chapterone

“You’ll never beat me. You’ll never win this one, Ever. It’s impossible. You can’t do it. So why

wasteyourtime?”

Inarrowmygazeandpeerintoherface—takinginhersmall,palefeatures,herdarkcloudofhair,

theabsenceoflightinherhate-filledgaze.

My teeth clenched tightly, voice low and measured, I say, “Don’t be so sure. You’re running a

seriousriskofoverestimatingyourself.Infact,youareoverestimatingyourself.I’monehundredpercent
sureofit.”

Shescoffs.Loudly,derisively,thesoundofitechoingthroughoutthelargeemptyroom,bouncingoff

theplankwoodfloorstothebarewhitewalls,meanttoscare,orattheveryleastintimidateandthrowme
offmygame.

Butitwon’twork.
Can’twork.
I’mtoofocusedforthat.
Allofmyenergyconcentrateddowntoonesinglepoint,untileverythingelsefadesawayandit’sjust

me, my readied fist, and Haven’s third chakra—also known as the solar plexus chakra—the home of
anger,fear,hate,andthetendencytowardputtingtoomuchemphasisonpower,recognition,andrevenge.

Mygazenarrowedonitslocationlikeabull’s-eye,rightsmackdabinthecenterofherleather-clad

torso.

Knowingthatonequick,well-directedjabisallit’lltaketoreducehertonothingmorethanasadbit

ofhistory.

Acautionarytaleofpowergonewrong.
Gone.
Inaninstant.
Leaving nothing behind but a pair of black stiletto boots and a small pile of dust—the only real

reminderthatshewaseverhere.

EventhoughIneverwantedittogettothispoint,eventhoughItriedtoworkitout,triedtoreason

withher,toconvincehertocometohersensessowecouldmovetowardsomekindofunderstanding—
cutsomekindofdeal—intheend,sherefusedtogiveup.

Refusedtogivein.
Refusedtoletgoofhermisguidedquestforrevenge.
Leavingmewithnochoicebuttokillorbekilled.

Leavingmewithnodoubtofhowthisoneends.
“You’re too weak.” She circles. Moving slowly, carefully, her gaze never once leaving mine. The

stilettoheelsofherbootsassaultingthefloorasshesays,“You’renomatchforme.Neverwere,never
willbe.”Shestopsandplacesherhandsonherhips,headcockedtotheside,allowingastreamofglossy
darkwavestofalloverhershoulderandhangwellpastherwaist.“Youcould’veletmediemonthsago.
Youalreadyhadyourchance.Butyouchosetogivemetheelixirinstead.Andnowyouregretit?Because
youdon’tapproveofwhatI’vebecome?”Shepauseslongenoughtorollhereyes.“Welltoobad.You
haveonlyyourselftoblame.You’retheonewhomademethisway.Imean,whatkindofcreatorkillsher
owncreation,anyway?”

“I may have made you an immortal, but you took it from there,” I say, the words firm, deliberate,

groundoutbetweenclenchedteeth,despiteDamenhavingcoachedmetostayquiet,stayfocused,tomake
itswiftandclean,andnotunnecessarilyengageherinanyway.

Saveyourregretsforlater,hesaid.
Butthefactthatwe’vefoundourselvesheremeansthereisnolaterwhereHaven’sconcerned.And

despitewhatit’scometo,I’mstilldeterminedtogettoher,toreachher,beforeit’stoolate.

“Wedon’thavetodothis.”Mygazelocksonhers,hopingtoconvince.“Wecanstoprighthere,right

now.Thisdoesn’thavetogoanyfurtherthanitalreadyhas.”

“Ha,youwish!”shesings,gleefullymocking.“Icanseeitinyoureyes.Youcan’tdoit.Nomatter

howmuchyouthinkIdeserveit,nomatterhowmuchyoutrytoconvinceyourselfofthat,you’retoosoft.
Sowhatmakesyouthinkit’llbeanydifferentthistimearound?”

Becausenowyou’redangerous—andnotjusttoyourself,buttoeveryoneelseaswell.Thistimeis

different,entirelydifferent.Asyou’reabouttosee…

Curlingmyfingerssotightlymyknucklesinstantlyblanch,Istealasecondtocentermyself,findmy

balance,andreplenishmylight—justasAvataughtmetodo—whilekeepingmyhandlowandsteady,my
gazefixedonhers,mymindclearedofallextraneousthoughts,faceclearedofallextraneousfeelings—as
Damenrecentlycoached.

Thekeyistogivenothingaway,heclaimed,tomovequickly,withpurpose.Togetthedeeddone

beforeshehasthechancetoeverseeitcoming—won’tevenrealizewhathither’tilit’swaypasttoo
late.

Untilherbodyhasdisintegratedandhersoul’smovedontothatbleak,drearyplace.
Refusinghereventheslightestopportunitytomakeamoveorfightback.
Alessonlearnedonalong-agobattlefieldthatIneverthoughtwouldapplytomylife.
ButeventhoughDamenwarnedmeagainstit,Ican’tkeepfromapologizing.Can’tstopthewords

forgivemefromcoursingfrommymindtohers.Seeingherrespondintheflashofpitythattempersher
gazebeforeit’squicklydiminishedbytheusualmixofhateanddisdain.

Herfistrising—aimingforme—butit’stoolate.Mine’salreadyinmotion,movingforward,infull

swing.Slammingrightintohersolarplexus,sendingherreeling—spinning—shattering—headedstraight
intotheinfiniteabyss.

TheShadowland.
Theeternalhomeforlostsouls.
AwareofmyownsuddenintakeofbreathasIwatchhowquicklyshedisintegrates.Fragmentingso

easilyit’shardtoimagineshewaseveroncesolidform.

Mygutchurning,heartcrashing,mouthsodryandparchednowordswillcome.Mybodyreactingas

thoughwhatjusthappenedbeforeme—theactIjustcommitted—wasn’tjustagameofmake-believe,but
thehorrifyingrealdeal.

“You did well. You were right on target, right on your mark,” Damen says, crossing the room in a

fractionofaninstant,hiswarm,strongarmsslidingaroundmeashepullsmeclosetohischest.Hisvoice
liltingsoftlyinmyearasheadds,“Thoughyouseriouslymightwanttolosetheforgivemepartuntilafter
she’sgone.Trustme,Iknowyoufeelbad,Ever,andIcan’tsayIblameyou,butit’slikewe’vediscussed,
inacaselikethis,it’seitheryouorher.Onlyonecansurvive.Andifyoudon’tmind,Ipreferittobe
you.”Herunsthetipofhisfingerdownthelengthofmycheek,tuckingastraychunkoflongblondhair
behindmyear,beforeheadds,“Youcan’taffordtogiveheranysignofwhat’stocome.Soplease,save
theapologyforafter,okay?”

Inodandpullaway,stillfightingtosteadymybreath.Glancingovermyshoulderatthepileofblack

leatherandlaceonthefloor.AllthatremainsoftheHavenImanifested,beforeIblinkitawayanderase
everytrace.

Stretchingmyneckfromsidetoside,andshakingouteachofmylimbsinamovethatcouldbetaken

as either letting off steam or preparing for more, Damen choosing to interpret it as the latter when he
smilesandsays,“So,anothergothen?”

ButIjustlookathimandshakemyhead.I’mdonefortheday.Donewithpretendingtokilloffthe

ghostly,soullessformofaformerbestfriend.

It’sourlastdayofsummer,ourlastdayoffreedom,andtherearemuchbetterwaysforustospend

it.

Taking in the sweep of longish, wavy dark hair that spills across his forehead and falls into those

amazingbrowneyes,beforedriftingoverthebridgeofhisnose,theangleofhischeekbones,totheswell
ofhislips,whereIpauselongenoughtorememberhowwonderfultheyfeelagainstmine.

“Let’sgotothepavilion,”Isay,myeyeseagerlysearchinghisbeforemovingontohissimpleblack

tee,thesilkcordbearingtheclusterofcrystalsthathidesunderneath,allthewaydowntohisfadeddenim
jeans and the brown, rubber flip-flops on his feet. “Let’s go have fun,” I reiterate, taking a moment to
closemyeyesandmanifestawholenewcostumechangeformyself.SwappingouttheT-shirt,shorts,and
sneakers I wore to train in, for a replica of one of the more beautiful, low-cut, corseted gowns I
sometimesworeinmyParisianlife.

And all it takes is one look at his clouded gaze to tell me it’s as good as done. The lure of the

pavilionisprettymuchimpossibletoresist.

It’stheonlyplacewherewecantrulytouchwithouttheinterferenceoftheenergyshield—whereour

skincanmeet,andourDNAmingle,withoutanyimminentdangertoDamen’ssoul.

Theonlyplacewherewecandisappearintoanotherworldthatholdsnoneofthedangersoftheone

thatwelivein.

AndeventhoughInolongerresentthelimitationsofourlifehere,nolongerpayitmuchnoticenow

thatIknowit’sadirectresultofmymakingtherightchoice,theonlychoice,thatmychoosingtomake
Damen drink Roman’s elixir is the only reason he’s still with me today—the only thing that saved him
fromaneternityintheShadowland—I’mhappytoaccepthistouchinanyformthatitcomes.

Butstill,nowthatIknowthere’saplacewhereitgetssomuchbetterthanthis,I’mdeterminedtoget

there,andnowwouldbegood.

“Butwhataboutpractice?SchoolstartstomorrowandIdon’twantyoutogetcaughtoffguard,”he

says,obviouslystrugglingtodowhat’snobleandrighteventhoughit’sclearthatourtriptothepavilion
isasgoodasdone.“Wehavenoideawhatshe’splanned,sowehavetopreparefortheworst.Besides,
wehaven’tevengottentotheTaiChiyet,andIthinkwereallyneedto.You’llbeamazedatthewayit
helpstobalanceoutyourenergy—rechargingitinawaythat—”

“You know what else is good at recharging my energy?” I smile, allowing him no time to answer

beforemylipsmeethis,willinghimtojustsaythewordsowecangotoaplacewhereIcankisshimfor
real.

Thewarmthofhisgazefillingmewithagloriousswarmofthetingleandheatonlyhecanprovide.

Pullingawayashesays,“Fine.Youwin.Butthenyoualwaysdo,don’tyou?”Hesmiles,hisgazehappily
dancingwithmine.

Grabbingholdofmyhandandclosinghiseyes,asthetwoofusstepthroughashimmeringveilof

softgoldenlight.

chaptertwo

We land in the middle of the field of tulips, surrounded by hundreds of thousands of gorgeous red

blooms.Theirsoftredpetalsglintingintheever-present,hazyglow,theirlonggreenstemsswayinginthe
breezeDamenjustmanifestedonhisown.

Thetwoofuslyingonourbacksaswegazeupatthesky,summoningagroupofcloudsoverhead

and shaping them into all manner of animals and objects simply by imagining it, before we clear it all
awayandheadinside.Ploppingsidebysideontothelarge,white,marshmallowycouch,mybodysettling
deepintothecushionsasDamenreachesfortheremoteandsnugglesbesideme.

“So,wheredowestart?”heasks,browliftedinawaythattellsmehe’sjustaseagertobeginasI

am.

Icurlmyfeetunderneathmeandrestmyheadonmypalm,gazingflirtatiouslywhenIsay,“Hmmm…

that’s a tough one. Tell me, what are my choices again?” My fingers creep under the hem of his shirt,
knowingthatsoon,verysoon,Icantouchhimforreal.

“Well,there’syourParisianlife,which,asitjustsohappensyou’realreadydressedfor.”Henods,

motioningtowardthedeepnecklineofmydress,hisgazelingeringattheplungingdécolletage,beforehe
meetsmyeyesagain.“Thenofcoursethere’sthePuritanlife,which,Ihavetobehonest,reallywasn’t
oneofmyfavorites…”

“Doesit have anythingto do withthe clothing? All thosedark, drab colorsand high necklines?” I

ask, remembering the ugly dresses I wore in those days, how uncomfortable they were, how the fabric
scratchedagainstmyskin,andknowingitdefinitelyisn’toneofmyfavoriteseither.“Becauseifthat’sthe
case,thenyoumust’vereallylikedmeinmyLondonlifeasthespoileddaughterofawealthylandbaron
with an amazing wardrobe full of sparkly, low-cut dresses and gowns, and piles and piles of amazing
shoes.”Knowingthat’sdefinitelyoneofmyfaves,iffornootherreasonthanthesheersimplicityofmy
everydayexistencebackthen,where,forthemostpart,allofthedramasIfacedwereonesIinstigatedall
onmyown.

Helooksatme,eyesgrazingovermyfaceashishandsmoothsmycheek—thatinsistentenergyveil

stubbornlyvibratingbetweenus,butonlyuntilwepickascene.

“Well, if you must know, I have to say that I’m most partial to Amsterdam. Back when I was the

artist,andyouwerethemuse,and—”

“—andIspentmostofmytimepartiallynude,coveredonlybymylongredhairandtheslightestslip

ofsilk.”Ishakemyheadandlaugh,nottheleastbitsurprisedbyhischoice.

“But then I’m sure that’s not the real reason, is it? I’m sure that’s merely a coincidence, right? I

mean,surelyyouweremostlyinterestedintheartisticaspectsofitmorethananythingelse…”

Ileantowardhim,distractinghimwithaquickkisstothecheekasIsnatchtheremoterightoutofhis

hand.Seeingthewayhisexpressionchangestooneofmockoutrage,asIenjoymyselfwithanimpromptu
gameofkeep-away.

“What’reyou doing?” heasks, concern movingin as he makesa more seriousattempt to seize the

remoterightback.

ButIwon’tgiveup.NorwillIgivein.Iffornootherreasonthanthefactthateverytimewecome

herehe’sincontrolofthisthing,andforonce,I’dliketobetheonewhogetstosurprisehim.

Iholdituphighabovemyhead,switchingitfromonehandtotheother,determinedtokeepitwell

outofreach.BreathingalittleheavierfromtheeffortasIlookathimandsay,“Well,seeinghowit’sso
impossibleforustoagreeonafavorite,IfigureImayaswelljustpusharandombuttonandseewhere
weland…”

Helooksatme,hisfacegonesuddenlypale,hiseyesgrim.Hiswholeexpression,heck,hiswhole

entiredemeanortransformedinawaythat’ssostricken,soserious,and,tobehonest,suchacomplete
overreaction to what the situation warrants, I’m this close to handing over the goods when I suddenly
changemymindandclickitinstead.

Mumblingsomethingabouthistypicalmaleneedtocontroltheremote,asthescreenspringstolife

withanimageof—

Well—somethingI’veneverseenbefore.
“Ever!”Hegasps,voicelow,steady,butthere’snomistakingtheurgency.“Ever,please,justgive

metheremote—I—”

Hereachesforitagain,butit’stoolate,I’vealreadyslippeditunderthecushion.
Alreadysecureditfromhim.
Alreadyseentheimagesthatplayoutbeforeme.
It’s—it’stheantebellumSouth.AndwhileI’mnotexactlysurewhere,Icantellbythehouses,the

way they’re constructed in a way I think is called Plantation Style—and by the way the atmosphere
changes,theskyappearinghot,bright,andincrediblymuggyinawayI’veneverseenorfeltbeforein
anyofmyotherlives,thatit’stheDeepSouth.Likean“establishmentshot”inamovie—apicturethat
cluesyouintowhereyouareinthestory.

Then,justasquickly,we’reinsidethatsamehouse.Focusingonaclose-upofagirlwhostands

beforeawindowshe’ssupposedtobecleaning—butisstaringoutofinstead,herfacesoftanddreamy.

She’stallforherage,narrowshoulderedandslim.Withgleamingdarkskinandlonglankylimbs

thatseemtogoonformilesbeforeendinginapairofskinnyanklesthatpeekoutfromthehemofher
plain,cottondress.Agarmentthat’ssowellwornit’sobviouslybeenmendedagainandagain.Butit’s
pressedandclean,justliketherestofher,andeventhoughIcanonlyviewherinprofilesinceshe’s
turnedtotheside,Iseethatherlongdarkhairspiralsthebackofherheadinacomplicatedseriesof
knotsandbraids.

Though it’s not until she turns, turns in a way where I can clearly see her face—that I look

straightintothosedeepbrowneyesandrealize—

I’mlookingatme!
Igasp—thesoundofitechoingofftheroundedwhitemarblewallsasIstareintoafacesoyoungand

sobeautiful,yetmarredbyanexpressionthat’ssaddenedwaybeyondher/myyears.Andamomentlater,
whenamucholderwhitemanappears,themeaningofitallsoonbecomesclear.

Heisthemaster.Iamhisslave.Andthereisnotimefordaydreaminghere.
“Ever,please,”Damenbegs.“Justhandmetheremote,now,beforeyouseesomethingyou’llregret

—somethingyou’llneverbeabletoerasefromyourmind.”

ButIdon’thanditover.
Ican’tdothatjustyet.
I’mcompelledtowatchthisstrangemanIdon’trecognizefromanyofmylives,takegreatpleasure

inbeatingher—me—forthesimplesinofdreamingofabetterlife.

I’mnottheretohope,ordream,oranythingofthesort.I’mnottheretoimaginefarawayplaces,

oralovethatwillsaveme.

Thereisnosavingme.
Nobetterplace.
Nolovewillcome.
ThisishowIlive—thisishowIwilldie.
Freedomisnotformykind.
And the sooner I get used to it, the better, he tells me—repeating himself with every lash of his

whip.

“Howcomeyounevertoldme?”Iwhisper,myvoicelow,almostinaudible.Sostruckbytheimages

beforeme,watchingasIwithstandthekindofbeatingIcouldneverhaveimagineduntilnow.Absorbing
eachandeveryblowwithbarelyashudder,withavowofabsolutesilenceanddignityI’mdeterminedto
uphold.

“Asyoucansee,it’snotoneofyourromanticlives,”Damensays,voicehoarsewithregret.“Parts

ofit—likethepartyouseenow—areextremelyunpleasant,andIhaven’thadtimetoeditthisone,orgo
overitinanyway.That’stheonlyreasonI’vekeptitfromyou.ButassoonasIdo,Ipromisetoletyou
see it. Believe it or not, there were happy moments. It wasn’t always like this. But, Ever, please, do
yourselfafavorandturnitoffbeforeitgetsanyworse.”

“Itgetsworse?”Iturn,myeyescloudedwithtearsforthehelplessgirlbeforeme—thegirlIusedto

be.

Buthejustnods,retrievestheremotefromunderthecushion,andpromptlyshutsitoff.Leavingthe

two of us sitting there, quietly shaken by the horrors we viewed only a moment before. Determined to
breakthelingeringsilence,Isay,“Andtherestofmylives—allofthosescenesthatweliketorevisit—
aretheyeditedtoo?”

Helooksatme,browsmergedwithconcern.“Yes.IthoughtIexplainedthatthefirsttimewecame

here.Ineverwantedyoutoseeanythingasupsettingasthat.There’snouserelivingthetraumaofthings
wecan’tchange.”

Ishakemyheadandclosemyeyes,butitdoesn’tdoanythingtostopthebrutalimagesthatcontinue

toplayinmymind.“IguessIdidn’trealizeitwasyouwhoeditedit,IguessIthoughttheplacesomehow
didit—likeSummerlandwouldn’tallowanythingbadtocreepin—or—something—”

Idropthethread,choosingtoletitjustdangleinstead.Rememberingthatdark,rainy,creepypartI

once stumbled upon, and knowing that like the yin and the yang, every dark has its light, including
Summerlanditseems.

“Ibuiltthisplace,Ever.Madeitespeciallyforyou—forus.WhichmeansI’mtheonewhoeditsthe

scenes.”Heturnstheremotebackon,carefultochooseamorepleasantviewofthetwoofussneaking
away from a ball in full swing. A happy moment from the frivolous London life I’m so fond of—an
obviousattempttolightenthemood,tobanishthedarkwebothjustrelived—butitdoesn’tquitework.
Onceseen,thosehorrifyingimagesarenotsoeasilyremoved.

“There are many reasons we don’t remember our previous lives when we reincarnate—and what

youjustexperiencedisdefinitelyoneofthem.Sometimesthey’rejusttoopainfultodealwith—toohard

to get over. Memories are haunting things. I should know, I’ve been haunted by more than a few of my
own.Foroversixhundredyears.”

Buteventhoughhemotionstowardthescreen,motionstowardamuchhappierversionofme,it’sno

use.There’snoimmediatecureforwhatInowknow.

Upuntilthatmoment,Iwassurethatmylifeasthelowly,Parisianservantwasasbadasitgot.But

an actual slave? I shake my head. I’d never even imagined such a thing—never saw that one coming.
And,tobehonest,thebrutalityofittookmybreathaway.

“Thepointofreincarnationistoexperienceasmanydifferentlivesaspossible,”Damensays,tuning

in to my thoughts. “It’s how we learn the most important lessons of love and compassion—by literally
walkingineachother’sshoes—which,ultimatelybecomeourown.”

“Ithoughtyousaidthepointwastobalanceoutourkarma.”Ifrown,strugglingtomakesenseofit

all.

Henods,gazepatientandkind.“Wedevelopourkarmabythechoiceswemake,byhowquickly—

orslowly—welearnwhatreallymattersintheworld—howswiftlywecansuccumbtothereal reason
we’rehere.”

“Andwhat’sthat?”Iask,mymindstilladrift.“Therealreason,Imean?”
“Toloveeachother.”Heshrugs.“Nomore,noless.Itsoundssimpleenough,asthoughitshouldbe

rather easy to do. But one good look at our history, including the history you just saw, and I think it
becomesclearwhatadifficultlessonthatisforsomany.”

“So,youweretryingtoshieldmefromthis?”Iask,mycuriositystartingtoniggleatme.Partofme

wantingtoseemore,toseehowshe/Igotthroughit—andpartofmeknowingthatanyonewholearnedto
withstand a beating like that, with such silence and dignity, had already lived through far too many of
them.

“Despite what you saw, I want you to know that there were bright spots for sure. You were so

beautiful,soradiant,andonceImanagedtogetyouawayfromallthat—”

“Wait—yourescuedme?”Igazeathim,eyeswide,asthoughI’mlookinguponmyveryownPrince

Charming.“Youhadmefreed?”

“Inamannerofspeaking…”Henods,buthisgazewavers,hisvoicegoestight,andit’sobvioushe’s

morethanreadytomoveawayfromallthis.

“And,werewe…happy?”Iask,needingtohearitfromhim.“Imean,reallyandtrulyhappy?”
Henods.Givingmeaquickloweringandrisingofhishead,butit’sallthathegives.
“Until Drina killed me,” I say, filling in the parts he’s unwilling to share. It was always she who

hastenedmydeath,sowhywouldaslavelifebeanydifferent?Notingthewayhisfacegoesgrim,andhis
handsbegintofidget,butstillchoosingtopressaheadwhenIadd,“So,tellme,how’dshedoitthistime?
Did she push me in front of a carriage—throw me off a cliff—drown me in a lake—or did she try
somethingtotallynewanddifferent?”

Hemeetsmygaze,obviouslypreferringnottoanswer,butcorrectlyassumingIwon’tgiveupuntilI

hearitfromhim,hesays,“Allyouneedtoknowisthatsheneverrepeatedherself.”Hesighs,facesolemn
and grave. “Probably because she enjoyed it too much, enjoyed thinking up inventive, new ways.” He
winces.“AndIsupposeshedidn’twantmetogetsuspicious.Butlisten,Ever,eventhoughwhatyousaw
wasunbelievablytragic,intheend,Ilovedyou,andyoulovedme,anditwaswonderfulandgloriousfor
aslongasitlasted.”

Ilookaway,determinedtoabsorbit,totakeitallin.Butit’salot.Toomuchforrightnow,that’sfor

sure.

“So,willyoushowmesomeday?”Ifacehimagain.

Seeingthepromiseinhisgazewhenhelooksatmeandsays,“Yes,butfirstgivemesometimeto

editit,okay?”

Inod,seeingthewayhisshouldersdroop,thewayhisjawloosens,andknowingthatthatwaspretty

muchashardforhimasitwasforme.

“But for now, what do you say no more surprises? Why don’t we go somewhere happier—better

—funner,ifyouwill?”

Isitthereforamoment,feelingsoalonewithmythoughtsit’sasthoughhe’snotthere.
Soonrousedbythesoundofhisvoiceatmyear,saying,“Heylook,they’regettingtothegoodpart—

whatdoyousaywebecomethem?”

Mygazeswitchestothescreen,whereaverydifferentversionofmesmilesradiantly.Myglossy,

darkhairsparklingwithacollectionofpinsandjewelsmadespecificallytomatchmybeautiful,hand-
sewn,emeraldgreendress.SeeingthewayIholdmyselfwithsuchconfidence—sosureofmybeauty,my
privilege,myrighttodreamallIwant,toobtainallIwant,toclaimanyoneIwant—includingthisdark,
handsomestrangerI’veonlyjustmet.

TheonewhomakesthewholestringofsuitorsIleftbackinsideseemdreadfullydullincomparison.
Aversionofmethat’s so oppositeto the oneI just saw amoment ago ithardly makes sense. And

eventhoughI’mdeterminedtorevisitthatothermeagainsoon,fornowitcanwait.

Wecameheretohavealastbitofsummerfun,andI’mgoingtomakesurethatwedo.
Ourhands clasped together,we rise fromthe couch and headfor the screen,not stopping until we

mergeandmeld,andbecomeonewiththescene.

My Parisian dress instantly replaced by an emerald green gown made especially for me, my lips

nippingatthehardedgeofDamen’sjaw,flirting,teasingwiththetipofmytongue,beforespinningonmy
heel,liftingmyskirts,andleadinghimdeeperanddeeperintothedarkestpartofthegarden,toaplace
wherenoonecanfindus—notmyfather,nottheservants,notmysuitors,notmyfriends…

Wantingnothingmorethantokissthisdarkandhandsomestranger,whoalwaysseemstoappearout

ofnowhere,whoalwaysseemstoknowwhatI’mthinking,whothrilledmewithhistingleandheatfrom
theveryfirstlook.

Theveryfirstmomenthepeeredintomysoul.

chapterthree

“Shouldn’tyoubethinkingaboutleavingforschoolsoon?”
ItwistthetopfrommybottleofelixirandglancetowardthekitchentablewhereSabinesits.Seeing

thewayhershoulder-lengthblondhairistuckedsnuglybehindherear,thewayherperfectlycoordinated
makeupisflawlesslyapplied,thewayhersuitispressedandcleanandimmaculatelyputtogetherwithout
anoddcreaseorstraywrinkleinsight—andIcan’thelpbutwonderwhatit’sliketobeher.Whatit’slike
toliveinaworldwhereeverythingissoorderly,soobedient,somethodical,sotidilyarranged.

Where every problem has a logical solution, every question an academic explanation, and every

dilemmacanbesummedupinasimpleverdictofinnocentorguilty.

Aworldwhereeverythingisblackandwhiteandallshadesofgrayarepromptlywhiskedaway.
It’sbeensolongsinceI’velivedinthatworld,andnowafterallthatI’veseen,there’snowayI’ll

everresidethereagain.

Shecontinuestostare,facestern,mouthgrim,abouttorepeatherselfwhenIsay,“Damen’sdriving

metoday.Heshouldbeheresoon.”

Notingthewayherwholebodystiffensatthemerementionofhisname.Sheinsistsonblaminghim

formysuddenfallfromgraceeventhoughhewasnowherenearthestorethatday.

Shenods,hergazeslowlymovingoverme.Scrutinizing,carefullytakingnoteofeverylastdetail,

starting from my head and working all the way down to my toes, before heading back up and starting
again.Insearchofbadomens,flashinglights,hazardsigns,anythingwarningoftroubleahead.Thekind
of telltale symptoms her child-rearing books have all warned her about, but getting little more than an
imageofalightlytanned,blondhaired,blueeyedgirlinawhitesummerdressandnoshoes.

“Ihopewewon’thaveanymoretroublethisyear.”Shebringshermugtoherlipsandpeersatme

fromoverthetop.

“Andjustwhatkindoftroublewouldyoubereferringto?”Iask,hatingthewaythesarcasmcreeps

soeasilyintomyvoice,butstillmorethanalittletiredofheralwaysputtingmeonthedefensive.

“Ithinkyouknow.”Herwordsareclipped,herforeheadcreased,asItakeadeepbreathandtrynot

torollmyeyesinawayshecansee.

Torn between feeling completely heartbroken that it’s actually come to this—the long list of daily

recriminationsthatcanneverbeerased—andfeelingcompletelyinfuriatedbyherrefusaltoacceptmeat
myword—acceptwhatIsayasthetruth,thatthisiswhoIreally,trulyam,forbetterorworse.

ButstilljustshruggingwhenIsay,“Well,thenyou’llbehappytoknowthatIdon’tdrinkanymore.I

gaveallthatupnotlongafterthesuspension.Mostlybecauseitwasn’tworkingoutformeallthatwell,

andeventhoughyouprobablydon’twanttohearthis,probablywon’tevenbelieveit,itwasdullingmy
giftsintheveryworstway.”

She bristles. Physically bristles at my use of the word gift. Having already pegged me as a sad,

pathetic,attention-starvedphony,who’sobviouslycryingoutforhelp—she’sreallycometohatemyuse
ofthewordmorethananything.HatesthatIrefusetobackdown,thatIrefusetosuccumbtoherside.

“Besides,” I say, tapping my bottle against the counter, my gaze narrowed on hers, “I’ve no doubt

you’vealreadyconvincedMunoztospyonmeandsubmitafullreportattheendofeachday.”Regretting
thewordsthemomentthey’reout,becausewhileitmaybetrueofSabine,it’sreallynotfairtoMunoz.
He’sbeennothingbutniceandsupportivetowardme,andhasneveroncemademefeelbadaboutbeing
thewayIam.Ifanything,he’sseemedintrigued,fascinated,andsurprisinglyinformed.Toobadhecan’t
seemtoconvincehisgirlfriendofthat.

Butstill,ifshe’ssounwillingtoacceptmeforme,thenwhyshouldIbesoquicktoacceptthefact

thatshe’sinlovewithmyoldhistoryteacher?

ExceptthatIshould.
Andnotonlybecausetwowrongsprettymuchnevermakearight,butbecause,despitewhatshemay

thinkanddespitewhatImaysay,attheendoftheday,allIreallywantisforhertobehappy.

Well,that,andforhertomovepastallofthissothatwecangetbacktohowweoncelived.
“Listen,”Isay,beforeshehasachancetoreact,knowingIneedtodefusethesituationfromgetting

anyworsethanitalreadyhas.Beforeithasachancetoescalateintooneofthemanyscreamingmatches
we’ve had since she caught me giving her friend a psychic reading under the alias of Avalon. “I didn’t
meanthat.Really.I’msorry.”Inod.“So,canwejustpleasecallatrucehere?Onewhereyouacceptme,I
acceptyou,andeveryoneliveshappilyeverafter,injoyandpeaceandharmonyandallthat?”

Ilookather,mygazepracticallybeggingforhertogivein,butshejustshakesherheadandmumbles

under her breath. Something about me needing to come straight home from school from now until she
decidesotherwise.

But even though I love her—even though I’m grateful for all that she’s done—there will be no

restrictions,nogroundings,nothingofthesort.Becausethefactis,it’snotlikeIneedtolivehere.It’snot
likeIneedtoputupwiththisstuff.Ihaveoptions—lotsandlotsofoptions.Andshehasnoideajusthow
farIgotomakeitseemlikeIdon’t.

Pretending to eat when I no longer need to, pretending to study when it’s no longer necessary,

pretendingtobejustlikeanyothernormalseventeen-year-oldgirlwho’sdependentontheadultsinher
lifeforfoodandshelterandmoneyandprettymuchherentirewell-being—whenI’mnotevencloseto
being that girl. I’m about as far from that as one could possibly get. And it’s my job to make sure she
neverdiscoversanymorethanshealreadyhas.

“Howaboutthis,”Isay,swishingmyelixiraroundandaround,watchingasitsparksandglowsasit

runsupanddownthesides.“I’llmakeaconcertedefforttostayoutoftroubleandoutofyourway—if
you’llagreetodothesame.Deal?”

Shelooksatme,browsmerged,obviouslytryingtodetermineifI’mbeingsincereormakingsome

kindofthreat.Lipspursedforamoment,longenoughtogatherherwordsbeforeshesays,“Ever—I—I’m
justsoworriedaboutyou.”Sheshakesherheadandrunsherfingeralongtherimofhermug.“Whether
youwanttoadmititornot,youaredeeply,deeplytroubled,andI’matmywit’sendonhowtohandle
you,howtoreachyou,howtohelpyou—”

Islamthelidbackonmybottle,mylastounceofgoodwilldissolvinglikethat.Gazenarrowedon

herwhenIsay,“Yeah,well,maybethis’llhelp.One—ifyoureallywanttohelpmeasmuchasyousay
you do, you could start by not calling me crazy.” I shake my head and slip my sandals onto my feet,

sensing Damen pulling into the drive, and not a moment too soon. “And two”—I toss my bag onto my
shoulderandmeetherglarewithoneofmyown—“youcouldalsostopreferringtomeasanattention-
starved,deeplytroubled,needyfraud—orsomevariationthereof.”Inod.“Thosetwothingsalonewould
beaverygoodstarttowardhelpingme,Sabine.”

GivinghernotimetoreactbeforeIstormoutofthekitchenandoutofthehouse,slammingthedoor

muchharderthanIintended,butstilljustshruggingitoffasIheadforDamen’scar.

Slidingontothesoftleatherseatandsquintingathimwhenhesays,“So,thisiswhatit’scometo.”
IfollowthetipofhispointingfingerallthewaytothewindowwhereSabinestands.Notbothering

topeekthroughtheblindsoreventhecrackwherethedrapesmeet.Nottryingtohidethefactthatshe’s
watchingme—watchingus.Shejustcontinuestostandthere,mouthset,facestern,onehandoneachhip,
asshetakesusbothin.

Isigh,purposelyavoidinghergazeinfavorofhis.“JustbegladIsparedyoutheinterrogationyou

would’ve gotten had you come in.” I shake my head. “Trust me, there’s a reason I told you to wait out
here,”Iadd,stilldrinkinghimin.

“Shestillatit?”
Inodandrollmyeyes.
“YousureIcan’ttalktoher?Maybeit’llhelp.”
“Forgetit.”Ishakemyhead,wishinghe’djustbackupthecaralreadyandgetmeoutofthisplace.

“There’snoreasoningwithher—she’scompletelyunreasonableand,trustme,yourtryingtotalktoher
willonlymakeitworse.”

“Worsethantheevileyeshejustshotmefromherperchatthewindow?”Heglancesbetweenthe

rearviewmirrorandmeashebacksdownthedrive,hislipcurlinginawaythat’salittlemoreplayful
thanI’dlike.

Thisisserious.
I’mserious.
Andeventhoughitmaynotbeallthatserioustohim,it’sstillaprettybigdealtome.
ButwhenIlookathimagain,Idecidetoletitgoandcuthimsomeslack.Remindingmyselfhowthe

sheer breadth of his years, the expanse of his six centuries’ worth of living, has left him more or less
unfazedbythesmaller,everydaydramasthatalwaysseemtotakeupsomuchspace.

AsfarasDamenseesit,prettymucheverythingotherthanmeslipsintothe“notworththebother”

category.Tothepointwhereitseemsliketheonlythinghereallycaresaboutthesedays,theonlythinghe
reallyfocuseson,evenmorethanfindinganantidotesothatwecanfinallybetogetherafterfourhundred
yearsofwaiting,isprotectingmysoulfromtheShadowland.Asfarashe’sconcerned,everythingelse
justpalesincomparison.

AndeventhoughIreallydogetthebigpicturenessofitall,Ican’tstopcaringaboutthe“smaller”

stuffaswell.

And,unfortunatelyforDamen,thebestwayformetomakesenseofitandsortitalloutinmyhead,

istodiscussitoverandoveragain.

Believe me, you were spared, and spared big time. Had you insisted on coming in, it would’ve

beenwayworsethanthat.ThewordscoursingfrommymindtohisasIgazeoutthewindshieldbefore
me,amazedtoseehowunbelievablybright,hot,andsunnythedayalreadyis,eventhoughit’sonlyafew
minutes past eight in the morning. And I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever get used to this—if I’ll ever
stopcomparingmynewlifeinLagunaBeach,California,totheoneIleftbehindinEugene,Oregon.

IfI’lleverbeabletostoplookingback.
MythoughtsreturningtothesubjectwhenDamensqueezesmykneeandsays,“Don’tworry,she’ll

comearound.”

Buteventhoughhisvoiceisconfident,hisexpressiontellsotherwise.Hiswordswerebasedway

moreonhopethanconviction—hisdesiretoeasemymindeasilytrumpshisdesirefortruth.Becausethe
factis,ifSabinehasn’tcomearoundbynow,thenit’shighlydoubtfulsheeverwill,oratleastnotanytime
soon.

“You know what bugs me the most?” I say, knowing he does, he’s heard it before, but continuing

anyway.“It’s,like,nomatterwhatItellher,nomatterhowmanytimesItrytoproveittoherbyreading
hermind,andrevealingallkindsofoddlittlenuggetsaboutherpast,present,andfuturethatIcouldn’t
possiblyknowifIwasn’tpsychic—itdoesn’tmakeadent.Infact,itseemslikeitdoesjusttheopposite.
Justconvinceshertodigherheelsinevendeeper,absolutelyrefusingtoconsideranyofmyarguments,
oranythingelseIhavetosayonthematter.Shecompletelyrefusestocrackopenhermindjustthetiniest
bit. Instead, she just shoots me that grim, judgmental look of hers, totally convinced that I’m faking,
makingthewholethingupinsomebig,patheticbidforattention.LikeI’vetotallyandcompletelylostmy
mind.”Ishakemyheadandtuckmylongblondhairbackbehindmyears,asmycheekswarmandflush.
Thisisthepartthatreallygetsmegoing,leavesmeallredfacedandagitatedeverysingletime.“Even
afterIaskedherwhyonearthI’dwastesomuchtimeandeffortworkingthathardtokeepmyabilitiesa
secretifIwasonlyinterestedintheattentionthey’dgetme—evenafterIbeggedhertolistentoherown
stupidargumentsoshecouldseehowitdoesn’tmakeeventheslightestbitofsense—shestillrefusedto
budge.Imean,sheactuallyaccusedmeoffraud!”Iclosemyeyesandfrown,rememberingthemomentso
clearlyit’sasthoughit’shappeningrightherebeforeme.

Sabine barging into my room the morning after Roman died, the morning after I’d lost all hope of

evertrulybeingwithDamen,ofevergettingtheantidote.Notevengivingmeachancetofullywakeup,
washmyface,brushmyteeth,andpreparemyselfinsomeway.

Confrontingmeinablazeofself-righteousfury,herblueeyesnarrowedonmine,asshesaid,“Ever,

don’tyouthinkyouowemeanexplanationforlastnight?”

Ishakemyheadandcleartheimagefrommymind.MygazemeetingDamen’swhenIsay,“Because

accordingtoher,thereisnosuchthingaspsychicpowers,extrasensoryperception,oranythingelseof
the sort. According to her, no one can see into the future. It’s just a bogus claim made by a bunch of
money-grubbing,unscrupulous,charlatanfraudslikeme!AndI’vebeenwillfullyengaginginfraudfrom
the moment I took money for my first psychic reading. And, in case you didn’t know, there are legal
ramificationsforthatsortofthing,which,ofcourse,shethentookthepleasureoflistingforme.”Ilookat
Damen,aswide-eyedandagitatedasthefirsttimeItoldthestory.“Solastnight,whenshehadthenerve
tobringitupyetagain,Iaskedherifshecouldrecommendagoodattorney,seeingthatIwasheadedfor
suchbigtroubleandall.”Irollmyeyes,rememberinghowbadlythatwentover.

MyfingersnervouslypickingattheshorthemofmywhitecottondressasIbalancemyopenbottle

ofelixironmyknee.Tellingmyselftocalmdown,tojustletitgo,we’vebeenoverthisagazilliontimes
alreadyanditonlyservestomakememorewoundupthanbefore.

GazingoutthewindowasDamenslowstoastop,allowinganolderwomancarryingasurfboardin

one hand and a dog leash with a yellow Lab attached in the other, to make their way past. The dog
remindingmesomuchofmyolddog,Buttercup,withhiswaggingtail,shinyyellowcoat,happybrown
eyes,andcutepinknose,Iactuallydoadoubletake,asthatold,familiarpangcurlsitswaythroughmy
gut—aconstantreminderofallthatI’velost.

“Didyouremindherthatshe’stheonewhointroducedyoutoAva,whichinadvertentlyledyoutothe

jobatMysticsandMoonbeams?”Damensays,bringingmebacktothepresentashisfootswitchesfrom
thebraketothegas.

Inod,peeringintomyside-viewmirror,watchingthedog’sreflectionshrinksmallerandsmaller.“I

mentioneditlastnight,andyouknowwhatshesaid?”

Ilookathim,allowingthescenetostreamfrommymindtohis.Sabineatthekitchencounter,apile

ofvegetableswaitingtobewashedanddicedbeforeher—meinmyrunninggeardeterminedtogetoutof
thehousewithoutahassleforachange—bothofourtaskscomingtoascreeching,slamminghaltwhen
shedecidedtogoforroundfifteeninthenever-endingbattleofherversusme.

“She said it was a joke. A party thing. Meant for entertainment purposes only. That it was never

meanttobetakenseriously.”Irollmyeyesandshakemyhead.

Abouttosaysomethingmore,notevenclosetothefinish,whenhelooksatmeandsays,“Ever,if

I’velearnednothingelseinmysixhundredyearsofliving,it’sthatpeoplehatechangealmostasmuchas
they hate for their beliefs to be challenged. Seriously. Just look at what happened to my poor friend,
Galileo. He was completely ostracized for having the audacity to support Copernicus’s theory that the
earthwasn’tthecenteroftheuniverse.Tothepointwherehewastried,foundsuspectofheresy,forcedto
recant,andthenspenttherestofhislifeunderhousearrest,when,ofcourse,asweallknow,hewasright
allalong.So,whenyouthinkaboutit,comparedtothat,I’dsayyou’regettingoffprettyeasy.”Helaughs,
givingmealookthatpracticallybegsmetolightenupandlaughtoo,butI’mjustnotthereyet.SomedayI
mayfindthisfunny,butthatdayexistsinafar-awayfutureIcannotyetsee.

