tmakeanysense.

IlookatJudeagain,wonderingifIcantrusthim—ifhe’ssomehowmakingthisup?Maybethetwins

toldhim—maybeheGoogledtheaccidentand—

“She’s leaving,” he says, nodding as he smiles and waves good-bye at my supposedly invisible

sister.“Wouldyouliketosayanythingbeforeshegoes?”

I grip the sides of my seat, gazing down at the desk as I struggle to breathe. The space feeling

suddenlycramped,confined,asthoughtheceilingisdroppingasthewallscavein.HavingnoideaifI
cantrusthim,ifRileyishere,ifanyofthisisevenreal.

AllIknowisthatIneedtogetoutofhere.
Getsomeair.
HisvoicecallingaftermeasIspringfromthedeskandboltforthedoor—havingnoideawhereI’m

headed,buthopingit’svast,open,farfromhim.

ChapterThirty-Seven

Irunoutthedoorandheadforthebeach,heartracing,mindspinning,forgettingtoslowdowntoa

morenormalspeeduntilI’malreadythere.Toestippedtowardthewater,acloudofsandandbewildered
peopleleftinmywake.Eachofthemsquintingandshakingtheirheads,tellingthemselvestheyimagined
it,couldn’tpossiblybe.Noonecanrunthatfast.

Noonewhoappearsasnormalasme.
I abandon my flip-flops and wade farther in, at first stopping to roll the hem of my jeans, then

deciding not to care when a wave comes and wets them to my knees. Just wanting to feel something—
somethingtangible,physical—aproblemwithanobviousfix.UnlikethekindI’vebeenwrestlingwith.

And though I’m no stranger to loneliness, I’ve never felt quite as lonely as this. I’ve always had

someone to go to. Sabine—Riley—Damen—my friends—but now with my entire family gone, Sabine
busywithMunoz,myboyfriendonabreak,andfriendsIcan’tconfidein—what’sthepoint?

What’s the point of having these powers, the ability to manipulate energy and manifest things, if I

can’tmanifesttheonethingIreallywant?

What’sthepointofseeingghostswhenIcan’tseetheoneswhoactuallymeansomethingtome?
What’sthepointoflivingforeverifI’mforcedtoliveitlikethis?
Igodeeper,’tilI’muptomid-thigh,neverhavingfeltsoaloneonsuchanovercrowdedbeach,so

helplessonsuchabrightandsunnyday.Refusingtobudgewhenhecomesupfrombehind,graspingmy
shoulderandtryingtopullmeawayfromthewaves.Enjoyingtheslamofwaterasitwetsmyskin,the
ceaselesspushandpull,luringmein.

“Hey.”His eyes narrowedagainst the sunas he studies meclosely, refusing toloosen his grip ’til

he’ssureI’mokay.“Whatdoyousayweheadbackinside?”Voicecalm,careful,asthoughI’mfragile,
delicate,capableofdoingjustaboutanything.

Iswallowhardandholdmyground,gazefixedonthehorizonwhenIsay,“Ifyouwerejoking—if

youwereinanywayplayingme—”Ishakemyhead,unabletofinish,butthethreatisimplied.

“Never.” He squeezes tighter, holding me steady, pulling me up and over a small oncoming wave.

“Youreadme,Ever.Thatveryfirstday.YouknowwhatIcando—whatIcansee.”Itakeadeepbreath,
abouttospeakwhenheadds,“Andjustsoyouknow,she’sbeenwithyouseveraltimessince.Notevery
time,butmostofthem.Thoughthisisthefirsttimeshespoke.”

“Andwhyisthat?”Iturn,gazemeetinghis.Havingnorealreasonnottobelieve,butneedingtobe

assureasIcan.

“Iguessshewantedtobuildalittletrust.”Heshrugs.“Notunlikeyou.”

Ilookathim,gazeintothoseseagreeneyes,thetruthlaidopen,baredformetosee.He’snotlying,

notatallplaying,certainlynotmakingitup.HereallydoesseeRiley,andhisonlyagendaistohelp.

“Ithinkthisiswhywefoundeachother.”Henods,voiceloweredtoalmostawhisper.“Iwonderif

Rileyarrangedthis?”

Riley or—something else—something greater than us? I stare at the ocean, wondering if he

recognizes me like I recognize him. If he feels the ping in the gut, the prickle of skin, the strange yet
familiar pull—the same things I feel? And if so, what does it mean? Do we really have unfinished
business—karmathatmustbeaddressed?

Istherereallynosuchthingascoincidence?
“Icanteachyou,”hesays,gazelikeapromisehewantstofulfill.“There’snoguarantee—butIcan

try.”

Iremovemyselffromhisgripandwadefartherin,notcaringthatmybottomhalf’ssoakingwhilethe

restofme’sdry.

“Everyone has the ability. Just like everyone’s psychic—or at the very least intuitive. It’s just a

matterofhowopenoneis,howwillingtoletgoandlearn.Butwithyourgifts—there’snoreasonwhy
youcan’tlearntoseehertoo.”

Iglanceathim,butonlybriefly,something’scaughtmyattention—somethingthat—
“Thetrickistoraiseyourvibration—gettingittoalevelwhere—”
Wedon’tseethewaveuntilit’salreadycresting,leavingusnotimetoduckdiveorattheveryleast

run.TheonlythingkeepingmefromacompleteandtotalwipeoutareJude’sincrediblyfastreflexesand
thestrengthofhisarms.

“Youokay?”heasks,gazeboringintomine.
But my attention’s elsewhere, drawn to that warm wonderful pull, the familiar loving essence that

onlybelongstooneperson—onlybelongstohim—

Watching as Damen cuts through the water, board tucked under his arm, body so sculpted, so

bronzed, Rembrandt would weep. Water sluicing behind him like a hot knife through butter, cleanly,
fluidly,asthoughpartingthesea.

Mylipspart,desperatetospeak,tocallouthisnameandbringhimbacktome.ButjustasI’mabout

to,myeyesmeethisandIseewhathesees:me—hairtangledandwet—clothestwistedandclinging—
frolickingintheoceanonahotsunnydaywithJude’stannedstrongarmsstillwrappedaroundme.

IreleasemyselffromJude’sgrip,butit’stoolate.Damen’salreadyseenme.
Alreadymovedon.
Leavingmehollow,breathless,asIwatchhimretreat.
Notulips,notelepathicmessage,justasad,emptyvoidleftbehindinhisplace.

ChapterThirty-Eight

Judefollowsmeoutofthewaterandhalfwaydownthebeach,callingafterme,tryingtokeepup,

finallysurrenderingwhenIcrossthestreetandheadtowardthestorewhereHavenworks.

Ineedtotalktosomeone,confideinafriend.Putitalloutthereandunburdenmyself,nomatterthe

cost.

Immunetotheweightofmysoakingwetjeans,theslapoffabric,myclinging,damptee—noteven

thinkingaboutmanifestingsomethingdrytowearuntilIgettothedoorandfindRomanthere.

“Sorry,noshoes,noshirt,noservice.”Hesmiles.“ThoughImustsay,Iamenjoyingtheview.”
Ifollowhisgazeallthewaydowntomychest,coveringitwithmyarmswhenIseehowmytophas

goneprettymuchsee-thru.

“IneedtotalktoHaven.”Istarttopushpasthimonlytobeblockedonceagain.
“Ever, please. This is a classy establishment. Maybe you should come back when you’re a little

more—pulledtogether.”

Ipeeroverhisshoulder,catchingaglimpseofafairlylargespacesoopulent,sopackedwithstuff,

it’sliketheinsideofGenie’sbottle.Crystalchandeliershangingfromtherafters,ironsconcesandframed
oilpaintingsmarkingthewalls,whilethefloorsarecoveredwithcolorful,woven,overlappingrugsas
antique furnishings butt up against rack after rack of vintage clothing and tall glass display cases filled
withtrinketsandjewelry.

“Justtellmeifshe’shere.”Iglare,patiencerunningthinashelooksmeoverandsmirks.Tryingto

tuneintoherenergyandassuminghe’sblockingmewhenIdon’tgetveryfar.

“Maybe yes—maybe no. Who’s to say?” He reaches into his pocket and retrieves a pack of

cigarettes,offeringonetome.ButIjustrollmyeyesandmakeaface,seeinghimsquintashebringshis
lightertothetip,inhalingdeeplythenexhalingashesays,“Ferchrissakes,Ever,livealittle!Immortality
iswastedonyou!”

I frown, making a show of waving the smoke out of my face when I say, “Who owns this place?”

RealizingI’venevernoticeditbeforeandwonderingwhathisconnectioncouldbe.

He takes a long drag, eyes narrowed, catlike, as he looks me over from my head to my feet. “You

thinkI’mjokingbutI’mnot.Noself-respectingimmortalwouldeverbeseenlookinglikethat.”Hewags
a finger at me. “And yet—and yet—feel free to keep the top—just be sure to change all the rest.” He
leers,grinningatmeinthemostpredatoryway.

“Whoownsthisplace?”Irepeat,peeringinsideagain,anideabeginningtoform.Thisisn’tjustany

old vintage store. These are Roman’s own personal goods. The stuff he’s hoarded through the last six

hundredyears,dolingthemoutdiligently,sellingatjusttherighttime—adealerofantiquities.

Hesquints,exhalinginaseriesofsmokeringsashesays,“Afriendownsit.It’sofnoconcernof

yours.”

I narrow my gaze, knowing better. This is his store. He’s Haven’s boss, the one who signs her

checks.ButnotwantingtoletonIjustsay,“Soyou’vemadeafriend.Howsadforthem.”

“Oh,I’vemadeplenty.”Hegrins,takinganotherdeeppullbeforetossingthebuttandstompingitout

with his shoe. “Unlike you, I don’t alienate people. I don’t hoard my gifts so to speak. I’m a populist,
Ever.Igivethepeoplewhattheywant.”

“Andwhat’sthat?”Iask,partofmewonderingwhyI’mstillhere,drippingwaterontothesidewalk,

shivering in my wet jeans and see-thru tee only to engage in this useless, go-nowhere banter, while the
otherpart’sstuck,unabletomove.

Hesmiles,deepblueeyesboringintomineashesays,“Well,theywantwhattheywantnow,don’t

they?” His deep guttural laugh, almost like a growl, sending chills over my skin. “It’s not too hard to
decipher.Perhapsyou’dliketoventureaguess?”

Ipeeroverhisshoulder,sureIsawsomethingmove.Hopingit’sHavenbutfindingthesamegirlI

sawathishousethatnight—thenightIwasfoolishenoughtostopby.Hereyesmeetingmineasshemakes
her way around the counter and approaches the door where we stand—all raven black hair, coal black
eyes,andsmoothdarkskin—abeautysoexoticitrobsmeofbreath.

“Whileit’sbeennicechattingwithyou,Ever,I’mafraidit’stimeforyoutomovealong.Nooffense,

darlin’,butyou’relookingabit—unkempt.Badforbusinesstohaveyouloiteringhere.Mightdriveaway
allthecustomers,youunderstand?Thoughifit’sbuschangeyouneed—”Hefishesaroundinhispocket,
comingupwithahandfulofquartersarrangedonhispalm.“I’venoideahowmuchthesethingscost—
haven’thadtorideonesince—”

“Sincesixhundredyearsago,”Isay,narrowingmygaze.Watchingthegirlstopandturnthesecond

Romanwiggleshisfingers,asignalforhertobackaway.Agesturesomeoneelsemight’vemissed,but
notme.SeeingherstopandheadintoabackroomIcan’tsee.

Iturn,knowingI’venobusinesshere.Roman’svoicecallingoutfrombehindmeasImakemyway

down the street, shouting, “There were no buses six hundred years ago! You’d know that if you’d quit
ditchinghistory!”

ButIjustcontinue,refusingtoplay,almosttothecornerwhenhereachesoutandgripsmewithhis

mind:Hey,Ever—whatdothepeoplewant?Youmightwanttoponderthatone,couldbethecluethat
leadsyoutotheantidote.

Istumble,handsseekingthewall,fightingtosteadymyselfasthesoundofRoman’svoicecrowds

myhead.Hisliltingaccentsinging:

We’renotsodifferentyouandI.We’reverymuchthesame.Anditwon’tbelongnow,darlin’,’til

you’llgetthechancetoproveit.Won’tbelongnow’tilyoufinallypaytheprice.

Laughingheartilyashereleasesmeandsendsmeonmyway.

ChapterThirty-Nine

The next day I head to work as though nothing happened, determined to get past that awkward

embraceonthebeach,nottomentionasharedpastthatJudenotonlyhasnorecollectionof,butthatnever
cametofruitionforareason.

AreasonnamedDamen.
ButeventhoughIrushed,MilesandHavenstillmanagedtobeatme,astheybothleanonthecounter,

flirtingwithJude.

“What’reyoudoing?”Iask,strugglingtokeepthepanictoaminimumwhileglancingbetweenthe

threeofthem—atriumphantHaven,agleaming-eyedMiles,andamorethanalittleamusedJude.