“Believeme,”Isay,placingmyhandoverhis,awareoftheenergyveildancingbetweenus.“She

tried the whole house arrest angle, but no way was I going for it. I mean, it’s really unfair how I’m
supposedtojustautomaticallyacceptherandtheblack-and-whiteworldshechoosestolivein,andyet,
she won’t even give me a chance to explain myself. Won’t even consider my side of things. She just
automatically pegs me as some crazy, needy, overly emotional teen because I just so happen to have
abilitiesthatdon’tfitintoherclose-mindedviews.AndsometimesitmakesmesomadIjust—”Ipause,
pressingmylipstightlytogether,unsureifIshouldactuallyallowmyselftoreallyvoiceitoutloud.

Damenlooksatme,waiting.
“Sometimes-I-just-can’t-wait-for-this-year-to-be-over-so-that-we-can-graduate-and-go-

somewhere-far-away-where-we-can-live-our-own-lives-and-be-done-with-all-this.” I exhale the words
soquicklytheyallruntogethersothatoneispracticallyindistinguishablefromthenext.“Imean,Ifeel
badforsayingit,especiallyafterallthatshe’sdone,butstill,thefactisshedoesn’tevenknowthehalfof
whatIcando.AllsheknowsisthatIhavepsychicabilities—that’sit!Canyouevenimaginehowshe’d
react if I told her the real truth? That I’m an immortal with physical powers she can’t even begin to
fathom?Likethepowerofinstantmanifestation,and,ohyeah,let’snotforgetaboutthatbriefboutoftime
travelIengagedinrecently,nottomentionhowIliketospendmyfreetimeinthischarminglittleout-of-
the-way alternate dimension called Summerland where my immortal boyfriend and I make out in our
variouspast-lifeguises!Canyouimaginehowthatwouldgoover?”

Damen looks at me, eyes glinting in a way that instantly fills me with a swarm of tingle and heat,

smilingashesays,“Whatdoyousaywedon’tfindout,okay?”

Hestopsatthelightandpullsmenear.Hislipsgrazingmyforehead,mycheek,downthelengthof

myneck,untilfinally,finally,meldingwithmine.

Movingawayjustsecondsbeforethelightturnsgreen,andglancingatmewhenhesays,“Yousure

youwanttogothroughwiththis?”

Thewarmthofhisdeep,darkgazeholdingthelookforjustatadlongerthannecessary.Allowingme

plentyoftimetosayno,thatI’mnotatallready,notevenclose,sohecanturnthecararoundandhead
somewhere else. Somewhere nicer, friendlier, warmer—like a far-away beach or maybe even a
Summerlandretreat—asmallpartofhimhopingI’llconsenttojustthat.

He’soverthewholehighschoolscene.Hasbeenforcenturies.I’mtheonlyreasonhe’shere.The

only reason he stays. And now that we’re together, blissfully reunited after several painful centuries of
beingrippedapartoverandoveragain,hejustdoesn’tseethepointtoallthis.Viewsitassomesortof
uselesscharade.

AndeventhoughIdon’talwaysseethepointeither,sinceit’sprettyhardtoactuallylearnanything

whentheknowledgecomesaseasilyasreadingourteacher’smindsorplacingourhandsonthecoverof
abookandintuitingthecontentsinside,I’mstilldeterminedtohanginthereandseeitallthewaythrough.

Mostly because it’s pretty much the only part of my totally bizarre life that’s even the slightest bit

normal.AndnomatterhowboredDamenmayget,nomatterhowoftenhebegsmetojustblowitalloff
sowecangostartourlivesinstead,Iwon’tdoit.Can’tdoit.Forsomestrangereason,Ijustreallywant
ustograduate.

Iwanttoholdthatdiplomainmyhandandtossmycapintheair.
Andtodaywe’retakingthefirststeptowardthatend.
Ismileandnodandurgehimtocontinue,seeingaflashofuneasecloudhisface,andreturningthe

look with a newfound confidence and strength. Straightening my shoulders and scraping my hair into a
ponytail that sits low on my neck, smoothing the wrinkles from my dress and preparing for the battle
ahead.

EventhoughI’mnotsurewhat’scomingorexactlywhattoexpect,eventhoughIcan’tseeintomy

own future as easily as I can everyone else’s, if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that Haven still
blamesmeforRoman’sdeath.

Stillblamesmeforeverythingthat’sgonewronginherlife.
Andhaseveryintentionofmakinggoodonherpromisetoruinme.
“Trustme,I’mmorethanready.”Igazeoutthesidewindow,scanningthecrowdformyformerbest

friend,knowingit’sjustamatteroftimebeforeshe’llmakethefirstmove,andhopingI’llhaveachance
toturnitaroundbeforewebothdosomethingwe’llnodoubtregret.

chapterfour

Itisn’tuntillunchthatweseeher.
Everyoneseesher.
She’simpossibletomiss.
Likeanunexpectedswirloficybluefrost—likeanintricateicicleedgedinsharpcurves—she’sas

enticing,exotic,andstartlingasasurprisewintrychillonahotsummerday.

Alargegroupofstudentsswarmallaroundher—theverysamepeoplewholookedpastherbefore.
Butthere’snomissinghernow.
Nomissingherunearthlybeauty,herirresistiblelure.
She’snotthesameHavensheusedtobe.She’sentirelydifferent.Transformed.
Wheresheusedtofade,shenowglistens.
Whereoncesherepelled,sheattracts.
AndwhatIusedtothinkofasherstandardblackleatherandlace,rock’n’rollgypsylook,hasbeen

swappedforasortoflanguorous,mesmerizing,slightlymorbidglamour.Likeanarcticversionofadark,
mournfulbride,she’sdressedinalongbody-skimminggownwithadeepVinfront,longfloatysleeves,
andlayeruponlayerofsoft,silkybluefabricthatdragsbehindher,sweepingtheground,whileherneck
practicallysagswiththeweightofjewelsshe’slayereduponit—acombinationofglossyTahitianpearls,
glittery cabochon sapphires, large roughly cut chunks of turquoise, and highly polished clusters of
aquamarine,withlong,jetblackhairthathangsinglossy,loosewavestrailingallthewaydowntoher
waist. The platinum streak that once marked her bangs now dyed the same deep shade of cobalt that
graceshernails,lineshereyes,andglistensinthejewelthatmarksthespacejustaboveandbetweenher
finelyarchedbrows.

AlooktheoldHavencould’veneverpulledoff;shewould’vebeenlaughedoutofschoolbeforethe

firstbellcouldring—butnotanymore.

Imumbleundermybreath,asDamenreachesforme.Hisfingersgraspingmineinwhat’smeanttobe

areassuringsqueeze,butwe’rejustasentrancedaseveryoneelseinthisschool.Unabletotearoureyes
awayfromthesheenofherultrapaleskin,thewayitgleamsinaseaofblackandblue.Resultinginan
oddlyfragile,ethereallook—likeafreshlymadebruise—completelybelyingthedeterminationwithin.

“The amulet,” Damen whispers, gaze briefly meeting mine, before returning to her. “She’s not

wearingit,it’s…gone.”

Myeyesinstantlylocateherneck,searchingthroughthecomplicatedtangleofdark,shiningjewelry,

onlytoseethathe’sright.Theamuletwegaveher,theonethatwasmeanttokeephersafefromharm,

safefromme,isnolongerthere.AndIknowit’snoaccident,nothingofthekind.It’samessagemeantfor
me.Onethat’sintendedtoscreamloudandclear:

Idon’tneedyou.I’veoutgrownyou.I’vetranscendedyoucompletely.
Having risen to a pinnacle of power of her very own making, she’s now in a place where she no

longerfearsme.

Despitethefactthatherauraisnolongervisible,hasn’tbeensincethenightIhadherdrinkfromthe

elixirthatturnedherimmortallikeme,it’snotlikesheneedsoneformetosensewhatshe’sthinking.

Toknowhowshe’sfeeling.
HergriefoverRoman,combinedwithherragetowardme,iswhatspawnedthiswholething.She’s

completely guided, completely redefined, by an overwhelming sense of anger and loss, and is now
seekingrevengeoneverysinglepersonwho’severoncedoneherwrong.

Beginningwithme.
Damenstopsinhistracksandpullsmeclosetohisside,allowingmeonelastchancetocryuncle

andbailonthisscene,butIwon’t.Can’t.WhileI’mfullycommittedtolettinghermakethefirstmove,the
secondshedoesI’llhaveabsolutelynoproblemremindingherjustwho’sinchargearoundhere.It’swhat
I’ve been training for. And while she may feel confident and sure of herself now, I happen to know
somethingshedoesn’t:

Shemayfeelstrong,empowered,andcompletelyinvincible—butherpowerscan’tevenbeginto

touchmine.

Damen shoots me a worried glance, aware of the pierce of her gaze, little arrows of hate aimed

straightatme.ButIjustshrugandkeepmoving,leadinghimtowardourusualtable,theoneshesurely
thinksisbeneathher,knowingthatthehatefullooksarejustthebeginning,somethingwe’dbettergetused
toifwe’veanyhopeofsurvivingtheyear.

“Youokay?”Heleanstowardme,concerninhiseyes,handonmyknee.
Inod,gazeneveronceleavinghers,knowingthatifshe’sanythinglikeRoman,she’lldragthisthing

outlikeacatwithamouse,takehersweettimebeforeshemovesinforthekill.

“Because I want you to know that I’m here. I’ll always be here. Even though we don’t have any

classestogether,thankstoyouImightadd”—heshakeshishead—“IwantyoutoknowthatI’mnotgoing
anywhere.Iwon’tcut,sneakout,playtruant,oranythingofthesort.I’llgotoeverylastboringclasson
thisgodforsakenscheduleofmine.Whichmeansifyouneedme,allyouhavetodoiscallandI’ll—”

“Bethere.”Imeethisgaze,butonlyforamomentbeforeitreturnstoher.Watchingassherevelsin

herpositionasthenewqueenoftheAlist,presidingoveratablethatjustafewmonthsbeforeshewasn’t
even allowed to walk past, much less sit at. And I can only assume that Stacia and Honor decided to
exercisetheirnewsenioryearprivilegeofgoingoffcampusforlunch,sincetheywouldneverallowthis
tohappeniftheywerearound,whichonlymakesmewonderhowthey’llreactwhentheyreturntofind
Havenhastakentheirplace.

“Listen,”Isay,twistingthetopfrommyelixirandtakingasip.“We’vebeenoverthis,andI’mfine.I

canhandleit.Icanhandleher.Really.”Iturntowardhim,givinghimalookthatshowsjusthowmuchI
meanit.“Wehaveaneternitytogether—justyouandmeandinfinity.”Ismile.“Soit’snotlikeweneedto
sitnexttoeachotherinphysicstoo,right?”MyheartpracticallyskippingwhenIseethewayhiseyes
brighten, his mood lightens, and he smiles too. “You have no reason to worry about me. Between my
meditationswithAvaandmytrainingwithyou—I’mlikeanewandimproved,morepowerfulme!AndI
canhandleHaven,believeme,I’venodoubtaboutthat.”

He glances between us, his face a mask of apprehension, obviously struggling between his own

nagging doubt and his desire to believe. Despite my continued assurances, his fears for my safety, his

beliefthathealoneistoblameforsettingthiswholethinginmotionthedayhedecidedtoturn me, is
whatkeepshimfromfullytakingthatleap.

“Okay,butonelastthing—”HetiltsmychinuntilI’meyelevelwithhim.“Justrememberthatshe’s

angry,powerful,andreckless—adangerouscombinationifthereeverwasone.”

Inod,notmissingabeatwhenIreply,“Well,thatmaybetrue,butdon’tyouforgetthatI’mcentered,

morepowerful,andhavewaymorecontrolthansheeverwill.Whichmeansshecan’thurtme.Nomatter
how badly she may want to—no matter how hard she tries—she won’t win this one. Not to mention, I
havesomethingshedoesn’t—”

Helooksatme,eyesnarrowed,notanticipatingthissuddenchangeinthescriptwe’verehearsedso

manytimes.

“You. I have you. Always and forever, right? Or at least that’s what you said last night when you

weretryingtoravishmeintheEnglishcountryside…”

Oh, so it was me trying to ravish you? You sure about that? He laughs, closing his eyes as he

presseshislipstomine,atfirstsoftly,gently,thenwithmoreurgency.Kissingmeinawaythatcausesmy
entirebodytoignitewiththekindoftingleandheatonlyhecanprovide,onlytopullawayjustasquickly,
knowingwecan’trisklosingourfocusthisway.

Thesethingscanwait.Havencannot.
I’vebarelyhadachancetocooldownandpullmyselftogetheragain,whenMilesstepsoutofthe

crowd,awayfromhertable,andheadsinourdirection.Stoppingjustafewfeetaway,takingamoment
for a quick spin around, allowing for the full, three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of himself, before
nailing the stop in a modelesque pose, complete with steely gaze, pouty mouth, and a hand perched on
eachhip.

“Notice anything different?” His eyes dart between us. “Because excuse me for saying so, but

Haven’snottheonlyonewhohadatransformationalsummer,youknow?”Hedropstheposeandmoves
closer.“Soincaseyoudidn’thearmebefore,allowmetorepeatmyself.‘Notice.Anything.Different?’
Hepronouncesthewordsslowly,deliberately,takingtimetoenunciateeachandeveryone.

And when I look at him—when we look at him—it’s as though everything comes to a screeching,

slamming halt. All breathing, blinking, and heartbeating is instantly replaced by sheer, awkward, open-
mouthedgaping.Reducingustonothingmorethantwofrozenimmortals,sittingsidebyside,wonderingif
we’regazinguponathird.

“So,comeon,tellme…whaddyathink?”Milessings,doinganotherquickspinbeforelandingyet

anotherposehe’sdeterminedtohold’tiloneofusspeaks.“Holtdidn’tevenrecognizeme.”

WhatdoIthink?Ithinktheworddifferentdoesn’tevenbegintodescribeit.Myeyesdarttoward

Damen, before settling back on Miles again. Heck, even radically altered or completely transformed
barelycutsit!Ishakemyhead.

Thebrownhairhe’sworncroppedforaslongasI’veknownhimisnowlonger,wavier,almostlike

Damen’s.Andthebabyfatthatoncepaddedhischeeks,makinghimlookagoodtwoyearsyounger,has
now vanished completely, paving the way for things like cheekbones, a square jawline, and a more
definednose.Evenhisclothes,whichprettymuchconsistoftheusualjeans,shoes,andshirthealways
wore,somehowlookentirelyaltered—different—nothinglikebefore.

Like a caterpillar that decided to ditch his ratty old cocoon so he could show off his new and

improvedbutterflywings.

AndjustasI’mthinkingtheworst—surethatHavengottohimlongbeforeIcould—Iseeit.Wesee

it. His brilliant orange aura glowing all around him—the only thing that allows us to relax and get our
breathingbackontrack.

Still taking a moment to process it all, unsure of even where to begin, I’m relieved when Damen

says,“LookslikeFirenzewasgoodtoyou.Verygoodtoyou,infact.”HedirectsasmiletowardMiles,
whilegivingmeareassuringsqueezeofhishand.

Mileslaughs,hisfaceliftinginawaythatsoftensallthosenewedges.Butthen,justasquickly,it’s

gone,hisaurawaveringandflaringashefocusesonDamen,andthat’sallittakesformetoremember.

IguessI’vebeensocaughtupinmydramawithHavenandSabineI’dforgottenallaboutDamenand

theportraitsMilesuncoveredofDrinaandhim.

Portraitsthatwerepaintedcenturiesago.
Portraitsthatbearnoeasyanswers—nologicalexplanationsofanykind.
AndeventhoughIvowednevertodoitunlessabsolutelynecessary,Ithinkthisisdefinitelyoneof

thosemomentsthatconstitutesanemergency.SowhileDamen’sengaginghiminsmalltalkaboutFirenze,
IquietlytakeamomenttopeerintoMiles’smind.Needingtoseewhathethinks,whathesuspects,and
surprisedtoseehe’snotatallfocusedonanyofthethingsthatIfeared.Instead,he’sfocusedonme.

“I’mdisappointed,”hesays,interruptingDameninfavorofaddressingme.
Icockmyheadtotheside,havingslippedoutofhismindsecondsbeforeIhadachancetograspjust

whathe’strulytryingtogetat.

“Icamehomenewandimproved,asyoucansee.”Herunshishanddownthelengthofhisbodylike

agame-showmodeldisplayingthegrandprize.“AndIwasprettymuchplanningforthistobemybest
yearyet.ButnowIlearnthatmyfriendsarestillfighting,stillnotspeakingtoeachother,andstillforcing
me to choose between them, even though I specifically warned them to get it settled before I returned,
becausenowaywillIplaythisgame.NowaywillIbeforcedtoplayMerylStreepinSophie’sChoice.I
justwon’t.Infact—”

“Isthatwhatshesaid?”Icutin,sensingthatthisparticularmonologuecouldgoon’tilthefinalbell

ringsifIletit.“Shesaidyouhadtochoose?”Loweringmyvoiceasagroupofstudentsfilepast.

“No,butthenagain,shedidn’thaveto.Imean,Ithinkit’sprettyclearthatifyou’renottalkingtoher

and she’s not talking to you, then I’m going to have to choose. Either that, or lunch just got even more
awkward than it was last year.” He shakes his head, his shiny brown locks waving softly from side to
side.“AndIwillnottoleratethat.Ijustwon’t.So,basically,youhavebetweennowandtomorrowtoget
itallfiguredout.OrIwillbeforcedtobrownbagitelsewhere.Oh,andjustincaseyou’renottakingme
seriously, you should know that now that I have the keys to my mom’s old car, you no longer have the
carpool advantage. You and Haven are on equal footing as far as my affections are concerned. Which
meansyou’venochoicebuttoworkitout,ifyoueverwanttoseemeagain,or—”

“Orwhat?” I try to keep my voice light, jokey, since I have no idea how to break it to him that if

anything,knowingHaven,ourproblemwillonlyhaveescalatedbythen.

“Or I’m going to find a whole new table and a whole new group of friends.” He nods, glancing

betweenDamenandme,wantingustoknowhehaseveryintentionofmakinggoodonthethreat.

“We’llseewhatwecando,”Damensays,wantingjusttomovepastit,pastallofthis.
“Nopromises,”Iadd,eagertotoneitdown,keepitrealistic,andnotplayintoanysenseoffalse

hopehemighthave.

Assumingwe’reintheclearthemomentthebellrings,Damengrabsmyhandandstartstoleadme

towardclass.StoppingwhenMilestapshisshoulderandsays,“Andyou—”Hepauses,longenoughto
carefully look him over from his head to his feet. “You and I will talk later. You’ve got some serious
explainingtodo.”

chapterfive

IguessI’dbeensofocusedonHavenIhadn’teventhoughtaboutmyothernemeses—namelyStacia

MillerandherfaithfulsidekickHonor.

ButbythetimeIslipintosixth-periodphysics,thedoorclosingbehindmethesecondthefinalbell

rings,thesoundoftheirmuffledlaughsandsnickersisprettymuchallthereminderIneed.

I head straight for the middle, smiling to myself as I catch a glimpse of Stacia’s shocked face as I

claimtheemptyseatnearestthem.Imean,whyforcethemtostraintheirneckstogetagoodlookwhenI
canjustaseasilypickadeskthatprovidesforamuchbetter,farmoreclear,totallyunobstructedviewof
theirfavoriteobjectoftorment—me.

ButStacia’stheonlyonewhoseemsshockedbymychoice.Honorjusttakesitinstride.Sittingupa

little straighter as she lifts her brow and looks me over, her gaze so guarded, so conflicted it’s nearly
impossibletodecipher.

Nearly.
Though I’m far less focused on her expression than the thoughts that stream through her head.

Thoughtsshepurposelydirectsrightatme,correctlyassumingI’mlisteningwhenshethinks:

I know you can hear me. I know all about you. And I know that you know what I plan to do to

Stacia. How I plan to make her pay for every crappy thing she’s ever done to me or anyone else
unfortunateenoughtogetinherway.WhatIdon’tknowisifyou’replanningtohelpmeorstopme.
Butjustincaseyou’replanningtostopme,youreallyneedtorethinkit.Foronething,she’sbeena
totalbitchtoyoufromthestart,andforanother,well,evenifyoudotrytostopme,youcan’t.Noone
can.Notyou,notJude,andespeciallynotStacia,soit’sbesttonotevengothere—

And even though she’s looking right at me, eager for some kind of reaction, some kind of

acknowledgment that I’ve received her message loud and clear, I’ve no intention of giving her the
satisfaction.NointentionoflisteningtoanymorethanIalreadyhave.

Betweenherpathetic,revenge-drivenmanifesto,Stacia’susualmean-spiritedinnercommentary,Mr.

Borden’s silent lament how yet again, another year of his life will be wasted on a fresh supply of
ungrateful,incuriousstudents—anembarrassingcollectionofbadhaircutsandworseclothing,completely
indistinguishablefromthosewhocameandwentbefore—betweenallofthatandeveryoneelse’sprivate
dramasandangst—thedinistoogreat.

Toodepressing.
Andtotallydepleting.
SoItuneitalloutinfavorofalittlecross-campustelepathywithDamen.

Sixth-periodphysicsandsofarsogood,you?Ithink,preparingtoraisemyhandwhenmynameis

calledforroll,usedtobeingoneofthefirstonthealphabeticallistwithalastnamelikeBloom.

Art.Greatwaytoendtheday—givesmesomethingtolookforwardto.Wishthewholedaycould

be one long art class. Oh, and Ms. Machado is thrilled to have me back. Told me so herself. Never
beforehassheseensuchtalent,suchanaturalgiftinsomeonesoyoung.Sheevenwantstosetasidea
timetospeaktomeaboutmyfutureandwhichartschoolsI’mapplyingto.

What about me? Did she pass on a greeting to the most untalented, ungifted student she’s ever

seen?Orhasshepurposelyblockedmefrommemory?

Don’tbesohardonyourself—yourreplicaofvanGoghwasincrediblyunique.
Ifbyuniqueyoumeangawdawful,thenyep,sotrue!JustmakesureyoutellherthatIwon’tbe

back for round two. I need to keep my confidence up, to stay strong both mentally and physically,
whichmeansIcan’ttaketheriskofwhatanothersemesterofhorriblygloppystickfigureswilldoto
mypsyche.So,what’syourfirstproject?AnotherPicasso—yourownrenditionofvanGogh?

Hescoffs.Impressionismissolastyear.IthoughtI’dgoreallyambitiousandmaybedoamural

ofsomesort.Re-createtheSistineChapel.Youknow,coverthewallsandtheceilingandreallyspruce
uptheclassroomabit—whatdoyouthink?

Ithinkthat’sagreatwaytokeepthatlowprofileyou’realwaysgoingonabout!Ilaugh,unaware

that I actually laughed out loud until Stacia Miller peers at me, rolls her eyes, and sings, “Looo—ser!”
underherbreath.

AndIimmediatelysignoff.KnowingthatifMr.Borden’sfrowningfaceisanyindication,I’vejust

unwittinglyputmyselfonhiswatchlist.Havingbeenpeggedwithinthefirstfiveminutesonthefirstday
ofclassasoneofthemoreparticularlyungratefultroublemakers.

“Something funny, Miss—” He bows his head to peer at the seating chart he’s in the process of

making.“—Bloom?Somethingyou’dliketosharewiththerestoftheclass?”

Istealaquickintakeofbreathandshakemyhead.AvoidingStacia’sbalefulglare,theamusedquirk

ofHonor’sbrow,andtheboredsighsfromtherestofmyclassmateswho’vegrownalltoousedtothe
alwaysembarrassingdisplaythatisme.

Openingmynewtextbook,andreachingintomybagforsomepaperandapenonlytofinditchock

fulloftulipsinstead.LikealoveletterfromDamen,thosered,waxypetalsservingasaremindertohang
in there, promising that no matter what happens, our undying love is the real deal—the only thing that
mattersinthemidstofeverythingelse.

Itracemyfingeralongthestem,takingamomenttosendhimasilentthanks,beforemanifestingthe

suppliesthatIneed.Closingmybag,confidentthatnobodysaw,untilIcatchHonorstudyingmeclosely,
intently,justlikeshedidthatdayonthebeach.

Adeeplyknowingkindofstarethatleavesmewonderingjusthowmuchsheknowsaboutme.
AndI’mjustabouttodelvefurther,topeerintohermindandgettothebottomofit,whensheturns

away, Mr. Borden calls on me to read, and I slip into the role of ambitious student trying to get my
bearingsonmyveryfirstday.

“Hey,Ever,waitup!”
Thesoundcomesfrombehindme,butIjustkeepgoing,followingmyfirstinstincttoignoreit.
But when she calls out again, I decide to stop and turn. Not the least bit surprised to find Honor

running to catch up, though it’s always odd to see her on her own without Stacia. Like she’s suddenly
missinganarmoralegorsomeotheressentialpartofherself.

“She’s in the bathroom,” she says, her brown eyes searching my face, answering the question she

findsinmygaze.“Eitherreapplyinghermakeup,purgingthefruitsmoothiesheslurpeddownatlunch,or
thinkingupnewwaystoblackmailthecheerleadingsquad—orheck,whoknows,maybeallthree.”She
shrugs,cradlingastackofbooksinherarms,calmlylookingmeoverfrommylongblondhairtomypink
polishedtoes.

“Whichmakesmewonderwhyyouevenbother?”Iask,doingthesame.Takinginherlongdarkhair

withtherecentadditionofredstreaks,herblackdenimleggings,knee-highflatblackboots,andthesheer
knit cardigan that clings to the tank top beneath. “I mean, if you hate her so much, why go to all the
planningandbother?Whynotjustletitgoandmoveonwithyourlife?”

“So you can read my mind.” She smiles, keeping her voice so soft and low, it’s almost as though

she’sspeakingtoherselfinsteadofme.“Maybesomedayyou’llteachmehowtodothat.”

“Doubtful.”Isigh,veeringthisclosetopeeringintohermindtoseewhatthisisreallyabout,then

remindingmyselfthatit’swrong,thatIneedtobepatientandletitunfoldonitsown.

“ThenmaybeJudewill.”Sheliftsabrow,gazingatmeasthoughit’satest—ormaybeevensome

kindofthinlyveiledthreat.

But I just press my lips together and peer toward my locker, eager to dump all of the books I’ve

already“read”andmakemywaytowardDamen,who’swaitingformeinhiscar.“Don’tcountonit,”I
say,preferringnottothinkaboutJudeinanyway,shape,orform.Otherthantheoddtextmessagehere
andthere,justtocheckinandmakesurehe’sstillokay,stillalive,andthatHavenstillhasn’tgottento
him,wehaven’treallyspokensincethenighthekilledRoman.

SincethenightIwasputintheawkwardpositionofhavingnochoicebuttoprotecttheoneperson

I’msoangrywith,I’mtemptedtokillhimmyself.

“LastIchecked,thatwasn’treallyoneofhisgifts,”Iadd,shiftingmybagtomyothershoulderand

shootingheralookthatsays:I’mnotsurewhatyourpointishere,butifinfactyouhaveone,thenyou
reallyneedtogettoit!

Promptinghertoshrugandlookaway,focusingonnothinginparticular,justgrazingthehallasshe

says, “Don’t you ever want to see her pay for all the crap that she’s done?” She turns, regarding me
seriously.“Imean,consideringallthehellshe’sputyouthrough,whatwiththesuspension,theYouTube
video—Damen—”Shepausesdramatically,hopingforsomekindofreaction,butshecanpauseallshe
wants, I won’t be reacting anytime soon. “Anyway,” she continues, the words hurried, having read my
expression and knowing I’m this close to leaving. “I guess I’m just surprised you’re not jumping on
board.Ifanything,Ithoughtyou’dbefirstinline—well,maybethesecond,youknow,rightbehindme.”

Itakeadeepbreath,wantingmorethananythingtogetoutofhereandonwiththebetterpartofmy

day,butstilltakingamomenttosay,“Yeah,well,here’sthething,Honor,ifyou’regonnachoosetolook
atitthatway,thenyoualsogottaadmitthatyou’vebeenprettyawfultometoo.”Sheshiftsawkwardly,
themovementslightbutenoughtoconvincemetocontinue.“Infact,youplayedamajorpartinmygetting
suspended,asyouwellknow,andlet’snotforgetthatitwasalsoyouwhostoodrightalongsideherin
Victoria’sSecretthedaysheshotthevideoofmethatendedupallovertheInternet.Andevenifitwasn’t
youridea,evenifallyoudidwasstandbyandobserve,well,intheschemeofthings,it’sprettymuchall
thesamething.Itdoesn’tmakeyouanylessguilty.Instead,itmakesyoucomplicit.Becausenottryingto
stop a bully, and choosing to hang with a bully, pretty much makes you an accessory to everything that
bullydoesinyourpresence.Andyet,youdon’tseemeharassingyouorobsessingongettingrevenge,do
you?Andyouknowwhy?”Ipause,sensingherinterestiswayclosertowaningthanpeaking,butforging
aheadanyway.“Becauseit’snotworthit.It’snotworthmytimeoreffort.That’swhatkarma’sfor—to
balance it all out in the end. Seriously, you really need to rethink this whole plan of yours. It’s totally

misguidedandatotalwasteofyourtime.Becausethefactis,it’snotlikeyou’reallthatinnocentyourself,
and these things have a way of boomeranging right back in ways you’ll never see coming.” I nod,
unwillingtoaddthatIhappentoknowthisthroughmyown,veryrecent,personalexperience.

Shelooksatme,hereyespartiallyobscuredbyherbangsassheslowlyshakesherhead.“Karma?”

Shelaughsandrollshereyes.“Well,Ihatetobreakittoyou,Ever,butnowyou’restartingtosoundalot
like Jude, what with all of his good mojo and bad mojo talk. But, seriously, maybe you should ask
yourselfthis—whenwasthelasttimekarmatooknoticeofStacia?”Sheliftsabrow.“Becauseincase
you haven’t noticed, she just goes through life doing whatever she wants to whomever she wants. And
whileyoumaybefinewithallthat,andwhileyoumaybecomfortableplayingthevictimtohernever-
endingcrap,I’moverit.I’msickofhergames.DidyouknowthatshetotallytriedtohookupwithCraig
fornootherreasonthantohurtme?Toshowmewho’squeenandwho’sapermanentnumbertwo.”

Igazeather,notsayingaword,thehallemptyingoutallaroundusaseveryonescramblestoleave.

Everyonebutus,thatis.

ButHonorjustcontinues,takingnonoticeofthetimeorthefactthatweshouldbegettingoutofhere

too. Her voice low and deep when she adds, “Too bad for her, it didn’t work. But still, what kind of
frienddoessomethinglikethat?”

“Isthatwhyyouguysbrokeup?”Iask,notreallycaringeitherway.Ialreadyknowthetruthabout

Craig,abouthistruepreferences,I’mjustwonderingifsheknowsittoo.

“No, we broke up because he’s gay.” She shrugs. “And there’s really no future in that for me. But

don’ttellanyone—”Shelooksatme,facepanicked,eagertoprotecthimandkeephissecret,butIjust
wave it away. I have no interest in gossip like that. “Anyway, the thing is, while I’m truly sorry about
being—complicit,orwhateveritisthatyoucalledit,that’sallovernow.Ihavenoplanstogetinyour
way,Ever.Aslongasyoustayoutofmine.”

Isquint,wonderingifthatwassomekindofthinlyveiledthreat.JustabouttoinformherthatIhave

waybiggerfishtofry,thatrefereeingherpopularityshowdownwithStaciaisofabsolutelynointerestto
me—whenIseeHaven.

Standing at the end of the hall, gaze entwining with mine until everything dims but the chill of her

energy,thesharpstabbingpierceofherlimitlesshate,andthecurlofhersummoningfinger.

AndthenextthingIknow,I’moff.Honor’svoicereducedtoavagueanddistanthumasIchaseafter

thetrainofHaven’sazure-bluegown.Floating,beckoning,asshedisappearsaroundacorner,andIrace
tokeepup.

chaptersix

Istandbeforethedoor,eyesclosed,takingamomenttoengageinoneofthefastandsimplemini-

meditationsAvataughtmeinordertoempowermyself.Imaginingaradiantwhitelightcoursingthrough
mybodyandseepingthroughallofmycells,asmyfingersanxiouslyseektheamuletIwearatmyneck.
Thecollectionofcrystalsmeanttokeepmefromharmandguardallofmychakras,especiallymyfifth—
the center for the lack of discernment and a misuse of information—my one major weakness that, if
targeted,willdoommetotheinfiniteabyss.

StealingasecondtotuneintoDamen,tolethimknowthere’sagoodchanceit’sstarted,whilealso

remindinghimofhispromisetostayputunlessIspecificallycalloutforhishelp.

ThenItakeadeepbreathandpushmywayin,movingacrosstheuglypinktiledfloor,stoppingjust

shy of the row of white sinks that jut out from the wall. My posture relaxed, arms loose by my sides,
watching as Haven kicks open the door of every last stall, making sure we’re alone, before she turns,
places her hands on her hips, cocks her head to the side, and shoots me an appraising look that does
nothingtomarhernewlyenhancedface.

“Andsobeginssenioryear.”Shesmirks,thesapphiremarkingthespacejustaboveandbetweenher

brows,catchingthefluorescentlightandglintingatmeasshesmilesinawaythatdoesn’tquitereachher
eyes.“Howareyoufindingitsofar?Yourteachers—yourclasses—isiteverythingyoudreameditwould
be?”

Ishrug,refusingtogiveheranythingmore,refusingtogetcaughtupinhergame.Thisisthekindof

uselessword-playRomanlovedtoengagein,andifIdidn’tplayitwithhim,Icertainlywon’tindulge
her.

Shecontinuestostudyme,nottheleastbitdauntedbymysilence.Ifanything,itonlyencouragesher.

“Well,asforme,it’sturningoutevenbetterthanplanned.I’msureyou’vealreadynoticedhowpopularI
am.Infact,Ican’tdecidewhethertotryoutforcheerleader,runforclasspresident,orboth.Whatdoyou
think?” She pauses, allowing plenty of time for me to weigh in, but when I don’t, she just shrugs and
continues.“Imean,let’sfaceit,nottobeallfullofmyselfbutthere’sreallynodoubtIcandoanythingI
wantnow.Surelyyou’venoticedthewaypeoplelookatme,thewaytheyfollowmearound.It’slike—”
Hereyeslightup,hercheeksflushbrightpink,andshewrapsherarmsaroundhermiddle,huggingherself
inaburstofconceit.“It’slikeI’marockstarorsomething—theyjustcan’tgetenoughofme!”

Isigh,loudenoughforhertohear.Meetingheroverconfidentgazewithalookofcompleteandtotal

boredomwhenIsay,“Trustme,I’venoticed.”InstantlywipingthetriumphantsmilefromherfacewhenI
add, “Too bad it’s not real. I mean, you are aware of that, right? You’re making it happen. You’re

deliberatelyluringthemtoyou,robbingthemofchoice,oftheirownfreewill,justlikeRomanusedtodo.
It’snottherealdeal.”

She laughs, dismissing my words with a wave of her hand, walking in slow, deliberate circles,

beforeshestopsjustbeforemeandsays,“Soundslikesomeone’sbeensnackingonthesourgrapes.”She
curls her lip and shakes her head. “Seriously. I mean, what’s your deal, Ever? Feeling a little jealous
becauseIfinallymadeittotableAwhileyou’restillabigdorkwho’spermanentlystuckinloserville?”

I roll my eyes, remembering my old life in Eugene, Oregon, back when I was a walking, talking,

popular cliché. And even though I used to miss it, missed the seeming simplicity of it—the rules of
conformitythatseemedsoeasytofollowatthetime—Iwouldn’tgobacktoitforanything.It’snoteven
theslightestbittemptingthesedays.

“Hardly.” I gaze at her, my eyes narrowed. “Though I am surprised to see how much you’ve

embracedit.Imean,consideringhowmuchyouusedtomockthemandall.ButIguessyouonlydidthatto
hidethefactthatyousecretlywantedtobeoneofthem.Youpretendednottocarewhentheysnubbedyou,
when,apparently,youreallydid.”Ishakemyhead,shootingheralookofpity,which,ifthelookinher
eyesisanyindication,hasonlyenragedherevenmore.“ButIdoubtthat’swhyyousummonedmehere,”I
add,eagertogetbackonpoint.“Sowhydon’tyoujustgoaheadandspillit?Whatisitthatyou’rejust
dyingtotellmethatcan’twaitorcan’ttakeplacesomewhereotherthanthisgawd-awfulbathroom?”

I gaze at her patiently, waiting for her to begin, while silently repeating the promises I made to

myself:

Iwillnotstartthefight.
Iwillnottakethefirstswing,throwthefirstpunch,oranythingofthesort.
Iwillexhaustallotherpossibilitiesbeforeitevenhasachancetocometothat.
Iwillnotendherlifeunlessmylifeoranother’sisthreatened.
Iwillleaveittohertomakethefirstmove.
Butwhenshedoes,well,fromthatpointon,I’mnolongerresponsibleforwhathappenstoher…
Sherollshereyesandheavesanexasperatedsigh,lookingatmeasthoughtheviewpainsherwhen

shesays,“Oh,andnowyou’reworriedaboutgettingcaughtloiteringinthebathroomonyourfirstdayof
school?”Shecluckshertongueagainsttheinsideofhercheekassheliftsherhandtoadmirethestackof
silver and blue rings she wears on each finger. “Why you insist on trying to act so normal—so
ridiculouslyordinary—isbeyondme.Imean,seriously,youtrulyarethesorriestexcuseforanimmortal
I’ve ever seen. Roman was right—both you and Damen are a complete waste of space.” She exhales,
forcingagustofairfromherlungsthatsendsabitterchillthroughtheroom.“It’slike,whatcouldyou
possiblyexpecttogetoutofthat?Agoldstar—anicelyframedcertificatestatingthatyes,youareindeed
theultimateteacher’spet?”

ShesticksouthertongueandcrosseshereyesinawaythatremindsmeoftheoldHaven,theone

whousedtobemyfriend,butjustasquicklyit’sgonewhenshesays,“Andevenmoreimportantly,why
wouldyouevencare?Becauseincaseyouhaven’tnoticed,theschoolrulesareprettymuchuselessfor
peoplelikeus.Wecandowhateverthehellwewant,wheneverthehellwewant,andnoonecanstopus.
So not only do you need to lighten up and fugging unclench as usual—but you also need to put your
sucking-uptalentstomuchbetteruse.Becauseifyou’redeterminedtogetonanyone’sgoodside,itshould
bemine.”Shequirksherbrow,andstaresrightintomyeyes.“Imean,you’vealreadyruinedDamen—
eversincehehookedupwithyouhe’slike,destinationboringtown.”Shetakesamomenttogrinatthe
remark.“Still,Iamthinkingoftransferringintohisfifth-periodAPEnglishclass,andI’llprobablyeven
sitnexttohimifIdo.Doesthatbotheryou?”

I shrug, busying myself with my nails, even though they’re clean, smooth, unpolished, and so short

there’snotmuchtosee.ButIwon’tgiveintoherbadgering,andIcertainlywon’tgiveherthesatisfaction
sheseeks.

Butit’snotlikeshecares,she’dmuchratherhearthesoundofherownvoiceanyway,soshejust

forgesaheadwhenshesays,“Imean,ontheonehand,hereallyhaslostthatexcitingbadboyedgeIloved
somuch—butontheother,I’mwillingtobethe’sstillgotagoodbitofitsomewhereburieddowndeep.
Really,reallydeep.”Hergazegonesparklyandbrightasitlandsonme.“Becausewhensomething’sthat
ingrained, when something stretches all the way back through the centuries, well, it’s hard to shake it
completely,ifyouknowwhatImean.”

NotonlydoIhavenoideawhatshemeans,butnowayofpeekingintohermindtoseeformyself,

sincehershieldisfartoopowerfulforthat.AllIcandoisjuststandthereandpretendnottocare.Actas
thoughherwordsaren’tcausingtheslightestbitofcuriosityorinterest,eventhoughI’mashamedtoadmit
thattheyare.

Sheknowssomething.Thatmuchisclear.Thisisn’tjustposturingonherpart.She’sontosomething

aboutDamen—abouthispast—andshe’spracticallybeggingmetomakeherrevealit.

WhichisexactlywhyIcan’t.
“I mean, as you’ve probably already guessed, Roman told me some pretty sordid stuff. Some of

whichyouprobablyalreadyknowsothere’snousegoingoveritagain,butthen,justtheotherday,Iwas
going through some of his belongings when I came across this whole stack of diaries.” She pauses,
allowingplentyoftimeforherwordstosinkin.“Imean,youshould’veseenit—itwaslike—stacksand
stacksofthem—entireboxesfull.Turnsout,Romandocumentedeverything.Kepthundreds,hell,maybe
eventhousandsofjournals—Itotallylostcount.Butanyway,fromwhatIcantell,theystretchalltheway
back through the centuries. He wasn’t just collecting antiques and artifacts—he was collecting history.
Hishistory.Theimmortals’history.Therearephotos,paintedportraits,cards,letters—theworks.Unlike
Damen,Romankeptintouch.Hedidn’tjustmoveonwithhislifeandleavetheotherorphanstofendfor
themselves,helookedafterthem.Andafterahundredandfiftyyearspassedandtheelixirbegantowear
off,hemadeanewone—abetterone.Thenhetrackedthemalldownandhadthemdrinkfromitagain.
Andhekeptitup,throughallthoseyears,neveroncelettinganyonedown.Neveronceleavinganyoneto
flounder—orwither—ordie,likeDamendid.Imean,hemayhavehadhisissueswithyouguys,butthen
there’snodoubtthathehadgoodreason—youwerehisonlyenemies.Theonlyoneswhosawhimasthis
horrible,evilimmortalwhodeservedwhathegot.Toeveryoneelse,hewasahero.Hecaredaboutthem,
offeredthemabetter—eternal—life.Unlikethetwoofyou,hebelievedinsharingtheriches—andhedid
sofreely—withthosehedeemedworthy.”

Inarrowmygazeevenfurther,nearingtheendofmypatienceandneedinghertoknowit.“Sowhy

didn’theshareitfreelywithyou,then?”Mygazeburnsonhers.“Whythebiggame—whytrickme into
doingit?”

ButHavenwavesitaway.“We’vebeenoverthat,hewasjusthavingalittlefun.Iwasneverinany

danger.Hetotallywould’vebroughtmebackifhehadto.”Sherollshereyesandshakesherhead,clearly
annoyedbytheinterruption.“Anyway,”shesays,puttingmajoremphasisontheword,“aboutthediaries
and photos and stuff—let’s just say that some of it would be of great interest to you—” She pauses,
obviouslyhopingI’lltaketheopportunitytobegtohearmore.

Butit’snotgonnahappen.EventhoughherwordsinstantlyremindmeofsomethingthatbothRoman

andJudealludedtowhentheyhintedaboutsomesordidsecretinDamen’spast—eventhoughIcan’thelp
butthinkofyesterdayinthepavilionwhenIstumbleduponthelifeDamensodesperatelytriedtokeep
hiddenfromme—Ican’taskformore.Can’tletherknowthatit’sworking—thatIcare—thatherwords
havecreptrightundermyskin.Can’tletherwinthisone.

So,instead,IjustliftmyshouldersandsighasthoughI’mboredbeyondbeliefandcouldn’tcareless

ifshesaysanotherword.

Whichcauseshertofrownandsay,“Whatever.It’snotlikeyoucanfoolmewithallofyoursighing

andshouldershrugging.Iknowyouwanttoknow,andIcan’tsayIblameyou.Damen’sgotsecrets.Big,
juicy, dark, and dirty secrets.” She turns toward the mirror, leaning toward it as she fluffs her hair and
admiresherself,entrancedbythesightofherownreflection.“But—I’mperfectlyfinewithsavingallthat
foranotherday.Imean,it’snotlikeIdon’tgetyourpoint—thepastisthepastandallthat.Untilthedayit
comesbacktobiteyouintheassanyway.But,whatever.Imean,he’sjustsotall,dark,anddreamy,who
careswhatatrocitieshe’scommittedoverthecourseofthelastseveralhundredyears,right?”Shequirks
abrowandlooksatme,tiltingherheadtothesideandallowingherglossydarkwavestospilldownthe
frontofherdress.Movingtowardme,slowly,deliberately,twirlingalockofhairbetweenherfingers,
doingherbesttoputmeonedge.

“Theonlythingyoushouldbeconcernedaboutrightnowisyourfuture.Since,aswebothknow,it

maynotbequiteaslongasyouoriginallyanticipated.Imean,surelyyounolongerbelieveI’llletyou
hangaroundforinfinity.Heck,you’llbeluckyifIletyoumakeittotheendofthesemester.”Shestops
just shy of me, her gaze taunting, gleaming, dangling the words before me like an apple before Eve—
practicallybeggingmetotaste.

But I just swallow hard, making sure to keep my voice firm and steady when I say, “Damen and I

have no secrets. And I know full well what Damen’s heart is like—and it’s good. So unless you have
somethingmoretosay,I’mouttahere—”

Imakeforthedoor,havingeveryintentionofleaving,ofendingitbeforeitcangoanyfurther,but

beforeIcanevenreachit,she’sthere.

Armscrossed,facegrim,eyeslikeslitswhenshesays,“You’renotgoinganywhere,Ever.I’mnot

evenclosetobeingdonewithyouyet.”

chapterseven

Istareintohereyes,herface,knowingIhaveonlyahandfulofsecondstomakethechoicebetween

pushingrightpasther,gettingmyselfoutside,andallowingusbothsomemuchneededtimetocooloff—
orstayingrighthereandtryingtoreasonwithher,orattheveryleast,allowhertothinkthatshe“won”
thisone.

My silence providing all the encouragement she needs to pick up right where she left off. “You

honestlymeantotellmethatyouandDamenhavenosecrets?”Hertoneaperfectmatchforthesneeron
herface.“Seriously?Noneatall?”Shethrowsherheadbackandlaughs,exposingamilkywhiteneck
litteredwithjewels,andthefaintandflashingtraceofacolorfulOuroborostattoo.Remindingmeofthe
oneRomanhad,andDrinabeforehim,onlyHaven’sisfarsmallerthantheirsandeasilyhiddenbyher
long mane of hair. Her confidence blown completely out of proportion, mistaking my stillness for
apprehension and fear, when she says, “Please.” She flutters her lashes. “Don’t kid yourself, and don’t
eventrytokidme.Sixhundredyearsisanawfullylongtime,Ever.Solongit’simpossibleforeitherof
ustoimagine.Thoughitismorethanenoughtimetorackupafewdirtyskeletonsfortheoldmetaphorical
closet,right?”

Shesmiles,hereyescrazy,herenergysofrenetic,sointense,sotightlywound,myonlygoalisto

keepherincheck.Keepherfromstartingsomethingshe’llsurelyregret.

“Noneofthatconcernsme,”Isay,carefultokeepmyvoicelowandsteady.“Ourpastmayshapeus,

butitdoesn’tdefineus.Sothere’sreallynopointinlingeringthereanylongerthannecessary.”

Tryingnottowincewhenshescrunchesherbrowandveerstowardme,herfacesoclosetomineI

canfeeltheblastofherchilledbreathonmycheek,canhearthechimeofherswayingjeweledearrings,
thelongstrandsofstoneschafingagainsteachother.

“True.”Hereyesmoveoverme.“Butthenagain,somethingsneverchange.Some—appetites—just

getbiggerandbigger,ifyouknowwhatImean.”

Imovebacktowardthesinks,leaningmyhipagainstoneasIglanceatherandsigh.Wantingherto

knowjusthowboringIfindthis,butshe’snottheleastbitaffected.Shecouldn’tcareless.Thisisher
stage,Iamheraudience,andthisparticularshowisfarfromoveryet.

“I mean, doesn’t it ever worry you?” She moves toward me, closing the distance between us in a

handfulofsteps.“Thatyou’llneverbeabletotrulysatisfyhiminthewaythathe,well,thatanyguyfor
thatmatter,reallyandtrulyneeds?”

Istarttolookaway—wanttolookaway—butsomethingwon’tletme.Shewon’tletme.Somehow

she’slockingmygaze.

“Doesn’t it ever worry you that he’ll get bored with all the abstinence and angst until he has no

choicebuttosneakoffsomewhereforalittle…er,relief,shallwesay?”

Ibreathe,justlookatherandbreathe.Concentratingonthelightresidingwithinme,anddoingmy

bestnottopanicatthissuddenlossofcontrol.

“BecauseifIwereyou,I’dbeworried.Veryworried.Whatyou’reaskingofhim,well,it’sjust…

unnatural,nowisn’tit?”Sherubsherhandsupanddownherarms,shudderingasthoughit’stooawful,
toounimaginable,asthoughitsomehowaffectshermorethanme.“Still,Iwishyouallthebestonthat,
foraslongasitlastsanyway.”

She releases me from her grip but continues to study me. Amused by the way I just involuntarily

shook,thewayItrynottoletonjusthowmuchshe’sdisturbedme.

Herlippullingupatthesideasshelooksmeoverandsays,“What’sthematter,Ever?Youlooka

little…upset.”

I concentrate on taking slow, deep breaths, once again weighing the choice between bolting and

allowinghertocarrythisevenfurther.ChoosingtostayandhopingtoputsomesensebackintoherwhenI
think: Seriously, this is it? You summoned me into the bathroom so you can express your concerns
aboutDamenandmysexlife?IsighandshakemyheadasthoughI’mfartoolazytoevensummonthe
strengthtosayitoutloud.

Morelike,lack-of-sexlife. She laughs, meeting my gaze and rolling her eyes. “Trust me, Ever, as

you well know, I’ve got much bigger things planned. And thanks to you, I have both the time and the
powertoseethemthrough!”Shecocksherheadtothesideandlooksmeover.“RememberwhatIsaid
lasttimeIsawyou—thenightyoukilledRoman?”

Istarttorefuseitbutjustasquicklyforcemyselftostop.There’snopointinrepeatingityetagain.

There’s no changing her mind. Despite Jude’s full-on confession, she still chooses to hold me equally
responsibleforthatparticularmessandthere’snothingIcandoaboutit.

“Justbecauseyoudidn’tdelivertheblowdoesn’tmakeyouanylesscomplicit. Doesn’t make you

any less of an accessory.” She smiles, allowing for a flash of blinding white teeth, as she revisits her
door-kickingroutine.Herwordspunctuatedwithaseriesofloud,crashingslamsandbangsandcracks
asshesays,“Isn’tthatwhatyoutoldyourgoodfriendHonorjustamomentago?Becausethefactis,you
were right there when he barged in and you did nothing to stop it. You just sat there and let it happen
withoutmakingasinglemovetosavehim.Andthatmakesyoubothcomplicitandanaccessory.Touse
yourownargumentagainstyou.”

Shestopsandturns,hergazemeetingmine,waitingforthewordstosinkin,wantingmetoknowthat

she’snotjustkeepingtabsonmyconversations,butjustmightbecapableoffarmorethanthat.

Iliftmyhandsbeforeme,palmsfacingherinagestureofpeace,hopingtodefusethisbeforeit’stoo

late.“Wedon’thavetodothis.”Iregardhercarefully.“Youdon’thavetodothis.There’snoreasonwe
can’tjust—coexist.Noreasonwhyyouneedtogothroughwiththis—”

ButIcan’tevenfinishbeforehervoiceoverridesmine,eyesdarkening,facehardening,asshesays,

“Don’tevenbother.Youwon’tchangemymind.”

Shemeanseverywordofit.Icanseeitinhereyes.Still,thestakesaretooserious,leavingmewith

nochoicebuttotry.“Okay,fine.Soyou’redeterminedtomakegoodonyourthreat,andyouthinkIcan’t
stop you. Whatever. That remains to be seen. But before you do something you’ll no doubt regret, you
needtoknowthatyou’rewastingyourtime.Incaseyoudon’tgetit,Ihappentofeeljustasbadlyabout
whathappenedtoRomanasyoudo.AndwhileIknowthat’shardtobelieve,it’strue.ButeventhoughI
can’ttakeitback,eventhoughIwastoolateandtooslowtostopJude,Inevermeantforittohappen.I
neverwantedittohappen.Intheend,IhadamuchbetterunderstandingofjustwhoRomanreallywas,

whatmadehimtick,whyhedidthethingshedid.Andbecauseofit,Iforgavehim.That’swhyIwentto
seehim,soIcouldexplaintohimonceandforallthatIwasdonefighting,thatIwantedustocallatruce.
And I’d just convinced him of it, we’d just agreed to work together, when Jude came in, misread the
whole thing—and—well, you know the rest. But, Haven, I never saw it coming. If I had, I definitely
would’ve stopped him. I never would’ve let it go down like that. By the time I realized what was
happeningitwastoolatetodoanythingtostopit.Itwasatragicmisunderstanding,butthat’sallitwas.It
wasn’tsinister,itwasn’tpremeditated,itwasn’tanythinglikeyouassume.”Inod,notentirelyconvinced
ofthatmyselfbutstilldesperatetoconvinceher.

WhetherornotJudereallydidmisreadthesituationandwasonlytryingtoprotectme—orifhehad

amuchdarkeragendainmind,stoppingmefromobtainingtheantidotesothathecouldfinallyhaveashot
atmeafterhundredsofyearsofrejection,issomethingI’vebeenmullingoverandoversincethenightit
allhappened.AndIstillhaven’treachedaconclusion.

“He assumed I was in danger, in over my head, and ruled by dark magick. He acted purely on

instinct, nothing more, nothing less. Seriously, you can direct all the anger you want at me, but please
leaveJudeoutofit,okay?”

ButeventhoughItrymybesttoconvinceher,mywordshavenoeffect.Theyjustrollrightoffher

likeraindownawindowpane,leavingafainttracebehindbutrefusingtopenetrateinanyrealway.

“You want to protect Jude—that’s your problem.” She shrugs, as though he’s as disposable as last

year’sboyband.“ButIthinkyoushouldknow,there’sonlyonewayforyoutoaccomplishthat,andthat’s
bymakinghimdrink.Otherwise,it’snotafairfight.He’llneversurviveit.He’llneversurviveme.”She
turnstothedoorsagain,kickingoneafteranotherinsuchquicksuccessionit’slikeablurofspeedand
sound,whileIshakemyheadandwatch.

IhavenointentionofturningJudeoranyoneelseforthatmatter.ButevenifIcan’tconvinceherto

leave him alone, there’s still one last thing I can say. Something I’m sure she doesn’t know, something
that’llprobablyangerherevenmore,butstill,sheneedstohearit.Needstoknowjustwhatherso-called
belovedRomanhadplanned.

“Here’sthething,”Isay,mygazecalm,even,wantinghertoknowI’mnottheleastbitimpressedor

intimidatedbyherdoor-kickingdisplay.“TheonlyreasonIdidn’ttellyouthisbeforeisbecauseIdidn’t
seetheneed,andIdidn’twanttohurtyouanymorethanyoualreadyhadbeen.Butthefactis,Romanwas
planningtoleave.”Mygazeboresintohers,seeingherflincheversoslightly,butstillenoughformeto
catch,enoughtoconvincemetocontinuefullspeed.“HewasheadedbacktoLondon—jollyoldEngland
ashecalledit.Saidthistownwastooslow,notenoughaction,andthattherewasnowayhewouldmiss
it—oranythinginit.”

Sheswallowshardandpushesherbangsoutofhereyes.Twoofherusualgiveaways,provingshe’s

notsonewandimprovedafterall,thatagoodbitofalltheoldinsecuritiesanddoubtshavemanagedto
survive.Butstillputtingforthashowoffalsebravado,shesays,“Nicetry,Ever.Pathetic,butcertainly
worth a shot, right? Desperate people do desperate things, isn’t that what they say? I figure if anyone
shouldknowforsure,it’syou.”

Iliftmyshouldersandclaspmyhandsbeforemeasthoughwe’rejusttwogoodfriendsenjoyinga

nicefriendlychat.“Youcandenyitallyouwant,butitstilldoesn’tchangethetruth.Hetoldmethatnight,
told me all about it. He was feeling hemmed in, suffocated, said he needed to get away from it all. Go
someplacebigger,moreexciting—someplacewherehecouldbefreefromthestore,Misa,Rafe,Marco,
oh,andofcourse,you.”

Sheplantsherhandsonherhips,strugglingtoappearstrong,tough,completelyimpenetrable,buther

bodytellsotherwise,betrayingherwiththeslightestbitoftremble.

“Oh,okay,sure.”Shescowls,drummingherhipswithherthumbsandrollinghereyesdramatically.

“SoI’mjustsupposedtobelievethatRomanwouldchoosetoconfessallofthattoyou,andyettotally
failtomentionittome,thepersonhewassleepingwith?Imean,seriouslyEver,thisistotallypathetic
andridiculous—evenforyou.”

ButIjustshrug,surethatit’sworking,thatmywordsaregettingtoher.Lookingherover,studying

her closely, knowing I may be overstating it, embellishing a few bits here and there, but the gist is the
same.Hewasplanningtoditchher,andyetshe’shell-bentondestroyingJudeandmeinhisname.

“Heknewyou’dmakeabigsceneifhetoldyou,andyouknowhowhehatedthatkindofthing.No

one’ssayinghedidn’tlikeyou,Haven,heck,I’msurehelikedyoujustfine.Ifnothingelse,youwerea
pleasantenoughwaytopassthetime.Butmakenomistake,Romandidn’tloveyou.Heneverlovedyou.
You even said so yourself. You remember when you said how in every relationship there’s always one
wholovesmorethantheother—isn’tthatwhatyouclaimed?Andthenyouevenwentontoadmitthatin
your case it was you. That you loved Roman and he didn’t love you. But it’s not like it’s your fault or
anything. So don’t take it too hard, or beat yourself up. Because the thing is, Roman was completely
incapableoflovinganyone,havingneverexperienceditforhimself.Theclosestheevercametoitwere
hisfeelingsforDrina.Butevenstill,thatwasn’tlove.Itwasmorelikeobsession.Shewasprettymuch
allhecouldthinkabout.Rememberhisdarkdragsasyouusedtocallthem?Thetimeswhenhe’dlock
himselfinhisroomforhoursonend?Youknowwhathewasdoing?Hewastryingtoreconnectwithher
soul,sohewouldn’tfeelsoaloneintheworld.She’stheonlyotherpersonheeverreallycaredaboutin
all of his six hundred years. Which, I’m sorry to say, pretty much reduces you to little more than yet
anothernotchonhisbelt.”

She’squiet,soquietIstarttofeelbad,wonderingifI’vetakenittoofar,yetstilldrivingthepoint

when I say, “You’re vowing revenge for the loss of a guy who was planning to ditch you at the first
opportunity.”

She glares, eyes narrowed to where I can just barely see them, brows merging together as the

sapphirethatmarksherforeheademitsadark,eerieglow.AndthenextthingIknow,allthefaucetsare
gushing, the soap dispensers are pumping, the toilets are flushing, the hand dryers are blasting, while
reamsoftoiletpapergosailingthroughtheroomandbouncingoffthewalls.

And even though it’s clear that she’s making it happen, there’s no way of telling whether it was

intendedorwastheresultoftheout-of-controlangerI’vetriggered.

But either way, it doesn’t deter me. Now that I know that it’s working, I have no choice but to

continue.

I move along the row of sinks, calmly shutting each of the taps as I say, “It just doesn’t make any

sense—this whole revenge thing. Your big romance with Roman was nothing more than—well, as he
would put it, a couple of mediocre shags, mate.” I look at her, indulging a small smile at my spot-on
Britishaccent.“Sowhywasteyourtimeonavengingapastthatneverreallywas,whenyou’vegotthe
futureofyourmakingallstretchedoutrightbeforeyou?”

ButI’vebarelyhadachancetofinishbeforeshe’sonme.
Rightonme.
Slammingmeallthewayacrosstheroomandintothepinktiledwall.Bashingmyheadagainstitso

hardtheawfuldullthudofitechoesthroughouttheroom,asatrailofwarmblooddripsitswayfromthe
gashwhereitcrackedallthewaydowntomydress.

Istagger,lurchforward,onlytofallbackagain.Reelingfromsidetoside,strugglingtoregainmy

focus, my balance, but I’m so shaken, so woozy, so unsteady, I can’t fight the fingers that push into my
shouldersandpinmeinplace.

Her face hovering just inches from mine when she says, “Make no mistake, Ever, I’m not vowing

revengejustforRoman—I’mvowingrevengeagainstyou.”Hereyesboreintome,shootingmealookso
hatefulIcan’thelpbutturnawayandclosemineagainstit.Awareofthebiteofherchilledbreathonmy
cheek,herlipsattheedgeofmyear,asshetakesamomenttorestagainstmeandsavorhervictory.

Thefixturessettling,thetoiletscalming,thedryershalting,aspilesofsoapseepslowlyacrossthe

floor and into the grout, her voice a gruff, raspy whisper just inches away. “You’ve ripped away
everythingthat’severmeantanythingtome.You’realsotheonewhomademethisway.Soifanyone’sto
blamehere,it’syou.YoumademewhatIam.Andnowyoudecidethatyoudon’tlikewhatyouseeand
you’re determined to stop me?” She leans back to better observe me, allowing her fingers to creep
dangerouslyclosetotheamuletthathangsfrommyneck.“Well,toobad.”Shelaughs,flickingthestones
withherfingersandsettingmywholebodyonedge.

“Youchosetofeedmetheelixir,youchosetoturnme,youchosetomakemeexactlywhatIam,and

nowthere’snogoingback.”

She dares me to deny it, dares me with her gaze. But I can’t meet it. I’m too busy willing the

dizzinesstoend,toobusybeggingforthehealingtobegin.Strugglingforeachandeverybreath,thewords
groundoutbetweengrittedteeth.“You’renotjustdelusional,butyou’rewrong.”Ifillmylungswithair
andsurroundmyselfwithwhitelight,knowingIneedallthehelpIcanget.ThisisnotgoingatallasI’d
planned.

Havingmistakenhersmallstatureforalackofstrength—havingmisjudgedthepowerofhate,along

withthelivewirethatstrumsinsideher,fuelingherwithaseeminglyendlesssupplyofrage.

Carefultokeepmyfaceneutral,mytonesteady,notwantingtoalerthertomynewlyalarmedstate.

“Imayhavemadeyouimmortal—butwhatyoudowiththatisentirelyuptoyou.”Thewordsreminding
me of the scene I manifested just yesterday, except this scene is nothing like the victorious one I’d
rehearsed.

Then,justlikethat,Ifeelit.I’mback.Mywoundhealed.Mystrengthreturned.Onelookinhereyes

tellsmeshesensesittoo.

Andjustlikethat,it’sover.
She’salreadypushedmeaway.
Alreadymadeforthedoor.
Glancingoverhershouldertosay,“Hey,Ever—beforeyougolecturingmeonforgiveness, maybe

you should do a little digging around. There’s a ton of stuff you don’t know about Damen—stuff he’d
neverchoosetoconfideonhisown.Seriously.Youshouldlookintoit.”

Idon’trespond.Ishould,Iknow,butthewordsjustwon’tcome.
Mygazeislockedwithherswhensheadds,“Forgiveness,Ever.Thinkaboutit.Soeasytopreach—

so difficult to practice. Maybe you should ask yourself if you’re truly capable of it? Can you really
forgive the sins of Damen’s past? That’s what I wanna know—and that’s the only reason I let you live
now.TheonlyreasonI’llletyouhangaroundjustalittlebitlonger.Ifnothingelse,it’llbeinterestingto
watch.Butmakenomistake,themomentyoustarttoboremeorannoyme,well,youknowthedrill—”

AndthenextthingIknow,she’sgone.
Thoughherwordscontinuetoreverberateallaroundme.
Teasing.
Taunting.
RefusingtodissipateasIbusymyselfwithwashingthebloodfrommyhairandmanifestinganew

dresstowear.

ReadyingmyselftoseeDamen,who’snodoubtstillwaitingforme.

Desperatetoburytheevidenceofwhatjustwentdown,alongwithmyownnaggingdoubts.

chaptereight

“Yousureyou’reokaywiththis?”IturntowardDamen,morethanwillingtolethimjoinmeifhe

wantsbutstillhopingtohandlethisoneonmyown.ThingsbetweenhimandJudearealwayssoweird,
andeventhoughItotallygetthereasonbehindit,IstillprefertolessenthetensionwheneverIcan.

Henods,andonelookinhiseyesmakesitclearthatheis.Histrustinmeiscomplete,justasmine

isinhim.

“Doyouwantmetowaitorcomebacklater?”heasks,morethanwillingtodoeitheroneofthose

things.

ButIjustshakemyheadandgazetowardthestore.“Idon’tevenknowhowlongit’lltake.Ihaveno

ideawhattoexpect.”Iscrunchmynoseandliftmyshouldersbeforedroppingthemagain.“AllIknowis
Ican’tavoidhimanylonger.Haven’sseriousaboutgoingafterhim,she’snotabouttobackdown.Trust
me, she made that abundantly clear.” I swallow hard and look away. Still shaken from the scene in the
bathroom,stillreelingfromtheforceofherpowerandstrength,nottomentionherabilitytosurpriseme,
overwhelm me, and control me in a way I hadn’t seen coming, and certainly hadn’t rehearsed for. But
whenIlookatDamenagain,IknowI’mdoingtherightthingbyplayingitdown.He’sfreakedenoughas
itis,there’snoneedtomakeitanyworse.

“Ijust—”Ipause,searchingforjusttherightwords.Knowinghowuncomfortableitmustmakehim,

thethoughtofmebeingalonewithJude,andwantingtomakeitclearthatnotonlyisitstrictlybusiness,
butthatIcantotallyhandlemyselfwherehe’sconcerned.“Ijustneedtoconvincehimoftheseriousness
ofallthis.Ialsohavetotrytohelphimfindafewwaystoprotecthimself,eventhough,shortofhiringan
immortalbodyguard,I’mnotevensurewhatgoodit’lldo.Butanyway,that’smygoal,andIhavenoidea
ifhe’llevenagreetocooperate,muchlesslistentome.Hecouldtakemeuponit,orhecouldkickmeout
withinthefirstfifteensecondsandwarnmenevertoreturn.Nothingwouldsurprisemeatthispoint.”

Damennods,histonemoreknowingthanjealouswhenhesays,“Oh,Idoubthe’llkickyouout…”
Helooksatme,leavingthethoughtunfinished,causingmetonervouslyfiddlewiththehemofmy

dress.“Anyway.”Iclearmythroat,desperatetomoveawayfromallthat.“Thepointis,Icanalwaysjust
manifestacarorsomethingwhenIneedawayhome.I’lljusthavetoremembertoditchitassoonasI
turnontomystreet—don’twanttogiveSabineyetanotherreasontofreak.”Isigh,tryingtoimaginehow
I’d ever go about explaining something like that—my ability to manifest large, expensive, inanimate
objects,thenmakethemdisappearatwill.LookingatDamenwhenIadd,“Buthere’sthething—”

Hemeetsmygaze.
“AsmuchasIappreciatethis,andasmuchasIlikebeingwithyou…youdon’thavetodothis.You

don’thavetochauffeurmetoandfromschooleverydayoranywhereelseforthatmatter.I’mfine.Really.
And I’ll continue to be fine. I can totally handle this. So…” I pause, hoping my words sound more
convincingthantheyfeel.“Soplease,don’twasteanymoreenergyworryingaboutme,okay?”

He smooths the leather-wrapped steering wheel with his thumbs, going back and forth, forth and

back,themovementdeliberate,rhythmic,thenhesays,“Icandoeverythingonyourlistexceptthat.”He
turns,allowinghisgazetoboreintomine,lookingatmeinawaythatmakesmyheartrace,mycheeks
flush,asmyskinbeginstotingleandheat.“Icanstopchauffeuringyouifthat’swhatyouwant,butIcould
never stop worrying about you. I’m afraid that’s just something you’re destined to live with.” He leans
towardme,cuppinghishandsaroundthesidesofmyface,histouchsosoothing,socalming,hisvoice
lowanddeep.“So,tonight?ShallwevisitourfavoriteSummerlandhaunt?”

Ipressmylipstohis,softly,briefly,beforepullingaway.“Iwish.ButIthinkit’sprobablybetterifI

takethenightofffromallthat.Youknow,stayhome,pretendtoeatdinner,pretendtodomyhomework,
and pretend to be completely normal in every conceivable way so that Sabine can start to relax, find
anotherfocus,andgetonwithherlife—whichwillallowmetofinallygetonwithmine.”

Hehesitates,stillnotconvincedofhisinabilitytofixthisdespitewhatI’vesaid.“Andwouldyou

likemetocomeoverandpretendtobeyourperfectlynormalboyfriend?”Hearcheshisbrow.“Icandoa
prettygoodimitationofthat.I’veplayedthepartmanytimes,hadoverfourhundredyearsofexperience
sofar.”

Ismile,leaningintokisshimagain,longer,deeperthistime.LingeringforaslongasIcan,before

pullingawaywithasigh.Thewordshurried,breathless,Isay,“Believeme,I’dlikenothingmore.But
Sabinewouldn’t.Sofornow,Ithinkit’sprobablybetterifyoustayawayforawhile.Atleastuntilthings
calmdownandhaveachancetosortthemselvesout.Forsomestrangereason,she’schosentofocuson
youasthenumberonesuspecttoblameformydownfall.”

“Maybe because I am.” He looks at me, tracing his finger down the length of my cheek. “Maybe

she’sontosomethingwithoutevenrealizingit.Ever,whenyouboilitrightdowntoitsveryessence,to
itsveryorigins,Iamtheonewhocausedthechangeinyou.”

Isighandlookaway,we’vehadthisdiscussionbefore,andI’mstillnotquitewillingtoseeithis

way.“You—thenear-deathexperience—”Itakeadeepbreathandturntohimagain.“Who’stosayfor
absolutesure?Besides,it’snotlikeitmatters,itiswhatitisandthere’snogoingback.”

Hefrowns,clearlynotwillingtotakemysidebutwillingtodropitfornow.“Okay,”hesays,almost

asthoughtalkingtohimself.“MaybeI’llstopbyAva’sthen.ThetwinsstartedschooltodayandI’meager
toseehowitwent.”

Ibalk,tryingtoimagineRomyandRaynenavigatingtheirwaythroughjuniorhigh.Everythingthey

knowaboutmodernAmericanteenagelifetheylearnedeitherfrommyghostlylittlesisterRileyorreality
showsonMTV—notthebestsources,forsure.

“Well,hopefullyforthemitwaswaymoreuneventfulthanours.”Ismile,slidingoutofthecarand

closingthedoorbetweenus,leaningthroughtheopenwindowwhenIadd,“Atanyrate,tellthemIsaid
hi. Even Rayne. Or, should I say, especially Rayne.” I laugh, knowing how much she dislikes me, and
hopingthatsomedayI’llbeabletomendthat—butknowingthatdayisstillalongwayaway.

Watchingashespeedsawayfromthecurb,leavingmewithasmilethatlingers,circlingallaround

melikeahug,beforeIenterthestoreonmyown,surprisedtofinditdarkandempty,withnoonearound.

Istandthereandsquint,allowingamomentformyeyestoadjust,beforemakingmywaytowardthe

back.FreezingrightthereintheofficedoorwaywhenIfindhimcompletelyslumpedoverwithhishead
onhisdesk.

AndthesecondIseehimIcan’thelpbutthink:Ohcrap—I’mtoolate!

Imean, just becauseHaven said she’dspare me for thetime being, doesn’tmean she’d extend the

samecourtesytoJude.

ThoughjustafterIthinkit,Icatchareassuringglimpseofhisauraandimmediatelyrelax.
Onlylivingthingshaveauras.
Deadthingsandimmortalsdonot.
ButwhenInoticethecolor,theblotchy,dull,brownish-grayhazethatsurroundshim,Ican’thelpbut

think:Oh,crap,alloveragain.

As far as colors go, his is pretty much at the bottom of the aura rainbow; only black, the color of

imminentdeath,couldbeworse.

“Jude?”Iwhisper,myvoicesosoftandlowit’salmostinaudible.“Jude—areyouokay?”
Heliftshisheadsosuddenly,sostartledbymypresence,heknocksoverhiscoffee.Causingamilky

browntrailtoraceacrosshisdesk,justabouttospilloverthesideandontothefloorwhenhestopsit
with the long, slightly frayed sleeve of his white T-shirt—allowing the liquid to spread into the fabric,
leavingasizablestain.

Astainthatremindsmeof—
“Ever, I—” He runs his fingers over his tangle of golden-brown dreadlocks, blinking a few times

untilhe’sabletofullyfocus.“Ididn’thearyoucomein—youstartledme—and—”Hesighs,gazingdown
atthedeskandmoppinguptherestofthespillwithhissleeve.Then,noticingmyspeechless,wide-eyed
gaping,hesays,“Trustme,thisisnothing.Icaneitherwashit,tossit,ortakeittoSummerlandandcure
it.”Heshrugs.“AstainedT-shirtistheleastofmyworriesrightnow…”

Ilowermyselfontotheseatjustacrossfromhim,stillshakenbythestainandthenewideaitjust

spawned. Hardly able to believe I was so caught up with training and Haven and all the drama she’s
createdthatIhadn’teventhoughtofituntilnow.

“What’s happened?” I ask, forcing myself away from those thoughts and back onto him, though

vowingtoreturntothemassoonasIcan.

Sensing that something terrible has happened and assuming it’s more threats from Haven, when he

says,“Lina’sgone.”Thewordssimple,stark,thoughthemeaningisclear.

Ilookathim,eyeswide,mouthopen,butunabletospeakandunsurewhattosayifIcould.
“HervancrashedinGuatemala,onthewaytotheairport.Shedidn’tmakeit.”
“Areyou…sure?”Iask,immediatelyregrettingthewords.Itwasadumbthingtosay,whenit’sso

obviousthatheis.Butthat’swhatbadnewsdoes—itcreatesunreasonabledenialanddoubt,promptinga
searchforhopeinplaceswherethereclearlyisnone.

“Yeah,I’msure.”Hewipeshiseyeswithhisdrysleeve,gazecloudedwiththememoryofwhenhe

first heard. “I saw her.” His eyes meet mine. “We had a pact, you know? We promised each other that
whoever went first would stop by and tell the other. And the second she appeared before me—” He
pauses,hisvoicetired,hoarse,promptinghimtoclearhisthroatandbeginagain.“Well,thewayshejust
glowed,thewayshelookedso…radiant…therewasnomistakingit.Iknewshe’dmovedon.”

“Did she say anything?” I ask, wondering if she decided to cross the bridge or stay behind in

Summerland,since,unlikeme,Judecancommunicatewithspiritinallofitsforms.

He nods, his face beginning to lift ever so slightly. “She told me she was home. That’s what she

called it, home. Said there was so much to see, so much to explain, and that it’s even better than the
SummerlandItoldherabout.Andthen,beforesheleft,shesaidshe’dbewaitingformewhenitwasmy
turn—butnottohurryoveranytimesoon.”

Helaughswhenhesaysit—well,asmuchasonecanlaughwhenthey’reconsumedbygrief.AndI

swallowhardandgazedownatmyknees,tuggingonthehemofmydress,straighteningtheseamuntilit

fully covers them. Remembering the first time I saw Riley in my hospital room, and how it seemed so
dreamy and unreal I pretty much convinced myself that I’d somehow imagined it. But then it happened
again—and again—and it kept on happening until I was able to convince her to cross the bridge to the
otherside—which,unfortunately,madeherdisappearfrommeforever.MakingJudemyonlyconnection
toher.

Ipeer at himagain, taking inhis bleary aura, hollowgaze, and shakenface—so different from the

cute, sexy, laid-back surfer boy I first met. And I can’t help but wonder how long it’ll take for him to
returntothat,orifheevencan.There’snoquickfixforgrief.Noshortcuts,noeasyanswers,nowayto
eraseit.Onlytimecandothat,andeventhen,justbarely.IfI’velearnednothingelse,I’velearnedthat.

“Then,aboutanhourlater,”hecontinues,voicesolowIhavetoleanforwardtocatchit,“Igotthe

callthatconfirmedit.”Heshrugsandleansbackinhisseat,gazingatme.

“I’msosorry,”Isay,knowingfirsthandjusthowsmallthosewordsareinthefaceofsomethingso

big.“IsthereanythingIcando?”Doubtingthereis,butextendingtheofferanyway.

Heshrugs,busyinghimselfwithhissleeve,hislongdarkfingersrollingthewetfabricawayfromhis

skin.“Makenomistake,Ever,mygriefisforme,notLina.She’sfine…happyeven.Youshould’veseen
her—it was like she was headed off on her most exciting adventure yet.” He leans back in his seat,
smoothinghistangleofhair,gatheringitalltogetherandholdingitbriefly,beforereleasingitagainand
allowingittospilldownhisback.“I’mreallygoingtomissher.Everythingjustfeelssoemptywithout
her. She was more a parent to me than my birth parents were. She took me in, fed me, dressed me, but
mostimportantly,shetreatedmewithrespect.Shetaughtmethatmyabilitieswerenothingtobeashamed
of,nothingIshouldtrysohardtodeny.SheconvincedmethatwhatIhadwasagift—notacurse—and
that I shouldn’t let other people’s narrow minds and fears determine how I live, what I do, or how I
perceive myself in the world. She actually made me believe that in no way, shape, or form did their
uninformed opinions make me a freak.” He looks away, taking in the overflowing bookshelves, the
collectionofpaintingsonthewall,beforereturningtome.“Doyouhaveanyideajusthowbigadealthat
was?”

Hemeetsmygaze,holdingitforsolongIcan’thelpbutlookaway.Hiswordsinstantlyreminding

meofSabine,andhowshetooktheexactoppositeapproachofLinawhenshechosetoblameme.

“Youwereluckytoknowher,”Isay,mythroatgoingallhotandtight,untilitthreatenstocloseup

completely.Iknowalltoowellhowhe’sfeeling.Myownfamily’sdeathisneverfarfrommymind.ButI
can’t let myself go there—there’s another crisis on the horizon and I need to focus all of my energy on
containingit.

“But if you were serious about helping out—” He pauses, waiting for my assurance before

continuingon.“Well,I’mwonderingifyouwouldn’tmindwatchingthestore.Imean,Iknowyoudon’t
really want to work here anymore, and believe me, I know how angry you’ve been with me lately, and
trustme,Idon’tthinkforaminutethatanyofthatwillchangebecauseofthis,but—”

Iswallowhard.Swallowmywords,knowingIhavenorealchoicebuttowaitforhimtocontinue.I

cameherenotjusttotalkaboutHavenandallthewayshecouldgoaboutprotectinghimselffromher,but
alsototrytodeterminejustwhathisintentionswerethenighthekilledRoman.

Whatwashethinking?
What’stherealreasonhedidwhathedid?
Butnow,afterallthis,thereisnowaythatconversationisgoingtohappenanytimesoon.
“—there’sjust…”Heshakeshisheadandbreaksthegaze,squintingfarintothedistancewhenhe

says,“There’sjustsomuchtotakecareof—thehouse,thestore,thefuneralarrangements…”Hetakesa
deep breath, takes a moment to compose himself. “And I guess I’m just a little overwhelmed at the

moment.Andsinceyoualreadyknowhoweverythingworksaroundhere,itwouldbeahugehelpifyou
couldstayandcloseup.Butifnot,noworries.IcanprobablytryAva,orevenHonorIguess,butsince
you’realreadyhere,andsinceyoualreadyoffered—Ijustfigured—”

Honor.Hisfriend-slash-traineeHonor.Yetanothertopicwe’llhavetodiscussatsomepoint.
“Notaproblem.”Inod,eagertoassurehim.“I’mreadyandwillingtostayandworkforaslongas

youneed.”KnowingthatifSabinesomehowfindsout,itwillnotgooverwell,notintheleast.Butthen
again,it’sreallynoneofherbusiness.Andifshechoosestomakeitherbusiness,well,shecan’treally
faultmeforhelpingafriendinhistimeofdeepneed.

Friend?
IlookatJudeagain,myeyesgrazingoverhim,studyinghimcarefully.Nolongersureiftheword

stillapplies,orifiteverreallydid.Wesharedapast.Weshareapresent.That’sallIreallyknowatthis
point.

Hesighsandshutshiseyes,hisfingersmovingoverthelids,pastthesplicedbrow,beforedropping

tothedeskandgrippingthesidesashestands.Takingamomenttodigdeepintothefrontpocketofhis
jeans,fingersfishingarounduntilhefindsthebulkyringofkeyshetossestowardme.

“Do you mind locking up?” He makes his way around the desk as I rise to my feet, the two of us

suddenlyfindingourselvesface-to-face,sharinganawkwardlycloseproximity.

Closeenoughformetotakeinthedepthsofthoseblue-greeneyes—tofeelthelullandswayofthe

waveofcalmhismerepresencebrings.

Closeenoughtopromptmetotakeastepback,anactthatcausesaflashofpaintoflitacrosshis

gaze.

WavingmyhandatthekeyswhenIsay,“Idon’tactuallyneedthose,youknow.”
Helooksmeoverforamoment,thennodsandpocketsthemagain.
Thesilencelingeringbetweenusforsolong,I’mdesperatetobreakitwhenIsay,“Listen,Jude,I

—”

Butwhenhiseyesmeetmine,hisamazingaquagazereducedtoabottomlessseaofloss,IknowI

can’tevengivehimthesummarizedversionofwhatheneedstoknow.He’sfartooconsumedbyhisgrief
tocareaboutHavenorthethreatsshepromisestokeep—fartoodepressedtoeventhinkaboutthebest
waysofdefendinghimself.

“Just…justtakeallthetimeyouneed.That’sallIwantedtosay,”Imumble,watchingthewayhe

moves, carefully, cautiously, allowing for a wide berth between us, working to avoid any sort of
accidentalphysicalcontactwithme.

ButIknowit’smoreformybenefitthanhis.Hisfeelingsformehaven’tchanged,thatmuchisclear.
“Oh and Jude—” I call, noting how quickly he stops, though he refuses to turn. “Be careful out

there…please?”

Henods,hisonlyreply.
“Becauselater,whenthingshavesettledabit,andyouhavesometime,wereallyneedto—”
Notevengivingmeachancetofinishbeforehe’salreadymakinghiswaydownthehall.
Discarding the words with a wave of his hand, as he moves through the dark store and into the

daylight,disappearingintothewarmthofthesun.

chapternine

Byseveno’clock,thelastsalehasbeenrung,thefrontdoorlocked,andI’minthebackroomwith

myfeetproppeduponthedesk,peeringatmycellphonelongenoughtoseethatSabinehasleftnoless
than nine messages, all of them demanding to know where I am, when I’ll return, and what possible
explanationIcouldhaveforflauntingherrulesinsuchadeliberatelyblatantway.

Andeventhoughitmakesmefeelbad,Idon’treturnthecall.Ijustturnoffmyphone,stashitbackin

mybag,andblowitalloffinfavorofSummerland.

Steppingthroughthatshimmeringveilofsoft,goldenlightandlandingrightonthefrontstepsofthe

GreatHallsofLearning.Hopingthat,onceagain,it’llcomethroughinapinchandprovidetheanswersI
seek.

Istandbeforethedoor,breathcaughtinmythroat,asIgazeupontheglorious,ever-changingfaçade

of all the world’s most beautiful and wondrous places. Watching as the Taj Mahal morphs into the
Parthenon,whichturnsintotheLotusTemple,whichbecomesthegreatpyramidsofGiza,andsoon,until
thedoorsswingopenandI’msweptinside.Takingamomenttogazeallaround,wonderingifI’llruninto
AvaorJudenowthattheybothknowhowtogethere,butnotrecognizinganyone,Isettleontooneofthe
longwoodenbenches,slippinginamongstthemonksandrabbisandpriests,andvariousotherseekers,
beforeclosingmyeyesandfocusingontheanswersIneed.

MymindrewindingtotheexactmomentwhenJude’sspilledcoffeeranacrosshisdesk,justaboutto

raceoverthesideanddowntothefloor,whenhestoppeditwithhissleeve.Allowingtheliquidtoseep
intothefabric,toblendwiththefibers,untilitcausedabigstain,muchliketheantidotestainedRoman’s
whiteshirt.

Leavingbehindabigblotchofgreen.
Animprintofsorts.
Acombinationofchemicals—akindofrecipeifyouwill—permanentlyembeddedintothosesoft,

cottonfibers.

ChemicalsthatifproperlybrokendownwillleadmetotheformulafortheantidotethatIneed—the

onlythingthatwillallowDamenandmetotrulytoucheachotheragain.