“Spillingyoursecrets,exaggeratingyourflaws,oh,andinvitingJudeheretomygoingawayparty—

youknow,incaseyouforgetto.”Mileslaughs.

IglanceatJude,cheeksflaming,unsurewhattosay.StillgazingathimwhenHavenadds,“Andas

luckwouldhaveit,he’sfreethatday!”

Imakemywayaroundthecounterasthoughthat’sperfectlyfine,asthoughIcouldn’tcarelessthat

theguyI’veapparentlyspentthepastseveralcenturieshookingupwith—thesameguymysoulmateis
convincedIhaveunfinishedbusinesswith—willbepartyinginmylivingroominjustafewdays.

HavenpicksuptheflyeradvertisingJude’sPsychicDevelopmentclassandwavesitinfrontofmy

face. “And how come you never mentioned this?” She frowns. “This kind of thing is right up my alley.
YouknowhowI’mtotallyintothisstuff.”SheturnstosmileatJude.

“Sorry,butIreallydidn’t.”Ishrug,droppingmybagunderthecounterandgrabbingthestoolnextto

Jude.Refusingtogoalongwithsomethingthat’snotevenremotelytrue,andwonderingjusthowsoonI
canconvincethemtoleave.

“Well,Iam.Havebeenforawhilenow.”Sheliftsherbrow,lookingatmeinawaythatdaresmeto

refuteit,butIrefusetobite.“Luckily,Judesaidhe’dtrytosqueezemein,”sheaddswithasmirk.

Ishoothimalook,aquick,hard,fleetinglook,watchingashisshoulderspullineversoslightlyas

heshrugsandheadsforthebackroom.Returningamomentlaterwithhisboardhitchedunderhisarm,
wavingatthethreeofusasheheadsoutthedoor.

“Ican’tbelieveyoukepthimasecret!”Milessays,thesecondJude’sgone.“That’stheworstkindof

selfish!Especiallywhenyoualreadyhaveahottieofyourown!”

“Ican’tbelieveyoukeptthisasecret,”Havensays,stillgrippingtheflyer.“You’reluckyhe’sletting

mein!”

“I’mlucky?”Ishakemyhead.ThelastthingIneedisHavendevelopinganyhiddenpsychicabilities

whensheintuitstoomuchalready—oratleastwhereDamenandIareconcerned.“Besides,classalready
started,whichiswhyhesaidhe’dtrytofityouin.”KnowingI’lldowhateverittakestoturnthattryinto
acan’t.“Andwhataboutwork?Won’titinterfere?”

She shakes her head, eyes narrowed, my opposition making her more determined than ever. “Nah,

they’regoodwithmyschedule—won’tbeaproblem.”

“They?”Iglanceatherbriefly,beforereachingfortheappointmentbook,thumbingthroughitinan

attempttoappearblasé,uncommitted,whenthetruthis,I’vegonehighalert.

“Thepowersthatbe.”Shelaughs,lookingatme.“Mybosses,whatever.”
“IsRomanoneofyourbosses?”Iglanceatherbrieflybeforeturningthepage.
“Um,hello?He’sinhighschool,remember?”SheshakesherheadandglancesatMiles,thetwoof

themexchangingalookIprefernottoread.

“I stopped by yesterday.” I study her closely, peering at her aura, her energy, stopping just shy of

peekingintoherhead.“Romansaidyouweren’tthere.”

“I know, he told me. Guess we just missed each other.” She shrugs. “But even though you think

we’vechangedthesubject,wehaven’t.Sotellme,what’supwithyouandthisclass?”Shestabstheflyer
withherpurple-paintednail,gazenarrowedonmine.“Whydon’tyouwantmetotakeit?Isitbecause
youlikeJude?”

“No!” I glance between them, knowing it was too quick, too forceful, and only raised their

suspicions.“I’mstillwithDamen,”Iadd,eventhoughit’snotreallytrue.ButhowcanIadmitittothem
whenIcan’tevenadmitittomyself?“Justbecausehe’sneveratschooldoesn’tmean—”Istopandshake
my head, knowing it’s better to end it right here. “But just so you know, Honor’s enrolled, and I pretty
much figured you wouldn’t want to be in the same class as her.” My gaze fixes on hers, hoping that’ll
stick.

“Seriously?”SheandMilesbothgape,fourbrowneyestakingmein.
“WhataboutStacia?AndCraig?”Havenasks,readytoforgetallaboutitiftheentireMeanTeamis

in.

AndeventhoughI’mtemptedtolie,Ishakemyheadandsay,“No,justher.Weird,huh?”
Haven’s aura flickers and flares, weighing the pros and cons of developing her psychic skills

alongsideabullylikeHonor.Lookingaroundthestoreasshesays,“Sowhatexactlydoyoudohere?Do
yougivereadingsandstuff?”

“Me?No!”Ipressmylipstogetherandreachfortheboxofreceipts,flippingthroughthemforno

otherreasonthantoavoidherpiercinggaze.

“Sowho’sthisAvalonchick?Sheanygood?”
Ifreeze,eyesdartingbetweenthem,unabletospeak.
“Um,hello?EarthtoEver!Thesign,rightbehindyou,theonethatsays:BOOKYOURREADING

WITHAVALONTODAY!”Sheshakesherhead.Onlyhalfjokingwhenshesays,“Jeez,youreallydojust
slidebyonyourgoodlooks,don’tyou?”

“Sign me up!” Miles says. “I’d love a reading with Avalon. Maybe she can tell me where all the

hottieshangoutinFlorence.”Helaughs.

“Signmeuptoo.”Havennods.“I’vealwayswantedareading,andIcouldreallyuseoneaboutnow.

Isshehere?”Sheglancesaround.

Iswallowhard.Ishould’veknownitwouldcometothis.Damenwarnedmeofthisverything.
“Um,hello?”Havenwaves,exchangingalookwithMiles.“We’dliketobookareading,please.I

mean,youdoworkhere,right?”

Ireachunderthecounter,graspingthebook,flippingthroughitsoquicklythedatesandnamesarea

blurofblacklettersonwhite.SlammingitshutandstashingitawayagainwhenIsay,“She’sbooked.”

“O—kay.”Havennarrowshergaze,totallyontomenow.“Thenhowabouttomorrow?”
Ishakemyhead.
“Thenextday.”
“Stillbooked.”
“Nextweek.”
“Sorry.”
“Nextyear.”
Ishrug.
“What’syourdeal?”Shesquints.
Ipause,seeinghowthey’rebothstaringatme,convincedI’meitherholdingsomethingback,have

completelylostit,orboth.KnowingIneedtodowhatIcantodispelthatwhenIsay,“Ijustdon’tthink
youshouldwasteyourmoney.She’snotallthatgreat.We’vehadsomecomplaints.”

Milesshakeshishead,lookingatmewhenhesays,“Waytocloseadeal,Ever.”
But Haven’s unmoved, gaze fixed on mine, head nodding slowly as she adds, “Well, I’m sure this

isn’ttheonlyplacewhereIcangetareading.Andforsomereason,forsomestrange,unknown reason,
now I’m more determined than ever.” Slinging her bag over her shoulder and grabbing Miles’s hand,
pullinghimalongsideherassheheadsforthedoorandsays,“Idon’tknowwhat’sgoingonwithyou,but
you’ve been acting really strange. Stranger than usual.” Glancing over her shoulder and shooting me a
loaded look I prefer not to interpret. “Seriously, Ever, if you’re into Jude, then just say so. Though you
mightwanttotellDamenfirst—hedeservesthecourtesy,don’tyouthink?”

“I’mnotintoJude.”Ishrug,tryingtoappearcalm,even,butfailingmiserably.Besidesit’snotlikeit

matters, they’re already convinced. Everyone’s convinced. Everyone but me. “And trust me, there’s
nothinggoingonexceptfinals,planningforMiles’sparty,andall—theusual—stuff—”Myvoicetrailing
off,knowingnotoneofusisbuyingit.

“Thenwhere’sDamen?Howcomehenevercomesaroundanymore?”Havenasks,asMilesstands

besideherandnods.Allowingmeafewsecondstoanswerbeforeadding,“Youknow,friendshipsare
supposedtoworkbothways.Giveandtake.Basedontrust.Butforwhateverreason,youthinkyouneed
to act perfect all the time. Like nothing ever goes wrong in your perfect, pretty life. Like nothing ever
bothersyouordragsyoudown.AndI’mheretotellyouthatbelieveitornot,MilesandIwillstilllove
youevenifyouhaveanimperfectmoment.Heck,evenifyouhaveanimperfectday,we’llstillsitwith
you at lunch and text you in class. Because, trust us, Ever, it’s not like we’re buying your perfect act
anyway.”

I take a deep breath and nod. It’s all I can do. My throat is so hot and tight there’s no way I can

speak.

Knowingthey’rewaiting,bothofthem,standingbythedoor,willingtostayifI’lljustsaytheword,

findthecouragetoopenupandtrustthemenoughtounburdenmyselfforachange.

ButIcan’t.Whoknowshowthey’dreact,andIhaveenoughtodealwithalready.
SoIjustsmileandwaveandpromisetocatchupwiththemlater.Tryingnottowinceastheyroll

theireyesandleave.

ChapterForty

I’minthebackroom,hunchedoverthebookwhenJudecomesin,surprisedtofindI’mstillhere.
“Isawyourcarparkedoutbackandwantedtomakesureyou’reokay.”Hepausesinthedoorway,

eyesnarrowed,takingmein,beforedroppingontothechairjustoppositethedeskwherehestudiesme
somemore.

Igazeupfromthebook,eyesblearyasIglanceattheclock,surprisedtoseehowlateit’sgotten,

surprisedtoseeI’vebeenheresolong.

“IguessIgotalittlecaughtup.”Ishrug.“It’salottoslogthrough.”Closingthecoverandpushingit

asideasIadd,“Andmostofituseless.”

“Youdon’thavetopullanall-nighter,youknow.Youcantakeithomeifyouwant.”
I think about home, and the message Sabine left for me earlier, informing me of her plans to cook

dinnerforMunoz,makinghomeprettymuchthelastplaceIwanttobeatthispoint.

“Nothanks.”Ishakemyhead.“I’mdone.”RealizingImeanitineverypossibleway.
Forabookthatonceheldsuchpromise,allI’vereadsofararelocationspells,lovespells,anda

dubiouscureforwartswithinconclusiveresults—nothingaboutreversingtheeffectsofataintedelixir—
orhowtogetacertainsomeonetodivulgetheonlythingIreallyneedtoknow.

Nothingthatholdstheslightestbitofpromiseforme.
“CanIhelp?”heasks,readingthedefeatinmygaze.
Istarttoshakemyhead,knowinghecan’t.ButthenIthinkbetter.Maybehecan?
“Isshehere?”Istareathim,holdingmybreath.“Riley—isshearound?”
Helookstomyright,thenshakeshishead.“Sorry.”Heshrugs.“Haven’tseenhersince—”
Buteventhoughhisvoicefades,webothknowhowitends.Hehasn’tseenhersinceyesterday,just

beforeDamencaughtusembracingonthebeach—amomentIprefertoforget.

“Sohowexactlydoyouteachsomeoneto—youknow—seespirits?”
He looks at me for a moment, rubbing his chin as his eyes study mine. “I can’t necessarily teach

someone to see them.” He leans back in his seat, propping his bare foot on his knee. “Everybody’s
different—withdifferentgiftsandabilities.Somearenaturallyclairvoyant—abletosee,orclairaudient
—abletohear,orclairsentient—”

“Abletosense.”Inod,alreadyknowingwherethisisgoingandeagertogettothegoodstuff—the

juice—thepartthathelpsme.“Sowhatareyouthen?”

“Allthree.Oh,andclairscenttoo.”Hesmiles,aquickeasygrinthatpracticallylightsuptheroom

andmakesmystomachgoallweirdagain.“Youprobablyaretoo.AllofthoseImean.Thetrickistoget

yourvibrationraisedhighenough,thenI’msure—”Helooksatme,knowinghelostmeatvibrationand
adding,“Everythingisenergy,youknowthat,right?”

Thewordsbringingmebacktothatnightonthebeachjustafewweeksbefore,whenDamensaidthe

verysamething,aboutenergy,vibrations,allofit.RememberinghowIfeltthen,soafraidofconfiding
whatI’ddone.Naïveenoughtothinkthatwastheworstofmyproblems,thatitcouldn’tgetanyworse.

I gaze at Jude, his mouth still moving as he goes on and on, explaining energy, vibration, and the

abilityofthesoultoliveon.ButallIcanthinkaboutisthethreeofus,Damen,me,andhim—wondering
howwetrulydofit.

“Whatdoyouthinkofpastlives?”Iask,cuttinghimoff.“Youknow,reincarnation.Doyoubelieve

inthatstuff?Doyouthinkpeoplereallyhaveleftoverkarmatheyneedtoworkout,againandagainuntil
theygetitjustright?”Holdingmybreath,wonderinghowhe’llrespond,ifhehasanyrecollectionofus,
whoweoncewere.