WhileIoncethoughtthatallhopeofclaimingthecurediedalongwithRoman—nowIknowbetter—

nowIknowitliveson.

WhatI’doriginallythoughtwaslostforever—survivesinthestainonhisshirt.
TheshirtHavensnatchedrightoutofmyhands.
TheshirtIhavenochoicebuttosnatchrightbackifDamenandIareevergoingtoenjoyanykindof

normallifetogether.

Itakeadeepbreath,replacingtheimageofJude’sstainedT-shirtwithRoman’swhitelinenone,as

mymindasksthequestion:

Whereisit?
Soonfollowedby:
AndhowdoIgoaboutgettingit?
ButnomatterhowlongIwait—nomatterhowmanytimesIinquire—noanswerscome.
Thestubbornsilenceultimatelygrowingintoamessageofitsown.
Anundeniablerefusaltohelp.
JustbecausetheHallswelcomedme,doesn’tmeanthey’rewillingtoassist.Thisisn’tthefirsttime

they’vedeniedmetheanswersIseek.

AndI’vefinallycometorealizeitmeansoneoftwothings:EitherI’mdelvingintosomethingthatis

noneofmybusiness,whichreallydoesn’tmakeanysenseinthiscasesinceit’sobviouslyverymuchmy
business,orI’mdelvingintosomethingI’mnotmeanttoknowatthistimeorpossiblyanyother,which,
unfortunately,makesplentyofsense.

Somethingisalwaysconspiringagainstus.
Somethingisalwayskeepingusapart.
Whether it’s Drina always killing me, Roman always tricking me, or Jude either intentionally or

unintentionally sabotaging me—something is always standing in the way of Damen’s and my ultimate
happiness.

AndIcan’thelpbutwonderifthere’ssomekindofreasonbehindit.
Theuniverseisnotnearlyaschaoticasitseems.
There’sadefinitereasonforeverything.
ButwhentheGreatHallsdecidetoshutyouout,noamountofcleverrephrasingcanchangethat.
Thisoneisonme.
It’smyjobtofindtheshirt.MyjobtodetermineifHavenevenrealizeswhatitisthatshe’skeeping

fromme.

Issheholdingitforsentimentalreasons,becauseit’sthelastthingRomanworeonthenighthe

died?

DoesshekeepitasavisualreminderthathelpsfuelherrageagainstJudeandme?
Ordoessheknowaboutthestainandthepromiseitholds?
HassheknownallalongwhatI’mjustdiscoveringnow?
AllIknowforsureisthatwithouttheaidofSummerland,I’vegotnochoicebuttoheadbacktothe

earthplanetoseewhatIcanlearnthere.

AndI’mjustabouttomaketheportalagain,whenIsensehim.
Damen.
He’shere.
Somewherecloseby.
So,instead,Iclosemyeyesandmakeonelastrequest,askingforSummerlandtoleadmetohim.

chapterten

ThenextthingIknow,I’mmakingmywaythroughthefieldofblazingredtulips,followingthepull

ofDamen’senergyallthewaytothefrontdoorofthepavilion.

I pause just outside it, unsure if I should really go in. At first, thinking it odd that he’d come here

without me, then figuring it’s just his way of being near me when I’m busy elsewhere, I poke my head
inside, barely making out the top of his head peeking up from the couch. Just about to call out, let him
knowthatI’mhereandsharewhatI’velearnedabouttheshirt,whenIseeit.

Thescreen.
Andthehorriblescenethat’sprojecteduponit.
It’smySouthernlife.
Myslavelife.
BackwhenIwashelplessandabused,butnotwithouthope.
And on this particular day there seems to be an abundance of hope—at least, all things

consideredanyway. Because eventhough it takesme a moment tocatch up towhat’s truly going on,
onethingisclear—I’mbeingsold.RemovedfrommyhorriblyabusivemastersoIcangoworkfora
muchyounger man withdark wavy hair,a long, lean build,and heavily lashedeyes that I recognize
immediately.

Damen.
Heboughtme.Rescuedme.Justlikehesaid!
Andyet—ifthat’sthecase,thenwhydoIlooksosad?Whyismybottomlipquivering,mydark

eyestearing,onthedaywhenmyonetruelove,mysoulmate,myknightinshiningarmorhascometo
savemefromalifeofdrudgery?

WhydoIlooksounhappy,withshakinglimbsandagazefilledwithfear—continuallyglancing

overmyshoulderwhiledraggingmyfeet—soclearlyreluctanttojoinhim?

AndeventhoughIknowit’swrongtospy,thatIshouldspeakupandletDamenknowthatI’mhere,I

don’t. I don’t say a word. I just remain right where I am. Quiet and still. Allowing only the shallowest
breath,knowingthisisit.Thebigthinghe’sbeenhidingallalong—thesamethingRomanandJudehinted
at,andHaventauntedmewith.AndifIwanttogettothebottomofit,seethesceneasrealandrawasthe
dayitallhappened,Ican’talerthimtomypresence.Thoughhisinabilitytosensemeprovesjusthow
engrossedhereallyis.

And it’s not long before I see it—the real reason behind all the sadness. The real reason why I

reactedthewayIdid.

I’m being pulled away from my family. From everyone I’ve ever loved. From the only circle of

supportI’veeverknownintheworld.

Thiskindandwealthywhitemanmaythinkhe’ssavingme,committingsomekindofnoble,good

deed,butonelookatmyfaceisallittakestoseethathe’sdoingsoattheexpenseofmyonlysourceof
happiness.

My mother sobs in the background, as my father stands tall and silent beside her. His gaze is

grief-stricken,troubled,thoughurgingusalltostaystrong.AndeventhoughIclingtothem,hanging
onwithallthatI’vegot,determinedtosealtheimpressionoftheirscent,theirtouch,theirverybeing,
it’snotlongbeforeI’mpulledawayfromitall.

Damen grasping my arm as he pulls me toward him and away from my mother—my pregnant

motherwhoanxiouslyembracesherlarge,swollenbellythatsheltersmyunbornsister—pullsmeaway
frommy father, myfamily—away from theboy just behind themwho reaches forme—the tips of our
fingersjustbarelymeeting,thetouchcoolandfleeting,beforeI’myankedfaroutofhisreach.Though
mygazerefusestoleavehim,myeyesremainsteadfast,drinkinghimin,untiltheimageissearedonto
mybrain—thislanky,blackboywiththepiercingbrowneyesthatinstantlyrevealwhoheis.

Myfriend—myconfidant—myintended—theoneIknowinthislifeasJude.
“Quietnow,”Damenwhispers,hislipsatmyear,asmyfamilyistoldtoturnawayandgetback

to work. “Hush now, please. Everything’s going to be okay. I promise to keep you safe. As long as
you’rewithme,noonecaneverhurtyouagain.Butfirstyouhavetotrustme,okay?”

But I won’t trust him. Can’t trust him. If he really cared about me, if he’s really as rich and

powerfulasheclaims,thenwhycan’thebuyusall?Whycan’thekeepustogether?

Whydoeshetakeonlyme?
But before I can see any more, Damen cuts the scene. Just cuts it right off. Instantly erasing it as

thoughitneverdidexist.

AndinthatmomentIknowthatthisiswhathemeansbyediting.
He’s not just sparing me from viewing uncomfortable scenes like my own gruesome deaths—he’s

sparing himself—the image he’s worked so hard to craft—unwilling to allow me to witness his more
shamefulacts.

LiketheoneIjustsaw.
Theonethatmaybeerasedbutisforeversealedinmybrain.
AndIdon’tevenrealizeI’vegasped,don’tevenrealizeI’vemadeanysoundatall,untilheleaps

fromthecouch,hiseyeswide,facefrantic,whenhefindsmestandingrighttherebehindhim.

“Ever!”hecries,voicechokedwithpanic.“Howlonghaveyoubeenthere?”
ButIdon’tanswer.Myexpressionaloneisanswerenough.
Hisgazedartsbetweenmeandthescreen,asherakesthroughhisglossy,darkhair,thewordsrough,

unsteady,whenhedropshishandstohissidesandsays,“It’snotwhatyouthink.Iswear,it’s—it’snotat
allwhatitappearedtobe.”

“Thenwhy’dyoucutit?”Mygazeharsh,unforgiving,unwillingtobendeventhetiniestbit.“Why’d

youeraseit,ifnottohideitfromme?”

“There’smoretothestory—much,muchmoreandI—”
“You don’t trust me?” I cut in, unwilling to hear his denials. Not when we both just watched the

same,horriblething.“Afterallthatwe’vebeenthrough,afterallthatI’vesharedwithyou—you’restill
hidingthingsfromme?”IfighttosteadymybreathasIpressmyhandflatagainstmybelly,feelingmore
thanalittlesickenedbythis.“Sotellme,Damen,justhowfardoesthisgo—thiseditingofyours?What
elsecouldyoupossiblybehidingfromme?”RememberingwhatHavenalludedtointhebathroomtoday

and warning myself not to fall into her trap, not to let her divide and conquer us. Then dropping the
thoughtjustasquickly.IsawwhatIsaw.Theevidenceplayedoutbeforemeclearasday.

“FirstyouwaituntiltheverylastminutetotellmethetruthaboutyouandmeandJude—andnow

—nowthis?”Ishakemyhead,stillreelingfromthevisionofwhoIwasandwhohemightstillpossibly
be.“Isthissomesortofsickgameyou’replaying?Isthishowyougetyourkicks?Tellme,Damen,just
howmanytimes,inhowmanylives,haveyoupulledmeawayfrommyfamilyandfriends?”Helooksat
me,faceashen,butI’monarollandthere’snostoppingmenow.“Imean,there’sthetimewejustsaw,
and there’s this life, the one I’m in now…” I pause, knowing that’s not exactly fair. I’m the one who
lingeredinthefieldofmyownfreewill.I’mtheonewhowassoentrancedbythemagickofSummerland
Ichosetostaybackwhiletherestofmyfamilymovedon.Butstill,hadhenotfedmetheelixir,maybeI
would’ve eventually found them—maybe we’d all be together right now. And I’m so upset by my
thoughts,bytheimagesthatrefusetostopplayinginmyhead,thatIcan’tdecidewhichisbetter—forme
tohavediedandjoinedupwithmyfamily—orformetohavelivedsoIcandealwithallthis.

Iturn,legsshaking,heartcrashing,needingtogetout,getsomeair,nolongerabletobreatheinthis

room.

Damen’svoicecallingoutfrombehindme,beggingmetostop,toslowdown,claimingthatitcanall

beexplained.

ButIrefusetostop.
Refusetoslowdowninanyway.
Ijustkeeponrunning.
JustkeepongoinguntilI’vefoundmywayhomeagain.

chaptereleven

“Whatthehell,Ever?Youdropoutofschoolandforgettotellme?”
IglanceupfromtheregisterwhereI’mbusyringingupasale,onlytofindMileslurkingbehindmy

squinty-eyed,not-one-bit-amusedcustomer.

Takingamomenttoshoothimmyverybestnotnowlook,asIchargehercreditcardandwrapher

booksandmeditationCDsinsomepurpletissuepaper,beforeIslidethemintoamatchingbagandsend
heronherway.

“Niceone.”Inod,thewordscompetingwiththebellclankinghardagainstthedoorassheleaves.

“I’msurewewon’tbeseeingheragainanytimesoon.”

Mileswavesitaway,dismissingthethoughtwithashrugashesays,“Whatever.Trustme,I’vegot

muchmoreimportantthingstodiscussthanJude’sbankstatement.”

“Yeah?Likewhat?”Ishovethereceiptintothepurpleboxwherewestorethem,awareofMiles’s

gazeweighingheavily,waitingformetoacknowledgeitsohecangetonwiththerealreasonforhisvisit.

“Well, like you, for instance.” He watches me settle onto the stool, crossing my arms before me.

Carefultokeepmygazeneutral,expressionless,asthoughI’mnotatallanxiousorworried,asthoughI’m
justpatientlywaitingforhimtocontinue.“Imean,foronething,exceptfortheveryfirstday,I’veyetto
seeyouatschool.Whichmeansyouhaven’tbeengoingtoschool,becauseasitjustsohappens,I’vebeen
lookingforyou.Waitingoutsideyourclasses,nexttoyourlocker,atthelunchtable,but—nothing,niente,
yousohaven’tbeenthere.”

Ishrug,unwillingtoconfirmordeny—atleastnotjustyetanyway.FirstIneedtoseejusthowstrong

acaseheplanstobuildagainstme.

“And even though I’m sure you’ll probably try to claim that you have your reasons, that your

extended absence—your super-sized summer if you will—are pretty much none of my business, I just
wantyoutoknowthatyou’rewrong.Itismybusiness.Infact,itisverymuchmybusiness.Because,as
your friend, as one of your very best friends, I’m here to tell you that your no-show silent treatment is
affectingnotjustmebutallofus.Eventhepeopleyoudon’tconsideryourfriends—believeitornot—
it’saffectingthemtoo.”

I shrug. Unsure what to say, but knowing it’s not really time for that anyway. Miles loves nothing

morethananextendedmonologue,andfromthesignsofit,thisoneisnowherenearcomingtoaclose.

“Youknow,peoplelikeme—andDamen—and,well,maybenotsomuchHavenanymore,butstill,

never mind that, we’ll get to it later. What I’m trying to say is that it’s like you’re just—” He pauses,
thumbs hooked in the front tabs of his jeans as he gazes all around, searching for just the right word.

Finallyreturningtomewhenhesays,“It’slikeyou’rejusttotallyignoringus.Likeyou’vedismissed us.
Likeyou’veceasedtoevencareaboutus—”

“Miles—”Istart,pressingmylipstogetherasItrytothinkofthebestwaytocontinue.“Listen,Iget

whatyou’resaying.ReallyIdo.Andbelieveme,Itotallygetwhyyoumightseeitthatway,buttrustme,
there’salotmoretoitthanyoumightthink.Waymorethanyoucouldeverevenbegintoimagine.Imean,
seriously, if I was to tell you the real truth behind all of this—” I close my eyes and shake my head,
knowingthathalfthetimeI’mhardlyabletobelieveitmyself.“Anyway,Ican’treallygetintoit,butjust
trustmewhenIsaythatifyouknewevenafractionofwhatwasreallygoingon,well,you’ddefinitelybe
thankingmeforkeepingyououtofit.”Ipause,allowingenoughtimeformywordstosinkin,hopinghe’ll
seejusthowseriousIam.“AndwhileI’mreallysorrythatyoufeellikeI’mignoringyou,andthatIdon’t
careaboutyou,it’snotatalltrue.Seriously,notevenabit.You’reprettymuchtheonlyrealfriendIhave
leftatthispoint.AndIreallywanttomakeituptoyou,andIpromiseIwill.Soon.Forsure. But right
nowI’mjust…I’mjustalittle…preoccupied,that’sall.”

“AndwhataboutDamen?Yougonnamakeituptohimtoo?”
Ilookathim,noteventryingtoburymyshock.Imean,Icannotbelievehe’sseriouslychoosingto

confrontmewiththat.

“Pleasedon’tassumeyouknowmorethanyoudo,”Isay,myvoicealittleharsherthanIintended.

“There’salotmoretoit.Stuffyoudon’tunderstand.Nothingisanywherenearassimpleasitmayseem
onthesurface,andbelieveme,thisgoeswaybeyondthat—therootsareprettydangdeep.”

Hegazesdownattheground,diggingthetoeofhisshoeintothecarpetedfloor,takingamomentto

collecthisthoughts,decidejusttherightwaytoconfrontme,beforeheliftshishead,looksmerightinthe
eye,andsays,“AndwouldoneofthosethingsthatIcan’tpossiblyunderstandhaveanythingtodowith
thefactthatyou’re—?”

Our eyes meet, leaving me frozen, unable to breathe. The word speeding toward me, crashing

straightintomyenergyfieldbeforeitcanevenleavehislips.

Andthere’snothingIcandoaboutit,nowaytorewindorstophimfromsaying:
“Immortal?”
Hisgazelocksonmine,andnomatterhowmuchImaywantto,Ican’tlookaway.
Myskinisprickledwithcoldwhenheadds,“Orisitthefactthatyou’repsychic?Giftedwithall

mannerofmentalandphysicalpowers.Ormaybeit’sthefactthatyou’llstayyoungandbeautifulforever.
Neveraging,never dying, just like your sidekick Damen, who’s been around for six hundred years and
countingandwhoonlyjustrecentlydecidedtoturnyoulikehim?”Hiseyesnarrow,ashisgazesweeps
myface.“Tellme,Ever,amIontherighttrack?Arethesethethingsyouwerereferringto?”

“Howdid—”Istart.
But the words are drowned out by his voice when he says, “Oh, and let’s not forget about Drina,

who,asitturnsout,wasalsoimmortal.Andthen,ofcourse,therewasRomanaswell.Nottomention
Marco, Misa, and Rafe—the three somewhat annoying tagalongs Haven’s chosen to hang with for
whateverunknownreason.And,Ican’tbelieveIalmostforgottomentionthemostrecentadditiontothe
gang of the eternally beautiful—our dear friend Haven herself. Or, should I say, my dear friend, your
newfoundimmortalenemy—eventhoughyou’retheonewhochosetomakeherlikeyou?Isthisthekind
ofstuffIcouldn’tpossiblybegintounderstand?”

I swallow hard, stunned into silence and unable to think of anything better to do than sit there and

stare.AndeventhoughImostlyfeelhorrifiedtohaveitalllaidoutbeforemelikethat—theaccumulated
factsofmyverystrangeliferevealedinawaysoneutral,soordinary,ithardlyseemsreal,eventome—
there’salsoasmallpartofmethat’srelieved.

I’vebeencarryingthissecretforsolong,Ican’thelpbutfeellighter,brighter,asthoughI’vefinally

beenfreedofaburdenthatwasfartooheavytobearonmyown.

But Miles isn’t finished. He’s only just begun. So I shake my head and refocus on his words,

strugglingtokeepupwhenhesays,“Andtheironicthingis,ifyoureallystopandthinkaboutit,ifyou
reallystopandponderitinamethodical,logicalway,wellthen,Ithinkit’sprettyclearthatI’mtheone
whoshouldbeavoidingyou.”

Isquint,notquitefollowinghowhearrivedatthatconclusionbutknowinghe’sabouttoexplain.
“Imean,imaginehowitfeelstofindoutthatthefriendsIthoughtIknewsowell,thesamefriendsI

feltconfidentsharingeverythingwith,arenotonlynotatallwhattheyappeartobe,butthatthey’realso,
everysingleoneofthem,membersofasuper-exclusive,super-secretclub.Aclubwhere,it’sprettydang
obviousthateveryoneiswelcome.Everyonebutme.”Hestops,shakinghisheadashemovestowardthe
frontofthestore,gazingoutthedisplaywindowsatthesun-dappledstreetjustbeyond.Hisvoicebearing
theburdenofhiswordswhenhesays,“Igottatellya,Ever,ithurts.Makenomistake.Itreallyandtruly
hurtsmetothecore.Imean,thewayIseeit,whichistheonlywayanyonecouldseeit,butstill,theway
Iseeit,it’slikeyoudon’twantmetobeimmortaltoo.It’slikeyoudon’twanttoknowme,orevenbemy
friend,foranythingevenclosetoresemblingeternity.”

Heturns,turnsuntilhe’sfacingme,andonelookathisfaceisallittakestoknowthatthisiseven

worsethanIthought.AndIknowIhavetosaysomethingquick,somethingtotemperallthis,butbeforeI
canevenopenmymouth,he’sbackforroundtwo,forcingmetositbackandwaitformyturn.

“And you know what really kills me the most? You know who saw fit to finally fill me in on all

this?”Hepausesasthoughwaitingformetorespond,butIwon’t,thequestionwasobviouslyrhetorical.
Thisishisshow,hisscript,andIhavenointentionofstealinghisscene.“Theoneandonlypersonoutof
yourentiresuper-secretgangoftheeternallybeautiful—theonlyoneoutofallofyouwhowaswillingto
sitdownandlevelwithme,withoutpullinganypunchesortryingtopassoffanykindofbull—theone
andonlypersonwhowaswillingtolookmeintheeyeandrevealallwassurprisinglyenough—”

Andbeforehecanfinish—beforehecanutterthewordIalreadyknow.
Damen.
Remembering the moment Miles e-mailed the portraits he’d uncovered in Florence—the portraits

Romanwasdeterminedhe’dfind.

Theway Damen’s fingerstrembled as Ipassed him the phone,the way hislids narrowed, his jaw

tightened,thewayhesovaliantlyacceptedthesuddenunearthingofhiscenturies-oldsecret.

ThewayhevowedtocomecleanwithMiles,tostophiding,stoplying,tofinallytellthetruthand

getitalloutintheopen.

Butneveroncebelievinghe’dactuallygothroughwithit.
“Damen.” Miles confirms, nodding emphatically, gaze never once leaving mine. “And when you

consider the fact that I’ve known him for—what? Less than a year? Less time than I’ve known you
anyway,that’sfordangsure,andcertainlyfarlesstimethanI’veknownHaven.Andyethe’stheonewho
toldme.DespitethefactthatItalktohimfar,farlessthanItalktoeitherofyou—he’stheonewhochose
to be straight with me. Even though he’s always been the quiet keep-to-himself type—and now I know
why—butanyway,eventhoughwe’veneverreallybonded,sotospeak,he’sstilltheonlyonewhotreated
melikeatruefriend.Likesomeonehecouldtrustandconfidein.Hejustsatmedownandspilledit—
toldmethetruthaboutyou,abouthim,about—abouteverything—allofit!”

“Miles—”Istart,myvoicehesitant,unsurewhattosay,unsureifhe’sreallyreadytolistentome

anyway.

Butwhenhestopslongenoughtogazeatme,headcockedtotheside,browraisedinachallenge,I

knowthatheis.YetbeforeIcanevenbegintogothere,beforeIcanstartupwiththewholelaundrylistof
reasonsforwhyIpurposelykepthiminthedark—alltheverygoodandvalidreasonsforwhyheshould
begladhewaskeptinthedark—Ineedtoseeformyself.

NeedtoseewhatDamentoldhim.
Theexactwordsheused.
And, even more important, why he decided to divulge everything now, when surely some of it

could’vewaited’tillater—muchlater,infact.

Closingmyeyesforamoment,allowingmymindtomergewithhis.KnowingI’mrenegingonmy

promise to never spy on my friends’ innermost thoughts or memories unless absolutely imperative, and
forgingaheadanyway,desperatetoseejustwhatwentdownthatday.

Thewordsforgive me filling the space that divides us, blossoming, growing, ’til I can practically

seetheletterstakingshape.

Hopinghecansensethewordstoo,andwillsoonfindawaytopardonwhatI’mabouttodo.

chaptertwelve

Ireachoverthecounterquickly.SoquicklyMileshasnowaytostopme.Noideawhat’saboutto

happenuntilit’stoolate.Slamminghiswristhardontotheglass,harderthanIintended,Isecuremyhand
overhisinawaythatpresseshispalmflatagainstit,renderinghimcompletelyhelpless.Vaguelyaware
ofhisstruggle,thewayhesquirmsandwrigglesandtriestobreakfree.

Butit’snouse.
Hisfightbarelyregisters.It’slessthanabliponmyscreen.
Whenitcomestobrutestrength,there’snomatchingme.
And when he finally realizes that, he heaves a deep sigh and settles in, opening his mind, and

surrenderingtowhatheknowsI’mabouttodo.

I slip inside his head, fluidly, easily, taking a moment to get my bearings and have a brief look

around,beforeIdiscardallextraneousthoughtsandswoopinontheexactsceneIcameheretosee.

SeeingMilesclimbintoDamen’scar,atfirstrelaxedandhappy,anticipatinganiceoff-campus

lunch,onlytograbholdofhisseatinadeathgrip—hiseyeswide,faceamaskoffright,asDamen
speedsoutoftheschoolparkinglotandontothestreet.

Andtobehonest,I’mnotsurewhatsurprisesmemore—thefactofwhatDamen’sabouttodo—or

that he’s still keeping his promise of going to school and attending all of his classes even though I’ve
clearlyrenegedonmine.

“No worries,” Damen says, glancing at Miles, his face creasing into a smile. “You’re perfectly

safe.Icanalmostguaranteethat.”

“Almost?” Miles flinches, shoulders scrunching, eyes squinching, as Damen maneuvers in and

out of a long string of cars traveling well below his unnaturally high speed. Cautiously venturing a
quick glimpse at him as he says, “Well, at least I know where you get it—you drive as crazy as
everyoneelseinItaly!”Heshakeshisheadandwincesagain.

CausingDamentolaughevenharder.
ThemeresoundofitcausingmyhearttoswellinawayIcanbarelycontain.
Imisshim.
There’sjustnodenyingit.
Seeing him like this—with the sun bouncing off his dark glossy hair, as his strong, capable hands

gripthewheel—well,itjustmakesitclearhowemptymylifefeelswithouthim.

Butthen,justasquickly,Istop—remindingmyselfofallthereasonswhyIdidwhatIdid.There’s

stillsomuchlefttouncoveraboutourformerlivestogether,stuffIneedtoknowbeforewecangoany

further.

Iblinkitaway,determinedtomovepastallthatasIcontinuetowatch.
SeeingDamenbrakeattheShakeShack,wherehebuysMilesacoffeeshakewithcrushedOreo

cookiesinside,beforeleadinghimtowardoneofthosebluepaintedbenches,theexactsameonewhere
heandIoncesat.Takingamomenttogazedownatabeautifulbeachfilledwithcolorfulumbrellas
that look like giant polka dots pinned into the sand, at a lineup of surfers waiting for the next big
wave, to a flock of seagulls circling overhead, before turning his attention to Miles, who slurps his
shakequietlyandwaitsforDamentobegin.

“I’manimmortal,”hesays,lookingrightathim.
Justthrowsthefirstpitchwithoutawarm-up,withoutabatterinplace.Justtossestheballrightout

there,facepatient,still,allowingplentyoftimeforMilestostepupandtakeaswing.

Miles sputters, spitting the straw from his mouth and brushing his sleeve across his lips as he

gapesatDamenandsays,“Scusa?”

Damen laughs, and I’m not sure if it’s the result of Miles’s attempt to speak Italian or Miles’s

dramaticattempttodrawitalloutandpretendasthoughhedidn’tactuallyhearwhathesoclearly
did.Still,Damencontinuestoholdhisgazeashesays,“Yourearsdidnotdeceiveyou.It’sexactlyasI
said. I’m an immortal. I’ve roamed this earth for just over six hundred years, and up until recently,
DrinaandRomandidtoo.”

Milesgapes,hiscoffeeshakeallbutforgottenashisgazemovesoverDamen,attemptingtomake

senseofit,attemptingtotakeitallin.

“Forgivemeforbeingsoblunt—andtrustmewhenIsaythatIdidn’tputitouttherelikethatto

enjoyalittleshockvalueatyourexpense.It’sjustthat,ifnothingelse,I’vecometolearnthatnews
likethis—newsoftheunexpectedkind—isbesttoldquicklyandbluntly.I’vedefinitelypaidtheprice
ofholdingback.”Hepauses,hisgazesuddenlysaddened,faraway.

And I know he’s referring to me—the time he waited so long to tell me the truth behind my own

existence—and how he’s made the same mistake once again, by not coming clean about our shared
history.

“AndI’lladmit,partofmejustassumedyou’dalreadyfigureditout.WhatwithRomanmaking

sureyou’dfindtheportraitsandall.Youmust’vedrawnsomesortofconclusionaboutthem.”

Miles shakes his head, blinks his eyes a bunch of times, and abandons his shake to the table.

Looking at Damen with an expression that’s one hundred and eighty degrees past confused when he
says, “But—” his voice so hoarse, he clears his throat and starts again. “I mean, I guess—well, I
guess I don’t get it.” He squints, slowly taking him in. “For starters, you’re not all pasty white and
weird looking. In fact, you’re pretty much the opposite, and ever since I’ve known you, you’ve been
rockin’atan.Nottomention,incaseyouhaven’tnoticed,it’sdaylight.Like,ninety-fivedegrees’worth
ofdaylight.So,excusemeforsayingso,butinlightofallthat,whatyoujustsaidreallydoesn’tmake
anysense.”

Damen tilts his head, wearing an expression that’s far more confused than Miles’s. Taking a

momenttoadditallup,beforehethrowshisheadback,allowinggreatpealsoflaughtertospillforth,
untilhefinallyslowsdownenoughtoshakehisheadandsay,“I’mnotamythicalimmortal,Miles,I’m
a real immortal. The kind without the burden of fangs, sun-avoiding, or that gawd-awful blood-
sucking.”Heshakeshisheadagain,musingunderhisbreathattheideaofit,rememberinghowIonce
assumedthesamething.“Basically,it’sjustmeandmytrustybottleofelixirhere—”Heholdsuphis
drink, swinging it back and forth as Miles watches, transfixed by the sight of it. The way that much
sought-after substance, the one mankind has searched for forever, the one Damen’s parents were

murdered for, glows and glints in the bright afternoon sun. “Believe me, this is really all it takes to
keepmegoingfor,well,foreternity.”

They sit in silence. Miles scrutinizing Damen, looking for giveaways, nervoustics, self-

aggrandizement, gaping holes in the story, or any other telltale sign of a person who’s lying, while
Damenjustwaits.AllowingMilesallthetimeheneedstogetaccustomedtotheidea,tosettleinwith
it,towarmuptoanewpossibilityheneverreallyconsideredbefore.

And when Miles’s mouth begins to open, about to ask how, Damen just nods, answering the

unspoken question when he says, “My father was an alchemist back in a time when it was not so
uncommontoexperimentwithsuchthings.”

“And what time was that, exactly?” Miles asks, having found his voice again, obviously not

believingitreallycould’vebeenaslongasDamenclaims.

“Sixhundredandsomeoddyearsago—giveortake.”Damenshrugs,castingitoffasthoughthe

beginningsholdverylittlemeaningtohim.

ButIknowdifferently.
Iknowjusthowmuchheprizesthattimewithhisfamily,thememoriestheysharedbeforetheywere

socruellystolen.

Ialsoknowjusthowpainfulitisforhimtoadmitit.Howhepreferstoshrugitoff,topretendhecan

barelyrememberit.

“ItwasduringtheItalianRenaissance,”headds,notmissingabeat.
Theirgazecontinuestohold,andeventhoughhedoesn’tshowit,bearsabsolutelynovisiblesignsof

itwhatsoever—IknowitkillsDamentohavetoadmitit.

His most well guarded secret, the one he’d managed to hold on to for six solid centuries, now

spillingoutlikewaterfromabustedpipe.

Milesnods,nodswithoutflinching.Forfeitinghismilkshaketoacuriousseagull,pushingitaway

ashesays,“I’mnotevensurewhattosayatthispoint,exceptmaybe—thankyou.”

Theirgazemeets.
“Thankyoufornotlying.Fornottryingtocoveritupandpretendthatthoseportraitsweresome

kindofdistantrelativeorweirdkindofcoincidence.Thankyoufortellingthetruth.Asunbelievable
andstrangeasitmaybe…”

“Youknew?”
I let go of his hand, moving so quickly it takes a moment for him to realize he’s no longer held

hostagebyme.

Heflinchesandpullsaway,flexinghisfingersashetwistshiswristbackandforth,doingwhatever

ittakestogetthebloodflowbacktonormalagain.

“Jeez,Ever,intrudemuch?”Heshakeshisheadandpacesthestore.Angrilyslalomingthroughthe

bookshelves, the angel displays, the CD racks, before starting the course all over again. Needing a
moment to forgive me, to blow off a good bit of steam, before he’s ready to even look at me again.
Tappinghisthumboverthespinesofalongrowofbooksashefinallysighsandsays,“Imean,it’sone
thing to know you’re capable of reading minds, it’s quite another to have you actually get in there and
probe around without my consent.” The words followed by a string of others he mumbles under his
breath.

“I’msorry,”Isay,knowingIowehimmuchmorethanthat,butstill,it’sastart.“Really.I…Itooka

vowtoneverdothat.Andforthemostpart,I’vekeptit.Butsometimes…well,sometimesthesituation’s
sourgentitcan’tbeignored.”

“So you’ve done it before? Is that what you’re saying?” He turns, his eyes narrowed, mouth grim,

fingers fidgeting at his side. Assuming the worst, that I’ve made myself at home in his brain on more
occasionsthanIcancount.Andeventhoughit’snothingquiteasbadasallthat,andeventhoughI’dreally
prefernottohavetocoptoanyofit,IalsoknowthatifIhaveanyhopeofregaininghistrust,Ihaveto
starthere.

Itakeadeepbreath,keepingmygazelevelonhis.“Yes.Afewtimesinthepast,Ihavedroppedin

completelyunannouncedandwithoutyourconsent,andI’mreallyandtrulysorryaboutthat.Iknowwhat
aninvasionthatmustfeelliketoyou.”

Herollshiseyesandshowsmehisback.Mumblinginawayintendedtomakemecringe—andit

does.

Thoughit’snotlikeIblamehim.Notintheleast.I’veinvadedhisprivacy,there’snodoubtabout

that.Ijusthopehecanlearntoforgiveme.

“Sobasically,whatyou’retellingmeis,Ihavenosecrets.”Hefacesmeagain,gazepouringover

me.“Noprivatethoughts,nothingthatyouhaven’thadasuper-exclusivesneakpeekat.”Heglares.“And
justhowlonghasthisbeengoingon,Ever?Sincethedaywefirstmet,Iassume?”

Ishakemyhead,determinedforhimtobelieveme.“No.Really,noneofthat’strue.Imean,yes,I’ve

readyourmindbefore,I’vealreadyadmittedtothat,butI’veonlydoneitafewtimes,andeventhenit
was only when I thought you might know something that would—” I take a deep breath, seeing his
narrowed gaze, his clenched jaw, a sure sign that this is not going over as well as I’d hoped. Still, he
deservesanexplanation,nomatterhowmaditmakeshim,soIclearmythroatandforgeaheadwhenI
add,“Seriously,theonlytimesI’veeverlookedinsideyourheadwastoseeifyouwereontothetruth
aboutDamenandme—that’sit.Iswear.Ihaven’tbotheredwithanythingelse.I’mnotnearlyasunethical
as you think. Besides, just so you know, I used to hear everyone’s thoughts—hundreds—sometimes
thousandsofthoughtsjumpingoutallaroundme.Itwasdeafening,anddisheartening,andIhatedevery
singlesecondofit.That’swhyIworethehoodiesandtheiPodallthetime.Itwasn’tjusttragicfashion
sense,youknow.”Ipauseandlookathim,seeingthewayhisbackandshouldersstiffen.“Itwastheonly
way I could think of to block it all out. I mean, it may have looked ridiculous to you, but it served its
purpose.Itwasn’tuntilAvataughtmehowtoshieldmyselfandtuneitalloutthatIwasabletomoveon.
Soyeah,inaway,you’reright.FromthedayIfirstmetyouIcouldheareverythingthatcoursedthrough
your brain—just like I heard everything that coursed through everyone’s brain. But it wasn’t because I
wanted to hear it, but because I had no choice but to hear it. But as for the rest, your business is your
business,Miles.Seriously,I’vecompletelyavoidedeavesdroppingonyoursecrets.Youhavetobelieve
meonthat.”

Mygazefollowshim,watchingashecontinuestoroamthestore,backturned,facehiddeninawayI

can’tread.Thoughhisauraisbrightening,lightening,asuresignhe’scomingaround.

“I’msorry,”hesays,finallyturningtome.
Isquint,wonderingwhatonearthhehastobesorryforinlightofallthis.
Buthejustshakeshisheadandsays,“ThethingsIusedtothinkaboutyou—well,notreallyyou, it

wasmostlyaboutyourchoiceofclothes—butstill.”Hecringes.“Ican’tbelieveyouwereprivytothat.”

Ishrug.Morethanwillingtoletitgo.It’sancienthistoryasfarasI’mconcerned.
“Imean,afterallthat,youwerestillwillingtohangaroundme,stillwillingtodrivemetoschool

everyday,stillwillingtobemyfriend—”Heliftshisshouldersandsighs.

“Nevermindthat.”Ismilehopefully.“AllIwanttoknowis:Areyoustillwillingtobemine?”
He nods. Nods and moves toward me, hands splayed out on the counter when he says, “In case

you’rewondering,itwasactuallyHavenwhofirsttoldme.”

Isigh,havingfiguredasmuch.

“Well, no, backtrack, because she only kind of told me.” He stops, points at a ring just under the

glass that I promptly hand to him to try on. “Basically, she called me over to her house—” He pauses,
browsmergedasheliftshishandtoadmiretheringbeforeslippingitoffandpointingtoanother.“You
knowshemovedout,right?”

Ishakemyhead.Ididn’tactuallyknowthat,butagain,IguessIshould’veassumed.
“She’slivingatRoman’snow.Notsurehowlongthat’lllast,butshe’stalkingaboutgettingherself

legally emancipated so I guess she’s pretty serious about it. Anyway, long story short, she basically
invitedmeover,pouredmeabiggobletfullofelixir,andtriedtomakemetakeaswigwithouttellingme
whatitwas.”

Ishakemyhead.Ican’tbelievehowirresponsiblethatis.Well,comingfromHavenIcanbelieveit,

butstill,thatisnotgood.

“AndwhenIwaveditaway,shegotalldramaticandlookedatmeandsaid—”Heclearshisthroat,

preparing for just the right raspy-voiced Haven inflection, and completely nailing it when he says,
“‘Miles, if someone were to offer you eternal beauty, eternal strength, amazing physical and mental
powers…wouldyouaccept?’”Herollshiseyes.“Andthenshelookedatme,thatbluesapphireshe’s
somehowembeddedintoherforeheadpracticallyblindingme,andtotallygapinginoutragewhenIsaid,
‘Uh,nothanks.’”

Ismile,tryingtoimaginethesceneformyself.
“Sothen,ofcourse,sheassumedIdidn’tquiteunderstandjustwhatshewasgettingat,andshetried

toexplainitagain,withmoredetailthistime.ButIstillsaidno.Sothenshestartedtogetreallyupsetand
toldmeprettymucheverythingthatDamendid—abouttheelixir,abouthowheturnedyou,abouthowyou
turnedher.AndthenshethrewinsomestuffthatDamendidn’ttellme,abouthowyouendedupkilling
bothDrinaandRoman—”

“Ididn’tkill—”Roman.IstarttosaythatIdidn’tkillRoman.ThatJudeisresponsibleforthat.But

just as quickly I wave it away. Miles already knows more than he should. It’s not my place to add any
more.

“Anyway”—heshrugsasthoughhe’sspeakingaboutpurelynormalandrationalthings—“then,when

shetriedtogetmetodrinkagain,Iagainsaidno.Andthenwhenshestartedtogetmad,andImeanreally
workedup,likeatwo-year-oldhavingameltdownkindofmad,Isaid:‘Uh,hel-lo,here’sthething:Ifthis
stuffreallyworked,thenDrinaandRomanwouldstillbehere,right?Andsincethey’renot,well,Iguess
thatmeanstheyweren’treallyallthatimmortalafterall,werethey?’”Hestopsandlooksatme,hisgaze
boringintomine.“Sothenshesaidthatassoonasshe’sdoneawaywithyou,thatlittleissuewillbefixed
forgood.ThatIjustneedtotrusther,thatherelixiriswaybetterthanyoursandallIneededtodowas
takeacouplesipsandeternalhealth,eternalwell-being,eternalbeauty,andeternallifewouldbemine,
for,well,eternity.”

I swallow hard, my gaze fixed on his aura, now beaming a bright shade of yellow. The only

assuranceIhavethathedidn’ttakethebait—oratleastnotyetanyway.

“And,Igottatellya,shewassoconvincinginhersalespitch,ItoldherI’dhavetothinkitover.”He

shrugs.“ToldherI’ddoalittleresearchofmyownandgetbacktoherinaweekorso.”

Ibalk,somanywordsrushingforthatonceIhavenoideawheretostart.
Buthejustburstsintoadeep,belly-clutchinglaugh,shakinghisheadashelooksatme.“Relax.I’m

totallyjoking.Imean,jeez,whatdoyoutakemefor—somekindofvain,superficialidiot?”Herollshis
eyes,thencatcheshimselfwhenheadds,“Sorry,Imeantnooffense.Butthepointis,Itoldherno.Aflat-
out,unequivocalno.Andshetoldmethattheofferstillstands,thatifIchangemymindatanytime,the
fountainofyouthwillbemine.”

Igazeathim,seeinghiminawholenewlight.Amazedthathewouldactuallyturndownanofferlike

that.Imean,Judealwaysclaimshewouldn’tchooseimmortality,butthenhe’sneveractuallybeenoffered
adrink,sowho’stosaywhathe’dchooseifitreallycamedowntoit?AndAva,well,Avacamereally,
really close to making the leap, but in the end, she dumped it out. But still, I can’t think of many other
peoplebesidesMilesandAvawhowouldturndownanofferlikethat.

Helooksatme,browraisedinmockoffensewhenhesays,“What?Whyareyousosurprised?Isit

becauseyoufiguredsomeonelikeme—someonewho’sbothgayandanactorwouldsurelyjustjumpat
the chance?” He narrows his gaze and shakes his head. “That’s stereotyping, Ever. You should be
ashamedofyourselfforeventhinkingit.”Heshootsmealookofabsolutescornthatleavesmefeelingso
bad I rush to defend myself. But before I can start, he’s waved it away. Smiling triumphantly when he
says, “Ha! And that is what you call acting!” He laughs, his whole face lighting up, eyes shining with
glee. “Or at least that very last part was acting—the part about the stereotyping. Everything else was
totallytrue.Seehowmuchmycraftisimproving?”

He rakes his fingers through his hair, secures his elbows on the counter, and leans toward me.