“Whynot?”Heshrugs.“Karma’sprettymuchking.Besides,wasn’titEleanorRooseveltwhosaid

shedidn’tthinkitwouldbeanymoreunusualforhertoshowupinanotherlife,thantheoneshewasin
now?YouthinkI’mgonnaquasholdEleanor?”Helaughs.

Isitback,studyinghim,wishingheknewaboutourtangledpast.Iffornootherreasonthantogetit

alloutintheopen,putitrightthereonthetable,soIcouldreportbacktoDamenandprovethatit’sover.
Andfiguringmaybeit’smyjobtogettheballrolling,Itakeadeepbreathandsay,“Haveyoueverheard
ofsomeonenamedBastiaandeKool?”

Helooksatme,squinting.
“He was—Dutch—an artist—he painted—and—stuff—” I shake my head and look away, feeling

foolishforbringingitup.Imean,whatexactlyamIsupposedtofollowthatwith?Well,justsoyouknow,
Bastiaanwasyou,severalhundredyearsago—andthepersonyoupaintedwasme!

Seeinghimsittherebeforeme,lipsquirked,shoulderslifted,clearlyunawareofwhatI’mgettingat.

AndshortofescortinghimtoSummerlandandre-creatingthegallery,neitherofwhichI’mgoingtodo,
there’snowaytocontinue.I’lljusthavetositthisoneout.Waituntilmythreelonelymonthsareup.

Ishakemyhead,determinedtoputitbehindmeandgetdowntothebusinessathand.Lookingathim

andclearingmythroatwhenIsay,“So,howexactlydoesoneraisetheirvibration?”

Bythetimewe’redone,I’mnoclosertotalkingtodeadpeoplethanIwasbeforeIstarted.Atleast

not the dead person I’m actually interested in. Though plenty of other disincarnates made themselves
known,butIprettymuchblockedthemallout.

“Ittakespractice.”Helocksthefrontdoorandleadsmetomycar.“Isatinaweeklyspiritcirclefor

yearsbeforemypowersfullyreturned.”

“Ithoughtyouwerebornwithit?”Isquint.
“Iwas.”Henods.“Butafterblockingitoutforsolong,Ihadtoreallyworktodevelopitagain.”
Isigh,unabletoseemyselfjoiningaséancegroupandwishingtherewasaneasierway.
“Shevisitsyouinyourdreams,youknow.”
Irollmyeyes,rememberingthatonecrazydream,andknowingnowaywasthather.
Buthejustlooksatme,noddingwhenhesays.“Ofcourseshedoes.Theyalwaysdo.It’stheeasiest

waytogetthrough.”

Ilookathim,leaningagainstmycardoor,keyinhandasmyeyestravelhisface.KnowingIshould

go,saygoodnightandbeonmyway,butforsomereasonI’munabletomove.

“The subconscious mind takes over at night, freeing us of all the usual restrictions we put on

ourselves,allthethingsweblockout,tellingourselvesitcan’thappen,thatmysticalthingsaren’treally
possible,whenthetruthis,theuniverseismagical,andmysterious,andmuchgranderthanitseems,with

only the thinnest veil of energy separating us from them. I know it’s confusing with the way they
communicate in symbols—and to be honest, I’m not sure how much of that is us—the way we arrange
information—orthem,andtherestrictionsonjusthowmuchthey’reallowedtoshare.”

Itakeadeepbreath,mywholebodyshiveringthoughI’mnotreallycold.Spookedismorelikeit.

Spookedbyhiswords,hispresence,thewayhe’smakingmefeel.Butnotcold.Infact,notatall.

Wondering what Riley could’ve meant with the glass prison, the way I could see Damen, but he

couldn’t see me. Trying to view it as though it’s an assignment for English, like symbolism in a book.
WonderingifitmeansthatDamen’smisguided,can’tseewhat’sinfrontofhim?Andifso,whatdoesthat
mean?

“Just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist,” he says, his voice the only

soundinthisstillandquietnight.

Inod,feelinglikeIshouldknowthatbetterthananyoneasJudestandsbeforeme,goingonandon

aboutdimensions,theafterlife,andhowtime’sjustamade-upconceptthatdoesn’treallyexist,andIcan’t
helpbutwonderwhathe’ddoifIgavehimatreat.Justgrabbedhishand,closedmyeyes,andtookhimto
Summerlandtoshowhimjusthowdeepitreallygoes—

Hecatchesme,catchesmelooking.Mygazeroaminghissmoothdarkskin,goldendreadlocks,the

scar splicing his brow, until finally meeting those sea green eyes, so deep, so knowing, I quickly look
away.

“Ever—”hegroans,voicelow,thick,ashereachesforme.“Ever—I—”
ButIjustshakemyheadandturnaway,climbingintomycarandbackingoutofthespace.Glancing

intomyrearviewmirrortofindhimstillstandingthere,stilllookingafterme,hislongingdisplayedinhis
gaze.

Shakingmyheadandfocusingbackontheroad,tellingmyselfthatparticularpast,thethingsIonce

felt,havenothingtodowithmyfuture.

ChapterForty-One

OriginallythepartywassupposedtobeSaturday,butwithMilesleavingearlynextweek,andwith

somuchtodobetweennowandthen,wemovedittoThursday,thelastdayofschool.

AndeventhoughIknowbetter,eventhoughI’mfullyawarethatDamenisamanofhisword,I’m

stilldisappointedwhenIwalkintoEnglishandfindhe’snotthere.

I glance at Stacia, her eyes narrowing, lips smirking, extending her foot as I try to move past, as

Honorsitsbesideher,playingalongdespitethefactthatshecanbarelymeetmyeyes—notwiththesecret
weshare.

AndasItakemyseatandgazearoundtheroom,onethingisclear—everyonehasapartner,afriend,

someonetotalkto—everyonebutme.Havingspentthebetterpartoftheyearbefriendingsomeonewho
refusestoshow,hisseatbesidemine,woefullyempty.

Likeabigblockoficewherethesunusedtobe.
SoasMr.Robinsyammersonandonaboutstuffnoonereallycaresabout,includinghim,Idistract

myself by lowering my shield and aiming my quantum remote at all of my classmates, filling the room
withacacophonyofcolorandsound,rememberinghowmylifeusedtobe—mylifebeforeDamenwhenI
wasconstantlyoverwhelmed.

TuningintoMr.Robinswho’slookingforwardtothemomentthefinalbellringssohecanenjoya

nicelongsummerfreeofus,thenCraigwho’splanningtobreakupwithHonorbytheendofthedaysohe
canmakethemostofthenextthreemonths.AndovertoStaciawhostillhasnomemoryofherbrieftime
with Damen, though she’s definitely still into him. Having recently discovered where he surfs, she’s
planningtospendthesummerinarevolvingcollectionofbikinis,determinedtostartsenioryearonhis
arm.Andeventhoughitbugsmetoseethat,IforcemyselftoshrugitoffandmoveontoHonor,surprised
to see her agenda’s full—having nothing to do with Stacia or Craig—and everything to do with her
growinginterestinthecraft.

Inarrowmyfocus,tuningeveryoneoutinordertobetterseeher,curioustoknowwhat’sdrivingthis

sudden interest in magick, assuming it’s some harmless crush on Jude, and surprised to see it’s nothing
likethat.She’stiredofbeingtheshadowcastbythespotlight,theBthatfollowstheA.Tiredoflifeonthe
secondrung,andisplanningthedaywhenthetablesareturned.

Sheglancesoverhershoulderandlooksrightatme,eyesnarrowingasthoughsheknowswhatIsee

anddaresmetostopher.StillholdingthelookwhenStacianudgesherarm,looksatme,andmouthsthe
wordfreak.

Irollmyeyes,startingtoturnawaywhensheswingsherhairoverhershoulderandleanstoward

me,lookingmeoverwhenshesays,“So,whathappenedtoDamen?Didyourspellstopworking?Didhe
findoutyou’reawitch?”

I shake my head and lean back in my seat, legs crossed, hands folded on my desk, projecting a

pictureofabsolutecalmasIshootheralooksolonganddeepshecan’thelpbutsquirm.ConvincedI’m
theonlywitchintheroom,havingnoideathatherminionhasherownmagickcoupplanned.

Flicking my gaze back toward Honor, sensing her defiance, a newly summoned strength she never

exhibited before, our gaze holding, stretching, until I finally look away. Telling myself it’s none of my
business—I’venorighttointerfereintheirfriendship—norighttointrude.

ShuttingoutallthecolorandsoundasIglancedownatmydesk,doodlingafieldofredtulipsonto

mynotebook,havingseenmorethanenoughforoneday.

WhenIgettohistoryRomanisthere,loiteringjustoutsidethedoorashetalkswithsomeguyI’ve

never seen before. The two of them stopping the moment I approach, turning toward me to get a good
look.

IreachforthedoorjustasRomanblocksit,smilingwhenmyhandaccidentallyskimshiship,and

laughingevenharderwhenIcringeandpullaway.Hisdeepblueeyesmeetingminewhenhesays,“Have
youtwomet?”Henodstowardhisfriend.

Irollmyeyes,wantingonlytogettoclassandgetitoverwith,putthiswholemiserablejunioryear

behindmeandfullypreparedtoknockhimoutofmywayifIhaveto.

Histonguecluckinginsidehischeekwhenhesays,“Soun-friendly.Seriously,Ever,yourmanners

arelacking.Butfarbeitfrommetoforceit.Someotherdayperhaps.”

Henodsathisfriend,promptinghimtoleave,andI’mjustabouttobargeintoclasswhenIglimpse

somethingontheperiphery—thelackofanaura—thephysicalperfection—andI’msureifIlookedhard
enoughI’dfindanOuroborostattootoconfirmit.

“Whatareyouupto?”Isay,mygazeswitchingtoRoman.Wonderingifhisfriendisoneofthelong-

lostorphans,orsomeunfortunatesoulhe’smorerecentlyturned.

Seeing the smile that widens his cheeks when he says, “It’s all part of the riddle, Ever. The one

you’llbecalledupontosolveverysoon.Butfornow,whydon’tyoujustheadinsideandbrushupon
yourhistory.Trustme.”Helaughs,openingthedoorandwavingmein.“There’snoneedtohurry.Your
timewillcomesoon.”

ChapterForty-Two

Even though I told Sabine she could invite Munoz to the party, she’s smart enough to recognize a

halfheartedofferwhenshehearsit—soluckilyforus,theymadeotherplans.

IreadythehousewithallthingsItalian—plattersofspaghetti,pizza,cannelloni—balloonsthatare

red, white, and green—and a profusion of paintings—manifested replicas of Primavera and Birth of
VenusbyBotticelli,Titian’sVenusofUrbino,Michelangelo’sDoniTondo,aswellasalife-sizedstatue
of David out by the pool. All the while remembering the time Riley and I decorated the house for that
fateful Halloween party—the night I kissed Damen—the night I met Ava and Drina—the night that
changedeverything.

Pausing to glance around and take it all in before heading for the couch and assuming the lotus

position. Closing my eyes and concentrating on raising my vibration just like Jude taught me, missing
RileysomuchI’vecommittedtomyownséancecircle,determinedtopracticealittleeachdayuntilshe
appears.

Quietingmymindofalltheusualchatterandnoise,keepingmyselfopen,alerttoallthatsurrounds

me.Hopingforsomesortofshift,anunexplainedchill,awhisperofsound,somesortofsignaltoprove
thatshe’snear—butgettingonlyastreamofbossyghostswhoarenothinglikethesassy,twelve-year-old
sisterIseek.

And I’m just about to call it quits when a tremulous form starts to shimmer before me—leaning

forward,strainingtoseeit—whentwohigh-pitchedvoicessay,“What’reyoudoing?”

ThesecondIseethemIspringtomyfeet,knowinghebroughtthem,andhopingIcanstillcatchhim

beforeheleaves.

MyflighthaltedwhenRomyplacesherhandonmyarm,shakingherheadwhenshesays,“Wetook

theshuttleandwalkedtherestoftheway.I’msorry.Damen’snothere.”

Iglancebetweenthem,breathless,bereft,strugglingtocomposemyselfwhenIsay,“Oh.So,what’s

up?”Wonderingifthey’reherefortheparty,ifHavensomehowinvitedthem.

“We need to talk to you.” Romy and Rayne glance at each other before focusing on me. “There’s

somethingyouneedtoknow.”

Iswallowhard,eagerforthemtospillit,tellmejusthowunhappyandmiserableDamen’sbecome

—regrettinghisdecisiontoseparate—desperatelywantingmeback—

“It’saboutRoman,”Raynesays,eyeshardonmine,readingmyexpressionifnotmythoughts.“We

thinkhe’smakingothers—otherimmortalslikeyou.”

“Exceptnotreallylikeyou.”Romyadds.“Sinceyou’reniceandnotatallevillikehim.”

Rayneshrugsandlooksallaround,notquitewillingtoincludemeinthat.
“Does Damen know?” I glance between them, wanting to fill up the room with his name, shout it

overandoveragain.

“Yeah,buthewon’tdoanything.”Shesighs.“Saystheyhaveeveryrighttobeheresolongasthey

don’tposeathreat.”

“Anddothey?”Myeyesdartbetweenthem.“Poseathreat?”
Theylookateachother,communicatingintheirownsilenttwinspeakbeforeturningtome.“We’re

notsure.Rayne’sstartingtogetsomeofherfeelingback—andsometimesitseemslikemyvisionsmight
bereturning—but it’s prettyslow going—so wewere wondering if wecould maybe havea look at the
book.Youknow,theBookofShadows,theoneyoukeepatthestore.Wethinkitmighthelp.”

I look at them, eyes narrowed, suspicious, wondering if they’re truly concerned about Roman’s

minionsorjusttryingtoplaymeagainstDamentogetwhattheywant.Andyet,there’snodoubtit’strue.
Fromlastcount,therewerethreenewimmortalsintown,allconnectedtoRoman.Allpossiblyuptono
good.Thoughit’salsotruethey’vedonenothingtoprovethatsofar.

Butstill,notwantingthemtothinkI’matotalpushoverIsay,“AndDamen’sokaywiththis?”The

threeofuslookingateachother,thethreeofusknowinghe’snot.

Theyglanceateachotherinsilentcommunionbeforeturningtome.Raynetakingtheleadwhenshe

says,“Listen,weneedhelp.Damen’swayistooslow,andatthisrate,we’llbethirtybeforeourpowers
return,andI’mnotsurewhowantsthatless—usoryou?”SheshootsmealookandIshrug,makingno
movetorefuteitsincewebothknowit’strue.“Weneedsomethingthat’llwork,givequickerresults,and
wehavenowheretoturnbuttoyouandthebook.”

Iglancebetweenthem,thenlookatmywatch,wonderingifIcangettothestore,getthemthebook,

andmakeitbackintimefortheparty,which,consideringhowfastImove,andthattheparty’sstillhours
away,it’sclearthatIcan.

“Run, walk, whatever it takes.” Rayne nods, knowing it’s as good as done. “We’ll wait for you

here.”

Iheadforthegarage,atfirstthinkingarunwouldbenice,ifnothingelseitmakesmefeelstrongand

invincible and not quite so inadequate against the problems I face. But since it’s still light out, I drive
instead.ArrivingatthestoretofindJudelockingupearly,keystuckinthedoorashesays,“Aren’tyou
supposed to be throwing a party?” He squints, gaze moving over me, taking in my tee, shorts, and flip-
flops.

“Iforgotsomething.”Inod.“It’lljusttakeasec—so—goahead—noworries—Icanlockup.”
Hecockshishead,awarethatsomething’supbutstillopeningthedoorandwavingmein.Trailing

behind,rightonmyheels,watchingfromthedoorwayasIopenthedrawerandliftthesecretlatch.Just
abouttoretrievethebookwhenhesays,“You’renevergonnabelievewhocameintoday.”Iglanceathim
briefly,thenopenmybag,shovingthebookdeepinsidewhenheadds,“Ava.”

Ifreeze,eyesseekinghis.
“Tellme.”
Henods.
Iswallowhard,stomachlikeaPing-Pongball,bouncingfuriouslyasIfindmyvoiceagain.“What

didshewant?”

“Her job, I guess.” He shrugs. “She’s been freelancing—wants something more stable. Seemed

prettysurprisedwhenItoldherI’dhiredyouinstead.”

“Youtoldher?Aboutme?”
Heshiftsuncomfortably,fromonefoottothenext,lookingatmewhenhesays,“Well,yeah.Ifigured

sinceyouguyswerefriendsandall—”

“Andwhatdidshedo?Whenyoutoldher?Whatexactlydidshesay?”Heartbeatingovertime,eyes

neveronceleavinghis.

“Nothing,really.Thoughsheseemedprettysurprised.”
“SurprisedthatIwashere—orsurprisedthatyouhiredme?Whichsurprisedhermore?”
Hejuststandsthereandsquints,hardlytheanswerIneed.
“DidshementionanythingaboutDamen—orme—orRoman—orsayanythingelse?Anythingatall?

Youhavetotellmeeverything—leavenothingout—”

Hebacksintothehall,handsraisedinmocksurrender.“Trustme,thatwasprettymuchit.Shesplit

afterthat,sothere’snothingtotell.Nowcomeon,let’sgo.Youdon’twanttobelatetoyourownparty,
doyou?”

ChapterForty-Three

EventhoughJudeofferedtofollowmehomeandhelpsetthingsup,Ididn’twanthimtoknowI’d

gottenthebookforthetwins.SoImadeupsomebogusexcuseaboutneedingplasticcupsandaskedhim
tostopbythestoretogetsome,preferablyred,white,and/orgreen,thenIbrokethespeedlimitsallthe
wayhomewhereIhandedoverthegoods.

“First—somegroundrules,”Isay,holdingontothebookdespitetwosetsofhandsclamoringforit.

“Ican’tjustgivethistoyou,sinceitdoesn’tbelongtome.Andyoucan’ttakeithomesinceDamenwill
freak.Sotheonlywaytogetaroundallofthatisforyoutostudyithere.”

Theyglanceateachother,obviouslynotlikingitbutalloutofoptions.
“Haveyoureadit?”Romypeersatme.
Ishrug.“Itriedtointuitit,butIdidn’tgetmuch.It’smorelikeadiarythananythingelse.”
Rayne rolls her eyes and reaches for it again, as her sister says, “You need to look deeper, read

betweenthelines.”

Iglancebetweenthem,notunderstanding.
“You’reskimmingthesurface.Thebook’snotonlywrittenintheThebancode,thewordsthemselves

areacode.”

“It’sacodewithinacode,”Raynesays.“Protectedbyaspell.Didn’tJudetellyou?”
Ifreeze,glancingbetweenthem,thinkinghemostcertainlydidnot.
“Come, on, we’ll show you,” Romy says, her twin grabbing the book as we head up the stairs.

“We’llgiveyoualesson.”

Ileavethetwinsintheden,thetwoofthemstillhunchedoverthebook,asIheadformywalk-in

closet and reach for the box stashed up high on the shelf. Retrieving my assortment of crystals and
candles,oilsandherbs,allthestuffthat’sleftoverfromtheelixirsImadejustbeforethebluemoon,and
manifesting whatever’s left on the list, which turns out to be sandalwood incense, and an athame—a
double-edgedknifewithajewel-encrustedhandlemuchlikethedaggerDamenmade.

Getting it all laid out and organized before slipping out of my clothes and removing my amulet.

PlacingitonashelfnexttothemetallicclutchpurseSabinegavemeacouplemonthsback,knowingthe
deepVinthedressIplantowearoffersnoplacetohidetheassortmentofstones.Besides,aftertheritual
I’mplanningtodo,I’llnolongerneedit.

Nolongerneedanything.
ThankstoRomyandRayneI’vebeenhandedthekeyI’vesoughtallalong.Andallitrequiredwasa

passwordofsorts,thethreeofusformingacirclewiththebookinthecenter,handsclasped,eyesclosed,

eachofusrepeatingaversethatwent:

Withintheworldofmagick—residesthisverytome

Towhichwearethechosen—returningtoourhome

Withintherealmofmystics—weshallnowreside

Allowedtoglimpseuponthisbook—andseewhatliesinside

The two of them beside me as I pressed my palm to its front, simultaneously frightened and

fascinatedwhenthebookopenedinaflurryofpagesuntilrestingonjusttherightone.

Ikneltdownbeforeit,hardlybelievingmyeyes.Whatwasonceaseriesofconvoluted,hard-to-read

codehadbecomeasimplerecipestatingjustwhatIneedtogetthejobdone.

IdropmydirtyclothesinthehamperandreachforthewhitesilkrobeIrarelywearbutthat’llbe

perfect for the ritual. Carrying it into the bathroom where I fill up the tub for a nice long soak, which,
according to the book, is the first important step in any ritual. Not only for cleansing the body and
releasingthemindofalldistractingnegativityandthought,butalsoallowingtimetoreflectonthespell’s
intent,theoutcomeonewishestosee.

Ilowermyselfinthewater,sprinklingadashofsageandmugwortandaddingaclearquartzcrystal

stonetoaidinmyquestandcentermyvision,closingmyeyesasIchant:

Cleanseandreclaimthisbodyofmine

Sothatmymagickmayproperlybind

Myspiritreborn,nowreadyforflight

Allowingmymagicktotakeholdtonight

AllthewhilevisualizingRomanbeforeme,tall,tanned,andgolden-haired,deepblueeyesgazing

into mine as he apologizes for the terrible inconvenience he’s caused, begging forgiveness and offering
aid,willinglyhandingovertheantidotetotheantidote,newlyenlightenedtotheerrorofhisways.

Replaying the vision again and again until my skin’s gone all pruney and it’s time to move on.

Steppingoutofthebathandintomyrobe,cleansedandpurifiedandreadytoproceedasIassemblemy
toolsandlighttheincense,passingtheknifethroughthesmokethreetimes,asIsay:

IcalluponAirtocastoutanydarkenergiesfromthisathame

Allowingonlythelighttoremain

IcalluponFiretoblazeawayallnegativityfromthisathame

Allowingonlythegoodtoremain

Repeatingtheversefortherestoftheelements,callinguponWaterandEarth,tocastoutalldarkand

leaveonlylight,concludingtheconsecrationbysprinklingsaltovertheknifeandcallinguponthehighest
ofmagicalpowerstoseethatit’sdone.

CleansingandconsecratingtheroomasIwalkthreetimesaroundit,wavingmyincenseasIsay:

Iwalkthiscirclethricearound

Toconsecrateandempowerthisground

Evokingthepowerandprotectionofthee

Drawingtheirmagicalpowerstome

Forming a magick circle by sprinkling salt onto the floor, not unlike Rayne did with Damen just a

fewweeksbefore.TakingmyplaceinthecenterandenvisioningaconeofpowerrisingaroundmeasI
arrangemycrystals,lightmycandles,andanointmyselfwithoil,callingupontheelementsofFireand
Airtoaidinmyspell,thenclosingmyeyesuntilawhitesilkcordandareplicaofRomanmanifestsright
beforeme.

Whereyougomyspellwillfollow

Whereyouhidemyspellwillfind

Whereyourestmyspellwilllie

Withthiscordyouractionscease

Withmybloodyourknowledgereleased

WiththisspellIbindtheetome

Raisingmyathameandslicingitacrossmypalm,tracingthecurveofmylifelineasarushofwind

sweepsthroughthecircleandanapplauseofthunderclapsoverhead.MyhairwhippingaboutasIsquint
against the swirling gale, my blood letting onto the cord until it’s soaked and red. Rushing to secure it
aroundRoman’sneck,mygazefixedonhis,willinghimtoprovidewhatIseek,beforebanishinghimas
thoughheneverappeared.

Irise,bodyshaking,sweating,elatedtoknowthatit’soveranddone.Justamatteroftimebeforethe

antidotetotheantidoteisinmypossessionandDamenandIjoinasone.

The wind begins to slow as the snap crackle of electricity starts to abate, and I’m collecting the

stonesandsnuffingthecandleswhenRomyandRayneburstthroughthedoor,mouthsopen,eyeswide,as
theystandthereandgape.

“What have you done?” Rayne cries, gaze darting from my magick salt circle, to my collection of

tools,tomyblood-coveredknife.

Ilookatthem,gazesteadyandsecure,asIsay,“Relax.It’sover.Ifixedit.Andnowit’sjustamatter

oftimebeforeeverythingisputrightagain.”

AbouttostepoutofthecirclewhenRomyshouts,“Stop!”
Handheldbeforeher,eyesblazingashersisteradds,“Don’tmove.Please,justtrustusthistimeand

dowhatwesay.”

Ipause,glancingbetweenthem,wonderingwhatcouldpossiblybethebigdeal.Thespellworked.I

canfeelitsenergystillthrumminginsideme,andnowit’sjustamatteroftimeuntilRomanappears—

“You’vereallydoneitthistime,”Raynesays,shakingherhead.“Don’tyouknowthatthemoonis

dark? You’re never supposed to do magick on the dark moon—never! It’s a time for contemplation,
meditation,butyounever,ever,practiceunlessyou’repracticingthedarkarts.”

Iglancebetweenthem,wonderingifshe’sserious,andifso,whatdifferenceitcouldpossiblymake.

Ifthespellworked,itworked.Therestisjustdetails.Right?

Hertwinchimingintoadd,“Whodidyoucallupontoaidyou?”
Ithinkbackonmyrhyme,theoneIwasprettyproudofformakinguponthefly,recallingtheline:

Evokingthepowerandprotectionofthee,andrepeatingittoher.

“Great,”Raynesays,closinghereyesandshakingherhead.
Romystandingbesideher,frowningassheadds,“Duringthedarkmoon,thegoddessisabsentwhile

thequeenoftheunderworldtakesover.Soinotherwords,insteadofcallinguponthelighttoworkyour
spell,youaskedthedarkpowerstoaidyou.”