“Here’sthething—theonlythingIwantintheworld,theonlydreamthatIhave,istobeanactor.” His
gazeboresintomine.“Areal,dedicated-to-the-craftthespian.That’smyonlygoal.Mysoul’sambition.I
havenointerestinbeingsomebig,phony,glossed-upmoviestar.AwalkingPeoplemagazinecover.I’m
notinitfortheparties,orscandals,ormultiplerehabstints—I’minitfortheart.Iwanttobringstories
tolife,tofullyembodyavarietyofcharacters.Ican’ttellyouwhatitfeelsliketolosemyselfinarole,
it’s…it’samazing.Andit’ssomethingIwanttoexperienceagainandagain.ButIwanttoplayallkinds
ofroles—notjusttheyoungandbeautifulones.Andinordertolearnandgrowandbettermyself,Ineed
toexperiencelife.Ineedtoexperienceitfully,inallitsstages—youth,middleage,oldage—Iwantit
all. You can’t possibly act life if you don’t allow yourself to experience it.” He pauses for a moment,
allowing his eyes to search my face. “That fear of death you’ve managed to do away with? I want it.
Heck,Ineedit.It’soneofthemostbasic,primal,drivingforceswehave—sowhywouldIevenconsider
ridding myself of that? The experiences I allow myself to have will only feed my craft in the end—but
onlyifIremainmortal.Not if I purposely turn myself into some frozen-in-time, ultra-glamorous himbo
whonevereverchanges,nomatterhowmanycenturiespass.”

My gaze meets his and I don’t know whether to be relieved or offended, but in the big scheme of

things,Isettleonrelieved.

“Sorry.” He shrugs. “Seriously, no offense. I’m just trying to explain my side of things. Not to

mentionthefactthatIhappentolikeeating.Infact,IlikeitsomuchthatIcan’tevenimaginegoingona
permanentliquiddiet.Also,Ilikeseeingthechangeseachpassingyearmakes,theimpressionstheyleave
behind.And,believeitornot,Idon’twantmyscarstodisappeareither.Ilikethem.They’repartofme—
partofmyhistory.Andsomeday,ifI’mluckyenoughtolivetobeanoldman—onewho’llprobablybe
impotent, senile, fat, and bald, while you all stay exactly the same—well, then I’ll be content with my
memories.Imean,providingthey’renotalllostduetoAlzheimer’sorsomething.Butseriously,before
yougodefendingyourself—”Heliftshishandfromthecounterandflasheshispalm,sensingI’maboutto
butt in. “Before you go telling me how Damen’s racked up enough memories for us all and how he’s
perfectly well-rounded and happy, here’s the real point I’m trying to make: What I want, more than
anything,istoreachtheendofmylifewithasolidbefore-and-afterpicturetoreflectbackon.ToshowI
didtheabsolutebestthatIcouldwithwhatIwasgivenandthatmylifewaswell-lived.”

Istareathim,tryingtofindmyvoice,mumblesomekindofreply,butIcan’t.Mythroat’sgonehot

andtight,closedupcompletely.AndbeforeIcanstopit,beforeIcanswitchmygazetosomethingother
thanhim—thetearsbegin.

FallingfreelydownmyfaceandgaininginintensitytothepointwhereIcannolongerstopit,canno

longercurbthesobbing,theshouldershaking,andthedeeppitofdespairthatmakesmygutcurl.

AwareofMileshurryingaroundthecounterandgatheringmeintohisarms,smoothingmyhairand

doinghisbesttocalmme,ashewhisperssweetthingsintomyear.

ButIknowbetter.
Iknowthesentimentsaren’tatalltrue.
Itreallywon’tbeokay.
Atleastnotinthewaythatheclaims.
Imayhaveeternalyouthandbeauty—Imayhavethegiftoflivingforever—butI’llneveragainhave

thekindofwonderful,lovelynormalnessthatMilesjustdescribed.

chapterthirteen

BylateSaturdayafternoon,there’sjustnoavoidingthem.Sabineisinthekitchenchoppingupapile

ofvegetablesforaGreeksalad,whileMunozstandsbesideher,moldinggroundturkeyintogenerously
sizedpatties.

“Hey,Ever.”Helooksup,smilingbriefly.“Youplanningtojoinus?There’splentymorewherethis

camefrom.”

IglanceatSabine,seeingthewayhershouldersstiffen,thewayherknifehitstheboardjustalittle

bitharderasshepummelsatomato,andIknowshe’sstillalongwayfromforgivingme,fromaccepting
me,andIjustcan’tdealwithitnow.

“No,um,actually,I’mabouttoheadout,”Isay,barelymeetinghisgaze,hopingtoavoidastopand

chat,sinceI’mfartooeagertomakemywayoutofhere.

Makingfortheentry,justaboutfree,whenhefinisheswiththepatties,looksatme,andsays,“You

mindgettingthedoor?”

I pause, knowing this isn’t just about getting the door. This is about him wanting to talk to me

somewherequietandprivate,wherehisgirlfriendcan’toverhear.Butknowingthere’snogoodwaytoget
outofit,Ifollowhimoutsideandovertothegrillwherehewrestleswiththehood,spinsthedials,and
goesaboutsomeseriousburgerprep.

Soengrossed in thetask, I’m justabout to leave, figuringI completely misreadhim when he says,

“So,how’sschoolgoingthisyear?Ihaven’tseenyouaroundmuch—ifatall.”Hestealsaquickglanceat
me,beforehe’sbackatitagain,shakingsomekindofsecretspiceblendontothemeatasIstandthereand
trytocomeupwithareply.

Figuringthere’snouselyingtosomeonewhocanjustaseasilychecktheattendancerecords,Ilift

myshouldersandsay,“Well,that’sprobablybecauseI’veprettymuchskippedeverydaybutthefirst.In
fact,otherthanthat,Ihaven’tgoneatall.”

“Ah.” He nods, placing the spice jar on the granite counter before he turns and allows his eyes to

grazeoverme.“Badcaseofsenioritis,Iguess.”

I scratch my arm, even though it doesn’t itch, and try not to squirm any more than I already have.

AvertingmygazetothewindowwhereSabinestandswatch,theverysightofhermakingmeyearnfor
escape.

“Usuallydoesn’tstartuntilthelastsemester,that’swhenitallfallsapart.Butitlookslikeyoucaught

thebugearly.IsthereanythingIcandotohelp?”

Yeah,youcantellyourgirlfriendnottojudgeme—youcantellHavennottotrytokillme—you

cantellHonornottothreatenme—andyoucanuncoverthelong-buriedtruthaboutDamenandme—
oh,andinyourfreetime,ifyoucouldgetyourhandsonacertainstainedwhiteshirtandsenditover
tothecrimelabforanalysis—thatwouldbegreat!

Though,ofcourse,Idon’tsayanyofthat,instead,Ijustshrugandsighlouder,hopinghe’llhearit

andtuneintothenot-so-silentmessageitcontains.

Butifhedoes,hechoosestoignoreit.“Youknow,justincaseyouthinkyou’realoneinallthis—

you’rereallynot.”

Isquint,notsurewhathe’sgettingat.
“I’ve talked to her, you know. Shared some of the research I’ve run across on people who’ve had

near-deathexperiences.”

Despitemywantingtoleave,Iplacemyhandsonmyhipsandleanslightlytowardhim.“Andhow

doyoujustrunacrossthattypeofresearch?”Iask.“Imean,seriously.Isn’tthatthekindofthingyouhave
togolookingforonyourown?”

Hefocusesonthemeat,transferringitfromtheplatetothegrill.Hisvoicelow,matteroffact,when

heexplains,“IsawapieceonTVonce,andIfounditquitefascinating.SofascinatingIboughtabookon
thesubject,whichledtomorebooksonthesubject,and…soon.”Hepresseshisspatulatotheburger,
causingthejuicestoriotandsizzle.“Butyou—you’rethefirstoneI’vemetwho’sactuallyexperienced
suchathing.Haveyoueverthoughtoftakingpartinoneofthoseresearchgroups?Ihearthey’realways
lookingfornewsubjects.”

“No,”Isay,barelygivinghimachancetofinishthequestion.Myanswerfirm,final,sparingnotime

toreallyconsider.ThelastthingIneedistotakepartinsomeschlockycasestudy.

Buthejustlaughs,raisinghismitt-coveredhandsinsurrender,saying,“Don’tshoot.Justaskingis

all.”

Heflipstheburgers,oneaftertheother,causingapopping,sizzling,barbequesoundtrackweboth

standthereandlistento.

Then,assoonasthey’reready,hescrapes’emrightoffanddrops’embackontotheplate,stopping

longenoughtolookatmeandsay,“Listen,Ever,justgivehersometimetogetcomfortablewiththeidea.
It’s not easy having your whole belief system challenged, you know? But if you’ll just ease up a little,
she’llcomearound.Reallyshewill.Ipromisetocontinuetoworkonher,ifyou’llpromisetodoyour
parttoo.And,beforeyouknowit,it’llallblowover.You’llsee.”

Isthatyourprediction?Iwanttoask,butthankfullychokebackthewords.He’sonlytryingtohelp,

andwhetherornotIbelievehim,whetherornotSabinewillevercomearoundtomyside,isn’treallythe
point.He’sjusttryingtoconnect,andtheleastIcandoisallowit.

“Butasfarasschoolandyourattendanceisconcerned—”Heshootsmeasternlook.“It’sonlya

matteroftimebeforeshecatcheson.So,trynottomakethingsanytougheronyourselfthantheyalready
are,okay?Oratleastthinkaboutitanyway.Besides,lasttimeIchecked,gettingahighschooldiploma
didn’thurtanyone.Infact,itcanonlyhelp.”

I mumble some sort of halfhearted reply, give a quick wave of my hand, and head for the gate.

Havingnoideaiftheconversationwasactuallyover,butknowingmypartofitis.Thosekindsofthings,
theruleshereferredto,nolongerapply.Thepompandcircumstanceofahighschoolgraduationisfor
otherpeople.

Normalpeople.
Mortalpeople.
Notme.
StartingmycarwithmymindlongbeforeI’vereacheditsspotonthedrive,Ipulloutofthegateand

ontothestreet,speedingtowardtheplacewhereItoldJudewe’dmeet.

chapterfourteen

ThemomentIpullintotheparkinglotIseehim.
WaitingformeinhisJeep,thumbstappingthesteeringwheelintimetothemusicthatblaresfromhis

iPod,lookingsopeaceful,socontenttobesittingalonetherelikethat—I’mtemptedtoturnmycararound
andheadbacktowhereIcamefrom.

ButIdon’t.
Thisisfartooimportanttomiss.
Havenhasnoplanstorenegeonherthreat,andforallIknowthiscouldbemyoneandonlychance

toconvincehimoftheimportanceofthis.

Ipullupbesidehimandwave.Watchingasheremoveshisearbuds,tossesthemaside,andjumps

out,leaningagainstthedoor,armsfoldedbeforehimashewatchesmyapproach.

“Hey.”Henods,studyingmecarefullyasIheavemybagovermyshoulderandstraightentheT-shirt

I wear over my tank top. “You okay?” He tilts his head and squints, clearly confused as to why I
summonedhimhere.

Inodandsmile,thinkingifanyoneshouldbeaskingthatquestion,itshouldbemeaskinghim.“Yeah,

I’mgood.”Istopjustshyofhim,unsurewheretotakeitfromhere.JustbecauseIaskedhimtomeetme
doesn’tmeanItookthetimetomemorizemylonglistoftalkingpoints.“Um,andyou…areyouokay?”
Mygazemovesoverhim,notinghowhecertainlylooksbetterthanthelasttimeIsawhim,thecolor’s
returnedtohisface,hisgazeisn’tnearlyasemptyandbleak,andoneglanceathisvibrantgreenaurais
allittakestoknowhe’sdefinitelyonthemend.

Henodsandliftshisshoulders,obviouslywaitingformetomakethenextmove,totellhimwhatthis

isreallyabout.ButwhenIdon’t,whenIjustcontinuetostandtherebeforehim,hetakesadeepbreath
andsays,“Seriously.I’m—I’mgettingusedtotheideaofherbeinggone.Imean,Ican’tchangeit,soI
mayaswelladapttoit,right?”

Imumblesomesortofagreement,somestandard-issue,easilyforgettablereply.Then,knowingI’ve

stalled long enough, that it’s time to get to it, the real reason we’re here, I take a deep breath and say,
“AndHaven?Haveyouseenorheardfromherlately?”

He looks away, fingers working the slight sheen of stubble just beginning to show on his chin, his

voice sounding tired, resigned, when he says, “Nope, not a word. Which, when you think about it,
probablyisn’tagoodsign.Butthenagain,thiswholethingisalittleoutofmyleague,sowhoknows?”
Heglancesatmeforamoment,eyesmovingovermyfacebeforewanderingagain.

“ButwhatifIweretotellyouitwasn’t?”Ipauselongenoughforhisgazetofinditswaybackto

mine.“Whatifthiswholethingwasn’toutofyourleagueatall?”

Hegrunts,mumblessomethingcompletelyindecipherableunderhisbreath,thenshakeshisheadand

says,“You’rejoking,right?”

Iholdmyground,holdtheseriousexpressiononmyface.“Trustme,it’snojoke.Infact—”
ButbeforeIcanfinish,beforeIcanevengettothepoint,hecutsmerightoff,havingalreadydrawn

hisownconclusionastowhatthisisaboutandeagertostopmebeforeIcangoanyfurther.“Listen,Ever
—” He sighs, kicking his foot out before him as he buries his hands deep into the front pockets of his
jeans.“WhileIappreciateyourconcernformysafety,IwanttomakeitclearthatIhaveabsolutelyno
intentionofdrinkingtheelixirandbecomingimmortallikeyou.”

MyeyesgowideasIfighttokeepmyjawfromdroppingtomyknees.Ican’tbelieveheactually

thoughtIwasofferingsuchathing.

“Imean,IknowI’vesaiditbefore,andIdon’tmeantogetalljudgmentalonyouoranything,butthat

kindofunnaturallylonglifespan…well,Ihavenointerestinthatsortofthing.”

Thatmakestwoinasmanydays,Ithink,unabletokeepmyselffromgaping.
“After going to Summerland, and after seeing Lina, well, I think you’d have to be pretty crazy to

want to stay here. To choose an extra-long, extended stay in such an imperfect, hate-filled world when
there’ssomethingsomuchbetterwaiting’roundthebend—sotospeak.”

Andeventhoughhiswordshitme,hitmeashardasMiles’sdid,Idon’tcry.I’mdonewithallthat.

For better or worse, I am what I am and there’s no going back. Though that doesn’t mean I have any
intentionofconvincingalltheotherstojoinme.

“Surelyit’snotthatbad—isit?”Isay,hopingtolightenthetone.
Buthejustliftshisshoulders,voicecompletelyseriouswhenhesays,“No,Isupposeyou’reright.

It’snotallhatredandhardshipoutthere.Everynowandthen,ifyou’relucky,youcanstumbleuponthe
occasionalpocketofhappiness.”

“Wow, that’s a little dark, don’t you think?” I force a laugh, though his words have left me more

shakenthanIcaretoadmit.

Buthejustshrugsandsquints,hiseyesnarrowingtowhereIcanjustbarelyseethem.“Anyway,not

tryingtoinsultyou,it’sjustnotmything,that’sall.Ihavenointerestinit.”

Ishrugtoo,readytomoveon,outofthisparkinglot,andontotherealreasonwe’rehere.
“So…”Helooksatme.“Isthatit?Arewegoodhere?”
“Sure,we’regood.Butwe’realongwaysfromdone.”ImotionforhimtofollowasImakeforthe

gate.Takingamomenttoclosemyeyes,andseethelockspringingopeninmymind,beforecallingover
myshouldertosay,“Trustme,wehaven’tevenbegunyet.”

Ipushthegateopen,assuminghe’llfollow,andsurprisedwhenIglancebackonlytofindhimstill

standingonitsotherside.

“Ever, what’s this really about? Why’d you want to meet here of all places? I thought you were

throughwithschool?”

Ishakemyhead,takingamomenttogazeatagroupofbuildingsI’vemanagedtoditchallweekand

didn’tmisseventheslightestbit.“TurnsoutI’mnot.Besides,thisistheonlyplaceIcouldthinkofthat
wouldofferusthespaceandprivacywe’regonnaneed.”

Hissplicedbrowjumps,clearlyintrigued.
ButIjustrollmyeyesandheadforthegym,knowinghe’srightbehindmethistime.
“Thatdoorlockedtoo?”Hisgazemovesovermyarms,mylegs,thebackofmyneck,prettymuch

anyplacewheremyskinisbared.

Inod,concentratingonthedoor,hearingtheboltslambackintoplacebeforeIopenitandsay,“You

first.”

He heads inside, his rubber flip-flops squeaking against the polished wood floor as he makes his

waytothemiddleoftheroom,wherehestops,liftshisarmstohissides,throwshisheadback,inhales
deeply,andsays,“Yep,it’sdefinitelygotthatuniversalhighschoolgymstenchIremembersowell.”

Ismile,butonlyalittle,beforeI’mbacktobusinessagain.
Ididn’tcomeheretojokearoundorengageinuselesssmalltalk.Icameheretosavehim.Or,more

correctly,toteachhimeverythingheneedstoknowsothathecansavehimselfincaseI’mnotaroundto
doitforhim.

BecausenomatterhowangryImaybewithhim,nomatterhowmanydoubtsImayhaveabouthim,I

stillfeelit’smydutytoguardhimfromHaven.

“So,Ifiguredweshouldjustgetrighttoit,nousewastinganymoretimethanwealreadyhave.”
Helooksatme,facewearingtheslightestsheenofsweat.Thoughit’sunclearifit’sduetothestuffy,

hot air or the apprehension of wondering just what it is that he’s gotten himself into, what might be
expectedofhim.

Itakeamomenttosettlein,droppingmybaginthecorner,retyingmyshoe,andremovingmyT-shirt

torevealthewhite,finelyribbedtanktopIwearunderneath.Smoothingmyhandsoverthefrontofitand
adjustingtheelasticwaistbandofmyshorts,asIapproachhimandsay,“Obviouslyyouknowaboutthe
chakras.” I stand before him, studying him carefully but allowing him no time to react when I add, “I
mean,sinceyousosuccessfullykilledRomanthatway—”

“Ever,I—”Hestarts,butIwon’tpermitit,won’tallowtheflowofexcusestobegin.I’veheardall

that,andI’mnotonebitswayed.Besides,Ican’taffordtobecoercedintoanargumentthatmaychange
mymindabouthim—aboutthis.

“Saveit.”Iraisemyhandbetweenus.“That’sanothertopic,foranotherday.Fornow,theonlything

we’regoingtodiscussisthefactthatHavenhaspowersyoucan’tevenbegintoimagine—”ThatevenI
can’t begin to imagine. “Powers she’s pretty drunk on at the moment, which makes her reckless and
dangerousandsomeoneyouneedtosteerclearofatallcosts.Butifbychanceyourunintoherforsome
reason,or,evenworse,shedecidestocomeafteryou,which,I’msorrytosay,isreallythemorelikely
scenario,well,eitherway,youneedtobeprepared.So,withallthatinmind,witheverythingyouknow
abouther,whichchakrawouldyouchoosetoobliterateher?”

Helooksatme,lipquirkedtotheside,andit’sclearhe’snottakingthisatallseriously,whichisa

gravemistakeonhispart.

“The sooner you answer, the sooner we’ll get through this—” I sing, hands on my hips, fingers

impatientlytappingagainstthem.

“Third.” He nods, flattening his palm just under his chest for emphasis. “Solar plexus, otherwise

knownastherevengecenter,thehomeofdeep-seatedangerissues,andthatsortofthing.So,arewegood
here?DidIpass?CanIcollectmygoldstarandgohomenow?”Heliftshissplicedbrow.

“Okay,sonowIwantyoutopretendthatI’mHaven,”Isay,completelyignoringthequestionalong

with the obvious plea in his gaze. “And I want you to come at me, to target me in the exact same way
you’dtargether.”

“Ever,please,” he begs. “This is ridiculous! I can’t do it. Really. I mean, while I appreciate your

concernandall,trustme,itmeansalottome,butthissortofforcedreenactment—”Heshakeshishead,
dreadlocksswingingfromsidetoside.“It’s—it’salittleembarrassing.Tosaytheleast.”

“Embarrassing?” My eyes practically bug out of my head. The male ego is pretty much

unfathomable to me. “I’m just going to pretend you didn’t even say that. I mean, she has the power to
causeyouallkindsofhurtbeforeshedecidestotakemercyandfinallyfinishyouoff,andyou’reworried

about being embarrassed? In front of me?” I shake my head again, waving it away with both hands.
“Listen, if you’re worried about hurting me—forget it. You won’t and you can’t. It’s completely
impossible.Nomatterhowhardyoutry,youjustcan’tgettome.Sofeelfreetoputthatrightoutofyour
mind.”

“Well,that’sreassuring.Nottomentionemasculating.”Heshakeshisheadandallowshisshoulders

toslump.

“Not trying to insult you.” I shrug. “Just stating the facts, that’s all. I’m stronger. I mean, I think

you’vealreadyexperiencedplentyofevidencetosupportthat.And,Ihatetobreakittoyou,butHaven’s
stronger too. And while there’s nothing you can do to change either of those things, she does lack
somethingIhave.”

Helooksatme,onlypartiallycurioustolearnwhatthatis.
“She stopped wearing her amulet. She’s got nothing protecting her now. Whereas I never remove

mine…”Ipause,rememberingallthetimesIdidinthepastandamendingthestatementwhenIadd,“At
leastnotanymore.Also,mysolarplexusisnotmyweakchakra,notthatI’mabouttorevealwhichchakra
ismyweakone,butanyway,evenifyou’vealreadyfigureditoutbynow,evenifyoudecidedyouwere
sodesperatetogetoutofhereandonwithyournightthatitjustmightbeworthittodomein,well,then
you should know that you wouldn’t be able to get anywhere near it before I’d stop you right in your
tracks.”

Herollshiseyesandsighs,raisinghishandsindefeat,realizinghereallyhasnochoicebuttogive

in.Saying,“Okay.Fine.Whatever.Justtellme,whatisityouwantmetodo?AmIsupposedtocharge
youorsomething?”

“Sure,whynot?”Ishrug,figuringit’sasgoodaplacetostartasany.
But he just looks at me and says, “Because here’s the thing, that is a totally unrealistic situation. I

wouldneverjustchargeHavenoranyoneelse,notwithoutfirstbeingprovoked,andprobablynoteven
then.Ijustwouldn’tdoit.I’mapacifist.Youknowthat.It’snotmystyle.So,I’msorrytosayit,butifyou
reallywantmetoparticipate,thenyou’llhavetocomeupwithsomethingalittlebetterthanthat.”

“Okay,fine.”Inod,determinedtonotlethimwrigglehiswayoutofthis.“Butjustsoyouknow,I

havenoplanstochargeHaveneither.Ihavenoplanstostartanythingorgoafterherinanyway.Still,I
don’tthinkeitheroneofuscanignorethefactthatshe’svowedtodestroyus—she’smadethatabundantly
clear.Andmakenomistake—shecandestroyus,Jude.Especiallyyou,sinceyou’resounprepared.She
cantakeyoudowneasily—withoutevenbreakingasweat!So,withthatinmind,webothneedtoprepare
ourselvesforthatevent.Eventhoughyou’vemadeitclearhowyouhavenointerestinbeingimmortal,
I’malsowillingtobetyou’renotallthateagertodieatHaven’shand.So,inlightofallthat,whatdoyou
say I charge you first? Would that make you feel better? Because that’s probably how it’ll go down
anyway.”

Heshrugs.Shrugsandflipshishands.
Asimpleactthatannoysmesomuch,Irushtowardhimatfullforcewithoutwarninghimfirst.
Movingsofastthatonesecondhe’sstandinginthecenterofthegym,actingallcausalandcool,and

thenext,I’veknockedhimclearacrosstotheothersideoftheroom,whereIpresshimuphardagainstthe
paddedwall,justlikeHavendidtomethatdayinthebathroom.AndalsolikeHaven,I’mnottheleastbit
windedfromtheeffort.

“Thisiswhatit’llbelike,”Isay,myfingersgrippingthefrontofhisshirt,workingthefabricsohard

a piece of it tears off in my hand. Aware of his cool, shallow breath hitting my cheek, my face a mere
razor’s width from his, as I gaze into those surprised aqua-green eyes. “This is how fast it’ll happen.
You’llhavenotimetoreact.”

He meets my gaze, the look deepening, his breath quickening, as a line of sweat drips down his

brow,andhisheartbeginstorace.

Thoughit’snottheresultoffearorevensurprise—no,it’stheresultofsomethingelseentirely.
SomethingIimmediatelyrecognize.
It’sthesamelookhegavemethenightwenearlykissedintheJacuzzi.
The same look he gave me the night he told me he loved me, that he’s always loved me, through

everysingleoneofourlives,andthathe’snotabouttogiveuponmeanytimesoon.

AndeventhoughIwantto,eventhoughmyrationalmindistellingmetoletgoofhisshirt,toturn

around,andgetmyselfasfarfromhimasIpossiblycan—Ican’tdoit.

Instead,Ijustgriptighter,pressmybodyevencloser,soothedbythewaveofcalmthatemanatesoff

hisskin,asIdiveheadfirstintothosedeepoceaneyesofhis.

ThesmallvoiceinmyheadremindingmeofallthereasonsIshouldrun—mylonglistofsuspicions,

all the unanswered questions—but my body ignores it. Choosing instead to respond to him just like the
girlinmyslavelife.

Liftingmyhandtohisface,fingersshaking,aching,wantingnothingmorethantomeldwithhim.
Todisappearinhisskin.
Mynameescapinghislips,thesoundlikeamoan.Likeitpainshimtosayit.Likeitpainshimtofeel

mesoclose.

ButIwon’tlethimcontinue,won’tlethimspeak.Ijustpressmyfingerstothegentleswellofhis

lips,discoveringtheirwarmth,thewaytheyyieldtomytouch,andwonderingwhatitwouldbeliketo
pressmymouththereinstead.

Awareofthewayhisheartpoundsagainstmine,thewayitgainsinintensity.AndeventhoughItryto

fightit,eventhoughIreallyandtrulydomakeafullcaseagainstit,there’sjustsomethingIhavetoseefor
myself.SomethingIneedtoknow,onceandforall,soIcanfinallykillthequestionthatplaguesme.And
I’mhopinghiskisswillrevealitinthesamewayDamen’soncedid.

Istherereallyaconnectionbetweenus?
Isitthetwoofusthataresupposedtobetogether,andDamenwhopurposelygotintheway?
Andknowingthere’sonlyonewaytofindout,Itakeadeepbreath,closemyeyes,andwaitforthe

crushofhislipsagainstmine.

chapterfifteen

“Ever,please.”Hisfingerscaressthesoftundersideofmychin,urgingmetoopenmyeyesandlook

athim.

SoIdo.Reluctantlyliftingmyeyestomeethis.Thestartlingblue-greenofhisgazeprovidingsuch

starkcontrasttothebrownofhisskin,thegolden-bronzesprayofdreadlocksthatfallacrosshisface,and
hisslightlycrookedwhiteteeth.

“I’vewantedthisforsolong…forsomanyyears,butfirst,beforewedothis,Ineedtoknow—”
Iwaitforthequestion—barelyabletobreathe.
Neverexpectinghimtosaythewords:“Whyme?Whynow?”
Isquintandleanback.Thatlure,thatpulltowardhimthatseemedsoirresistiblejustasecondago,

nowstartingtofade.OnlyameretraceofitmanagingtohangonwhenIshakemyheadandsay,“Idon’t
evenknowwhatthatmeans.”

Myfingersloosentheirgriponhisshirt,watchingasasmallsquareoffabricfallstothegroundasI

starttopushaway.

Buthewon’tletmego.Graspingbothofmyhands,andholdingthemtightlyinhis,hesays,“WhatI

meantwas,whathappened?WhatisitthatchangedbetweenDamenandyouthatmadeyoueventhinkto
considerme?”

Itakeadeepbreath,takeinhishands,hisfingersentwinedaroundmine,hiswristrestingagainstthe

crystalhorseshoebraceletDamengavemethatdayatthetrack,andthistime,whenI’mreadytomove,I
do.Mybreathslowlyreturningtonormalagain,thespellofhimwaningmoreandmorewitheverystepI
putbetweenus.

Knowinghedeservesananswer,thatthere’snowayIcanleaveitlikethis,Itakeadeepbreathand

say, “I discovered something.” I sneak a quick peek before I quickly look away. “Something about the
past… something that—” I swallow hard and start again, voice surer, stronger when I add, “Something
he’sbeenhidingforaverylongtime.”

Jude looks at me without a trace of surprise. He’s alluded to Damen’s secrets on more than one

occasion.Ofhisinabilitytofightfair,especiallywhenfightingforme.Butthen,inDamen’sdefense,he’s
freelyadmittedtoallofthattoo.Infact,hefeltsobad,sowrackedwithguilt,heactuallychosetostep
asideforawhilesoIcouldmakeacleanchoiceformyself.

AndIdid.
Ichosehim.
Formeitwasneveracontest.Fromthemomentwemet,he’sallIcouldsee.

ButwhatifI’vebeenwrong?
Whatifallthistime—Judewasmeanttobetheone?
Imean,he’sstoodrighttherebesidemeinallofmylives—includingtheoneIjustrecentlylearned

about. And yet he’s always the loser, always the one getting shot down. Always the one who ends up
alone.

Butwhatifitwasneversupposedtohappenlikethat?
Whatifallthistime,I’vebeensocaptivated,soswayedbyDamen’smagickI’vemadethewrong

choiceeverytime?

Whyisitthatwekeepcomingbacktoeachotheragainandagain?Isitsowe’llhaveyetanother

chanceatgettingitright—tofinallybetogetherafterallofthistime?

IgazeatJudestandingbeforeme—he’smesmerizing.NotinthesamewaythatRomanwaswithhis

slick,goldenglossiness—oreveninthewayofDamen’sdarkandsexytingleandheat.No,Jude’smore
thecoolanddreamytype—seeminglynormalonthesurface,butdeepdowninside,he’ssomuchmore.

“Ever—”Hestarts,hisexpressionwagingthebattlebetweenwantingtojustgrabmeandkissme,

andwantingtoshowsomerestraintandtrytotalktomefirst.“Ever,whatdidyousee?Whatisitthatwas
sobaditbroughtyoutome?”

And the way he says it, so aware of his age-old position as the discarded one—well, my heart

breaksonhisbehalf.

I turn away, taking in the bleachers, the scuffed wood floor, the basketball net with the hole in the

side,allowingforwhateverremainsofhisluretowearoff,sothatlogicandalonglistofquestionscan
standintheirplace.

Decidingtobefirmandup-front,juststatethefactsastheyareandseewhereitleads,Iturntohim

and say, “A while back, you sort of—” I shake my head. “No, not sort of, you definitely alluded to
knowing some kind of secret about our shared pasts. It was after you’d been to the Great Halls of
Learningfor the veryfirst time andeverything about you seemeddifferent. And whenI asked you what
happened in there, you played it pretty vague. But later, you mentioned some stuff about Damen not
playingfairinthepast,andhowallthatwasabouttochangebecause,asyouputit:knowledgeispower,
and,thankstoSummerland,youhadthatinspades—orsomethingtothateffect,andanyway,Ineedto
knowwhatthatmeant.”

I stand before him, silent and still, waiting for him to respond. Watching as he squinches his eyes

togetherasherubsthespacebetweenthem,fingersdiggingindeep,beforehedropshishandstohissides
andtakesmein.

“Wherewouldyoulikemetostart?”Heshrugs,followingitwithalaughthat’smuchclosertoharsh

andgruffthananythingresemblingjoy.

AndIstarttosay,anywhere,startanywhereyouchoose,figuringitmightbegoodtolethimtakethe

lead on this one, and allow him to reveal the things he thinks I should know. But then I think better.
DespitethefactthatIknowDameneditedallofmylives,whichmeanseverylastoneofthemholdssome
sortofsecrethe’dpreferInotknow,well,there’sonlyonelife—onesecret—Ireallyneedtoknowright
now.

Onlyoneinparticularthatbroughtmetothispoint—thatmademewanttokisshimtoseewhereit

led.

“TheSouth.”Ilookathim.“TheantebellumSouth.Whatdoyouknowaboutourlivesbackthen—

whenyouandIwerebothslaves?”

Heblanches,likeseriouslyblanches.ThelightdrainingfromhiseyessofastIcanhardlybelieveI

justwitnessedthat.Mumblingsomethinginaudibleunderhisbreathashisgazedartsallaround,pausing

ontheschoolmascotpaintedonthewall,whilehishandsandfeetbeginanervous,fidgetydance.

Andseeinghimreactlikethat,well,Ican’thelpbutwonderifIjustunwittinglyrevealedsomething

hedidn’tyetknow.

But the thought vanishes just as quickly when he finally turns to me and says, “So, you know.” He

takesadeepbreathandshakeshishead.“Igottatellya,Ever,I’mprettyshockedhe’deventellyouabout
it.Ihavetosay,nomatterwhatImaythinkofhim—thatwasprettydamngutsyonhispart.Ormaybejust
reckless,whoknows?”

“Hedidn’ttellme,”Iblurt,beforeIcanstop.“Well,notexactlyanyway.Let’sjustsayIsortof…

stumbleduponsomethinghedefinitelydidn’twantmetosee.”

Judenods,gazenarrowing,changing,asitslowlymovesoverme.Hisvoicegraveandseriouswhen

he says, “Can’t say I blame him. It was definitely one of our very worst ones—if not the worst.” He
shrugs.“Oratleastthat’sthewayitturnedoutforme…”

chaptersixteen

OnMonday,IskipschoolagainsoIcangotoLina’smemorial.
Butit’sjustanexcuse.Iwould’veskippedanyway.
Despite Munoz’s claim that a diploma can only help me ensure a bigger, better, brighter future for

myself,well,Ibegtodiffer.

Maybeithelpsnormalpeoplebyguaranteeingseriousconsiderationfromcollegeadmissionsboards

and prospective employers—but those things mean nothing to me. Even though just a week ago it was
importanttometoo,nowIfinallyseehowmisguidedthatwas.HowI’vebeenavoidingtheobviousfact
thatthere’sjustnopointinfollowingthenormalcourseofeventswhenIhavealife(andafuture)thatis
anythingbut.

Andit’stimeIstoppretendingotherwise.
And,yeah,ifI’mgoingtobeperfectlyhonest,thenIalsohavetoadmitthatDamenplaysapartin

thatdecisionaswell—ifnotthemostmajorpart.Becausethethingis,I’mjustnotreadytofacehim.Not
yet.Maybesomeday,maybeevensoon,butatthemoment,thatdayfeelslikealongwayaway.

Thoughtohiscredit,heseemstobetotallyonboardwithit.Allowingmeplentyoftimeandspace

to figure things out on my own. The occasional manifested red tulip that appears out of nowhere is his
onlyintrusion,servingasagentlereminderoftheloveweonceshared.

Stillshare.
Ithink.
I twist the cap on my bottle of water and gaze around the living room, looking for at least one

familiarfaceinaverylargecrowd.AccordingtoJude,Linahadnoshortageoffriends,andfromwhatI
can see it’s true. What he failed to mention is just how diverse they all are. I mean, as much as I love
livinghere,LagunaBeachisn’texactlyknownforbeingameltingpot,andyeteveryethnicityyoucould
thinkofisprettymuchpresentandaccountedfor.Andfromtheblendofaccentsthattrillallaround,it’s
clearthatmanyofthemtraveledfromgreatdistancesforthechancetosaytheirgood-byes.

Icontinuetostandthere,awkwardlydanglingthebottleofwaterbymysideasIweighmyoptionsof

trying to find Jude to tell him I’m leaving, or hanging out just a little bit longer for appearances’ sake,
whenAvawavesatmefromtheothersideoftheroom,andasshemakesherwaytowardme,Iquickly
calculate how long it’s been since we last spoke. Wondering if she too belongs to the small group of
peoplewhofeelabandonedbyme.

“Ever.” She smiles, leaning in for a brief, warm hug. Her heavily ringed fingers still clutching my

arms,herlargebrowneyescarefullyscanningmine,asshepullsawayandsays,“You’relookingwell.”

Shelaughs,thesoundofitlightandairyassheadds,“Butthen,youalwaysdo,don’tyou?”

I gaze down at the long purple dress I designed and manifested especially for this occasion, since

Jude strictly prohibited the wearing of black. Claiming that Lina would hate to gaze upon a crowd of
people all wearing the same, depressing color. She didn’t want people to mourn her life—she wanted
themtocelebrateitinstead.Andsincepurplewasherfavoritecolor,wewereaskedtoshowupinsome
variationofit.

“So,isshehere?”Iask,watchingasAvasquintsandtucksherwavy,auburnhairbehindherear,her

whole face changing when she assumes the worst, assumes it’s Haven I’m asking about. “Lina,” I say,
beforeshehasachancetoevengothere.Haven’sthelastthingIwanttotalkabouthere.“ImeantLina.
Have you seen her?” My eyes grazing over the citrine pendant she always wears, to the embellished
purplecottontunic,theskinnywhitejeans,andthecutegoldsandalsonherfeet,beforemeetinghergaze
onceagain.“YouknowIcan’tseetheoneswho’vecrossedover,Icanonlyseetheoneswhostilllinger.”

“Doyouevertrytotalktothem,convincethemtomoveon?”Shehitchesherpurplepurseuphigh

ontohershoulder.

Ilookatherlikeshe’scrazy,thethoughtneverevenoccurredtome.Ittookmesolongtolearnhow

toignorethem,totunethemoutcompletely,Ican’tevenimagineengagingthemnow.Besides,I’vegotno
shortage of my own problems to solve, the last thing I need to do is get involved with a bunch of
misguidedghosts.

ButAvajustlaughs,gazedancingaroundtheroomasshesays,“Trustme,Ever,theyallmanageto

findtheirwaytotheirownfunerals.I’veyettoseethespiritwhocouldresist!Thechancetoseewho
showsup,whosayswhat,whowearswhat,andwho’strulymourningversuswho’smerelyjustfakingit
—it’sprettytemptingstuff.”

“Areyoutrulymourning?”Iask,notreallymeaningitinthewaythatitsounded,likeshemightbe

faking it or something. I mean, I’m mostly here to support Jude and to honor someone who was kind
enoughtohelpmeatatimewhenIreallyneededit.ButeventhoughIknowLinawasAva’semployer,I
havenoideaifitwentanydeeper,iftheywereactuallyfriends.

“Ifyou’reaskingifI’mmourningthelossofakind,generous,compassionate,awakenedsoul”—she

looksatmewithoutblinking—“thentheanswerisyes,ofcourse,whywouldn’tIbe?Butifyou’reasking
ifmymourning’smoreforherthanforme—thenI’mafraidtheanswerisno.Themajorityofmysadness
ispurelyselfish.”

“That’sexactlywhatJudesaid,”Imumble,myvoicewistful,asIgazearoundtheroom,searching

foraglimpseofhim.

Avanods, tossing hermass of curlsover her shoulders. “Andwhen you lostyour family, who did

youmournforthemost?”

Ilookather,surprisedbythequestion.AndeventhoughIwanttosaythatImournedentirelyformy

parentsandButtercupandRiley’sunrealizeddreamofbeingateenagerandturningthirteen—Ican’tdoit.
It’ssimplynottrue.EventhoughIfelttheirlossinahorrible,gut-wrenching,deep-downkindofway,I
have to admit that the majority of my sadness was due to the fact that I was left behind while they all
movedon—awayfromme.

“Anyway.”Avashrugs.“Togobacktoyouroriginalquestion,yes,Ididseeher.Itwasbrief,only

for a second really, but boy was it beautiful.” She smiles, her face lifting, cheeks flushing, as her eyes
shineatthememory.AndI’mjustabouttoaskforalittlemoreelaborationwhenshesays,“Itwasright
whenJudegotuptospeak.Yourememberthewayhefalteredandstartedtobreakdown?Whenhisvoice
crackedandhehadtopauseforamomentbeforehecouldstartupagain?”

Inod.Irememberitwell.Rememberthewaymyheartbrokeforhimatthatverymoment.

“Well,that’swhensheappearedrightbehindhim.Hoveringjusteversoslightlyassheplacedher

hands on his shoulders, closed her eyes, and surrounded him with a beautiful bubble of love and light.
AndItellyou,notasecondlaterhewasbackontrack,abletofinishhiseulogywithoutaproblemasshe
fadedfromsight.”

Isigh,tryingtoimaginehowthatmust’velookedandwishingIcould’veseenitformyself.Gazingat

Ava when I say, “Do you think he actually felt it—her presence? I mean, obviously he felt it since it
helpedhimgetthroughit,but,like,doyouthinkhewasawareofit?Doyouthinkheknewitwasherwho
helpedhimgetthroughit?”

Avashrugs,motioningpasttheglassdoorstowardthepatchofgrasswherehestands,talkingtoa

smallgroupofLina’sfriends.Hislonghairspillingdownhisbackandoverthesleevesofhispurpletee
thatbearsapictureofsomevaguelyfamiliar,multicoloredHindudeityonitsfront.

“Whydon’tyouaskhimyourself?”shesays.“Ihearyoutwoaregrowingmuchcloserthesedays.”
I balk, my gaze immediately returning to her. Wondering if she actually meant it in the way that I

think,andwonderingwhocould’vepossiblyinformedherofthat.

“Well,obviouslyyou’vebeenskippingschoolinordertofillinatthestore,eventhoughI’vemadeit

perfectlyclear,manytimesover,thatI’mmorethanhappytodoit.Andthen,there’sthefactthatDamen’s
beenlookingprettydespondentthesedays—oratleastthat’swhatI’vegottenfromthefewglimpsesI’ve
hadofhim,thoughthetwinshavecertainlyconfirmedit.TheyseehimmuchmorethanIdo,youknow.
What with him constantly whisking them off to the movies, or go-cart racing, or shopping at Fashion
Island,orthewaterridesatDisneyland—justabouteverylocalOrangeCountyattractionyoucanthinkof
hasbeencovered—atleasttwice.Andasmuchastheyloveit,andaskindandgenerousasitisofhimto
do it, you really don’t have to dig all that deep to realize what’s really behind his sudden burst of
altruism.”Shepauses,lookingrightatme.“Clearlyhe’slookingforadistraction.Desperatelytryingto
stay busy so he won’t obsess over you, and the fact that you’re no longer there for him like you once
were.”

Myshouldersdroop,allofmedroops,thinkinghowtheoldmewould’vegottenveryangrybynow,

would’ve already launched some ridiculous argument to defend myself or, at the very least, cut her off
beforeshe’dhadachancetosayallofthat.

ButI’mnolongerthatperson.Nottomentionthere’snodenyingthefactthateverythingshejustsaid

istrue.

I’vemadeDamensad.
Andlonely.
Andinneedofdistractions.
Andthere’sjustnodenyingit.
Thoughit’salsonotassimpleasthat.There’salotmoretoit,andIdoubtshe’sevenvaguelyaware

ofthatfact.