AndtobindRomantome!Igape,eyeswide,dartingbetweenthetwoofthem,wonderingifthere’s

awaytoreverseit,quickly,easily,beforeit’stoolate!

“Itistoolate,”theysay,readingmyface.“Allyoucandonowiswaitforthenextmoonphaseand

trytoreverseit.Ifitcanbereversed.”

“But—”Theworddyingonmylipsastheenormityofmysituationstartstosinkin.Remembering

Damen’s warning from before, how sometimes when people get involved in witchcraft they get in over
theirheadandwinduptakingamuchdarkerpath...

Igazeatthetwoofthem,unabletospeak.WatchingRayneshakeherheadangrilyashersisterlooks

atmeandsays,“Allyoucandonowiscleanseyourselfandyourtools,burnyourathame,andhopefor
thebest.Andthen,ifyou’relucky,we’llletyououtofthecirclesoallthebadenergyyou’veconjured
can’tescape.”

“IfI’mlucky?”Ilookatthem,stomachsinking.Issheserious?Isitreallythatbad?
GazedartingbetweenthemasRomysays,“Don’tpushit.You’venoideawhatyou’vestarted.”

ChapterForty-Four

MilesandHoltarrivetogether,andwhentheytakeonelookatthedecorations,Milestotallyflips.
“Idon’tevenhavetogotoFlorencenowthatyou’vebroughtFlorencetome!”Hehugsmetohim,

quicklypullingawaywhenhesays,“Sorry,Iforgothowyouhatetobetouched.”

But I just shake my head and hug him again, feeling pretty good despite Romy and Rayne standing

beforemeliketheGreatWallofPessimism—allraisedbrows,foldedarms,andtwistedlips—whileI
performed a quick but thorough grounding/protection meditation, picturing strong beams of white light
penetratingmyskullandflowingthroughmybody,inanattempttowardoffatleastsomeofthedamage
they’reconvincedthatI’vedone.

But the truth is, I don’t see the point. After the initial burst of empowerment, just after the binding

spellwascompleted,everythingreturnedtonormalagain.TheonlyreasonIevenwentthroughwiththeir
guided meditation is because they were acting so freaked, it was the only way to calm them down. But
nowI’mthinkingitwasalljustabigmisunderstanding—acompleteoverreactionontheirpart.

I mean, I’m immortal, gifted with strength and power they can’t even begin to imagine. So while

performingamagicalritualduringthedarkmoonmayposedangertothem,Iseriouslydoubtitmakesthe
slightestbitofdifferenceforme.

AndnosoonerhaveIgottenMilesandHolttheirdrinkswhenthebellringsagain,andagain,and

beforeIknowit,myhouseisfilledwithprettymucheverymemberfromtheHairspraycastandcrew.

“Huh,guesshe’snotHaven’sdateafterall,unlessthey’rearrivingseparately?”Milessays,nodding

toward Jude as he enters the room laughing that good-natured laugh and helping himself to some virgin
sangria,beforetakingoffwithHoltandleavingusalonetogether.

“Nicesend-off.”Judenods,gazingaround.“Makesmewanttogosomewheretoo.”
I look at him, smiling vaguely, wondering if he notices anything different about me, a change of

energy,anewsenseofempowerment—

Buthejustsmiles,raisinghiscupashesays,“Paris.”Hetakesasipandnods.“I’vealwayswanted

togotoParis.LondonandAmsterdamtoo.”Heshrugs.“PrettymuchanyofthegreatEuropeancities
woulddo.”

Iswallowhardandtrynottogape.Wonderingifhesomehowknows—ifit’sburieddeepwithinhis

subconscious,tryingtosurface.Imean,whyelsewouldhelistallthesignificantplacesofourpast?

Helooksatme,greeneyesonmine,holdingthemomentsolongIclearmythroatandsay,“Huh.And

hereIhadyoupeggedastheeco-adventuretype.Youknow,CostaRica,Hawaii,Galapagos—seekerof
the perfect wave and all that.” Knowing that laugh at the end did nothing to hide my sudden bout of

nervousness,justabouttofollowwithsomethingequallydumbwhenhelookspastmyshoulderandsays,
“Incoming.”

I turn to find Haven, practically dwarfed by the tall, lithe, beautiful girl from the store where she

works,ononeside,andRomanontheother,whiletheimmortalfromthehalltodayatschoolwalksjust
behind them. Three gorgeous, auraless, and pretty much soulless, immortal rogues Haven inadvertently
invitedintomyhome.

I swallow hard, eyes narrowed on Roman, fingers at my throat, seeking the amulet I chose not to

wear,andremindingmyselfthatInolongerneedit.I’minchargenow.Isummonedhimhere.

“Figured you’d have plenty of room and food.” Haven smiles, hair newly dyed to the darkest of

brownswithaplatinumstreakthatcurvesdownthefront,havingditchedherusualemolookforonethat’s
evenedgieryetvintage—likeapostapocalypticvintageifthereissuchathing.Andallittakesisone
lookatthedarkbeautybesideher,herspikyhair,multi-piercedlobes,delicatelace-corseteddresspaired
withblackleatherboots,toknowwhospawnedthislatestmakeoverofhers.

“I’mMisa.”Thegirlsmiles,voicebetrayingthefaintesttraceofanaccentthat’sunrecognizableto

me.HerhandreachingformineasIbraceforthechill,thefamiliarjoltoficewaterswarmingmyveins
confirmingmysuspicion,thoughfailingtotellmeifshe’soneoftheorphans,ormorerecentlyturned.

“AndofcourseyouknowRoman.”Havensmiles,liftingherhandsoIcanseeitentwinedwithhis.
ButIrefusetoreact.Refusetogiveanythingaway.Ijustnodandsmile,asthoughitdoesn’tbother

meatall.

Becauseitdoesn’t.
It’sjustamatteroftimenow’tilRoman’shandingoverthecureanddoingmybidding.That’sthe

onlyreasonhe’shere.

“Oh,andthisisRafe.”Shenods,jabbingherfingertowardthegloriousroguejustbehindher.
Same group of rogues the twins were talking about, minus Marco, the one with the Jaguar who

doesn’t seem to be here. And even though I’ve no idea what they’re up to, what their agenda could
possiblybe,ifthey’rehangingwithRoman,thetwinshaveeveryrighttobeworried.

Haven heads for the den, eager to introduce Misa and Rafe to her friends, as Roman lags behind,

grinningatme.

“I’dalmostforgottenhowgoodyoucanlookwhenyouputalittleeffortbehindit.”Hesmiles,gaze

glidingovermyturquoisebluedress,hoveringatthedeepVoftheneck,theexpanseofbareskinwhere
myamuletshouldbe.“Guessthismustbethereason,”henods,motioningtowardJude.“Sinceweknowit
wasn’tforme,andDamendoesn’tseemtobearoundmuchthesedays,doeshe?Whathappened,Ever?
Youforfeityourquest?”

I swallow hard and steady my gaze, taking in the tousled hair, designer board shorts, leather flip-

flops,andlong-sleevedtee,nothingabouthimappearingtheslightestbitdifferent,andyetwebothknow
itis.Thatgleaminhiseye,hislasciviousgaze,hisattempttoembarrassme—it’salljustafront,abitof
bravado,tryingtosavefacebeforehehandsoverthegoods.

“So,youpouring?”Henodstowardthepunchbowlfilledwithnonalcoholicsangria.“Oristhisa

help-yourselfsituation?”Eyeingthebowlinawaythatsetsmeonedge.

“Idon’tthinkyou’dlikeit.”Ishrug,gazefixedonhiswhenIadd,“Notyourkindofdrink.”
“GoodthingIbroughtmyown.”Hewinks,raisinghisglassbottleandstoppingjustshyofhislips,

tiltingittowardJudewhenhesays,“Wannatry?Takestheedgeoff.Guaranteeyouthat.”

Judesquints,entrancedbythesparking,pearlescentliquidRomanjigglesbeforehim.AndI’mjust

abouttointervenewhenRomyandRaynebarreldownthestairs,haltingwhentheireyesmeetRoman’s,
knowingI’mresponsibleforhisbeinghere.

“Well,ifitisn’ttheCatholicschooltwins.”Romansmiles,cheeksspreadwideashetakesthemin.

“Lovethenewlook!Especiallyyou—youlittlepunkgoddess.”HenodsatRayne,promptinghertoturn
awayashetakesinhershortdress,rippedstockings,andblackpatent-leatherMaryJaneshoes.

“Gobackupstairs,”Itellthem,wantingtogetthemasfarfromRomanasIpossiblycan.“AndI’ll

—”

AbouttosaythatI’llbethereinaminute,whenJudestepsin,nudgingmyarmwhenhesays,“Why

don’tItakethemhome?”

AndeventhoughI’mnotthrilledwiththeideaofhimgoingtoDamen’s,surethatDamenwilllikeit

evenless,there’sreallynothingelseIcando.AslongasRoman’sinmyhouse,I’mprettymuchstuckhere
too.

Ifollowthemtothedoor,Raynetuggingmysleeve,pullingmedowntoherlevelwhenshesays,“I

don’tknowwhatyou’vedone,butsomethingverybadisbrewing.”

Ilookather,abouttorefuteit,tellherit’snothinglikethat,it’sallundercontrol,butshejustshakes

herheadandadds,“Changesarecoming.Bigchanges.Andthistime,youbetterchooseright.”

ChapterForty-Five

BythetimeJudereturnsI’moutbythepool,watchingtheblond,tanned,physicallyglorious,golden-

boyRomansplashingaroundandinvitingeveryonetojumpinandjoinhim.

“Notafan?”Judesays,sittingbesidemeandeyeingmeclosely.
Ifrown,watchingHaven’sauralightupliketheFourthofJuly,glowingbrighterandbrighterasshe

clingstohisbackashedipsunderwater,havingnoideathatheisn’treallyherdatelikeshethinks.I’mthe
onewhobroughthimhere.He’sboundtomenow.

“Isitconcernforyourfriend,or—somethingelse?”
Ifidgetwiththecrystalhorseshoebraceletonmywrist,theoneDamengavemethatdayatthetrack,

turning it around and around, as I narrow my eyes. Wondering what’s taking so long. If the spell truly
worked(andIknowitdid),thenwhydon’tIhavetheantidotenow?Whyishedelaying?

“So,thetwins—theyokay?”Iask,tearingmygazeawayfromthepoolandfocusingonJude.
Myeyesmeetinghiswhenhesays,“Damenmight’vebeenrightaboutthebookbeingtoostrongfor

them.”

Ipressmylipstogether,hopingDamendoesn’tknowIwentbehindhisbackandinterferedwithhis

lessonplan.

“Noworries.”Judenods,readingmyface.“Yoursecret’ssafe.Ididn’tevenmentionit.”
I sigh in relief. “Did you see him—Damen?” I ask, throat tightening, heart clenching, the mere

mentionofhisnameturningmyinsidestomush,imagininghowhemust’vefelttofindhisnemesisofthe
past several lives, the very same guy I embraced on the beach, standing on his front porch, Romy and
Rayneathisside.

“HewasoutwhenIgotthere,andthetwinsweresofreakedIwaited’tilhegotback.That’ssome

placehe’sgot.”

I press my lips together, wondering what he saw, if the twins gave him a tour, if Damen’s special

roomisrestored.

“I think he was surprised to find me watching TV in his den, but once I explained, it went fairly

well.”

“Fairly?”Iraisemybrow.
Heshrugs,lookingatme,gazesodirect,soopen,it’slikealover’sembrace.
Promptingmetoturnaway,voiceshaky,unsteadywhenIsay,“Sohowdidyouexplainit?”
Hiscoolbreathonmycheekasheleansinandwhispers,“ItoldhimIfoundthemattheshuttlestop

anddecidedtogivethemaride.Noharmdone,right?”

ItakeadeepbreathandfocusonRoman,watchingashehoistsHavenontohisshoulderssoshecan

dogfight with Miles. Splashing and playing, and, on the surface anyway, engaging in nothing but good
clean fun—until Roman turns, and time seems to stop. His eyes meeting mine, gleaming, mocking, as
thoughheknowswhatI’vedone.AndbeforeIcanblinkhe’sbacktoplayingagain,makingmequestionif
IreallydidseewhatIthought.

“No. No harm done,” I say, a terrible ache invading my gut, wondering just what it is that I’ve

started.

ChapterForty-Six

AfterMiles’sthirdfailedattempttogetmetodivein,hefinallygetsout,movingtowardmeashe

says,“Hey,whatgives?Iknowyougotyourbikinion—Icanseethestraps!”Laughingwhenhepullsme
offtheloungechairandhugsmetightlytohim,whispering,“HaveIevertoldyouhowmuchIloveyou,
Ever?HaveI?Ever,Ever?”

I shake my head and pull away, glancing at Holt just behind him, rolling his eyes and tugging on

Miles’sarm,tryingtoconvincehimtoleavemealoneandquitdrippingonme.

ButMileswon’thaveit,he’sgotsomethingtosayandwon’tstop’tilit’sdone.Throwingawetarm

aroundmyshoulderasheleansallovermeandslurs,“I’mshloshlerious,Ever.Beforeyoucametothis
school—itwasjustmeandHaven.Butthen—fromthemomentyoushlowedupatourtable—itbecame
me and Haven and you.” He looks at me, head bobbing, struggling to focus, as he grips me tighter and
fightstokeephisbalance.

“Wow—that’sreally—deep.”IglanceatHolt,thetwoofusstiflingalaughasweeachwrapanarm

aroundMilesandleadhimintothekitchenforsomecoffee.Gettinghimsettledatthebreakfastbarjustas
Havenandherthreeimmortalfriendscomein.

“Youguysleaving?”Isquint,seeingthey’rebackintheirclothes,wettowelsintheirhands.
Havennods.“MisaandRafehavetoworktomorrow,andRomanandIhaveanappointment.”
IlookatRoman,holdinghisgaze.Howcanhebeleavingwhenhehasn’tgivenmewhatIwant?

Hasn’tevenbeguntogrovel,beg,andaskmyforgivenesslikeIvisualized?

Howcanhebeleavingwhenitgoesagainstmyplan?
I follow them to the door, heart racing as I take in the tilt of his chin, the gleam in his gaze, and I

knowit’snotgood.Something’sgonewrong.Terriblywrong.EventhoughIcastthespellexactlylikethe
booksaid,fromthelookinhiseyes,andthecurlofhislips,it’sclearthegoddessandqueenhaveboth
failedme.

“Whereareyougoing?”Isquint,tryingtopeerintohisenergybutnotgettinganywhere.
Havenlooksatme,browraised,smileonherfaceasRomanthrowshisarmaroundhershoulderand

says,“Privateparty.Butthere’sroomforyou,Ever.Maybeyoucanstopbyalittlelater,youknow,when
you’redonehere.”

Myeyesmeethis,holdinghisgazeuntilIbreakawayandfocusonHavenagain.AndeventhoughI

promisedIwouldn’tdoit,Ipeerrightthroughherauraandintohermind,eagertoseewhat’slurkingin
there, what’s really going on, but not getting very far before I’m stopped, run up against a brick wall
someone’splacedinmypath.

“Youallright?”Romanasks,squintingatme,asheopensthedoor.“Youlookalittle—peaked.”
Itakeadeepbreathandnarrowmygaze,abouttosaysomethingmorewhenJudecomesupandsays,

“Someonejusthurledontherug.”

And even though my attention’s only pulled for a moment, it’s still long enough for them to exit.

Romanglancingoverhisshoulder,lookingatmewhenhesays,“Sorrytobailonyou,Ever.ThoughI’m
surewe’llmeetlater.”

ChapterForty-Seven

IwasexpectingittobeMiles,butitturnsouthe’sfine.Helpingtomopupthemessashesmilesand

says,“Andthat’swhatyoucallacting.VivaFirenze!”Hepumpshisfistintheair.

“Soreally,you’refine?”Ihandhimacleantowel,feelingbadformakinghimgothroughthemotions

whenassoonaseveryoneleaves,I’lljustmakeitvanishandmanifestanewone.“You’renotdrunk?”

“Notatall!Butthepointis,youthoughtIwas.”
Ishrug.“Theslurring,thelossofbalance—allthesignswerepresentandaccountedfor.”
He rolls up the towel, about to hand it to me when Jude appears by my side and takes it instead.

“Laundry?”heasks,browraised.

ButIjustshakemyheadandpointtowardthetrash,lookingatMilesasIask,“Sowhodidit,who

broughtthebooze?”

“Oh, no.” He shakes his head and holds up his hands. “I’m sorry to break it to you, Ever, but this

littleget-togetheryouorganized,isalsowhat’sknownasaparty.Andevenifyoudon’tserveit,it’llstill
finditswayin.You’llgetnoinformationfromme.”Heclampshislipsshut,pullingtheimaginaryzipper
thatsealsthem,beforeadding,“Isayyoujustditchthisoldthing.”Hepointsattherug.“Seriously,I’ll
helprollitup.AllwehavetodoismovethefurniturearoundandSabinewon’tevennoticeit’sgone.”

But I just shake my head, this vomit-covered rug is the least of my concerns now that Roman’s no

longerplayingalong.TakingHavenonsomemysteriousappointmentIcan’tseemtocrack,andwhatwas
thatbitaboutusmeetinguplater?Wasthatareferencetothebindingspell—or—somethingelse?

Milesleansintohugme,gatheringmeintohisarmsandgivingmeareallytightsqueezewhenhe

says,“Thanksfortheparty,Ever.AndeventhoughIdon’tknowwhat’sgoingonbetweenyouandDamen,
IhaveonethingtosayandIhopeyou’lllistenandtakemeseriously.Ready?”Hequirkshisbrowand
pullsaway.

Ishrug.Mymindpreoccupied,insomeotherplace.
“Youdeservetobehappy.”Henods,gazeintense,focusedonmine.“AndifJudemakesyouhappy,

thenyoushouldn’tfeelbadaboutthat.”Hewaits,waitsformetorespondinsomeway,butwhenIdon’t
headds,“Party’sprettymuchoveroncesomeonehurls,right?Sowe’regonnabolt.Butwe’llgettogether
beforeFlorence,okay?”

Inod,watchingasheandhisfriendsallheadforthedoor,calling,“Hey,Miles,didHavenorRoman

mentionwherethey’regoing?”

Mileslooksatme,browsmergedwhenhesays,“Fortune-teller.”
Isquint,stomachsinkingthoughI’venoideawhy.

“Remembertheotherdaywhenshewantedtobookone?”
Inod.
“ShementionedittoRomanandhearrangedaprivatereading.”
“This—late?”IlooktomywristtoconfirmthetimethoughI’mnotwearingmywatch.
ButMilesjustshrugsandheadsforthecar,makingmewonderifIshouldheadouttoo.Trytocatch

upwithRomanandHavenandmakesureshe’sokay.ButwhenItrytotuneintoherenergyagain,Idon’t
getveryfar.Infact,Idon’tgetanythingatall.

AbouttotryagainwhenJudecomesupandsays,“Youreallyneedtoditchthatrug.Smellsawful.”
Inod,distracted,unsurewhattodo.
“Youknowwhathelps?”
“Coffeegrounds,”Imumble,rememberinghowmymomuseditoncewhenButtercupatesomething

badandgotsickinRiley’sroom.

“Well,yeah,that,butIwasthinkingmorelikegettingawayfromthestench.Alwaysworksforme.”
Ilookathim,hisfacelightingintoasmile.
“Seriously.”Heslipshisarmthroughmineandleadsmeoutside.“What’sthepointofgoingtoall

that trouble, going all out with the decorations and food, doing all that you can for your friend’s going-
away pool party, when you spend the entire night on the sidelines, watching, observing, but not once
divingin?”

Ilookaway.“ThepartywasforMiles,notme.”
“Still.”Judeshakeshishead,gazingatmeinawaythatsendsafloodofcalmthroughmysystem.

“You’relookingalittlestressed,andyouknowwhatkillsstress,don’tyou?”Iglanceathim,seeinghim
smilewhenhesays,“Bubbles.”

“Bubbles?”
Hepointsatthespa.“Bubbles.”Faceserious,gazefixedonmine.
ItakeadeepbreathandlookattheJacuzzi,warm,welcoming,andyes,bubblingtoo.Watchingas

Judegrabssometowelsandsetsthembytheedge,andfiguringI’vegotnothingtolose,thatitjustmight
helpclearmyheadenoughtocomeupwithanewplan,Iturnmybackandyankoffmydress.Asillybout
ofmodestysinceI’llbehalfnakedsoon,butstill,facinghimwouldfeeltoomuchlikeundressing.

Toomuchlikethegirlinthepainting.
Heheadsfortheedgeanddipsatoein,eyesgoingwideinsuchawaythatIcan’thelpbutlaugh.
“Yousureaboutthis?”IwrapmyarmsaroundmywaistlikeI’mcold,whenreallyI’mjusttryingto

fendoffhisgaze.Seeingthewayhisaurasparksandflamesashetakesmein,thewayhischeeksflush
whenhequicklylooksaway.

“Definitely.”Henods,voicethick,rough,watchingasIstepintotheJacuzzi,atfirstwincingagainst

thehotwaterthenslowlyeasingin.Immersedinheatandbubbles,thinkingthismaybemysmartestmove
yet.

I close my eyes and lean back, muscles loosening, relaxing, when Jude says, “Got room for one

more?”

Isquint,watchingasheremoveshisshirt,takinginhisexpanseofchest,definedabs,trunksthathang

lowonhiships,makingmywaybackuppasthisdimplesandallthewaytohiseyes,twoaquapoolsI’ve
known through the years. Watching as he moves forward, just about to step in when he remembers his
phoneinhispocketanddropsitontothetowel.

“Whosedecisionwasthis?”Helaughs,cringingagainstthesteamandheatashesitsdownbeside

me and stretches his legs, his foot accidentally landing on mine and letting it rest for a moment before
pullingaway.“Yeah,thisisthelife,”hesays,tiltinghisheadbackandclosinghiseyes,thenpeekingat

mewhenheadds,“Pleasetellmeyouusethisallthetime,thatyoudon’tjustforgetit’shere’tilsomeone
coaxesyouin.”

“Isthatwhat’shappening?I’mbeingcoaxed?”
He smiles, that relaxed, easy grin lifting his face and lighting his eyes. “Seems like you needed a

littleconvincing.Idon’tknowifyou’venoticed,butyoucanbealittleintense.”

Iswallowhard,wantingtolookaway,lookanywherebutathim,butunabletoleavehisgaze.
“Notthatthere’sanythingwrongwiththat—beingintensethatis—”
Hisgazedeepens,boringintomine,luringmecloserlikeafishonhisline,hisfaceloomingsonear

Iclosemyeyestomeetit.Tiredoffighting,tiredofrepeatedlypushinghimaway.Assuringmyselfit’s
onlyakiss.Jude’skiss.Bastiaan’skiss.Hopingit’lltellme,onceandforall,ifDamen’sfearsareinany
wayreal.

Hiswaveofcalmenergycomforting,tempering,ashislipspartandhishandfindsmyknee,leaning

towardeachother,mouthsabouttomergewhenhisringingphonebreaksourtrance.

Hepullsaway,annoyancestampedonhisface.“ShouldIgetit?”
“I’moffduty.”Ishrug.“You’repsychic,youtellme.”
Hestands,turningtowardhistowelasItakeinhisform,thesquaredshoulders,thesharpVofhis

waist, stopping when I catch a glimpse of something at the small of his back. Something round, dark,
barelydiscernible,butstill—

Heturns,facingmeagain,browsmerged,handoverhisotherear,whenhesays,“Hello?”andthen,

“Who?”

Smilingatmeandshakinghishead,butit’stoolate.
I’veseenit.
Theunmistakableshapeofasnakeeatingitsowntail.
TheOuroboros.
The mythical symbol claimed by Roman’s tribe of immortal rogues, tattooed right on the small of

Jude’sback.

I reach for my amulet, fingers fumbling but finding only skin. Wondering if this is somehow

connectedtomyspellgonebad,ifRomanhassomehowarrangedthis.

“Ever?Yeah,she’shere—”Helooksatme,makingafaceasheadds,“O-kay...”
Helooksatme,armextended,tryingtopassonthephone.
ButIjustignoreit,movingoutoftheJacuzzisofastheshakeshisheadandblinks.
Grabbingmydressandyankingitovermyhead,feelingitdampenandclingtomyskin,asmyeyes

blazeonhis,wonderingwhatthehellhe’supto.

“It’sforyou,”hesays,climbingoutofthespaandtryingtopassitagain.
“Whoisit?”Iask,voicebarelyawhisper.Mentallyrecitingthelistofallsevenchakrasandtheir

correspondingweaknesses,andtryingtodeterminehis.

“It’sAva.Sayssheneedstospeaktoyou.Youokay?”Hesquints,headcockedtotheside,concern

cloudinghisface.

Istepback,unsureofwhat’shappeningbutknowingit’salongwayfromgood.Goingstraightpast

hisauraandtryingtopeerintohismind,butnotgettingmuchofanythingthankstotheshieldthathebuilt.

“How’dshegetyournumber?”Iask,gazefixedonhis.
“Sheusedtoworkforme—remember?”Heshrugs,handsintheair.“Ever—seriously—what’sthis

about?”

Ilookathim,heartracing,handsshaking,assuringmyselfIcouldtakehimifitcomestothat.“Set

thephonedown.”

“What?”
“Set it down. Right there,” I point to a lounge chair, my gaze never once leaving his. “Then walk

awayquickly;don’tcomeanywherenear.”

HeshootsmealookbutdoesasIsay.BackingtowardthespaasIpickupthephone,stillholding

hisgaze.