Still,likeshesaid,IhavegrownclosertoJude.Thoughnotinaromanticwaylikesheassumes.
While there’s no doubt that there’s definitely some kind of undeniable pull that seems to eternally

linkus—ironically,thistimearound,Jude’stheonewho’sapplyingthebrakes.Makingitmorethanclear
thathehasnointerestwhatsoeveringainingonlyatemporarypartofme.

Hewantsmeforreals.
Hewantsmeforgood.
WantstobesureI’vemadeacleanbreakfromDamenandallthatweshare.
WantsmetotakeasuresteptowardhimwithoutasingleglancebackatwhatIoncehad.
Claimshecan’triskthatkindofheartbreakagain.

Thatjustbecauseit’shappenedmultipletimesthroughthecenturiesdoesn’tmakeitanyeasierthis

timearound.

And since I just can’t give him that yet—despite what he told me about our past life in the South,

confirmingmyveryworstsuspicionsthatDamenboughtme,removedmefrommyfamily,andturnedhis
backonthemforeversothathecouldhavemetohimself—I’mstillnotreadytogothere.

Evenafterherevealedtherestofit—thatshortlyafterDamentookmeaway,he,alongwiththerest

ofmyfamily,perishedinaterriblefiretheyneverwould’vebeeninifonlyDamenhadbotheredtosave
them.Resultinginastringoftragicdeathsthere’sjustnologicalexcusefor.

Imean,oncehisimmensewealthandformidablepoweristakenintoaccount,well,anactlikethat,

anactsocold,socalculating,andsocallousthatendedinsuchtragedy—iscompletelyinexcusableonhis
part.

Andyet,I’mstillnotreadytogiveuponhim.
ThoughI’mnotreadytoseehimyeteither.
But even though I’m not about to share any of that with Ava, I still just shake my head and say,

“There’salotmoretoitthanthat.”Ipurposelyholdhergaze.

Shenodsandreachestowardme,herhandgraspingmineinagentlesqueeze.“I’venodoubtabout

that,Ever.Nodoubtatall.”Shepauses,makingsureshehasmyfullattentionwhensheadds,“Justmake
sureyoudon’tdoanythingrash.Takethetimetodigdeep,toreallythinkitthrough.Andwhenindoubt,
well,youknowmyfavoriteremedy—”

“Meditation,” I mumble, laughing and rolling my eyes, grateful for the burst of light she always

seemstoprovideeveninthedarkestoftimes.Pullingherbacktomewhenshestartstomoveaway.Not
ready to part with her just yet, my gaze practically pleading with hers when I say, “Ava, do you know
something?” I grip her arm tightly, finding myself suddenly desperate for her guidance, for a few
enlightened words. “Do you know something about this? About Damen, Jude, and me? About who I’m
supposedtochoose?”

Shelooksatme,hergazesoftandcaring,butstillshejustshakesherheadslowly.Alockofauburn

hair falling over her forehead and into her eyes, obscuring them briefly before she pushes it away and
says,“I’mafraidthat’syourjourney,Ever.Yoursandyoursalone.Onlyyoucandiscoverwhichpathto
take.I’monlyhereasyourfriend.”

chapterseventeen

“Thanksfor all yourhelp.” Jude tossesa damp dish towelover his shoulderand leans against the

ancientrefrigeratorthat’snothinglikeDamen’sorSabine’s—notstainless,notthesizeofawalk-incloset
—justoldandgreen,withafondnessformakingloud,strange,gurglingnoises.Histhumbshitchedinhis
emptybeltloops,legscasuallycrossedattheankle,watchingasIloadthelastofthecupsandglasses
intothedishwasher,beforeclosingthedoorandpressingthestartbutton.

I reach up, removing the elastic band from my hair, allowing the waves to spill down my back,

stopping just shy of my waist, while trying to ignore Jude’s intense stare. The way his eyes narrow,
drinkingmein,hungrilyfollowingthetrailofmyhandsasIsmooththemoverthefrontofmydressand
liftafallenstrap.Hisgazelingeringforsolong,IknowIhavetobreakit,findawaytodistracthim.

“Itwasanicememorial.”Imeethiseyesbrieflybeforelookingaway.Busyingmyselfwithtidying

upthetiledcounters,thewhiteporcelainsink.“Ithinkshewould’velikedit.”

Hesmiles,wadsupthetowelanddropsitonthecounter,thenheadsintothedenandsinksontothe

oldbrowncouch,justassumingI’llfollow,which,afteramoment,Ido.

“Actually,shedidlikeit.”Hekicksoffhisflip-flops,settleshisfeetontothecushions.
“So,yousawher?”Idropontothechairjustoppositehim,beforeproppingmybarefeetontotheold

woodendoorheusesasacoffeetable.

He turns, slowly looking me over, spliced brow raised in surprise. “Yeah, I saw her. Why? Did

you?”

Ishakemyhead,quicktodispelit.FingersplayingwiththeclusterofcrystalsIwearatmyneck,

favoring the rough stones over the more polished ones. “Ava did.” I shrug, letting go of the amulet,
allowingthestonestowarmupmyflesh.“I’mstillunabletoseeLina’skind.”

“Youstilltrying?”Hesquints,sittingupbriefly,graspingasmallpillowbyhisfeetandplacingit

behindhisheadbeforelyingbackagain.

“No.”Isigh,myvoicewistful,gazefaraway.“Notanymore.Igaveallthatupawhileago.”
Henods,stilllookingatme,thoughinamorethoughtful,lessintenseway.“Well,ifitmakesyoufeel

anybetter,Ihaven’tseenhereither.Riley,Imean.Thatiswhowe’retalkingabouthere,right?”

Ileanmyheadbackagainstthecushionandclosemyeyes.Rememberingmyadorablyfeisty,pain-

in-the-bumlittlesisterwiththepenchantforwearingcrazycostumesandwigs—andhopingthatwherever
sheis,she’shavingatrulyawesometime.

Pulled away from my thoughts and back toward Jude when he says, “Ever, I was thinking—” He

stares up at the wood-beamed ceiling. “Now that things are starting to settle around here, well, it’s

probablyagoodtimeforyoutostartthinkingaboutheadingbacktoschool.”

Istiffen,allowingforonlytheshallowestbreath.
“Turns out Lina left it all to me—the house, the store—everything. And since all the paperwork

seemstobeinorder,IfigureIcanjustletthelawyertakeoverfromhere,whichfreesmeuptogetback
tofull-time.NottomentionAvaalreadyofferedtopickupanystrayhoursI’munabletocover.”

Iswallowhard,butIdon’tsayaword.Hisexpressiontellsmeit’shandled,arranged,he’sgotitall

figuredout.

“As much as I appreciate your help, and I do—” He peers at me briefly, before returning to the

ceilingagain.“Ithinkit’sprobablybestforyouto—”

ButIdon’tevenlethimfinishbeforeI’msaying,“But,really—it’sno—”Biggie—Istarttosayit’s

reallynobiggie.StarttoexplaintheconclusionI’verecentlycometoregardingschool,thenormallife
path one’s expected to follow, and me—and how they no longer mix—no longer make the least bit of
sense.

ThoughIdon’tgetveryfarbeforehewaveshishandandsays,“Ever,ifyouthinkforonemoment

thatthisiseasyforme,well,thinkagain.”Hesighsandcloseshiseyes.“Trustme,there’sabig,loud,
overwhelmingpartofmetellingmetojustshutup—tostoptalking,andquitwhileI’vegotyourighthere
in my house, well within my reach, and more than willing to spend your free time with me.” He stops,
handsclenching,fingersfidgeting,asignofthebattlethatrageswithin.“Butthere’salsoanother,farmore
rationalpart,thattellsmetodojusttheopposite.AndeventhoughI’mprobablycrazyforsayingthis,I
feellikeIhaveto,so,Ijust…”Hepauses,swallowinghardbeforehestartsagain,“Ijustthinkitsforthe
bestifyou—”

Iholdmybreath,prettysurethatIdon’twanttohearit,yetresignedtothefactthatIwill.
“Ithinkyoushouldsortof…just…stayawayforawhile,that’sall.”
He opens his eyes and looks right at me, allowing the sentence to hang there between us like a

barrierthatcannotbebreached.

“BecauseasmuchasIlovehavingyouaround,andIthinkyouknowbynowthatIdo,ifwehaveany

hopeofmovingforward,ifyouhaveanyhopeofmakingadecisionanytimesoonregardingyourfuture—
orourfuture—whateverthecasemaybe,well,then,youreallyneedtogetbackoutthere.Youhaveto
stop—”Hetakesadeepbreathandshiftsuncomfortably,obviouslyhavingtoforcethewordsfromhis
lips.“Youhavetostophidingoutatthestoreanddealwithyourlifehead-on.”

Isitthere,speechless,stunned,andalittleconfusedastohowI’msupposedtotakethat—muchless

respondtoit.

Hiding?
IsthatwhathethinksI’vebeendoingallweek?
And, even worse, is there any chance that it’s true? That he’s onto something I’m totally

unconsciousofandworkedextrahardtoignore?

I shake my head and drop my feet from the table to the floor. Slipping them back into my wedge-

heeledsandalswhenIsay,“IguessIdidn’trealize…I—”

ButbeforeIcangoanyfurther,Judeabruptlysitsup,shakinghisheadwhenhesays,“Please,Imeant

nothingbyit,Ijustwantyoutothinkaboutit,okay?Because,Ever—”Hepusheshisdreadlocksoffhis
facesohecanreallyseeme.“Ijustdon’tknowhowmuchlongerIcansitonstandbylikethis.”

Hedropshishandstohislap,wheretheyremainopen,relaxed,likesomekindofoffering.Holding

mygazeforsolongmyheartbeginstorace,myguttodance,andIfeelsolight-headedit’slikeallofthe
airhasbeensuckedrightoutoftheroom.

Theenergybetweenusbuildingandgrowinguntilit’ssopalpable,sotactile,it’slikeIcanactually

seeitstreamingfromhisbodytomine.Athick,pulsatingbandofdesirethatexpandsandcontracts,urging
ustomovecloser,tomergeasone.

AndI’mnotsurewho’sresponsibleforit—him,orme,ormaybesomesortofuniversalforce.AllI

knowisthatthepullissooverwhelming,sobroadandsweeping,Ileaprightoutofmychair,slapmybag
ontomyshoulder,andsay,“Ishouldgo.”

Alreadyatthedoor,fingerstwistingthehandlewhenhecalls,“Ever—we’reokayhere,right?”
ButIjustkeepgoing,wonderingifhesawwhatIsaw,feltwhatIfelt,orifitwasjustsomestupid

thingImadeupinmyhead.

Steppingoutsideandtakingalong,deepbreath—fillingmylungswithwarmsaltyairasIgazeupat

anightskyfilledwithstars,oneinparticularthatburnsespeciallybright.

Onesinglestarthatmanagestooutshinealltherest—asthoughit’sbeggingmetomakeawishupon

it.

SoIdo.
Gazing up at my very own night star, asking for guidance, direction, for some kind of help—and,

failingthat,toatleastprovidesomekindofnudgethat’llpushmetowardtherightone.

chaptereighteen

IdrivearoundLagunaforwhatseemslikeforever,unsurewhattodowithmyself,unsurewhereto

go.Partofme—abigpartofme—longingtogostraighttoDamen’s,barrelrightintohisarms,tellhim
thatallisforgiven,andtrytopickuprightwhereweleftoff—butIdismissitjustasquickly.

I’mlonelyandconfusedandreallyjustlookingforawarmplacetoland.AndasconflictedasImay

beabouthim,Irefusetotreathimlikeacrutch.

Webothdeservebetterthanthat.
SoIcontinuetocruise,travelingupanddownCoastHighwayafewtimesbeforeventuringintothe

smaller,narrower,twistingandturningvillagestreets.Justmeanderingaroundandaround,withnoreal
destinationinmind,untilIfindmyselfatRoman’s—or,makethatHaven’s,sinceaccordingtoMiles,she’s
takenupresidence.

Abandoning my car by the curb, far enough away so she won’t see it, I creep quietly across the

street, hearing the music well before I’ve even reached the path that leads to the door. The speakers
blaringsomesongbyoneofthosegaragebandsshe’ssofondof—thekindRomanhatedandI’venever
evenheardof.

Imakemywaytowardthefrontwindow,alargebayonelinedwithhedgesontheoutsideandan

unoccupiedwindowseatontheinside.Crouchingdownbesidethebushes,havingnointentionofgoingin
orbeingseen,I’mfarmoreinterestedinobserving,learningjustwhatitisthatshe’supto,andhowshe
spendsherfreetime.ThemoreIknowaboutherhabits,thebetterI’llbeabletoplanaroundthem,orif
notactuallyplan,thenatleastI’llknowhowtoreactwhenthetimecomes.

Shestandsbeforeablazingfire,herhairlongandwavy,hermakeupasdramaticallyappliedasthe

lasttimeIsawher.Thoughthelong,flowygownsheworeonthefirstdayofschoolhasbeenswapped
for a skintight, indigo-blue minidress, while the stilettos she usually favors have been shunned for bare
feet.Butthetangleofnecklacesarestillthere,minustheamuletofcourse,andthelongerIwatchher,the
wayshespeaks,thewaysheflitsaroundtheroom,themoreIbegintoworry.

There’ssomethingsomanic,soagitated,sotightlywoundabouther,it’slikeshecanbarelycontain

herownenergy,canbarelyhandleherself.

Bouncingfromfoottofootinastateofperpetualmotion,takingnumerousgulpsfromhergoblet,not

allowingittositemptyforevenasecondbeforeshe’sdippingintoRoman’ssupplyofelixirandrefilling
again.

ThesameelixirsheclaimstobefarmorepowerfulthantheoneDamenbrews,andfromthelooksof

her,andfromwhatIexperiencedintheschoolbathroom,I’venodoubtit’strue.

Even though her words are completely drowned out by the music and the blaring percussion that

vibratesthewalls,it’snotlikeIneedtolistentoknowwhat’sreallygoingonhere.

She’sworsethanIthought.
She’slosingcontrolofherself.
Whileshemaybeabletoinfluenceherraptgroupoflisteners,keepingthemmesmerized,entranced,

andhappytofocusonlyonher—she’sfartoofidgety,fartoofrenziedandturbulenttokeepitgoingmuch
longer.

Shereachesforthegobletagain,tossingherheadbackandtakingalong,deepswill.Runningher

tongueoverherlips,desperatetocatcheverylastdrop,hereyespracticallyglowingassherepeatsthe
sequence again—and again—drinking and pouring, pouring and drinking—leaving no doubt in my mind
she’saddicted.

Havingbeentothatdarkplacemyself,Iknowallthesigns.Knowjustwhatitlookslike.
Thoughit’snotlikeI’mallthatsurprised.ThisisprettymuchwhatIexpectedfromthemomentshe

turned against me and went off on her own. Though I am surprised that her new group of friends pretty
muchconsistsofeveryBayViewHighSchoolstudentwho’severbeendumpedonbyStacia,Craig,or
anyothermemberoftheAlistcrew—whiletheAlistitself,thegroupshewaslastseencozyinguptoon
thefirstdayofschool,isdecidedlyabsent.

AndI’mjuststartingtogetit,juststartingtounderstandwhatitisthatshe’supto,whenIhear:
“Ever?”
Iturn,mygazemeetingHonor’sasshepausesonherwaytothedoor.
“What’reyoudoinghere?”Shesquints,carefullyeyeballingme.
I glance between her and the house, knowing my hiding place near the bushes and my surprise at

beingcaughtprettymuchrevealseverythingthatIwon’t.

Thesilencelingeringbetweenussolong,I’mjustabouttobreakitwhenshesays,“Haven’tseenyou

aroundschoollately—Iwasstartingtothinkyoudroppedout.”

“It’sbeenaweek.”Ishrug,knowingthatasfarasadefensegoes,it’salameone.Still,Icould’ve

beensick,could’vecomedownwithmonoorabadcaseoftheflu,sowhydoeseveryonejustassumeI
droppedout?

AmIreallythatbigofaweirdo/losertothem?
Shejutsherhiptothesideanddrumsherfingersagainstit,takingamomenttoreallylookmeover

before saying, “Really? A week—is that all?” She bobs her head back and forth as though mentally
weighingmywords.“Huh.Seemssomuchlonger.Mustbethefastestsocialrevolutioninallofhistory.”

Inarrowmygaze,notlikingthesoundofthat,butdeterminedtonotsayaword—oratleastnotyet

anyway.I’mhopingmysilencewillgethersopumpedupandcarriedaway,soeagertoimpressmewith
whateveritisthatshe’sdone,she’llrevealfarmorethansheeverintended.

“Surelyyou’ve heard?” Shetosses her hairover her shoulder asshe starts tomove toward me. “I

guessIjustassumedthat’swhyyou’rehere,spyingonHavenandall.But,whatever,allyouneedtoknow
isthatitworked.StaciaishistoryandHavenhastakenherplace.”Hereyesflashassheallowsherlipto
curl just the tiniest bit, no doubt feeling more than a little pleased with herself. “Things are very, very
differentaroundBayViewthesedays.But,heck,don’ttakemywordforit,whydon’tyoudropbyand
seeforyourself?”

Itakeadeepbreath,resistingtheurgetoreact,topayanyrealnoticetohermockingtone,hersense

ofsuperiority.It’sexactlywhatshewants,andI’mnotabouttocomply.

Still,IamhopingtoknockherdownanotchwhenIsay,“Excuseme,butdidyoujustsayHaven’s

takenStacia’splace?”

Honornods,stillsmirking,stillfeelingallpuffedupandtriumphant.
“Sooo…” I narrow my eyes, dragging out the word as I take a moment to slowly look her over.

Takinginherdesignerflats,blackleggings,andthelong-sleeved,clingyT-shirtthathangswellpasther
hips.MygazefindingitswaybacktoherswhenIsay,“Howdoesthatmakeyoufeel?”

She glances toward the window, watching as Haven continues to entertain her minions, before

returningtome.Herconfidencebeginningtowaver,tofade,justlikeheraura,wonderingjustwhatitis
thatI’mgettingat.

“Imean,that’snotquitethecoupyouhadplanned,nowisit?”
Sheexhalesloudly,deeply,gazingatthestreet,theyard,anywherebutme.
“Because,ifIrememberright,yourwholedealwasthatyouweretiredofbeingnumbertwo—and

now, well, from what you just told me anyway, you actually kind of missed the revolution since you’re
still number two. I mean, think about it, Honor, according to what you just said, the only change is that
you’renowHaven’sshadowinsteadofStacia’s—oratleastthat’showitsoundedtome.”

Shecrossesherarmsbeforeher,soquickly,soviolently,thebagonhershoulderslipsdowntoher

elbowandbangshardagainstherthigh.Butshepaysitnonotice,justnarrowshergazeonminewhenshe
says,“IwassickofdealingwithStacia’scrap.Andnow,thankstoalittlehelpfromHaven,Idon’thave
to.Noonehasto.Staciaisnothingmorethanabigwashed-uphas-beenwhonoonepaysanyattentionto.
Shedoesn’tmatteranymore,andyoushouldn’tfeelsorryforher.”Sheliftsherbrowandscowls.

Butshecanmakeallthefacesandloballtherebuttalsshewants,thefactis,myworkisdone.I’ve

gotten to her. Reminded her of her one big goal—to take Stacia’s place—and pointed out how from
everythingshe’sjustsaid,itwasatotalfail.

FiguringImayaswelldriveitallthewayhomewhenIadd,“Becausethethingis—”Iraiseand

lower my shoulders casually, as though I have all the time in the world to explain it to her. “The thing
aboutHaven—oratleastthisnewandimprovedversionofHaven—isthatshe’sreallynotsodifferent
fromyouroldfriendStacia.Norealdifferenceatall.Exceptforonemajorthing—”

Honorinspects her nails,doing her bestto appear bored, uninterested,but it’s nouse. Her aura is

blazing big and bright—her energy streaming toward me as though begging the words to come quicker.
Likeamoodmetershe’snotevenawareofandcouldn’tpossiblyhideifshewas.

“HavenisfarmoredangerousthanStaciacouldeverbe.”Mygazelocksonhers,watchingasshe

sighsandrollshereyes.

Addressingmewithamajordoseofpitywhenshesays,“Please.Thatmaybetrueforyou,butit’s

hardlytrueforme.”

“Yeah?Andwhatmakesyousosure?”IcockmyheadtothesideasthoughItrulyneedtohearit

fromher,asthoughIcouldn’tjustlookstraightintohermind.

“Becausewe’refriends.”Sheshrugs.“Weshareacommoninterest—acommon…enemy.”
“Yeah,well,I’msureyourememberthatitwasn’tallthatlongagowhenHavenandIwerefriends

too.” I glance back toward the window, watching as Haven continues to drink and talk, talk and drink,
with no signs of slowing, no signs of ceasing. “And now she’s determined to kill me.” I turn to face
Honor, my voice so quiet it was almost as though I just spoke to myself But she heard it. The way she
sniffsandfidgetsandtriessohardtoactlikeIdidn’tjustsaywhatIsaid,assuresmeofthat.

Her posture stiffening, her resolve hardening, as she heads for the door and says, “Listen, Ever,

despite what you may think, the only enemy I share with Haven is Stacia. I really don’t want to have a
problemwithyou.Whatevergoesonbetweenyouandher—staysbetweenyouandher.WhichmeansI
won’ttellherIfoundyououtherespying—okay?Thatcanbeoursecret.”

Ipluckastrayleaffromthefrontofmydress,notbelievingawordshejustsaid.Knowingalltoo

well she’ll be unable to resist it, that she’ll divulge the whole thing the second she walks through that
door.

Butmaybethat’snotsuchabadthing.Maybeit’stimeforHaventogetthelongoverduemessagethat

her fun is now over—that, as of tomorrow, I’ll be back in full swing. She cannot continue to terrorize
people—evenwhenthosepeopleareStacia.OratleastnotwhileI’mstillaround.

“Youknowwhattheysayaboutsecrets,right?”Myeyesfixonhers.
Sheshrugs,triestoactcasual,uninterested,butit’snouse.Herfaceismarredbyfearandconfusion.
“Thattwocankeepasecretifoneofthemisdead.”
Sheshakesherhead,triestoshakeoffmywords,butshe’stroubled,thatmuchisclear.
ReachingforthedoorandlookingoverhershoulderwhenIsay,“So,ifyoudodecidetotellherI

washere,youcanalsotellherIlookforwardtocatchingupwithhertomorrowatschool.”

chapternineteen

If I were to make an assumption based solely on the look and feel of the parking lot, well, I’d

probablyassumethatallisasfineandwellandnormalasiteverwillbe.

I’d also assume that this morning’s early training session/workout—the one that left all of my

musclesquivering—wasatotalwasteoftimeandthatIshould’vejustsleptininstead.

ButfromeverythingMileshastoldme,Ineedtoventurealittlefartherthantheovercrowdedlotthat

looksmorelikealuxurycardealershipthananareareservedforstudentparking.

I need to go past the wrought-iron gates and into the heart of the school, where, according to him

anyway,therealstorylives.

Andeventhen,hesaysit’sprobablyonlytrulyshockingtothoseintheknow,sincealloftheteachers

andadministratorsremainprettymuchoblivioustothenewsocialorder.

“And,Ever,”hesays,turningtomeasIheadformyintendedspace,thebestinthebunch,theone

Damenusedtosaveformethatnow,forsomestrangereason,hasbeentakenoverbyHaven.“That’snot
all.There’salittlemoretoit,somethingelseyoushouldknow.”

“Singit.”Ismile,pulseracingasIfocusonRoman’sshinyredAstonMartinthatHavennowdrives.
“Not everything is quite what it may seem at first glance.” He studies me, carefully, cautiously,

makingsurethatI’mlisteningbeforehegoesontosay,“So…justtrytokeepthatinmind,okay?Don’t
rush to judgment. Don’t make any snap assumptions should you… or, I guess I should say, when you…
comeacrosssomethinglikethat.Okay?”

I squint, pushing my hair off my face, saying, “Spill it, Miles. Seriously, whatever it is you’re

dancingaround,justsayit,simpleandclean.Because,honestly,Ihavenoideawhatyou’regettingat.”
Narrowingmygazeandreadingintohisenergy,histremulous,waveringaura,asuresignthatsomething’s
up, but still maintaining my vow to respect his privacy by stopping right there, not even considering
trespassingonhisinnermostthoughts.

Butit’snotlikeheknowsthat.Allhecanseeismydeep,piercingstare,anditsendshimstraight

intoapanic.

“Hey, stop that!” he shouts. “You promised you wouldn’t do that without my permission.

Remember?”

“Relax.”Idismissthethoughtwithawaveofmyhand.“Iwasn’treadingyourmind.Notevenclose.

Imean,sheesh!Whatdoesittaketogetalittletrustaroundhere?”

Mostlymumblingthatlastparttomyself,butforsomereason,itpromptshimtosay,“Trustgoesboth

ways,Ever,justrememberthat,okay?That’sprettymuchwhatIwasgettingatearlier.”

I shrug, moving past Miles’s intentionally coy and cryptic warning and on to my real mission.

Closingmyeyesjustlongenoughtodowhatittakestoprovetoacertainsomeone just who’s the real
boss around here. Seeing the red Aston Martin banished to a faraway corner, as I punch the gas and
quicklyclaimthenewlyvacatedspace.

Prompting Miles to gasp, turning to me when he says, “Wow. I think I forgot how much I like

carpoolingwithyou.”Heshakeshisheadandlaughs.“Infact,Iactuallyreallymissedit.Imean,don’tget
mewrong,I’meagerforthecartogetoutoftheshopsoIcangetmyfreedombackandallthat,butstill,
there’snothinglikethewayyoumanipulatethetrafficlightpatternstogogreenwhenyouneedthemto
andredwhenyoudon’t,thewayyouconvincealltheotherdriverstogetoutofyourwayandmergeinto
anotherlanesoyoucantaketheirplace,andhowyoujusttakewhateverparkingspaceyousetyoursights
on,whetherit’soccupiedornot.Likenow,forinstance.”Heshakeshisheadandsighs.“Igottatellya,
Ever,thatsortofthingneverreallyhappenswhenI’moutonmyown.”

But even though he meant it as a joke, something about it really shakes me. Everything he just

mentioned, all of those tricky maneuvers, were taught to me by the stealth-driving master himself
—Damen.AndIcan’thelpbutwonderwherehestandsinallthis.

“Miles—” I pause, my voice sounding much smaller than I intended. Dropping my hands from the

wheel and clasping them in my lap as I say, “Exactly where is Damen these days?” I turn, noting the
concern that quickly clouds his gaze. “I mean, why is he allowing Haven to do this—to park here and
whateverelseshe’supto?Whyisn’thefightingbackinsomeway?”

Miles looks away, taking a moment to compose himself, his words, before he faces me again. His

hand on my arm, squeezing gently when he says, “Trust me, he is fighting back. In his own concerned-
citizen, good karma kind of way. That’s sort of what I meant when I said you shouldn’t jump to
conclusions.Noteverythingisasblackandwhiteasitfirstseems…”

Istareathim,waitingformore,buthejustclampshislipsshutandrunsanimaginaryzipperacross

them.AndIcan’tbelievehe’sgoingtoleaveitlikethat,leavemehanginglikethat.

“That’s it?” I look at him and shake my head. “That’s how you’re gonna leave it? All vague and

noncommittal,anduptometofigureoutonmyown,withoutaheads-up?”

“Thatwasyourheads-up,”hesays,clearlycommittedtoleavingitthere.
Isighandclosemyeyes,butIdon’tgetupset,don’treadhismind,don’tpressanyfurther.He’sgot

my best interests at heart, convinced he’s trying to spare me from something. So I decide to let it go.
Awareofsomethinghe’snot—thatwhateveritis,Icanfaceit.

Nothingcanbreakmeanymore.
He flips down the mirrored visor and squints at his reflection, combing his fingers through his

longish, glossy, brown hair—the cool new look I’m still getting used to—and checking his teeth, his
nostrils,hisprofile(bothsides),beforedeeminghimselfreadyforthepublicandslappingthevisorback
upagain.

“Areweready?”IreachformybagasIopenmydoor,hisnodpromptingmetoadd,“Butjustso

we’reclear,whosesideareyouon?”

Hetosseshisbackpackontohisshoulderandshootsmealook.Theglintinhisgazeaperfectmatch

forhissmilewhenhesays,“Mine.I’monmyside.”

Well, he certainly wasn’t kidding. Nor was he exaggerating. On the one hand, everything is totally

andcompletelydifferent—aradicalshifthasclearlytakenplace.Whileontheother,tothelessobservant
amongus(akatheteachersandadministrators),everythingappearsexactlythesame.

The“seniortables”arestillpopulatedbyseniors—onlynowit’stheoneswhowereneverallowed

toevenwalkpast,muchlesssittherebefore.

And instead of a bitchy, blond fashionista holding court—a bitchy, brunette fascist has taken her

place.

Abitchy,brunettefascistwhosegazetargetsmethesecondMilesandIsteppastthegate.
Glancingawayfromheradoringgroupoffansjustlongenoughtonarrowhereyesandclenchher

jawasshequicklytakesusin.Thelooklastingforonlyasecondbeforeshe’sturnedbacktothem,butit’s
stillenoughtogiveMilespause.

“Great,” he mumbles, shaking his head. “It looks like I’ve just unofficially chosen sides.” He

winces.“Oratleastthat’swhatsheclearlythinks.”

“Noworries,”Iwhisper,gazescanningthearea,searchingforDameneventhoughItrytopretend

I’mmerelyrefamiliarizingmyselfwiththeschoolgrounds.“IpromiseIwon’t—”

Iseehim.
Damen.
“—IpromiseIwon’tlether—”
Iswallowhardanddrinkhimrightin.
Loungingonabench,longlegssplayedoutbeforehim,restingbackonhishandsashetiltshis

gorgeousfacetowardthesun…

“—IpromiseIwon’tletherhurt—”
Istruggletofinish,butit’snouse.IknowtheinstantIseeitthatthisiswhatMileswassocovertly

tryingtowarnmeabout.

Not wanting to state it bluntly, correctly assuming I’d freak—pretty much just like I am—but not

wantingmetojuststumbleuponiteitherandfeelsucker-punchedintheveryworstway.

Milesdidwhathecould—I’llgivehimthat.Hedidhisbesttosparemethisbrandofpain.Butstill,

nomatterhowmuchhetriedtoprepareme,there’sjustnodenyingasightlikethis.

WhenIsaidthatnothingcouldbreakme,Iwaswrong.
Deadwrong.
Butthenagain,IneverreallyimaginedI’dfindhimlikethis.
Hetalkstohersoftly,hisfacegentleandkind,distractingherfromthecruelcommentsandlooks

thatcomefromjustabouteveryonewhopassesby.ButaslongasDamen’sthere,that’sasbadasit’ll
get.Noonewilldareventureanywherenear.Hispresencealoneiswhatkeepsthemaway.Keepsher
safe.

Aslongashe’swithher,she’ssparedfromtheirwrath.
Butit’snotlikeunderstandingwhyhedoesitmakesitanyeasiertowatch.AndeverysecondIstand

there—apartofmewithers.

Apartofmedies.
Milesgrabsholdofmyelbow,determinedtosteermeaway,butit’snouse.I’mstrongerthanhim

andIrefusetobeswayed.

Knowingit’sjustamatterofmomentsuntilhe’llsensemypresence,myenergy.Andeventhoughmy

insidesarechurning,myheartbreaking,myhandsshaking,eventhoughI’mterrifiedofwhatImightfind
inhisgazeoncehedoeslocateme—Istillneedittohappen.

Needtoknowwhatitmeans.
NeedtoknowifshenowoccupiesthespaceIoncefilledinhislife.
Whenheseesme,whenhiseyesgowideandhislipspartinawaythatcompletelytransformshim—

mybreathstallsinmythroat.

Themomentfeelinglikeforever,likeit’ssomehowsuspendedintime.Thoughit’snotlongbefore

sheseesittoo,followinghisgazeallthewaytomebeforequicklylookingaway.Herformersurplusof
confidencenowdiminishedforgood.

“Ever—please,”Milesurges,hisvoiceatmyear.“RememberwhatItoldyou.Nothing is what it

seems. Everything’s been turned upside down. The former D list is now the A list—and the old A list,
well,they’veprettymuchdisbanded,mostofthemareinhiding,somehaveevenleft.Nothingisthesame
anymore.”

ButeventhoughIhearit,thewordsflowrightthroughme.
Idon’tcareaboutanyofthat.IonlycareaboutDamenandthewayhisgazecirclesmine.
AndthoughIwaitforit—atulip,eitherrealorimagined,orsomeotherkindofsign—nothingcomes.
Nothingbuttheinfinitesilencethatstretchesbetweenus.
SoIleanintoMilesandallowhimtoleadmeaway.
Leadmerightpastthesightofthem.
Rightthroughmypain.

chaptertwenty

He calls out my name, his voice coming from behind me. Right behind me. Causing me to turn,

instinctively,automatically,movingtowardhimwithoutthinking.

“You’reback.”Helooksatme,thewordsastatement,hisgazeaquestion.
Inod.AndthenIshrug.AndthenIstruggletoceasealloutrightmodesoffidgetingasItrytodecide

wheretotakeitfromhere.

Butclearlyhe’sfarmoreuptothetaskthanIam,becausebarelyamomentpassesbeforehesays,

“It’sgoodtoseeyou.”

“Is it?” I narrow my gaze, instantly regretting the tone, the words. Seeing the way he flinches, the

wayhiseyespulldownatthesides,butnowthatI’vesaidit,there’snotakingitback.

“I’vemissedyou.”Hegesturestowardme,hishandlifting,reaching,butonlybrieflybeforeitfalls

back to his side. “I’ve missed the sight of you, the scent of you. I’ve missed every single thing about
you.”Heallowshisgazetomoveovermeslowly,circling,likethewarmestofhugs.“Andevenifyou
decidetonevertalktomeagain,itwon’tchangeathing.NothingcaneverchangehowIfeelaboutyou.”

Myinsidesturntojelly—aquiveringmassofindecision.Tornbetweenbolting—gettingmyselfas

far from him as I possibly can—and running straight into the shelter of his warm and wonderful arms.
WonderinghowIcanpossiblyfeelsototallyempoweredtodealwithHavenandallofhercrap,todo
whateverittakestogetahandleonher—butthis,thisthingwithDamen,seeinghimwithher,andnow
standingbeforemelikeheis—well,itinstantlyunearthseverylasttraceofmyoldinsecuritiesandself-
doubt.

Leavingmetowonderwhyit’salwayssomucheasiertotrainthebodythantheheart.
I mean, out of all the girls in this school, why her? Why Stacia? Surely there’s someone else he

couldplaythewhiteknightfor…

Butjustafterthinkingit,thereasonbecomesclear.AndIwatchassheducksoutofclass,makesher

waydownthehall,headlowered,shouldersslumped,gazefixedonadistantpointjustinfrontofher,not
daringtoriskanyaccidentaleyecontactwithhertormentors,asshecowersagainsttheironslaughtofhate
—theslewofharshwords,cruellooks,andtheoccasionalwaterbottleaimedatherhead.

Andeventhoughmymindhatesthefactthathe’stheonlyonewhocanprotecther,myheartknowsI

havenothingtoworryabout,nothingtofear.

“Asitjustsohappens,sheneedsprotectingmorethananyoneelse,”Damensays,noddingtowardthe

sceneIjustwitnessed.“Alot’schangedsinceyouwerelasthere.Thewholeschool’sturnedagainsther.
And even though you may think she deserves it, trust me, no one deserves that, no one deserves what

Haven’sputherthrough.”

Inod,knowingit’strue,wantinghimtoknowthatIknowit’strue,butunabletoactuallyvoicethe

words.Ithurtstoomuchtospeak.

“But, Ever.” He pauses, gaze holding mine. “I’m merely looking after her here at school, nothing

more.It’snotatallwhatyouthink,orwhatyoumightfear.It’salwaysbeenyou.Ithoughtyouknewthat.”

“I do know that,” I say, finally finding my voice again. “But does she?” I cringe at the statement,

hatingthesoundofit,theweak,disgusting,totallyembarrassingsoundofit.Still,it’snotlikeIcan’tsee
thewayshegazesathim.Samewayshealwaysgazesathim.Samewaymostgirlsgazeathim.Theonly
differenceis,withStacia,there’shistory.

“Shedoes.”Hisfaceisgrave,hiseyesneveroncestrayingfrommineashishandshangopen,loose

byhissides.“Trustme,I’vetoldher.Sheknows.”

Iswallowhardandstudythosehands,rememberingallofthewonderfulthingsthatthey’recapable

of and longing to feel them again. Knowing from the way they tremble ever so slightly that it’s taking
everylastounceofhisstrengthtostayrightwhereheis,rootedinplace.ThatallIhavetodotobridge
theterriblechasmgapingbetweenusistakeonesteptowardhim—onestepawayfromthepast,Stacia,
andeverythingelse.

Ifonlyitwerethateasy.
While I know our past lives don’t define us, I still can’t make peace with some of the more

undeniablefacts.Likehispenchantforpullingmeawayfrommylovedonessothathecanhavemeallto
himself—having done so twice that I know of. And I can’t help but wonder how many other times he’s
resortedtothat,andhowmanypeoplehavesufferedbecauseofit.

Thebellrings,thesoundtrillingloudly,butneitheroneofusmoves.
Wejuststandtheretogether,allowingascurryofstudentstomoveallaroundinablurofcolorand

sound. Our gazes locked, bodies still, his mind streaming tulips toward me until I’m surrounded by a
glorioushaloofthemonlywecansee.

The spell broken when someone bumps into me—hard—one of Haven’s minions who’s severely

misjudged me. Tossing me a belligerent gaze and a few choice words to go with it, until she reads the
lookonDamen’sfaceandswiftlycowersaway.

“Iunderstand.”Inod,watchingasawadded-uppieceofpaperbouncesoffthesideofStacia’shead

assheducksintoclass.MygazeshiftingfromhertohimwhenIadd,“Really,Igetit.It’sgoodofyou.
Kind of you. It’s the right thing to do. So don’t worry about me, you just continue to protect her, and
I’ll…”Isearchthehall,watchingitemptyaseveryoneracestobeatthetardybell.“AndI’lldowhatI
cantokeepitfromgettinganyworse—tokeepHavenundercontrol.”

“Andus?Isthereanyhopeforus?”heasks.
ButIleavethewordsbehind.
Histhoughtsdriftingfrombehindme,aroundme,curlingupinsideme,asIturnandmakemyway

downthehall.

Remindingmethathe’shere.
Willalwaysbehere.
AllIhavetodoislethimin.

chaptertwenty-one

Ifiguredshe’dtrytoavoidme’tillunch.
Figuredshe’d want tohold off onany sort of confrontationuntil she hadher groupies all gathered

aroundherandshecouldshowmethefullbruntofthebig,badthingshe’sachieved.

Figured she mistook my weeklong absence, my wanting to get my head straight about Damen, for

fear.

Fearofherandallshe’saccomplished.
WhichisexactlywhyImadesuretorunintoherwellbeforethat.
Appearingbyhersidewithoutwarning,Islideupalongsideher,tapherontheshoulder,andstare

straight into her heavily made-up, slightly startled eyes, saying, “Hey, Haven.” I keep my expression
benign,ifnotoutrightfriendly.WantinghertoknowthatI’mback,thatit’stimeforhertoreinitin,butnot
wantingtochallengeherdirectly,sincenothinggoodwillcomeofthat.“Justthoughtyoushouldknowthat
yourcarhasbeenmoved.Ineededthespace.”

She looks at me, mouth curling up at one side, obviously far more amused than mad, ridiculously

delightedtoknowthegameisstillon.

“Butthenagain,thatshouldn’treallysurpriseyou,sinceyouknowthat’snotyourspace.Itbelongsto

Damenandme.Hasforalmostayearnow.”

Shelaughs,ashortburstofsoundthatendsalmostassoonasitbegins.Slippingoutofhershortsand

T-shirt, she tosses them into her locker in exchange for the navy-blue dress she starts to yank over her
head.“Yeah,well,youweren’thereandDamendidn’tseemtomindallthatmuch.Butthenagain,from
whatI’veseen,he’sbeenalittlepreoccupiedlately.”

Shepullsthedressdown,hereyesmeetingmineasherfaceemergesfromtheswathoffabric,then

sheshimmiesfromsidetoside,gettingherselfallsituated.Takingamomenttoeyeballme,herderisive
gaze raking from my head to my toes before venturing back up again, searching for a reaction that just
doesn’tcome.

Her comment glides past me, doesn’t affect me in the least. Damen and I have come to an

understanding,andthisconfrontationwithher,well,it’severythingI’vetrainedmyselffor.

“IthoughtyouhatedP.E.”Idropontothescarredwoodbench,crossmylegs,andclaspmyhandson

myknee.Gazingaroundthegirls’lockerroom,aplaceshe’smadeapointtoavoidafteraparticularly
brutalhazingincidentshewasforcedtosufferatthebeginningoffreshmanyear.

“Well, it’s true that I used to.” She shrugs, readjusting the jumble of necklaces she now favors in

placeoftheamuletIgaveher.Hereyesblazing,faceradiantwhenshelooksatmeandsays,“Butthen,as

youwellknow,thingschange,Ever.Or,morespecifically,I’vechanged.Andbecauseofit,I’vefinally
come to realize something I could’ve only guessed at before.” She pauses for a moment to slip on her
shoes,wrappingthetiesaroundherankles,once,twice,beforetyingtheminaknotthatreacheshalfway
uphertiny,well-muscledcalves.“Onceyou’vemadeittothetopofthepyramid,onceyou’rebeautiful,
powerful, and graced with both strength and speed, well, there’s really no reason to dislike anything.
Exceptformaybethosepatheticallyjealousloserswhoaredeterminedtobringyoudown.But,seriously,
otherthanthat,it’sallgood.Youcan’tevenimaginewhatitfeelsliketobemerightnow.”Shefluffsher
hair,smoothingherhandsoverthefrontandsidesofherdress,gazingatherselfadmiringlyinthemirror
acrosstheway,asshemakessureeverythingisperfectlyinplace.