“Ever?” The voice is clipped, urgent, and definitely belongs to Ava. “Ever, I need you to listen,

there’s no time to explain.” I stand there, numb, shell-shocked, still staring at Jude as she says,
“Something’shappenedtoHaven—she’sintrouble—barelybreathing—we’re—we’regonnaloseherif
youdon’tgettoRoman’srightaway.”

Ishakemyhead,tryingtomakesenseofit.“What’reyoutalkingabout?What’sgoingon?”
“Ijustneedyoutogethere—now—hurry—beforeit’stoolate!”
“Call nine-one-one!” I shout, hearing a muffled sound, a struggle of sorts, then Roman’s smooth

voicemovesin.

“There’llbenoneofthat,luv,”hepurrs.“Nowbeagoodsportandgetoverherequick.Yourfriend

wantedtoseeafortune-teller,andnow,unfortunately,herfuture’snotlookingsobright.She’shangingby
athread,Ever.Athread,Itellyou.Sodotherightthingandcomeover.Seemsit’stimeforyoutosolve
theriddle.”

Idropthephoneandmakeforthegate,Judefollowingbehind,beggingmetoexplain.Andwhenhe

makes the mistake of grabbing my shoulder, I turn and smack him so hard he flies through the yard and
crashesintotheloungechairs.

Gaping at me in a tangle of limbs and outdoor furniture, struggling to stand as I glance over my

shoulderandsay,“Grabyourstuffandgetoutofhere.Idon’twanttoseeyouwhenIreturn.”

Plungingthroughthegateandbreakingintoarun,hopingIcanreachHavenbeforeit’stoolate.

ChapterForty-Eight

Irun.
Past cars, houses, stray dogs and cats. Legs moving, muscles pumping, carrying me forward with

hardlyathought.Mybodymovinglikeawell-oiledmachinewithshinynewparts.Andeventhoughit’s
onlyseconds,itfeelslikehours.

HourssinceIlastsawHaven.
Hours’tilI’llseeheragain.
AndthesecondIgetthereIseehim.ArrivingatthesametimeasIdo.
The mere sight of him causing everything to fade—of no possible consequence now that he’s

standingbeforeme.

Myheartcavingasmymouthgoesdry,overcomewithsuchlonging,Ican’tevenspeak—gazingupon

mysweet,wonderfulDamen—moregloriousthaneverundertheglowofthestreet-lights.Thesoundof
mynameonhislips,socharged,soloaded,it’sclearhefeelsthesame.

Imovetowardhim,pent-upemotionsrisingtothesurface,bubblingover,I’vesomuchtotellhim,

so much to say. The words fading the second we meet and my body’s overtaken by tingle and heat—
wantingonlytomeltintohim,toneverbeseparatedagain—

Hishandatmyback,propellingmecloser,asRomanopensthedoor,glancesbetweenus,andsays,

“Ever,Damen,sogladyoucouldmakeit.”

Damen charges the door, pinning Roman to the wall as I slip right past and head for the den, eyes

seekingHavenonlytofindherstretchedoutacrossthecouch,pale,unmoving,andfromwhatIcantell,
barelybreathing.

Irushtowardher,droppingtohersideasIgraspherwrist,fingersseekingherpulselikeIoncedid

atDamen’s.

“Whatdidyoudotoher?”IglareatAvawho’scrouchedrightbesideher,knowingshe’sworking

withRoman,they’reonthesameteam.“What.Didyou.Do?”Irepeat,knowingaswiftkicktoherroot
chakra, the center for vanity and greed, would take her down in an instant if it should come to that.
WonderingifDamen’salreadydonethesame,plunginghisfistintoRoman’ssacralcenter,andnolonger
caringifhedid.

Notafterwhatthey’vedonetomyfriend.
Avalooksatme,facepaleagainstherwavyauburnhair,browneyeswideandpleading,reminding

meofsomething—somethingI’venotimetograsp—whenshesays,“Ididn’tdoanything,Ever.Iswear.I
knowyoudon’tbelieveme,butit’strue—”

“You’reright,Idon’tbelieveyou.”MyfocusbackonHaven,pressingmypalmtoherforehead,her

cheek,herskincoldanddryasherauragrowsdimmer,darker,andherlife-forceenergyslipsaway.

“It’snotwhatyouthink—theybookedmeforareading—saiditwasforaparty—andwhenIshowed

up—thisiswhatIfound—”ShegesturestowardHavenandshakesherhead.

“Butofcourseyoushowedup!It’syourdearfriendRomanafterall.”IgazeatHaven,searchingfor

signsofabuse,butIcan’tseeathing.Shelookspeaceful,unaware,cluelesstothefactthatshe’snotlong
forthisworld.Wellonherwaytothenextone,theSummerland,unlessIcanstopit.

“Itriedtohelp—triedto—”
“Sowhydidn’tyou?Why’dyoucallJudeinsteadofnine-one-one?”IglareatherasIreachformy

bag, my phone, remembering too late that I came here without it, manifesting a new one just as Roman
stormsintotheroom.

IlookpasthimforDamen,myheartlurchingwhenIdon’tfindhim.
ButRomanjustlaughs,shakinghisheadashesays,“Movesabitslowerthanme.Heisolder,you

know!”Snappingthemanifestedphoneoutofmyhandwhenheadds,“Trustme,luv.It’swellbeyondthat.
Seemsyourfriendhadherselfaverypotentcupofbelladonnatea—”Hemotionstowardafinechinacup
onthetable,itscontentsrecentlydrained.“Alsoknownasdeadlynightshadeincaseyou’renotfamiliar,
andshe’ssofaralong,she’swaybeyondmedicalhelp.No,theonlyonewhocansavehernowisyou.”

I narrow my gaze, unsure what he means, seeing Damen now standing behind him, eyes guarded,

troubled,astheylookintomine.AndIknowhe’stryingtotellmesomething,sendatelepathicmessageI
can’tseemtograsp.Gettingonlythefaintestechoofsound,butunabletodeterminethewords.

“Thisisit,Ever.”Romansmiles.“Themomentyou’vebeenwaitingfor!”Hesweepshisarmswide,

motioningtowardHavenasthoughshe’sthegrandprize.

IglancebetweenhimandDamen,stilltryingtoreceiveDamen’smessage,butnothingwillcome.
Roman’seyesroamingoverme,slowlytakingmein,mybarefeet,damp,clingingdress,wettinghis

lipsashesays,“It’srealsimple,darlin’,simpleenoughforevenyoutodecipher.Rememberthedayyou
cametomyhouseandwetalkedabouttheprice?”

IglanceatDamen,catchingaflashofalarm,disbelief,hurt,beforequicklylookingaway.
“Oops!” Roman lifts his shoulders and covers his mouth as he glances between us. “Sorry. Forgot

yourunauthorizedvisitwasourdirtylittlesecret.Guessyou’lljusthavetoforgivemyindiscretion,what
with the life and death circumstances we’re in. So just to catch you up to speed”—he nods at Ava and
Damen—“Ever swung by my house looking to broker a deal. Seems she’s extremely eager to bed her
hunky boyfriend.” He laughs, his gaze landing on Damen as he heads behind the bar, reaching for a cut
crystalgobletandfillingitwithelixirasDamenfightstostaycalm.

Itakeadeepbreathbutstayput.Knowingitwon’tmaketheslightestbitofdifferenceifRoman’s

deadoralive,eitherwayhe’sstillincontrol.Hisgame.Hisrules.AndIcan’thelpbutwonderhowlong
he’s been at it—how long I’ve been fooling myself that I’m actually making progress when I’m just
blindlyfollowingalong.Justlikethevisionheshowedmeatschool,allofusareunderhisrule.

“Ever—”Damenlooksatme,telepathynolongerworking,forcedtovoicehisthoughtstotheroom.

“Isthistrue?”

Iswallowhardandlookaway,notlookingateitherofthemwhenIsay,“Justgettothepoint.”
“Always in such a hurry.” Roman shakes his head and clucks his tongue against his cheek.

“Seriously,Ever,forsomeonewithnothingbuttime,itdoesn’tmaketheslightestbitofsense.Butfine,
I’llplay,sotellme,anyclues,anyideasastowherethisallleads?”

IgazeatHaven,barelybreathing,barelyhangingon,unwillingtoadmitthatIhavenoideawhathe

wants,noclueastowhat’sgoingon.

“Rememberthedaywhenyoucametoseemeatthestore?”
Damenshifts,Icanfeelhisenergyshift,butIjustshakemyhead,glancingovermyshoulder,eyes

narrowedwhenIsay,“IwenttoseeHaven,youjusthappenedtobethere.”

“Details.”Romanwavesitaway.“It’stheriddleI’mgettingat.RemembertheriddleIpresentedyou

with?”

Isigh,graspingHaven’shandinmine—cold,dry,andstill—notagoodsign.
“Give the people what they want. Remember when I said that?” He pauses, waiting for me to

respond, but when I don’t he adds, “The question is—what does it mean, Ever? Exactly what do the
people want? Any clues?” He lifts his brow and waits, nodding when he adds, “Try stepping out of
yourselfforamomentandtakeamorepopulistview.Goahead,giveitawhirl,tryitonforsize,seehow
itfits.It’squiteunliketheelitistviewyouandDamenhold,Iassureyouofthat.Nohoardingofthegifts
whereIstand—Isharethemfreely.OratleastwiththoseIdeemdeserving.”

Iturn,turnuntilI’mfacinghim,suddenlybeginningtounderstand.Voicehoarse,barelydiscernible

whenIsay,“No!”

GlancingbetweenRomanandHavenasthetruthofwhathewants,thepriceheinsistson,becomes

clear.

No!
MygazelockedonRoman’s,asAvaandDamenremainsilent,cluelessastowhat’strulytranspiring

here.

“Iwon’tdoit,”Itellhim.“There’snowayyoucanmakeme.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, luv. Where’s the fun in that?” He smiles, slow, lazy, like the Cheshire cat.

“Justlikeyoucan’tmakemedoyourbiddingwith patheticattemptsat mindmeldsand thedarkforces
you so recently called upon.” He laughs, wagging his finger at me as he adds, “You’ve been a very
naughtygirl,Ever.Messingwithmagickyoudon’tunderstand.NeverrealizedwhenIsoldthebookall
thoseyearsagoit’dendupinyourhands.OrmaybeIdid?”Heshakeshishead.“Who’stosay?”

Myeyesmeethis,thetruthofhiswordshittingmeatfullspeed.Jude. Is he the one who sold the

booktoJude?Andifso,aretheyinthistogether?

“Whyareyoudoingthis?”Inarrowmygaze.NolongercaringthatDamen’snowprivytomylong

listofbetrayals,orwhatAva’sthinkingoffinhercorner,focusingonlyonhimandme—asthoughwe’re
aloneinthiscreepy,Godforsakenroom.

“Well,it’sreallyrathersimple.”Hesmiles.“You’resosetondrawinglines,settingyourselfapart—

sonow’syourchancetoreallylayitdown,now’syourchancetoproveyou’renothinglikeme.Andif
yousucceed,ifyoucanprovebeyondadoubtthatwe’renothingalike,wellthen,I’mfullypreparedto
give you what you want. I’ll hand over the antidote to the antidote, the cure to the cure, and you and
Damencanproceedtothehoneymoonsuiteandhaveatit.It’swhatyou’vedreamedofallalong,right?
It’swhatyou’vebeenschemingforallthistime.Andallyouhavetodotogetitistoletyourfrienddie.If
youletHavendie,thehappilyeverafterisyours,satisfactionguaranteed—moreorless.”

“No.”Ishakemyhead.“No!”
“No to the antidote or the happily ever after? Which is it?” He glances between his watch and

Haven,smilingasheadds,“Tick-tock,timetodecide.”

I move toward Haven, her breath coming hollow, frail, as Ava sits nearby, shaking her head, and

Damen—myeternallove—mysoulmate—theguyI’vefailedinsomanyways—pleadswithmenottodo
theverythingI’minclinedto.

“Ifyouhesitatefortoolong,shedies.Andifyoubringherback,then,well,itcangetalittlemessy,

asyouwellknow.Butifyousavehernow,justsliphertheelixir,well,she’llwakeupfeelingfine.Better

thanfine.And,thebestpartis,she’llstaythatwayforever.Which,afterall,isexactlywhatthepeople
want,isn’tit?Eternalyouthandbeauty.Everlastinggoodhealthandvitality.Nooldage,noillness,no
fear of death. An infinite horizon with no end in sight. So, which will it be, Ever? Stick to your high-
minded, elitist, self-serving views, prove you’re nothing like me, continue to hoard all the goods, say
good-bye to your friend—and the antidote is yours. Or—” He smiles, gaze fixed on mine. “Save your
friend.Giveherthebackstagepasstothesortofstrengthandbeautyshecouldonlydreamofbefore.The
verythingshe’salwayslongedfor,theverythingeveryonelongsfor.Youdon’thavetosaygood-bye.It’s
entirelyuptoyou.But,likeIsaid,daylight’sburning,soyoumightwannahurry.”

I take in her pale, fragile face, knowing I’m responsible, completely to blame. Vaguely aware of

Damenbesideme,urging,“Ever,baby,pleaselisten,youcan’tdoit.Youcan’tsaveher.”Unwillingto
lookathimwhenheadds,“Youhavetolethergo—it’snotaboutus—notaboutusbeingtogether—we’ll
find a way, I promised you that. You know the risk this brings—you know you can’t do this—not after
experiencingtheShadow-land,”hewhispers.“Youcan’tresignhertothat.”

“Ooh!TheShadowland—soundsscary!”Romanlaughsandshakeshishead.“Don’ttellmeyou’re

stillmeditating,mate?StilltrekkingtheHimalayassearchingformeaning?”

I swallow hard and look away, ignoring them both. Mind crowded with arguments, both for and

against,asAvaadds,“Ever.Damen’sright.”

I glare at her, the woman who betrayed me in the very worst way. Leaving Damen vulnerable and

exposedafterpromisingtolookafterhim,awillingpartnerinRoman’sgame.

“I know you don’t trust me, but it’s not what you think. Listen, Ever, please, I don’t have time to

explain,butifyouwon’tlistentome,thenlistentoDamen,heknowswhathesays,youcan’tsaveyour
friend,youhavetolethergo—”

“Spokenlikeatruerogue,”Ihiss,rememberinghowshetookoffwiththeelixir,whichI’venodoubt

shedrank.

“It’snotwhatyouthink,”shesays,“it’snothinglikethat.”
ButI’mnolongerlistening,myattentionreturningtoRoman,nowbymyside,jigglingthegobletof

elixir,theliquidflashing,sparking,asheswirlsitaroundandaround,warningmethetimehascome,it’s
timeformetochoose.

“Havenwantedherfortunetold,andwhobettertotellitthanyou,Avalon?ToobadJude’snothere,

or we could really have ourselves a party—or wake—depending on how things work out. What
happened,Ever,youtwolookedprettytightlasttimeIchecked.”

Iswallowhard,myfriendnowhangingbyastring.AstringIcaneithercut—or—
“Hatetorushyou,butit’sthemomentoftruth.Pleasedon’tdisappointHaven,shewassolooking

forwardtoherreading.Sowhat’sitgoingtobe?Whatdothecardssay?Doesshelive—ordoesshedie?
Thefutureisyourstodecide.”

“Ever,” Damen says, hand on my arm, veil of energy hovering insistently between us, one more

reminderofmymountingmistakes.“Youcan’tdoit,please.Youknowit’snotright.Ashardasthisis,
you’venochoicebuttosaygood-bye.”

“Oh, there’s a choice.” Roman jiggles the bottle again. “Just how far are you willing to go to

maintainyouridealsandgettheonethingyoumostwantintheworld?”

“Ever,please.”Avaleanstowardme.“Thisisallwrong,it’sagainstthelawofnature.Youhaveto

lethergo.”

Iclosemyeyes.Unabletoact—unabletomove—Ican’tdothis—Ican’tmakethischoice—hecan’t

makemedothis—

Roman’svoicehoveringovermewhenhesays,“SoIguessthat’sitthen.”Hesighsandmovesaway.

“Goodforyou,Ever,youprovedyourpoint.You’renothinglikeme.Nothingatall.You’reatrueelitist,a
personofloftyideals,highermind,andnowyougettosleepwithyourboyfriendtoo!Welldone!Andto
thinkallitcostisthelifeofyourfriend.Yourpoor,sad,lostfriend,whoonlywantedwhateveryoneelse
wants—whatyoualreadyhaveandareintheperfectpositiontoshare.Congratulations—shouldIsay?”

HeheadsforthehallasIkneelbeforeHaven,facestreamingwithtearsasIgazeatmyfriend.My

sad,lost,confusedfriendwhodidn’tdeserveanyofthis,who’salwayspayingthepriceforbefriending
me.Damen’sandAva’smurmuringvoicesbesideme,alullabyofpromises,promisingmeI’llgetthrough
it,thatIdidtherightthing,thatit’llallbeokay.

AndthenIseeit,thesilvercordthatattachesthebodytothesoul.Havingheardaboutitbutnever

actuallyseeingituntilnow.Watchingasitstretchessothinit’sreadytosnap—sendmyfriendfarfrom
hereandstraightintoSummerland—

Ispringtomyfeet,rippingthebottlefromRoman’sgrasp,andforcingHaventodrink.
Immune to the cries all around me, Ava’s piercing gasp, Damen begging me to stop, and Roman’s

one-manapplauseaccompaniedbyhisloudvulgarlaugh.

ButIdon’tcareaboutthat.
Ionlycareabouther.
Haven.
Ican’tlethergo.
Can’tletherdie.
Can’tsaygood-bye.
Cradlingherheadinmyarmsandmakingherdrink—thecolorinstantlyreturningtohercheeksas

sheopenshereyesandgazesatme.

“Whatthe—?”Shestrugglestosit,andlooksallaround.Squintingwhensheglancesbetweenme,

Ava,Damen,andRoman,andsays,“WhereamI?”

Istareather,mouthopen,butwithnoideawhattosay.KnowingthatthisishowDamenmust’vefelt

withme,onlythisismuchworse.

Hedidn’tknowaboutthedeathofthesoul.
Idid.
“DamenandEverdecidedtojoinus,luv,andguesswhat?Thefuture’slookingbrighterthanever!”

Romanswoopsinbesidemeandhelpshertoherfeet,winkingatmewhenheadds,“Youweren’tfeeling
so well, so Ever gave you some juice, thinking a little sugar might perk you right up—and damn if it
didn’t work. And now, Ava, be a luv, and go fetch us some tea, would ya? There’s a new pot on the
stove.”

Avagetstoherfeet,willingmetomeethergazeassheheadsforthehall.ButIwon’t.Can’t.Can’t

lookatanyone.NotafterwhatI’vejustdone.

“Gladtoknowyou’reonboard,Ever.”Romanpausesjustshyofthedoor.“It’slikeIsaid—youand

I—we’re the same. Bound to each other for all of eternity. And not because of the spell, darlin’—but
because it’s our fate—our destiny. Think of me as yet another soul mate.” He laughs, voice a whisper
whenheadds,“There,there,luv,don’tlooksoshocked.I,forone,amnottheleastbitsurprised.You’ve
neveroncestrayedfromthescript.Atleastnotsofar.”

ChapterForty-Nine

Damenleanstowardme,hisgazelikeahandonmyarm,warm,inviting,luringmein.“Ever,please,

lookatme,”hesays.

ButIjustcontinuetostareattheocean,thewatersoblackIcan’tevenseeit.
Blackocean,darkmoon,andafriendwho’sheadedfortheShadowland,thankstome.
I climb out of his car and head for the edge, staring down the steep cliff at the darkness below.

Drawntothepullofhisenergyashecomesupbehindme,handonmyshoulder,pullingmeclosetohis
chestashesays,“We’llgetthroughthis—you’llsee.”

Iturn,needingtoseehim,wonderinghowhecansaysuchathing.“How?”Istart,voicesofrailit’s

asthoughitbelongstosomebodyelse.“Howwillwedothat?Yougonnamakeheranamuletandinsist
sheweariteveryday?”

Heshakeshishead,eyesboringintominewhenhesays,“HowcanImakeHavenwearherswhenI

can’tevenconvinceyoutowearyours?”Hisfingersdrifttomyneck,mychest,tracingthespacewhere
thecrystalsshouldbe.“Whathappened?”

Iturn,unwillingtolookevenworseinhiseyesbyexplaininghowIremovedit,sooverconfidentin

mymisguidedspell-castingattemptIsetitaside.

“WhatamIsupposedtotellher?”Iwhisper.“HowcanIpossiblyexplainwhatI’vedone?Howdo

you tell someone that you’ve given them eternal life, but if by chance they die, then their soul will be
lost?”

Damen’slipsloomingclose,warmingmyearwhenhesays,“We’llfindaway—we’ll—”
Ishakemyheadandmoveaway,staringintotheblack,avoidinghisgaze.“Howcanyousaythat?

Howcanyou—”

Hecomesupbesideme,hismerepresenceheatingmyskinashesays,“HowcanIwhat?”
Iswallowhard,unabletosayit,toputintowordsallthatI’vedone.Allowingmyselftobepulled

intohisarms,heldtightlytohischest,wishingIcouldcrawlrightinsidehim,curlupnexttohisheartand
staythereforever—thesafestshelterIcouldeverknow.

“HowcanIforgiveagirlwholovesherfriendsomuchshecan’tbeartolethergo?”Hetucksmy

hairbehindmyearandliftsmychin,makingmefacehim.“HowcanIforgiveagirlwhosacrificedthe
onethingshe’swantedallthistime,alltheseyears?Forfeitingtheimmediatehopeofusbeingtogetherso
herfriendcouldlive?HowcanIforgiveher,youask?”Helooksatme,eyessearchingmine.“It’seasy.
DidInotmakeasimilarchoicewhenIfirstmadeyoudrink?Andyet,whatyoudidwassomuchbigger,
motivated only by love, while my own actions weren’t quite so pure. I was far more interested in

alleviatingmysuffering.”Heshakeshishead.“ConvincingmyselfIdiditforyou,whenthetruthis,Iwas
selfishandgreedy,alwaysinterfering,neverallowingyoutochooseforyourself.Ibroughtyoubackfor
me—it’scleartomenow.”

Iswallowhard,wishingIcouldbelievehim—thatmydecisionwasnoble.Butthisisdifferent.What

Ididwasentirelydifferent.IknewabouttheShadowland,hedidn’t.

LookingathimasIsay,“Andthat’sallfineuntilshe’sintroubleagain,thenthedeathofhersoulis

onme.”

Hegazespastme,outtoaninvisibleoceansendingacontinuouscrashofwavestotheshore.Bothof

usknowingthere’snothingmoretosay.Nowordsthatcanremedythis.

“It wasn’t—” I pause, feeling stupid for bringing it up now, in light of everything else, but still

wantinghimtoknow.“Itwasn’twhatyouthink—aboutmeandJude—thatdayonthebeach—”Ishakemy
head.“Itwasn’twhatitseemed.”Hisjawtightens,hisgriploosens,butIbringhimbacktome,having
muchmoretosay.“Ithinkhe’sanimmortal.Arogue,likeRoman.”Damenstaresatme,eyesnarrowed
whenIadd,“Isawhistattoo,rightonthesmallofhisback—”Thenrealizinghowthatsounds,thatIwas
actuallyinapositiontogetaclose-uplookathisbarelowerback,Iadd,“Hewasinhistrunksandwe
wereinthespa—”Ishakemyhead,thisisn’thelping.“ItwasawholethingforMiles’sgoing-awayparty
—and—anyway,whenAvacalled,heturnedandreachedforthephoneandIsawit.Thesnakeeatingits
owntail.TheOuroboros.JustlikeDrinahad,liketheoneRomanwearsonhisneck.Samething.”

“IsitjustlikeRoman’s?”
Isquint,unsurewhathemeans.
“Diditflash?Move?Fadeinandoutofview?”
Iswallow hard, andshake my head,wondering what difference itcould make. Imean, sure I only

sawitforafewseconds,nomorethanaglimpse,butstill—

Hesighsandmovesaway,sittingonthehoodofhiscarwhenhesays,“Ever,theOuroborositself

isn’tevil.Farfromit.Romanandhistribehavedistortedthemeaning.It’sactuallyanancientalchemical
symbol,signifyingcreationoutofdestruction,eternallife—thatsortofthing.Plentyofpeoplehave’em,
andtheonlythingitprovesisthatJudehasathingforbodyart.Bodyart,andyou.”

I move toward him, wanting him to know that it’s not at all reciprocated. How could it be with

Dameninthepicture?

Realizingheheardmythoughtswhenhepullsmecloseandpresseshislipstomyear.“Yousure?

It’snottheflashycarandmagicktricksthatwonyouover?”

Ishakemyheadandnuzzlecloser,awareoftheveilthathoversbetweenus,thrilledourtelepathyis

workingagain.FearingI’dsomehowbrokenitwhenwewerebackinthatroom.

Of course it’s working again, he thinks. Fear separates—makes us feel alone—disconnected—

whilelove—lovedoesjusttheopposite—itunites.

“It’salwaysbeenyou,”Isay,needingtosaythewordsoutloudwherewecanbothhearthem.“Just

you.Noonebutyou.”Igazeintohiseyes,hopingthewaitisover,thatwecanforgoourthree-monthdeal.

He cradles my face in his hands and presses his lips against mine. His warm loving presence the

onlyanswerIneed.TheonlyanswerIwant.

Knowingthere’ssomuchmoretodiscuss—Roman,Haven,thetwins,Jude,theBook,Ava’sreturn—

butknowingitcanwait.FornowIjustwanttorevelinbeingwithhim.

Slidingmyarmsaroundhisneckashepullsmeontohislap,thetwoofusgazingoutatsomethingso

dark,sovast,soinfinite,soeternal,webothknowit’sthere—andyetwecan’tevenseeit.

Document Outline

Table of Contents
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
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine

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