Stealingamomentawayfromherreflectiontoreflectuponme,sighingdeeply,loudly,hergazefull

ofpitywhenshesays,“Imeantthatliterallybytheway.Youseriouslycannotimaginewhatit’sliketobe
me. What it’s like to be on top of the world—at the top of your game.” She smirks, reaching into her
locker, toward the top shelf, where she’s stashed all her rings. “I mean, let’s face it, not to be cruel or
anything,butyou’veprettymuchbeenabigloseryourwhole,entirelife,andevennow,when,technically
speakinganyway,youcanhaveanythingoranyoneyouchoose—youstillchoosetobeabigdork.”She
shakes her head and stacks her rings on her fingers, a task that takes longer than you’d think due to the
sheernumberofthem.“Imean,ifitwasn’tsofunny,itwouldbesad.Butstill,Ihavetoadmit,there’sstill
asmallpartofmethatpitiesyou.”

“Andtheotherpart?”Ilookather,watchingasshearrangesherhair,gettingitsettledandsmoothed

aroundhershouldersandface.

Shelaughs. Satisfied withher hair, shepilfers through her bagfor some lipgloss before casting a

quickglancemyway.“Why,theotherpartisgoingtokillyou.Butthen,youalreadyknewthat.”

I nod, so casually you’d think she’d just made some harmless, throwaway comment rather than an

actualthreatonmylife.

“Imean,don’tgetmewrong,originallyI’dplannedtokillJudefirst,youknow,hurthimrealbad

whilemakingyouwatch—thatsortofthing.Butthen,onceIreallythoughtaboutit,Irealizeditwouldbe
somuchmorefuntoswitchitaroundanddoawaywithyoufirst.Youknow,leavehimtotallydefenseless
andalone,withnooneable,muchlesswillingtosavehim.Imean,surelyDamenwon’tbevolunteering
forthat.Andnotjustbecausehe’ssobusyprotectingStacia,butbecause,well,let’sfaceit,asgoodand
nobleashelikestothinkheis,Idoubtevenhe’llbeallthatsadtoseehimgo,consideringeverything
that’sgonedownrecently.”Sheshrugs,runningthewandoverherlips,once,twice,beforerubbingthem
together, making a kissing face at the mirror, then grinning as she drops the gloss back into her bag. “I
don’tknow,justanidea.Whatdoyouthink?”

“WhatdoIthink?”Iliftmybrowandtiltmyhead,allowingmyhairtospilldownthefrontofmy

dress.

Shelooksatme,waiting.
“Ithink—bringiton.”
Shebreaksintolaughter,deep,belly-clutchinglaughter.Strugglingtocatchherbreathasshesmooths

herhairagain,tossesherbagoverhershoulder,andcontinuestocheckherselfoutinthemirror,tiltingher
headfromsidetosideandclearlyadmiringtheviewwhenshesays,“Youcouldn’tpossiblybeserious.
Youactuallywanttostartthis,here?Now?”Shelooksatme,facefullofdoubt.

“Seemsasgoodatimeandplaceasany.”Ishrug.“Imean,whydelaytheinevitable,right?”
SheholdsmygazeasIrisefromthebench,standingbeforeherwithoutatraceoffear,completely

assuredofmysurplusofstrength.TakingamomenttoremindmyselfofthepromiseImade—thatit’supto
her to make the first move. I don’t bait her, don’t do anything more than stand there and wait. The

consequences are far too serious, far too permanent, for a reckless move like that. My only goal is to
teach her a lesson, knock her down a notch or two. Show her that I’m stronger than she thinks, that it’s
timeforhertopullback,toretreat.Hopingit’llprompthertorethinkallofthis,torealizeherbig,bad
planisnotsuchawisemove.

Sheshakesherhead,rollshereyes,mumblessomethingindecipherableunderherbreath,andtriesto

push past me, dismissing the whole thing with a wave of her hand. “Trust me. It’ll happen, when it
happens.”Sheglancesoverhershoulderandnarrowshergaze.“Allyouneedtoknowisthatyouwillnot
control it, you will not determine it, and you will not see it coming. Makes it way more fun that way,
don’tyathink?”

Butjustasshereachesthedoor,sureshe’sintheclear,Iappearrightbeforeher,barringherexit.

“Listen,Haven,yousomuchaslayafingeronMiles,Jude,oranyoneelse,andsohelpmeyouwillnot
likewhathappenstoyou…”

Herlipcurls,whilehereyesgodark,darkerthanI’veeverseenthembefore.“AndwhatifIgoafter

Stacia?”Shesmiles,thoughit’smorelikealeer.“What’reyougonnadoaboutthat?Yougonnariskyour
life—yourverysoul—toprotecthertoo?”Pausinglongenoughtoallowthewordstopenetrate,before
slapping her hand over her mouth in a feigned bout of shame. “Oh, never mind. I totally forgot she has
Damenforthatnow.Mybad.”Shesmirksandshovespastme,pushesrightthroughthedoor.

Leaving me there on my own, knowing the victory may have been small, but having no doubt I

succeededingettingmymessageacross.

Thenextmoveishers.

chaptertwenty-two

It’shardtogetusedtothisnewlunchtimeroutine—withHavenholdingcourtattableA,whileMiles

andIsitatourusualtableC.BothofuspretendingnottolookanywhereneartableD,whereDamensits
besideStacia,eventhoughwe’rebothprettymuchblatantlygapingatit.

Thoughashardasitistowatch,DamenandIhavecometoanewunderstanding—onewherewe

acceptourrespectiveresponsibilitiesinthepresent,whileItakesometimetotryandacceptthesinsof
hispast.Still,Iknowinsidethatit’sworthit.Worththepainofseeinghimlikethat—thewayhegazesat
me,thewayhekeepswatchoverher—worthitbecauseaslongasI’mhere,aslongasDamenisthere,
Haveniscontained.

Outofcontrolbutcontained.
Andnoonegetshurt.
Itwistthecapoffofmyelixirandtakeadeepswig.Myeyesdartingaroundthearea,seeingHonor

work overtime to maintain her place beside Haven—working harder than she ever had to work with
Stacia, while Craig and some of his friends seem clearly relieved to have gotten off easy—reduced to
sittingatalessertable,butstill,itcouldbeworse.Ifitwasn’tforhisconnectiontoHonor,andthefact
thatshestillhasfeelingsforhim,I’venodoubthe’dbeasbadoffasStacia.

“It’s like we’ve landed in upside-down bizarro world,” Miles says, between slurps of vanilla

yogurt,eyestrackingtheareaasanxiouslyasmine.“Imean,everything’sbackward,everythingIthoughtI
knewaboutthisschool,thegood,thebad,andthecompletelyhideous,isnowtotallydifferent,andit’sall
becauseofher.”Henodstowardourformerfriend,watchingherforamomentbeforeturningtome.“Is
thiswhatitwaslikeforyouwhenRomantookover?”

I turn, wide-eyed, caught completely off guard. We never really talk about that time, back when

Romanhypnotizedeveryoneandturnedthemallagainstme.Thoseweresomeofthedarkestdaysofmy
life—oratleastthislifeanyway.

Still,Ijustnodandsay,“Yeah,itwasprettysimilar.”MygazedriftingtowardDamen,remembering

howhesatwithStaciathentoo.“Verysimilar,infact.”

I play with the cap on my elixir, twisting it on and off, off and on, as my mind revisits the past.

Choosingthemorehurtfulscenestoplayoverandoveragain,beforeremindingmyselfthatIgotthrough
thattimejustasI’llgetthroughthistime.AsAvaalwayssays:Andthistooshallpass.

Thoughshe’salsoquicktoremindmethatthephraseworksbothways.Thatit’strueforthegood

timesaswellasthebad.

Everythingpasses.Everythingexperiencesthebirthanddeathcycle.Unless,ofcourse,you’relike

Damenandme,inwhichcaseyougetstuckinthesameeternaldance.

Ishakethethoughtaway,andfinishmyelixir.TossingtheemptybottlebackintothebagIhikeonto

myshoulderasMilesgazesupfromstirringhisyogurtandsays,“Goingsomewhere?”

Inod,andonelookathisfacetellsmehedoesnotapprove.
“Ever—”hestarts,butIstophimrightthere.Iknowwhathe’sthinking—thatI’mleavingbecauseit

hurtstoomuchtoseeDamenwithStacia,havingnoideaofthedealDamenandImade.

“Ijustthoughtofsomething,somethingIneedtotakecareofwhileIstillhavethechance,”Imumble,

knowingIhaven’tconvincedhimasIwatchHavenparadearoundtableA,laughingandflirting,clearly
enjoyinghernewroleasqueenbee.

“Crypticmuch?”Milesnarrowshisgaze.
ButIjustshrug,eagertogetmoving,notwantingHaventoseemeleaveand,gawdforbid,decideto

followme.

“Well,canIatleastcome?”Helooksatme,spoondanglinginmidair.
Ishakemyhead,gazestillonHavenwhenIsay,“No.”Notevenpausinglongenoughtoconsiderit,

whichdoesn’tgooversowell.

“Andwhynot?”Hisvoicerisesashisfacedropsintoafrown.
“Becauseyouhaveclass.”Thesoundofmyownvoicemakingmewince,Isoundedwaymorelikea

teacherthanafriend.

“Andyoudon’t?”
Isigh,shakingmyheadasIlookathim.That’sdifferent.I’mdifferent.Andnowthathe’sawareof

it,Ishouldn’thavetoexplainit.

Still,he’snotabouttogiveup,hejustcontinuestogazeatmewiththosebigbrowneyes,holdingthe

lookforsolongIfinallygiveinandsay,“Listen,Iknowyouthinkyouwanttocome,buttrustme,youso
don’t.Youreally,reallydon’t.Andit’snotthatIdon’twantyouwithme,orthatI’mtryingtoditchyouor
anythinglikethat,it’sjustthat,well,whatI’mplanningtodo,it’snotexactlyconsideredlegal.Soreally,
I’monlytryingtoprotectyou.”

Helooksatme,spooningaglobofyogurtintohismouth,nottheleastbitswayedbythecaseIjust

pled.Coveringhisfacewithhishandashelooksatmeandsays,“Protectmefromwho—you?”

I sigh, fighting to keep a straight face, though it’s kind of hard when he looks at me like that. His

browrisinginsuspicion,theflat-edgedtipofhisspoonbobbingupanddowninhismouth.“Protectyou
fromthelaw,”Ifinallysay,cringingathowdramaticthatsounds,eventhoughit’strue.

“O—kay…”Hedragsouttheword,eyessquintedasthoughseriouslyconsideringit.“Andjustwhat

brandofillegalarewetalkinghere?”Helooksmeover,clearlyhavingnointentionoflettingitgo’til
he’suncoveredeverylastdetail.“Larceny,bribery,usury,orsomeotherillegalactthatendswithay?”

Isighagain,longerandlouderthistime,butstill,intheendIjustshrugandsay,“Fine,ifyoumust

know,I’vegotalittleharmlessBandEIneedtotakecareof,okay?”

“Breaking and entering?” He tries not to gape but doesn’t really succeed. “But of the harmless

variety?”

Inod.Andshrug.Andmakeabigpointofrollingmyeyes.Clock’sticking,lunchisshrinking,bell’s

gonnaring,andifitwasn’tforthis,I’dbelonggonebynow.

Seeinghimlickhisspoonclean,tossitintothetrash,andrisefromhisseatashesays,“Wellthen,

countmein.”Istarttoprotest,buthe’llhavenoneofit.Hejustflasheshispalmandadds,“Anddon’t
eventrytostopme.I’mcoming,whetheryoulikeitornot.”

Ihesitate,hatingtheideaofinvolvinghiminthisbutalsothinkingitmightbenicetohavealittle

companyforachange.I’mtiredofplayingthesoloact.

Isquint,lookinghimoverasthoughI’mstillweighingmyoptions,eventhoughI’vealreadydecided

infavorofit.ShootingaquickglanceatHaven,makingsureshe’sstilloccupied,stillengrossedinher
own little world on Planet Haven, before I say, “Fine. But just act normal, okay? Act like you’re just
casually getting your stuff together because you know the bell’s gonna ring in exactly two and a half
secondsandyouwanttogettoclassontimeandthen—”

Thebellrings,interruptingmyspeechasMilesgapesatmeandsays,“Howdidyou—?”
But I just shake my head and motion for him to follow, warning him not to look anywhere near

Haven’stable,asIstealaquickglanceatDamen’s.

“And just remember, whatever happens, you asked for it,” I add, as we make our way through the

gate.

Aware of Damen’s heavy wondering, questioning gaze—having no idea that what I’m about to do,

well,ifI’msuccessfulanyway,couldchangeourlivesforever.

Forbetter.
Andifnot,ifIdon’tgetwhatI’mlookingfor,well,maybethatalonewillprovidetheanswerIseek.

“Now,thisiswhatI’mtalkin’‘bout.”Milesgrins,facepracticallyglowingwithexcitement.“Thisis

whatsenioryearissupposedtobelike.Youknow,ditchingclasses,playinghooky,havingfun,indulging
inalittleillegalactivity—”

I peer at him, making sure he’s all settled in before I punch the gas hard. There’s no need for

pretense,heknowsexactlywhatIam,whatI’mcapableof.Andafterafewmomentsofwhite-knuckle-
grippingsilencefromhim,we’rethere.

Oratleast,almostthere,sinceImakeapointtoparkhalfwaydownthestreet,justlikeIdidthelast

timeIwashere,figuringit’ssafer,ifnotsmarter,towalktherestoftheway.Noneedtoparkonthedrive
andannouncemyarrival.

“Lastchancetobackout.”Iglanceatmyfriend,whitefacedandpantingbesideme,strugglingtoget

hisequilibriumback.

“How can I back out?” he gasps, still catching his breath. “When I don’t even know what I’m

potentiallybackingoutof?”

“Roman’shouse,whichisnowHaven’shouse,isjustupthestreet.AndyouandIaregoingin.”
“We’rebreakingintoHaven’s?”Hegasps,finallystartingtogetthepotentialseriousnessofallthis.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”Ipushmysunglassesuponmyforehead.“AndI’malsoseriousaboutyoubackingout,

sincethere’sreallynogoodreasonforyoutotakepart.I’mperfectlyfinewithyouwaitingrighthere.You
canbemylookout.NotthatIthinkI’llneedone,butstill.”

ButbeforeIcanfinish,he’salreadyclimbingoutofthecar,alreadymadeuphismind.“Oh,no,you

arenottalkingmeoutofthis.”Heshakeshisheadinawaythatallowshishairtofloprightintohiseyes.
“If I’m ever up for a role as a cat burglar, or an art thief, or something like that, I can totally use this
experience.”Helaughs.

“Yeah, except it’s not exactly art that we’re after.” I motion for him to follow as I make for the

walkwaythatleadstothedoor.Glancingovermyshouldertoadd,“Andtrustme,itdoesn’treallyfeelall
thatmuchlikebreakingandenteringwhenyoujustwalkuptothefrontdoorandopenitwithyourmind.
Thoughtechnically,sinceweweren’texactlyinvited,thetermstillapplies.”

Hestopsinhistracks,faceexpressingmajordisappointment.“Wait—seriously?That’sit?Wedon’t

gettodoastealthytiptoeaswesliparoundback?Nosneakingthroughacrackedwindoworarguingover

whogetstocrawlthroughthedoggiedoortolettheotheronein?”

I pause, remembering the time I snuck into Damen’s house in much the same way, back in the

beginningwhenIwassoconfusedbyallofhisstrangewaysIwasdesperatetodeterminewhathewas—
onlytofindoutlaterthatI’mexactlylikehim.

“Sorry,Miles,butit’snotgonnabenearlyasexcitingasthat.It’sprettystraightforwardstuff.”Istand

before the door, seeing the lock retreat in my mind as I hold my breath and wait for the sound of that
telltaleclick—butitdoesn’tcome.

“That’sweird.”Ifrown,tryingthehandleformyselfandsurprisedwhenthedoorspringswideopen.

Thinking either Haven’s feeling ridiculously overconfident these days, leaving her house unlocked, or
we’renottheonlyoneshere…

I glance over my shoulder, motioning for Miles to stay quiet, to stay behind me, as I pause in the

threshold,takingamomentformyeyestoadjust,toscopeoutthespace,makingsureit’sallclearbeforeI
signalforMilestojoinme.

Butthemomenthestepsintothehall,thefloorcreakssoloudlythesoundseemstoblare.Prompting

us to freeze, instinctively holding our poses as we listen to the unmistakable sounds of glass breaking,
voiceswhispering,feetscrambling,andabackdoorslammingsoharditsendsthewallsshaking.

I bolt. Racing toward the kitchen, and reaching the window just in time to see Misa and Marco

makingtheirgetaway.Marcorunningsomewhatclumsilyashecradlesanunzippeddufflebagfilledwith
elixir,asMisafollowswithherownemptybagslunghighoverhershoulder.Turningjustlongenoughto
meet my gaze—holding the look until she breaks away, hops the fence behind Marco, and they both
disappeardownthealleyway.

“Whatthehell?”Milessays,finallycatchingupandcomingintotheroom.“Didyouseriouslyjust

moveasfastasIthinkyoudid?”

Iturn,takinginthejaggedshardsofglassscatteredallacrossthefloor,andthedeep,darkredliquid

thatracesacrossthetilesandseepsintothegrout.

“So,what’sthedeal?WhatdidImiss?”heasks,glancingbetweenthemessandme.
ButIjustshrug.Ihavenoideawhat’sgoingonhere.NoideawhyMisaandMarcowouldresortto

stealing the elixir. Why they were so panicked they actually broke a bottle. Not to mention why Misa
lookedsofrightenedtoseeme.

Onlyonethingisclear—theyweren’texactlyinvitedtohelpthemselvestothesupply.
Still,noneofthathasanythingtodowithusorourreasonforbeinghere.SoassoonasI’vecleaned

upthemesssimplybywishingittodisappear,IlookatMilesandsay,“So,whatwe’relookingforisa
shirt.Awhitelinenshirt.Withabiggreenstainonitsfront…”

chaptertwenty-three

Theweeksgoby,butnothingmuchchanges.JudecontinuestoavoidmeuntilIcometoadecision,

Damen continues to guard Stacia at school, Miles continues to guard my feelings regarding Damen
guardingStaciaatschool,andHavencontinuestoruletheschool,whileIcontinuetoremainonhighalert,
waitingforthemomentwhenshedecidestogoafterme.

Butthat’sjustonthesurface.
Becauseacloserlookrevealsmorethanafewcracksthatarestartingtoshow.
For one thing, there’s just no hiding the fact that Honor’s just as miserable being Haven’s number

twoasshewasbeingStacia’snumbertwo—maybeevenmoreso.

Foranother,whileIcan’tbetoosure,sinceit’snotlikeweactuallytalkoranything,butbytheway

StaciakeepsglancingattableAwithsuchdeterminationandlonging,well,it’sprettyclearshe’sgetting
sickofbeingprotectedbyaguywho’simmunetohercharmsandtrulyonlywantstoprotecther.

And as for Haven, after having hooked up with and discarded just about every guy who’s ever

snubbed her in the past, she’s clearly getting bored with the game. She’s also growing increasingly
annoyedwiththewayeveryonecopiesthevariouslookssheworkssohardtocreate,forcinghertoinvent
new,moreoutrageousonesthatultimatelygetcopiedtoo.

Iguessbeingthealphachickisn’tquitewhatshethoughtitwouldbe.Therealityisstartingtowear

thin,likeajobshedoesn’tparticularlyenjoyandwasn’treallyallthatqualifiedforinthefirstplace.

I can tell by the way she snaps at her supposed new friends, by the way she rolls her eyes

dramatically, heaves these big loud sighs, and sometimes even resorts to foot-stomping tantrums when
she’sreally,reallyfrustratedandwantsthemalltoknowit.

Lifeatthetopisdraggingherdown,andfromwhatIcantell,Honorisreallystartingtoresenther

beingthere,justlikeIpredictedshewould.

Yetit’salsoclearthatneitheroneofthemhasanyplantoforfeittheirpositions.Havenhastoomuch

toprove,andHonor,well,whileIhavenoideawhatlevelshemight’vereachedinhermagickskillsnow
thatJude’stakenabreakfromtutoringher,regardlessofwhatshe’smanagedtolearn,she’sstillnomatch
forHavenandthere’snodoubtsheknowsit.

AndeventhoughMilesandIdon’treallydiscussit,eventhoughIprettymuchjuststicktothesame

ol’, day in, day out, boring routine—of training in the morning, remaining vigilant at school, and then
training again before bed, only to get up and do it all over again—I know I’m not the only one who
notices.

Damenseesittoo.

I can tell by the way his gaze is always on me—following me wherever I go. He feels anxious,

worriedaboutme.

Worriedthatshe’sstartingtoloseit—thatshe’llblowwithoutwarninganddecidetocomeafterme.
WorriedthatI’llfailtoalerthimwhenithappens,eventhoughIpromisedIwould.
And he probably has good reason to worry. She’s strung out. Unruly. She’s a complete and total

wreck.

Likeabombonlysecondsfromdetonating.
Athreadthat’sthisclosetosnapping.
Andwhenithappens,I’llbethefirstonesheseeks.
OratleastIhopeit’sme.
BettermethanJude.

OnmywayhomefromschoolIstopbythestore.DespitethefactthatJudeaskedmetostayaway,

claiminghecan’tbeartohavemearounduntilImakeafirmdecisioneitherway.

Still,Iconvincemyselfit’smyduty—thatIhaveaseriousobligationtolookafterhimandmakesure

thathe’ssafeandokayandallthat.

ButwhenIcatchmyselfmanifestingacutenewdressandshoestogowithit,justbeforechecking

myhairandmakeupintherearviewmirror,Iknowthat’sonlypartofit.TheotherpartisIneedtosee
him.Needtoseeifbeingaroundhimwillsparksomethinginme.

SomethingIcanbuildon.
Somethingstrongandtangibleanddefinedenoughtosteermeintherightdirection.
I stop just outside the door, fussing with my clothes and my hair once again, before taking a deep

breathandgoingin.HalfexpectingtofindAvabehindthecounter,sinceit’ssuchawarmandbeautiful
day,IfigurethesirensongofallthatgoodsurfwillbeprettyhardforJudetoignore,butthrilledtofind
himrighttherebehindtheregisterinstead.Laughingandjokingasthoughhehasn’tacareintheworld,his
facerelaxed,hisauragreenandeasy,ashegoesaboutthebusinessofringingupacustomer.

Acutecustomer.
One whose blazing pink aura tells me she’s only partly there for the books that she’s buying and

mostlytheretoseeJude.

Ipause,wonderingifIshouldjustleaveandcomebacklater,whenthedoorclosesbehindme,the

bell clanks hard against it, and Jude looks past his customer to find me standing only a few feet away.
Prompting his eyes to darken, his smile to falter, as his aura grows wavy and dim—pretty much the
oppositeofhowhelookedwhenhewastalkingtoher.

Asthoughthemeresightofmeisenoughtosuckthejoyrightoutoftheroom.
He shoves her stuff in a bag and sends her on her way so hastily, so abruptly, she can’t help but

notice the change. Giving me a quick up and down, chased by an accusatory frown, she mumbles
something under her breath and makes her way past, while Jude busies himself behind the counter as
thoughI’mnotthere.

“Shelikesyou,”Isay,watchingashetakesanextralongtimetohandlehiscopyofthereceipt.
“Shelikesyouandshe’scute,”Iadd,gettingnomorethanagruntinreply.
“Shelikesyouandshe’scuteandshe’sgotgoodenergy,”Iinsist,urginghimtolookatmeasImake

mywaytowardhim.“Whichmakesmewonder,what’swrongwithyou?”

He stops. Stops with the fumbling, and the busy making, and the pretending I’m not standing right

thereinfrontofhimwhenwebothknowIam.

Stopswithallofthatandfinallylooksatmeandsays,“You.”Statingitsoopenly,sosimply,I’mnot

surewhattodo.“Youarewhat’swrongwithme.”Igazedownatmyfeet,unabletolookathim,feeling
foolishforcomingherelikethis,andbarelydaringabreathwhenheadds,“Isn’tthatwhatyouwantedto
hear?”

Inod,slightly,barely,becausehe’sright.ItiswhatIwantedtohear.It’sexactlywhyIcamehere.
He sinks down onto the stool, shoulders slumping as he buries his face in his hands. Rubbing his

eyes, the pads of his fingers digging in deep, before lifting his head and squinting at me when he says,
“Ever,what’sthisabout?Seriously?What’reyoudoinghere—whatdoyouwantfromme?”

Iswallowhard,knowingIowehimananswer,owehimthetruth—inbothofitsforms.Venturingto

dojustthatwhenIsay,“Well,firstofall,Iwantedtomakesureyou’reokay.Ihaven’tseenyouinawhile
and—”

“And—?”hesnaps,clearlyinnomoodforgames.
“And…Ijustreallywantedtoseeyou.Neededtoseeyou,Iguessyoucouldsay.”
“Youguess?”
His eyes rake over me, leaving me feeling raw, exposed, and weirdly traitorous toward Damen.

Still, I need something from him. I’m all out of options. I mean, I can’t find the shirt, the Great Hall
refuses to help me, the wish I made on my night star has yet to come true, and so far there’ve been no
omensorsignsofanykind—allofwhichhasledmerighthere,leftwithonlyonewayIcanthinkoftoget
tothebottomofit.

Awaythat’sonlybeenattemptedbutneveractuallycompleted.
Awaythatjustmightsteermetowardtherightone.
“Jude,”Istart,myvoicesoundingraw,unused.“Jude,I—”
Imovecloser,thinking:Thisisridiculous—thiswholethingisridiculous.
Imean,helovesme,andIknowIoncelovedhim,or,evenifitwasn’texactlylove,Iknowforafact

Ifeltsomethingforhim.Andmaybeakissisallit’lltaketorevealittome.JustlikewhenIfirstkissed
Damen,howwefeltsoconnected,sobonded,beforealltheothercruelrealitiesmovedin.

Imovearoundthecounterandreachforhishand,movingsoquicklybarelyamomentpassesbefore

myfingersarepressedagainsthisandasoothingrushofhiscool,calmenergystreamsthroughmylimbs.
Quietingmymind—causingmybodytosoftenandyield—watchingashisfaceveerscloser,gazeprobing,
burning,asmyfingerscurlaroundtheleantautnessofhisarm.

MyentirebeingflushedwithanticipationasIpullhimrighttome,waitingfortheswellofhislips

against mine, needing to experience this once and for all, needing to know just what it is we’ve been
missingthroughoutallofthesecenturies.

At first shocked by the feel of it, the unexpected coolness, the pillowy firmness of his kiss—so

oppositeDamen’sperfectblendoftingleandheat.Awareofthelowgroanescapinghisthroatashecups
thebackofmyheadandpressesmetohim.Hismouthpartingsoftly,histongueseekingmine,asthedoor
swings wide open, crashes hard against the wall, and sends the bell ringing and scattering across the
floor.

Weturn.
Joltedapartinsurprise.
Only to find Haven, looking dark, sinister, cruelly shadowed by the light at her back, blocking the

doorwayandglaringatus.

Herlipcurled,eyesnarrowed,ahandperchedoneachhipasshesays,“Wow.Wouldyoulookat

that?Thismustbemyluckyday.Twobirds,onestone,andneitheroneofyoustandingachance.”

chaptertwenty-four

I turn to Jude, urging him to run, hide, to do whatever it takes to get away from her. Knowing we

haveonlyasecond,twoatthemost,beforeshe’sonus—beforeit’stoolateforhimtogoanywhereelse.

ButeventhoughI’mnotatalljoking,eventhoughIshoothimalookthattellshimI’monehundred

percent serious—he stays right where he is. Planted behind the counter, planted right behind me.
Mistakenlythinkingourbrief,barely-therekisssomehowobligeshimtostickaroundandprotectme.

And I’m just about to repeat my request, when she’s already crossed the room, already standing

beforeuswild-eyed,crazed,wearinganout-of-controllookonherface.

ImovetocoverJude,seeingthewayshesmiles,slowlyrunningthetipofhertonguearoundtherim

ofherlipsasshepeersovermyshoulderandsays,“Doyourselfafavoranddon’tlistentoEver.You’re
much better off staying right where you are. You can never outrun me, no matter how hard you try.
Besides,you’redefinitelygonnaneedthatenergyforlater.”

Shetakesaquicksteptotheright,asthoughshe’splanningtoreachrightaroundmeandsnatchhim

away,butI’mquicktoblockher,myeyesnarrowedonhers,remindedofourunfortunateencounterinthe
school bathroom—when she controlled me—pinned me up against the wall—against my will—and
knowingthatifI’mbarelyamatchforher,thenJudewillneversurviveit.

“Sorrytointerruptyourlittlemake-outsession.”Shelaughs,herred-rimmedeyesdartingbetween

us.“Ihadnoideayoutwohaddecidedtotakeitinthatdirection.”Shereachestowardme,prickingmy
shoulderwiththesharpedgeofherlong,blue-paintednailbeforepullingaway.Thecold,bitterchillof
herenergystinging,lingering,thoughthere’snomistakingtheeffortittooktokeepthehandtremblingtoa
minimum.

She cocks her head to the side, grabs a chunk of hair that spills over her shoulder, and twirls it

aroundandaroundherraisedindexfinger.HergazefocusedsolelyonJudewhenshesays,“Beforeyou
gettoooverlyexcitedabouthavingmadeittofirstbase,youshouldprobablyknowthattheonlyreason
Ever’sallowedyoutoevengetthatfarisbecauseDamen’sabandonedherforStacia.Again.”Sheshakes
herheadandpursesherlips,eyesdartingbetweenhimandme.“And,well,Iguessshe’sjustlookingfor
someonetofallbackon.Youknow,sotospeak.”

IstealaquickglanceatJude,hopinghe’snotreallylisteningtothis,nottakingherseriously,buthis

gazeissoclouded,soconflicted,it’snearlyimpossibletoread.

“Don’tyouevergettiredofit?”Sheabandonsthehairtwirlinginordertoadmirethestacksofrings

shewearsoneachfinger.“Youknow,ofEver’sconstantlyusingyouasashouldertocryon,usingyouto
doherdirtyworkforher?Imean,seriously,whenyouthinkaboutit,akissislike,well,prettymuchthe

least she can do when she’s the number one reason why your life is destined to come to such a tragic,
untimelyend.”

But even though she’s prepared to go on and on, dragging this out for as long as she pleases, I’ve

heard enough. Jude’s heard enough. And I don’t want him to get distracted by her or, worse, start to
believeher.

“Whatdoyouwant?”Isteadymybreath,centermyself,andprepareforwhateveritissheplansto

dishout.

“Oh,Ithinkyouknow.”Hereyesflashwithirisesthatwereonceabeautiful,tortoiseshellswirlof

bronzesandgoldsbutarenowdark,ominous,gloomy,andmottledwithred.“IthinkI’vebeenquiteclear
aboutthat.”Shesmirks.“ButwhatIcan’tdecideiswhotokillfirst?Somaybeyoucanhelpmeouthere,
whichwouldyouprefer—youorJude?”

I hold her gaze, doing what I can to temper and soothe Jude’s increasingly agitated energy, while

keepingherattentionandthebruntofherangerdirectedatme.“So,thisisit?”MybrowliftsasIglance
all around. “Your big plan, the big scary move you’ve been threatening to make for—what’s it been—
weeks, months?” I lift my shoulders as though it’s hardly worth remembering. “Is actually going to go
down in a quaint little neighborhood bookstore?” I shake my head as though I couldn’t be more
disappointed by her mundane choice of venues. “I gotta tell ya, Haven, I’m a little surprised. I mean, I
really would’ve thought you’d go for something with way more drama and flair. You know, some big,
boldmoveinanovercrowdedmallorsomething.But,thenagain,youarelookingalittle—whatwasthat
wordRomanusedtouse?”InarrowmylidsasthoughI’mactuallytryingtoremember,makingashowof
slappingmyforeheadwhenIsay,“Oh,that’sright—peckish.You’relookingalittlepeckishthesedays.”
Mygazemeetshers.“Youknow,strung-out,tired,alittle—edgy—even.Likeyou’redesperatelyinneed
ofagoodmeal—and,well,yeah,maybeevenahug.”

Shescowls,scowlsandrollshereyes.Takinganunsteadysteptowardmewhenshesays,“Oh,I’ve

hadlotsofhugslately—don’tyouworryaboutthat.AndifIfindmyselfinneedofanother,Icanalways
getonefromJudehere.”Sheleersathim,herfacesocreepy,hergazesopredatory,Icanfeelhisenergy
contractfrombehindme.“Oh,andasforthelackofdramaandflair,don’tyouworry,Ever,therewillbe
plentyofthat.Besides,it’snotthestagethatmattersbutthescenethatplaysuponit.AndeventhoughI’m
notabouttorevealanyplotspoilers,because,let’sfaceit,it’sgonnabewaymorefuntosurpriseyou,
let’sjustsaythatintheend,I’mdefinitelygoingtomakeyoupayforallofthehorriblethingsthatyou’ve
donetome,includingyourlatest—”

Isquint,havingnoideawhatshe’sgettingat.
Butshejustfrownsandsays,“Um,duh.YouthinkIdon’tknowitwasyouwhobrokeintomyhouse

andstolemyelixir?”

Igazeather,shockedthatshe’deventhinkitwasme.
“YouthinkIdon’tkeeptrackofmysupply?”Hervoicerisesinoutrage.“YouthinkIwouldn’tnotice

anearlyemptyfridge?YouthinkI’manidiot?”Sheshakesherhead.“It’sprettyobviouswhyyoudidit.
It’s the only way you think you can be equal to me. But news flash, Ever, you will never be equal me.
Never.Anddrinkingmyelixirwon’tchangethat.”

“WhywouldIwantyourelixirwhenIalreadyhavemyown?”Isquint,awareofJudestillbehind

me, aware of the way his muscles tense and his energy wavers, two very bad signs that he’s planning
somethingfoolishthatIcan’tlethimgothroughwith.

Ipushbackagainsthim,tryingtokeepHavenfromnoticingwhilestillusingenoughforcethathe’ll

hopefullygetthemessagetojustlielowandletmehandlethis.

“Faceit,Ever.”Hereyesmoveovermineasherlimbsbegintoshake.“Mineisbetter,stronger,and

far,farsuperiortoyours.Butitstillwon’thelpyou,nomatterhowmuchyoudrink,you’llnevermatch
me.”

“WhywouldIwantto,whenit’sturnedyouintothis?”Myvoiceisscornful,scathing.“Seriously,

Haven,justlookatyourself.”Imotiontowardherbloodshoteyes,twitchyfingers,andscarypaleface.
Drawing a line with my finger all the way down her skinny, shrunken form and back up again. And
suddenly,afterIreallydolookather,IrealizeIcan’tdothisanymore.Can’tkeepthisupnomatterwhat
she’sthreatenedtodo.

ThisisHaven.
MyoldfriendHaven.
TheoneIusedtohangoutwith,laughwith.TheonlyonebesidesMileswhowaswillingtoletme

sitwithheronmyveryfirstday.

She’sclearlyintrouble,clearlyneedshelp,andit’suptometotrytoreachher,tohelpher,totryto

dissuadeherfromwhatshe’sabouttodobeforeit’stoolateandIloseherforever.

“Haven,please.”Iliftmypalmsbeforeme,softeningmytonealongwithmygaze.Wantingtomake

it clear that I’m switching gears, that I’m sincere, that I mean no harm here. “It doesn’t need to be this
way.Youdon’thavetodothis.Wecanstoprighthere,rightnow.Whatyou’replanningtodowillonly
takeaterribletragedyandmakeitevenworse.Soplease,please,atleastthinkaboutthat.”

Itakeadeepbreath,fillingmyselfwithallthelightIcanholdbeforeexhalingslowlyandsendingit

toher.Cocooningherinsoft,soothingwavesofgreenhealingenergy,watchingasithovers,attemptingto
penetrate,onlytobouncerightback—repelledbyherhate-filled,rage-fueledexterior.

“It’s not too late to call a truce,” I say, keeping my voice low, steady, as though talking her down

fromtheledge,andhopingit’llworktocalmJudeaswell—keephimfromgoingforwardwithwhatever
crazy suicidal act he has planned. “You’re not looking so good. You’ve lost all control. Take it from
someonewho’sbeenthere,itdoesn’thavetobelikethis,there’sawayout,andI’dreallyliketohelpyou
findit,ifyou’llletme.”

But despite my calm, soothing words, she laughs in my face. The sound harsh, abrasive, her gaze

dancingcrazily,unabletoholdstill,holdittogether,whenshesays,“You?Helpme?Please.”Sherolls
hereyesandbobsherheadfromsidetoside.“Sincewhenhaveyoueverhelpedme?Allyoueverdois
takefromme.Overandoveragain.Buthelpme?Yeah,right.You’vegottobejoking.”

“Fine.” I shrug, determined to get past her words, to get through to her, to stop her from self-

destructing.“Ifyoufeelyoucan’ttrustme,thenletsomeoneelsehelpyou.Youstillhaveafamily,you
know. You still have friends. Real friends. People who care about you, unlike the ones you’ve
manipulatedintobeingyourfriends.”

Shelooksatme,blinkingrapidly,swayingfromsidetosideeversoslightly.Thrustingherhanddeep

intoherbag,fumblingforherelixirbutfindingonlyagrowingsupplyofempty,drainedbottlesshetosses
allaroundher.

And I know I have to hurry, hurry up and get to it. We don’t have much time, she’ll erupt at any

second.MywordsarerushedwhenIsay,“HowaboutMiles—he’dbemorethanwillingtohelpyou.And
your little brother, Austin, he totally looks up to you, he depends on you. Heck, I bet even Josh is still
crazyaboutyou.Didn’tyoutellmeheevenwroteyouasonginanattempttowinyouback?Whichmeans
Iseriouslydoubthe’soveryouyet.I’msurehe’dbethereinaheartbeatifyoucalledhim.And—”Istart
to mention her parents, but I stop just as quickly. They’ve never really been there for her, and that’s a
prettygoodpartofthereasonwhywefindourselveshere.

ButIhesitatefortoolong,longenoughforhertoglareatmeandsay,“Andwho,Ever?Whoareyou

gonna add to that list? The housekeeper?” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Sorry, but it’s way

pastallthat.YourobbedmeoftheoneandonlypersonIevertrulycaredabout,theoneandonlyperson
whotrulycaredback.Andnowyou’regoingtopayforthat.Bothofyouaregoingtopayforthat.Because
makenomistake,neitheroneofyouwillbeleavinghereinanythingotherthanabodybag!Or,inyour
case,Ever,adustbin.”

“It won’t bring him back.” But the words come too late. I’ve lost her. She’s gone. No longer

listening.Havingalreadydrifteddeepintothedarkestrecessesofherowntroubledmind.

Icantellbythewayhergazegoeshazy,bythewayherwholebodystillsasshetunesintothered-

hotrageflamingwithin.

Icantellbythewaythewallsstarttoshake.
Bythewaythebooksbegintofallfromtheshelves.
By the way a flock of angel figurines soar through the room and crash into the walls before

splinteringtowardtheground.

There’snogettingthroughtoher.
Noturningback.
Shestandsbeforeme,eyesblazing,hairlifting,asherentirebodytrembleswithfury.Fistsclenched

tightlyassherisesupontohertoesandreachesforJude.

SoIstarttosay:Run!
Starttosay:Maketheportalandgettheheckoutofhere!
ButbeforeIcangettothewordshe’salreadyleapedoutfrombehindme.
Alreadychargedher.
Alreadyfoolishlygoneaheadwithhisplantoprotectmeattheexpenseofhimself.
AndasIreachforhim,desperatetostophimfromgoinganyfurther,Havenreachesforme.
Snapping the amulet right off my neck, her face contorted, eyes burning bright, as she smiles and

says,“So,Ever,howyougonnadefendyourselfnow?”

chaptertwenty-five

She dangles the amulet before me, the crystals glinting, taunting, leaving me vulnerable, exposed,

defenseless,andbare.Tossingtheamuletoverhershoulderasthesickeningshrillofherlaughterechoes
throughtheroom.

Judeclamors,handsandfeetgrasping,attheready,buthe’snomatchforher.Withbarelyaflickof

herwrist,she’sshovedhimaside,payingnonoticeashefliesacrossthestoreandcrashesstraightinto
thewall.

Payingnonoticetothehorriblesoundofbonessnappingandpoppingashecrumblestothefloorina

sadbrokenheap.

ButasmuchasIlongtoruntohissidetoseeifhe’sokay,Idon’tdoit.Can’tdoit.That’llonlylead

her to follow, and I can’t afford to let her get anywhere near him. For his safety, I need to keep her
focusedonme.

Still,Ishoothimalook,mentallyurginghimtomaketheportal,tohurryupanddoitwhilehestill

can,hopinghecansomehowhearme.Unabletotellifhisrefusaltocomplyisduetotheseverityofhis
injuries,thegruesomemaskofagonyhewearsonhisface,thetrickleofbloodthatflowsfromhismouth,
orthefactthatherefusestoleavemewithher,determinedtobethereforme,nomatterthecosttohim.

She moves toward me, striving for slow and intimidating but nailing unsteady and shaky instead.

Which,truthbetold,isfarmorenerve-wrackingthanifshemovedwithpurpose.Makingitimpossibleto
readherenergy,toguesswhatshe’lldonext,whenshedoesn’tevenknowyetherself.

Shetakesaswing,herfistrising,arcing,’tilitcentersonme.ButIduckjustasquickly,movingright

outfromunderitasImakefortheothersideoftheroom.Promptinghertoturnandgoaftermeagain,
tonguelodgedagainsttheinsideofhercheek,herrage-fueledenergygrowingandexpandinginawaythat
causesthelightstoflicker,thefloortobuckle,andalltheglassfixtures,includingthecounter,toshatter
andsplinter.

Followingmecleartotheothersideoftheroomasshesays,“Nicetry,Ever.Buttrustme,you’re

onlydelayingtheinevitable.Everytimeyouevademe,youjustmakeitmorefun.Still,I’minnohurry,I
canplaythisalldayifyouwant.Butyoushouldknowthatthelongeryoudragthisout,thelongerhe”—
shehitchesherthumboverhershoulderinthegeneraldirectionofwhereJudeliesinabarely-breathing
heap—“well,thelongerhe’llsuffer.”

Myteethgrindtogether,asIpressmylipstightly.I’mdonetryingtoreasonwithher.IdidallIcould.

Andnowit’stimetoputmytrainingtouse.

Shechargesmeagain,butshe’ssooffbalance,Ijuststeptothesideattheverylastmoment,causing

hertocrashintoaCDdisplayinawaythatsendsherskitteringacrossthefloorrightalongwiththem.
Landinghardonapileofjaggedshardsofglassshebrokeearlier,causingasprayofbloodtospatterthe
wallsastheyslicedeeplyintoher.

Butshejustlaughsandrollsontoherback,takingamomenttopluckthepiecesfromhertornflesh,

hereyesglintingasshewatchesthecutsmend,picksherselfup,brushesherselfoff,andfacesmeagain.

“Howdoesitfeeltoknowyou’regonnadiesoon?”sheasks,hervoiceraspy,ragged,revealingthe

effectsofherefforts.

ButIjustlookather,shouldersliftingasIsay,“Idon’tknow.Youtellme.”
Imovebackjustalittle,realizingtoolateI’mpressedupagainstthewall—notreallythebestplace

tobewhenIneedtokeepmyselfopen,unencumbered,withplentyofroomforescape.Still,Ionlyplan
onbeinghereforamoment,onlyuntilIcangettotheothersidewheremyamuletwaits.AssoonasIcan
getholdofit,I’llsecureitbackonmyneck,anddowhatittakestoputthiswholethingtorest.

She stands before me, arms loose, fingers twitching, feet planted wide, and knees slightly bent—

preparingtomove,preparingtopounce.

Iusethemomenttostudyherclosely,getafeelforherenergy,andtrytodeterminewhichwayshe’ll

swing.Butshe’ssooutofwhack,sodisconnectedfromherselfandfromeverythingelse,it’sliketryingto
seethroughacloudofstatic—she’simpossibletoread.

Sowhenshedoescharge,herfistheldhigh,anglingdowntowardmystomach,Iinstantlymoveto

blockit.

Neveronceimaginingshe’dswitchattheverylastmoment.
Neveronceimaginingthatanyonesostrungoutandunsteadycouldactuallymaneuverlikethat.
Catchingthecrazedlookoftriumphinhereyesasherfistplungesstraightintomythroat.
Slammingrightintothesweetspot—myfifthchakra—thecenterforalackofdiscernment,misuseof

information,andtrustingallthewrongpeople.

Nailingitsohardandfast,it’samomentbeforeIrealizewhathappened.
AmomentbeforeI’movercomewithstaggeringpain.
AmomentbeforeI’moutofmybody,floating,swirling,gazingdownatHaven’sleeringgaze,Jude’s

collapsed form, and the beautiful but fleeting cloud of blue sky that expands all around me—before
everythingshrinks,andcollapses,andthewholeworldgoesblack.

chaptertwenty-six

Youknowhowtheysaythatwhenyoudieyourwholelifeflashesbeforeyou?
Well,it’strue.
That’sexactlywhathappenstome.
Notthefirsttimethough.ThefirsttimeIdiedIwentstraighttoSummerland.
Butthistime,thistimeisdifferent.
ThistimeIseeeverything.
Everymajor,definingmomentfrommymostcurrentlife,aswellasalltheothersthatcameandwent

beforeit.

The images swirling around me as I free-fall through a solid dark space devoid of all light,

overcome by a feeling both terrifying and familiar, as I struggle to remember when I could’ve possibly
experienceditbefore.

Andthenithitsme:
TheShadowland.
Thehomeforlostsouls.
Theeternalabyssforimmortalslikeme.
That’sexactlywhereI’mheaded,andit’sjustlikeitwaswhenIexperienceditthroughDamen.
Exceptfortheshow.
Thatparthefailedtoletmesee.
Thoughit’snotlongbeforeIknowwhy.
KnowwhyhewassohauntedafterhisowntriptotheShadowland.
Whyhecamebacksodifferent,sohumbledandchanged.
Plummetingsoquickly,I’mbuffetedbyasortofreversegravity,feelingasthoughmygut’saboutto

burstthroughmyshouldersandhead,astheimagesunfoldallaroundme.

Atfirstcominginglimpses,mereflashesofmyselfinallofmyformerlifeguises,butasIgrowused

tothesensation,accustomedtothemovementandspeed,Ilearntotemperit,toslowitdown,tofocus.
Takingtheminoneatatimeastheycontinuetostreampastme.

Clean.
Unedited.
IncludingallofthepartsDamendidn’twantmetosee.
Starting at the beginning, my first life in Paris, back when I was a poor, orphaned servant named

Evaline, and wincing as I watch some of the more unsavory tasks I was made to perform—the kind of

stomach-curling stuff Damen definitely spared me from. Everything unfolding just as he’d told me all
along,untilInoticeJudewholivedasacute,youngstableboywithalean,muscularbuild,sandyblond
hair, and piercing brown gaze. And I watch as we begin to dance around each other, starting slowly, a
lookhere,abriefwordthere,untilwegrowmorecomfortableandbegintoseriouslyconsidereachother
—makeseriouspromisestoeachother.PromisesIfullyintendtokeepuntilDamenappearsandsweeps
merightoffmyfeet.

Sureheusedabitoftrickery,summoningallofhisimmortalcharmsandputtingthemtogooduse.

Alwaysmanagingtoshowupatjusttherighttime,injusttherightplace.Alwaysmanagingtoimpressme
insomebigandshowyspectacularway.Butstill,it’snotlikeanyofthatwasreallynecessary,because
the truth, the truth that I couldn’t see clearly until now, is that it wasn’t the magick that enabled him to
capturemyheart—magickhadabsolutelynothingtodowithit.

Damenwonmeoverfromtheveryfirstmoment.Fromourveryfirstglance.
DamenwonmeoverlongbeforeIevenknewwhohewasorjustexactlywhathewascapableof.
Hispowersofattraction,thereasonIfellforhimsoquicklywasn’tbecauseofthemagick—itwas

becauseDamenwasjustsimplybeing,well,Damen.

After watching our entire courtship together—scenes we’ve relived in Summerland, and those we

havenot—includingmyhorribledeathatDrina’shands—Imoveontomynextlife.BackwhenIwasa
Puritanwithastrictfather,along-deadmother,awardrobeconsistingofthreedrabdresses,andaneven
drabberexistence.Theonlybrightspotontheentirehorizonofmyboringlifebeingafellowparishioner
with dark shaggy hair, a generous smile, and kind eyes I instantly recognize as belonging to Jude—a
parishionermyfatherapprovesof,pushesmetoward,untilthedayIspotDamensittinginapewandmy
wholeworld,myentirefuture,isturnedupsidedown.Andit’snotlongaftermeetinghim,notlongafter
gettingtoknowhim,whenIpromisetoabandonmylifeofhumbleobedienceforhisfarmoreglamorous
one.Until,ofcourse,Drinabringsittoanuntimelyend.

Drinaalwaysbroughtittoanuntimelyend.
Leavingmyfatherdevastated,Judeshell-shocked,andDamentoscourtheearthplaneinaprolonged

stateofgrief,waitingformysoultorecyclesowecanreuniteonceagain.

I watch my other lives as well, watch as my soul merges into the body of a well-coddled and

extremelypamperedbabywhowillgrowuptobeafrivolous,spoileddaughterofawealthylandbaron.
CarelesslycastingasideJude,aBritishearleveryoneassumesI’llmarry,infavorofatall,darkstranger
whoarrivedseeminglyoutofnowhere.Thoughonceagain,thankstoDrina,mylifeendstragicallybefore
Ihaveachancetomakethechoicepublic,butmyheartknowsthescore.

ThenontoAmsterdamwhereIlivedasthebeautiful,sultry,alluringartist’smusewiththeamazing

maneoflongtitianhair.FlirtingwithJude,justlikeI’vedonewithsomanywhocameandwentbefore
him,untilDamenarrivesandstealsmyattention.

Notbyresortingtoanysortoftrickery,noovertmagickactswereused.Hewonmesimplybybeing

whoheis.Nomore,noless.FromthemomentIfirstlaideyesuponhim,nooneelsestoodachance.

ButthelifeI’mmostinterestedinisthelifethat’srevealedlast.
MySouthernlife.
BackwhenIlivedandworkedasaslave.
BackwhenDamenfreedmeattheexpenseofmyhappiness.
Watchingthatwholemiserablelifetimeunfold,fromachildhoodthatneverreallywas,totheonly

brightspotinthatentireexistence—abriefkissfromJude.

The two of us slinking off to meet behind the barn just as the sun begins to fall. Unsure what’s

causingmyhearttofluttermore—theexcitementofwhatIhopewillbemyfirstkissorthefearofbeing

caughtsneakingoffthejob.Knowingthepenaltyforsuchanactwillbeaseverebeating—orworse.

Butstill,determinedtokeepmypromisetomeethim,I’movercomewithararefeelingofjoy,an

unexpectedsurgeofhappiness,whenIseethathe’salreadythere.

Hesmilesawkwardly,andInodinreturn,suddenlyovercomebyanextremeboutofshyness,afear

of appearing overeager. Though it’s not long before I notice the way his hands shake, the way his eyes
dart,andIknowI’mnottheonlyonefeelingthisway.

Weexchangeafewpleasantries,thekindofautomaticwordsneitherofuspaysanyrealattentionto.

ThenjustwhenI’mthinkingI’vebeengonefortoolong,thatI’llhavenochoicebuttoheadbackbefore
myabsenceisnoticed,hedoesit.

Heleanstowardme,hislargebrowneyespeeringatmewithsuchloveandkindnessitrobsmeof

breath.Thenheclosesthemsoftly,leavingmewithaviewofcurlydarklashesrestingagainstglossydark
skin, and a pair of enticing lips moving toward mine. The cool sweet press of his mouth so soft and
familiar,itcausesawonderfulwaveofcalmtoflowthroughmybody.

Evenafterit’sover,evenafterIpushhimaway,turnonmyheel,liftmyskirts,andrunbacktoward

thehouse—thekisslingers.

The taste and feel of it continuing to play, as I silently repeat the whispered promise we made to

meetuptheverynextday,sametimeandplace.

Butjustafewhoursbeforethat’sscheduledtohappen,Damenappears.
Seemingly arriving out of nowhere, just like he has in all of my previous lives, only this time he

sparesnotimeforaprolongedcourtship,orevenafewpleasantriesofanykind,hisintentionsarefartoo
urgentforthat.

He’s determined to buy me. To free me from a painfully harsh life of brutality and servitude, in

exchange for one so opulent, and so privileged, and so opposite of everything that I’m used to, I’m
convincedthathe’slying,thatit’satrick,thatthere’snowayitcouldpossiblybetrue.

SosurethatmylifehasjusttakensuchamajorturnfortheworsethatIcryoutformymother,my

father,strainmyfingerstowardJude’s—wantinghimtoholdme,protectme,notletmegotowhereverit
isI’maboutto.ConvincedI’mbeingrippedawayfromtheonlyformofhappinessIevercouldknowfor
somethingfarworse,I’mterrified,caughtinastateofoverwhelmingturmoilandfear.Deeplysuspicious
of this new, soft-spoken master who whispers to me gently, who treats me respectfully, and who gazes
uponmewiththekindofreverenceI’veneverknownbefore,thatI’msureisn’treal.

Carefullysettingmeupinmyveryownroom,inmyveryownwingofahousefarbiggerandfancier

thantheoneIwasmadetoclean.Facedwithnotaskmoredemandingthansleeping,eating,dressing,and
dreaming,withnothreatofdemeaningchoresorpainfulbeatings.

Hegetsmesettledin,pointingoutthefeaturesofmyquarters—myownprivatebath,acanopiedbed,

a wardrobe full of beautiful dresses, a vanity lined with the finest imported creams and perfumes and
silver-handledbrushes—tellingmetotakeallthetimethatIneed,thatsupperwillholduntilwhenever
I’mready.

OurfirstmealtogetherspentinabsolutesilenceasItaketheseatjustoppositehim,dressedinthe

finestgownIeverhaveseen.Focusingonthesoftfeelofthefabric,thewayiteasesagainstmysubtly
scented skin, as I pick at my food and he sips his red drink. Staring off into the distance, occasionally
peeringatmewhenhethinksIdon’tnotice,butmostlydistractedbythethoughtsinhishead.Hisbrow
furrowed,hismouthgrim,hisgazetelling,heavy,andjustconflictedenoughtotellmehe’sstrugglingwith
something,somekindofchoicehemustmake.

AndthoughIwaitfortheothershoetodrop,itnevercomesclose.Isimplyfinishmymeal,bidhim

goodnight,andreturntoaroomthat’swarmedbyawell-tendedfireandthefinestcottonsheets.

Waking early the next morning and rushing to the window just in time to see him riding off on his

horse,myeyesfollowinganxiously,surethatthisisit,thathe’sbroughtmeallthiswayonlytoabandon
metosomeonewhowillfindmeandbeatme’tilmydeathinsomekindofsick,twistedgame.

ButitturnsoutI’mwrong,hereturnsthatverysameevening.Andthoughhesmileswhenhegreets

me,hiseyesbetrayatragicstoryofdevastatingdefeat.

TornbetweentellingmethetruthandnotwantingtoupsetmeorscaremeanymorethanIalready

am, he decides to keep the news to himself, to bury the awful truth he just learned, figuring there’s no
reasonformetoeverknow,itwon’tdomeanygood.

ButeventhoughIneverlearnedthetruthinthatlife,Shadowlandgenerouslyrevealseverythingthat

hefailedto.

Showingmeexactlywhathappenedwhenherodeoffthatday,wherehewent,whohesaw,whohe

spoketo,thewholesordidscene.

He returned to the plantation, fully intent on buying my mother, my father, Jude, and all the rest of

themandbringingthembacktothehousetoenjoytheirfreedom,offeringanexorbitantamountofmoney,a
sumcompletelyunheardofevenamongtheveryrichinthoseparts,onlytohaveitrefused.Takingnotime
toconsiderit,beforehewasquicklysentaway.Soeagertoberidofhim,aforemanwassenttoescort
himofftheproperty.

Aforemanwho,Icantellatfirstglance,isn’tatallwhatheseems.
It’sinthewayhemoves,thewayhelivesinhisskin—overconfident,overlyperfect,ineverysingle

way.

He’sanimmortal.
Though not the good kind—not Damen’s kind—he’s a rogue. Long before Damen even realized

Romanstillexisted,thathe’dmadehisownelixirandwasfreelyturningpeople.Still,Icanseebythe
worriedlookinhiseyesthathesensesittoo.

Notwantingtocauseanyproblems,notwantingtomakeasceneormakeitanyworseformyfamily

or Jude, Damen leaves. Tuning in to my fear at being alone in the mansion, he’s eager to comfort me,
whilevowingtorevisittheplantationlater,underthecoverofnight,whenheplanstosneakthemallout.

Havingnowayofknowingit’llbetoolatebythen.
Having no way to see what I see—Roman lurking in the background while the master’s away,

runningtheentireshow,sightunseen.

Havingnowayofknowingthatthefirewaspurposelysetlongafterheleft,whenitwasalreadyfar

toolatetostopit,fartoolatetorescueanyone.

Therestofthestoryunfoldingjustashesaid—hetakesmetoEurope,proceedingslowly,cautiously,

allowingmeallthetimeandspacethatIneeduntilIeventuallylearntotrusthim—tolovehim—tofind
true,butfleeting,happinesswithhim.

UntilDrinafindsoutandquicklydoesawaywithme.
Andsuddenly,I’mawareofwhatIshould’veknownallalong:
Damen’sTheOne.
Alwayshasbeen.
Alwayswillbe.
AfactmadeevenclearerasIrelivethescenesfrommymostcurrentlife.
Watchingashefindsmybodybythesideoftheroad,justaftertheaccident.Notjustwitnessingbut

alsofeeling,experiencingthefullimpactofhisgriefathavinglostmeyetagain.Hispainbecomingmy
pain, the full brunt of his sorrow leaving me gasping, as he begs for guidance, as he grapples with the
choiceofwhetherornotheshouldturnmelikehim.

Completely consumed by his gut-wrenching loss, the day I shout at him, reject him, tell him to go

away,toleavemealone,toneverspeaktomeagain,justmomentsafterhe’sfinallyfoundthecourageto
revealwhathemademe—whatIam.

Experiencing the full force of his confusion when he found himself under Roman’s spell. His

numbness, his inability to control his own actions, his own words, everything carefully orchestrated by
Romanwhomanipulatedhimintobeingcruel,intohurtingme,buteventhoughIalreadyguessedit,here
intheShadowlandIcanfeelit,andIknow,nowmorethanever,thatnomatterwhathesaidordid,his
heartwasn’tinit.

Hewasjustgoingthroughthepreprogrammedmotions,hisbodyandminddancingtoRoman’stune,

whilehisheart,refusingtobecontrolled,neveroncestrayedfrommine.

EvenwhenheleavesmetochoosebetweenhimandJude,helovesmeasmuchaseverbefore.So

muchthathe’sunsureifhecanactuallywithstandthepainoflosingmeagain,andyethe’ssoconvincedof
hisactions,soconvincedhe’sdoingtherightandnoblething,he’sfullypreparedtolosemeifthat’swhat
Ichoose.

I watch how he spends those days without me, feeling lost and lonely and bleak. Haunted by the

scenesfromhispast,surethathedeservesnothingless,andthoughhe’sclearlyovercomewithjoywhenI
return,deepdowninside,he’snotentirelysurehedeservesit.

IfeelthefearheheldincheckwhenIwastakenoverbythedarkmagickIbroughtuponmyself—just

asIfeelhiseagernesstoforgivemeforallofthethingsthatIdidwhileunderitsinfluence.

Experiencinghisloveinsuchadeeplyprofoundway,I’mleftcompletelyhollowedandhumbledby

thesheerabundanceofit—bythewayitneveronceshrankinitsintensity,neveroncewaveredthroughout
allofthesepassingcenturies,throughoutthispasttumultuousyear.

Humbled by the way he never once questioned his feelings for me in the way that I’ve questioned

mineforhim.

And yet, despite my occasionally turning him away—I now know something I failed to realize

before:

Myloveforhimalsostayedtrue.
Imayhavequestioned,second-guessed,veeredagoodwaysfromthepathnowandthen,butallof

thatconfusionexistedonlyinmyhead.

Deepdowninside,myheartknewthescore.
AndIknownowthatHavenwaswrong.
It’snotalwaysacaseofonelovingmorethantheother.
Whentwopeoplearetrulymeanttobe,theyloveequally.
Differently—butstillequally.
Theironybeing—nowthatIrealizeallofthis,finallyrealizethetruthofhimandme,I’mforcedto

spendtherestofeternitysuspendedintheabyss,reflectingonallthatImissed.

Swathedinanever-endingcloakofdarkness,completelydisconnectedfromanythingandeverything

around me. Haunted by the mistakes of my past that forever swirl by. Like an infinite show set on
permanentrepeat,tauntingmewithallthatIcould’vebeen,ifI’donlychosendifferently.

IfonlyI’dfollowedmyheartinsteadofmyhead.
Onethingmadeabundantly,blindinglyclear—whileit’struethatJude’salwaysbeenthere,always

beenkindandgivingandlovingtowardme—Damen’smyoneandonlytruesoulmate.

Iopenmymouth,desperatetoshoutouthisname,desperateforthefeelofitonmylips,mytongue,

hopingtoreachhiminsomeway.

Butnothingcomes.

Andevenifitdid,there’snoonetohearme.
Thisisit.
Myeternity.
Disconnected.
Dark.
RepeatedlytormentedbyapastIcan’tchange.
AwarethatDrinaisouttheresomewhere.Romantoo.Eachofustrappedinourownversionofhell

withnowaytoreacheachother,withnoendinsight.

SoIdotheonlythingthatIcan—Iclosemyeyesandsurrender.Thinkingthatifnothingelse,atleast

nowIknow.

AtleastIfoundtheanswerIsoughtforsolong.
Soundlesslywhisperingintothevoid,mylipsmovingquickly,silently,withoutceasing.Callinghis

name,callinghimtome.

Eventhoughthere’snouse.
Eventhoughit’sfutile.
Eventhoughit’swaypasttoolate.

chaptertwenty-seven

Thesoundofhisvoicefloatsoverme,throughme,allaroundme.Likeavagueanddistanthumthat

crossesoceans,continents,andgalaxiestoreachme.

ButIcan’treply,can’trespondinanyway.It’suseless.Unreal.
Atrickofthemind.
AShadowlandjeer.
NoonecanreachmenowthatI’mhere.
My name a plea on his lips when he says, “Ever, baby, open your eyes and look at me—please.”

Wordssofamiliar,I’msureI’veheardthembefore.

Andjustlikebefore,Istruggletomeetthem.Slowlyliftingmylidstofindhimgazingatme.Brow

slantedwithreliefasthosedeepdarkeyesboreanxiouslyintomine.

Butit’snotreal.It’sagameofsomekind.ShadowlandisacruelandlonelyplaceandIcan’tafford

tobuyintothis.

Hisarmsslidearoundme,surroundingme,cradlingme,andIallowmyselftoacceptit,tosinkinto

theirdepths,becausewhileitmaynotbereal,it’sjusttoogoodtoresist.

Itryonceagain,strugglingtocallouthisname,buthepresseshisfingertomylips,pushingsoftly.

Hewhispers,“Don’tspeak.It’sokay.You’reokay.It’sallovernow.”

I start to pull away, still gazing at him, not entirely convinced. My fingers seeking my throat,

searchingforevidence,exploringtheexactsamespacewhereHaven’sfistplowedintome.

Endedme.
Rememberingexactlyhowitfelttodieforthesecondtimeinthislife.
Rememberinghowitwasnothingatalllikethefirsttime.
My eyes grazing his face, seeing the concern that plays at his brow, the relief that creeps into his

gaze,eagerforhimtocomprehendwhatreally,trulyhappenedhere.“Shekilledme,”Itellhim.“Despite
allofmypracticeandtraining,intheend,Iwasnomatchforher.”

“Shedidn’tkillyou,”hewhispers.“Honestly,you’restillhere.”
Istruggletosit,buthejustholdsmethatmuchcloser.SoIgazearoundtheshop,takinginthepilesof

broken glass, the knocked-over bookshelves—like a scene from the most over-the-top disaster flick,
featuringearthquakes,tornadoes,afull-onassault.

“ButIwenttotheShadowland—Isaw—”
Iclosemyeyesandswallowpastthelumpinmythroat,pausinglongenoughforhimtosay,“Iknow.

Icouldfeelyourdespair.Buteventhoughitprobablyfeltlikealongtimetoyou,oratleastIknowitdid

for me, it wasn’t nearly long enough for the silver cord to break and detach your body from your soul.
WhichiswhyIwasabletocoaxyourightback.”

But even though he speaks with such confidence, even though he nods and meets my gaze with

completeandtotalassurance,Iknowbetter.Despitemycordstayingattached,IknowforsurethatIdied.
Andthere’sonlyonereasonI’mback.

Iroseabovemyweakchakra.
ThemomentIrealizedthetruth—aboutme—aboutus—themomentImadetherightchoice—Iwas

somehowrestored.

“Shehitmerightinmyweakspot—myfifthchakra—andthen—Isaweverything.”Igazeupathim,

wantinghimtoknow,wantinghimtoreallyhearme.“Isaweverysinglething,everysinglemomentfrom
allofourlives.Includingthestuffyoutriedsohardtokeephiddenfromme.”

Hetakesadeepbreath,hisgazefullofquestions,oneinparticularthatloomslargebetweenus.
AndIwastenotimeinanswering,circlingmyarmsaroundhisneckandbringinghimtome,vaguely

awareoftheenergyveilthatdancesbetweenhislipsandmine,asmymindstreamsintohis.Informing
himofallthatIsawandwhatInowunderstand.

ThatI’veacceptedtheonerealtruth.
ThatIwillneverdoubthimagain.
Westaylikethat,ourbodiespressedtogether,intenselyawareofthemiraclethatjustoccurred.
I’mmorethanjustreborn—I’mtruly,newlyawakened.
Pullingawayamomentlater,mygazeposingaquestionheimmediatelyanswerswhenhesays,“I

sensed your distress. I got here as soon as I could, only to find the shop destroyed, and you…
essentially… dead. But it wasn’t long before you came back—though I’m sure it felt like an eternity to
you.That’showtheShadowlandworks.”

“AndJude?”Myheartsinkstomystomachasmyeyesscantheroom,unabletofindhim,nomatter

howhardIlook.

ThenplummetingevenfurtherwhenDamen’svoicedropsashesays,“Jude’snolongerhere.”

chaptertwenty-eight

ThefirstthingIseewhenwearriveisprettymuchthelastthingIexpected:
Thetwins.
Romy and Rayne standing side by side, with Romy in head-to-toe pink and Rayne in head-to-toe

black,theirjawsdroppinginunisonthemomenttheyseeme.

“Ever!” Romy cries, running up to hug me, her skinny body barreling right into mine, practically

knockingmeoverfromtheforce,asshewrapsherscrawnyarmsaroundmeandholdstight.

“WethoughtforsureyouwerestuckintheShadowland,”Raynesays,shakingherheadassheblinks

back her grief. Coming forward to stand quietly beside her sister, who’s still attached to me. And just
when I’m sure she’s going to chase it with some kind of sarcastic crack, some derisive dig about how
disappointedsheisthatImadeitoutinonepiece,shelooksrightatmeandsays,“I’msogladwewere
wrong.”Andhervoicewarblessobadly,shecanbarelyekeoutthewords.

RecognizingapeaceofferingwhenIseeone,Islidemyarmaroundher,amazedbythewayshelets

me, the way she leans into me. Not just returning the hug but holding it for much longer that I ever
would’veexpected.Pullingawayafewmomentslater,sheclearsherthroat,combsherfingersthrough
herrazor-slashedbangs,andwipeshernosewithherlongcottonsleeve.

AndeventhoughI’mdyingtoknowhowtheygothere,fornow,it’llhavetowait.Therearefarmore

pressingconcerns.

ButIdon’tevenhaveachancetovoicethem,beforetheynodtheirheadssolemnlyandsay,“He’s

here.”TheyturnandpointtowardtheGreatHallsofLearningjustbehindthem.“He’swithAva.It’sall
good.”

“So… he’s healed then?” My voice catches, cracks, hoping that’s what they meant, and instantly

floodedwithreliefwhentheyconfirmit.“Andyou?Doyouguyslivehereagain?”

They look at each other, eyes meeting, faces still wearing the same somber expression, though it’s

quicklyreplacedwithshakingshouldersandgreatpealsoflaughter.Thetwoofthemfallingallovereach
other,enjoyingsomekindofprivatejoke,beforeRaynecancalmdownenoughtosay,“Doyouwantusto
livehereagain?”Shequirksherbrowandlooksmeover,rightbacktobeinghernormalself,well,forthe
mostpart,anyway.

“Ijustwantyoutobehappy,”Itellthem,notwastingasinglesecondinanswering.“Whereverthat

takesplaceforyou.”

Romygrins,liftinghershoulderswhenshesays,“We’restickingwithAva.Nowthatweknowhow

to come here and visit whenever we want, well, we don’t really feel like we need to live here again.

Besides,wereallylikeschool.”

“Yeah,andschoollikesusback.”Rayneflashesarareandbriefsmilethatmakeshereyesdance.

“I’vebeenvotedclasspresident.”

Inod,nottheleastbitsurprisedbythat.
“AndRomymadecheerleader,”sheadds,rollinghereyes.
“IthinkallthatpracticingwithRiley,youknow,backwhenshelivedhereandusedtohangoutwith

us,well,Ithinkitmust’vereallyhelped.”Romyshrugsmodestly.

“Rileyhelpedyouwithcheerleading?”Isquint,morethanalittlesurprisedtohearthat,thoughI’m

notsurewhy.

Seeing Romy nod when she says, “She wanted to be just like you, you know that, right? She

memorizedeverysinglecheeryoueverdid,andthenshetaughtthemtous.”

IpressmylipstogetherandleanagainstDamen,enjoyingtheshelterofhisstrongsolidwarmth,of

his hand squeezing mine. Knowing for sure, now more than ever before, that I can have this anytime I
want,anytimeIneedit.Hewillalwaysbethereforme.

FocusingonthetwinsagainwhenIsay,“Andspeakingofmissingpeople—”
Theypeerfirstateachother,thenme.
“Iknowsomeonewho’dreallyliketoseeyouagain.”
PicturingtheoldBritishmanIranacrossthetimeIstumbleduponthecottagewheretheybothused

to live. Back when I first discovered the truth about their connection to both my sister and Ava, and
telepathicallysendingtheimagetothem.

“Thoughheseemstobemorethanalittleconfused.Somehowhe’sgottenitintohisheadthatRomy’s

thestubbornone,whileRayne’stheeasygoingone,butIthinkweallknowthat’snottrue…”

TheylookfrommetoDamen,thenburstintoawholenewfitofgiggles.LeavingDamenandmeto

juststandthere,havingnoideawhatthey’recarryingonabout,butquicklypushingitasidetofocuson
eachother.

Andthat’showAvaandJudefinduswhentheyexittheHallsandmaketheirwaydownthesteep

marblesteps.

Thetwinsgiggling.
Damenandmecommuning—myheadonhisshoulder,ourhandsclaspedtightlytogether.
Andthat’sallJudeneedstoseetoknowthatthechoicehasbeenmade.
Toknowthatit’sDamenandIwhoaremeanttobetogether.
Thatwhateverhappenedbetweenuswaslongoverbeforeitcouldevergetstarted.
Hestops,pausesrightthereontheverylaststep,allowingAvatomovepasthimashisgazelockson

mine. Holding it for what feels like a very long time, though no words are exchanged, no telepathic
thoughtsofanykind.

Thoughwordsaren’treallynecessarywhenthemessageisclear.
Thenhetakesadeepbreath,takesamomenttocollecthimself,beforenoddinghisacknowledgment.

Bothofusknowingthisisit,mydecisionismade,andthatitwon’tbeupforconsiderationeveragain.

SwitchinghisfocustoAvaandthetwins,hedecidestojointhemontheirjourneytorevisitalltheir

oldhaunts,iffornootherreasonthantodistracthimselffromwhathethinkshejustlost.

Andthey’rejustabouttoheadoffwhenIturntowardthetwinsandsay,“Hey—how’dyouguysdo

it?How’dyougetbackhere?”

Seeing the way Ava beams proudly, as the twins glance first at each other, then me, with Romy

choosingtotakethelead.“Wetookthefocusoffourselvesandputitonsomeoneelseforachange.”

Isquint,notquiteunderstandingwhatthey’regettingat.

“We were with Damen when he found you,” Rayne explains. “And when we saw Jude and the

conditionhewasin,well,weknewtherewasonlyonewaytosavehim,andthatwastogethimhere,to
Summerland.”

“Whichmeantthatourwholefocusongettingherewasnolongeraboutus,itwasabouthim. Our

onlygoalwastohelphim.”Romysmiles.“Anditworked.”

“JustlikeAvaalwaystoldusitwould,”Raynesays,gazingupatherwithadmiration.“It’slikeshe

always says—” She stops and motions toward Ava. “Well, you should probably say it, since it’s your
phraseandall.”

Avalaughs,takingamomenttoruffleRayne’shair,beforeshepullsherclosetoonesideandRomy

totheother,hergazelockedonminewhenshesays,“Itallcomesdowntoyourintention.Whenyouput
allofyourfocusonaproblem,youjustgetmoreoftheproblem.Butifyouputyourfocusonbeingof
help,thenyourenergyisdirectedtowardthehelpinsteadoftheproblem.Sobefore,whenthetwinswere
unabletoreturntoSummerland,itwasbecausetheyweretoofocusedonthemselvesandtheirproblemof
gettinghere.Butthistime,theironlyconcernwasforJude,andtheygotthereinaninstant.Sobasically,
wheneveryou’relookingforasolution,youarefeelingpositiveemotion—andwheneveryou’relooking
ataproblem,you’refeelingnegativeemotion,which,asyouknow,nevergetsusanywhere.Butonceyou
take the focus off yourself and your wants, and instead turn it toward how getting what you want might
alsobenefitsomeoneelse,wellthen,youcan’thelpbutsucceed,”shesays,voicesoftandsweet.“That’s
thekeybehindanysuccess.”

Rayneshrugs,smilingandshakingherhead.“Whowould’vethought?”shesays.
Yeah,whowould’vethought?Ismile,brieflycatchingAva’seye,watchingassheglancesbetween

Damen and me and instinctively knowing she approves of my choice, then switching my focus to Jude,
who,thankstothewonderfulhealingmagickofSummerland,isbacktobeingasstrongandcuteandsexy
asever.

LookingasthoughHavenhadn’tjustbrokenhisbody.
AsthoughIhadn’tjustbrokenhisheart.
Thekindofguyanygirlwouldbeluckytoget.
ThekindofguyI’vebeenluckytoknowforaslongasIhave.
ThenIclosemyeyesandmanifestmyveryownnightstar,hangingithighintheSummerlandsky,just

overhishead.Knowingthatwishesdon’talwayscomeaboutinthewaythatwethink,butifyoubelieve
and keep your mind open, there’s a really good chance they will manifest in some way. Because even
thoughIdidn’trealizeitatthetime,that’sexactlywhatmynightstardidforme.

BysendingmetotheShadowland,IwasabletofindtheanswerIneeded.
Andbeforetheymoveon,beforemystarcanfade,ItakeadeepbreathandmakeawishforJude.
Wishing for him to remain open and hopeful and willing to believe that there’s someone out there

who’sfarbettersuitedforhimthanIevercouldbe.

Wishingforhimtofindtheoneandonlypersonwho’lllovehimasequallyashewilllovethem.
WishingforhimtofindwhatI’vefoundwithDamen.
AndIleavehimwiththatwish.Leavemystarshininghighintheskyforaslongasitlasts.Watching

astheygooffinonedirection,whileDamenandItakeanother,thetwoofusstrollinghandinhand,quiet
andcontent,asIleadhimtowardthepavilion.

“Areyousure?”hesays,standingjustoutsideofit,clearlyconflictedabouttryingthisagain.
ButIjustnodandpullhiminside.I’mmorethansure.Infact,Ican’twaittogetstarted.
There’s so much about that Southern life we’ve yet to explore, and from what I saw in the

Shadowland,thereweredefinitelysomereallynicepartsI’dlovetorevisit.

IhandhimtheremoteasIstandbeforethescreen,smilingathimasIsay,“Justfast-forwardtothe

goodpart,afteryou’vesecuredmyfreedomandtrustandyouwhiskedmeawaytoEurope…”

chaptertwenty-nine

BythetimewegetoutofthereIhavenoideahowmuchtimehaspassed.
Since Summerland exists in a perpetual mode of hazy daylight where everything happens in an

eternalstateofnow,it’simpossibletotell.

AllIknowforsureisthatmylipsaretenderandswollen,andmycheekspinkandslightlyabraded

fromtheswathofstubblethatlinesDamen’sjaw—aconditionthatshoulddisappearinjustamatterof
seconds.

FarquickerthanSabine’soutrageovermyextendedabsencebackhomeontheearthplane.
FarquickerthanHaven’striumphantgleeoverthinkingshesucceededinkillingme.
Still, even though I know I need to get home and face both of those things, I’m reluctant to leave,

reluctanttogiveupthemagicksoquickly.AndsinceDamen’sclearlyreluctanttoo,hemanifestsasingle
whitestallionforustoride.Allowingthehorsetomeanderofitsownfreewillasweenjoythepassing
scenery.

IrestmychinonDamen’sshoulderandwrapmyarmslooselyaroundhiswaistasweridebeside

swiftly moving streams, down empty cobblestone lanes, through large sprawling meadows filled with
chirping birds and deliciously fragrant blooms, alongside the shore of a beautiful beach made of white
sandandturquoisewaters,upasteepandwindingtrailthatleadstoamountainouspeakwithawondrous
view,thenbackdownitsothersidebeforewadingthroughabarrendesert’ssands.

Weevenridethroughthestreetsofallourformerlives,asDamenmanifestsreplicasofParis,New

England,London,Amsterdam,and,yes,eventheantebellumSouth.Goingsofarastogivemeaglimpse
ofhisearlylifeinFlorence,Italy.Pointingoutthetinyhomewherehelived,hisfather’sworkshopoffthe
alleyway,thefavoredstallswherehismotherfrequentlyshopped.

He makes fleeting images of his parents, soulless forms that waver in and out of focus before us.

Knowing I’ve seen them before, back when I spied on his life in the Great Halls of Learning but still
wantingmetoseethemasheseesthem.Eagertoshareeverylasttraceofhislife,ofoursharedlives,
untiltherearenosecretsbetweenus—untilallofitcomesneatlytogether—untiltheentirestoryofour
livesiscomplete.

AndbecauseIfeelclosertohimthaneverbefore,becauseI’mcompletelysecureintheknowledge

thatwe’reinthistogetherforbetterorworse,IdecidetoshowhimsomethingI’dpreviouslykeptfrom
him.

Closingmyeyesandurgingourmounttotakeustothatplace—thedarksideofSummerland—the

sideIkepthidden,kepttomyself.ConvincedforsomereasonIcan’tquiteexplain,thatnow’stheright

timetoshareitwithhim.

Thehorseimmediatelyfollowingmylead,instantlyswitchingcourseasIpressmylipstothecurve

ofDamen’searandsay,“There’ssomethingIhaven’ttoldyou—somethingIneedyoutosee.”

Heturns,glancingoverhisshoulder,smilefadingtoconcernwhenhetakesinmyseriousgaze.
But I just nod and urge the horse forward, knowing we’re getting closer when his pace begins to

slowandIhavetourgehimtokeepgoing.Knowingbythewaytheairsuddenlychanges,theskydarkens,
themistthickens,andwhatwasonceablooming,thrivingforestofvibrantplantsandflowersbecomesa
drooping,rain-drenched,mud-filledswamp.

Ourhorsestops.Swishinghistailfromsidetosideandthrowinghisheadbackinprotest,refusingto

goanyfarther.Andknowingit’suselesstoforcehim,IslideoffhisbackandmotionforDamentojoin
me.

AnsweringthequestioninhisgazewhenIsay,“Ifoundthisplaceawhileback,thetimeIwasin

SummerlandwithJudeandranintoyou.Strange,isn’tit?”

Hesquints,glancingfromthemud-soakedgroundtothemalnourishedtrees.Theirbranchesbrittle,

graying,devoidofallfoliage,ofanysignofgrowthorlife,despitethenever-endingsupplyofrain.

“Whatisit?”heasks,stilltakingitin.
“Idon’tknow.”Ishrug,shakingmyhead.“LasttimeIwashere,Ijustsortofstumbleduponitby

accident.Imean,Iguessitwasn’treallyanaccident,sincetherearenoaccidentshere,butstill,itwasn’t
like I was looking for it or anything. I was just killing time, waiting for Jude to come out of the Great
HallsofLearning.Andso,justtokeepbusy,justtohavesomethingtodo,IaskedSummerlandtoshow
metheonethingI’dneverseenbefore,theonethingIreallyneededtoknowabout—andmyhorsebrought
merighthere.ButwhenItriedtoventurefartherandexplorealittlemore,shetotallyrefused,justlike
ourhorsedidnow.SoItriedtogooffonmyown,butthemudwassodeepIkeptsinkingdowntomy
knees,anditwasn’tlongbeforeIgaveup.Butthen,justnowIthought—”

Helooksatme,curiositypiqued.
“Well,itseemsbiggerthanbefore.Likeit’s—”Ipauseandgazeallaround.“Likeit’sgrowingor

expandingorsomething.”Ishakemyhead.“Idon’tknow,it’shardtoexplain.Whatdoyoumakeofit?”

Hetakesadeepbreath,hisgazecloudingatfirst,asthoughhe’stryingtoprotectmefromsomething,

butthenit’sgonejustasquickly.That’souroldwayofcommunicating.Wenolongerkeepsecrets.

Hisfingersplayingathischinwhenhesays,“Honestly?Ihavenoideawhattomakeofit.I’venever

seen anything like it or at least not here anyway. But I gotta tell ya, Ever, it certainly doesn’t leave me
withaverygoodfeeling.”

I nod. Gazing at a flock of birds just off to the side, watching the way they carefully keep to the

perimeter,refusingtosoaranywherenearthedarkerbits.

“You know, Romy and Rayne once told me, not long after we met, that Summerland contained the

possibilityofallthings,andyouevensaiditoncetoo.”

Damenlooksatme.
“So,ifthat’strue,thenmaybethisislike—thedarkside?MaybeSummerlandisliketheyinandthe

yang—youknow,equalpartsdarkandlight?”

“Hopefullynotequal,”hesays,alookofalarmovertakinghisgaze.Sighingasheadds,“I’vebeen

cominghereforalongtime,averylongtime.AndIcertainlythoughtI’dseenitall,butthis—”Heshakes
hishead.“Thisisentirelynew.It’snothingliketheSummerlandIstudiedorreadabout.It’snothinglike
theSummerlandIeverexperienced.Andifitdidn’tstartoutthisway,ifthispartofitis,infact,new…
well,somethingtellsmethatcannotbegood.”

“Shouldweexplore?Haveaquicklookaroundandseeifwecanlearnanythingmore?”

“Ever—”Hesquints,clearlynotnearlyascurioustogetstartedasIam.“I’mnotsurethat’ssucha

good—”

ButIwon’tlethimfinish,mymindismadeupandnowit’sjustamatterofconvincinghimtoo.“Just

a quick peek around, then we’ll go,” I say, seeing the waver in his gaze and knowing I’m close to
succeeding.“ButIgottawarnyou,thatmudrunsdeep,sobepreparedtosinkdownpastyourknees.”

He takes a deep breath, hesitating for a moment even though we both know it’s as good as done.

Finallygrabbingholdofmyhandasthetwoofusventureslowlyintothemuck,stealingaquickglance
overourshoulderstoseeourhorse,earspinnedback,pawingattheground,snortingandgruntingwhile
shootingusayou’recrazyifyouthinkI’mfollowingyoukindoflook.

Pushingthroughtherelentlessdrivingrain,untilourclothesaresoakedthroughandourhairclingsto

ourfacesandnecks.Occasionallystoppingtoglanceateachother,eyebrowsrisinginquestion,butstill
wekeepgoing,keepforgingahead.

The mud pooling up to our knees when I remember something from the last time I was here, and I

lookathimandsay,“Closeyoureyesandtrytomanifestsomething.Anything.Quick!Thoughtrytomake
itsomethingusefullikeanumbrellaorarainhat.”

He looks at me, and I can see it in his gaze, and even though it’s not at all useful, it’s definitely

lovely.Atulip.Asingleredtulip.Butitjuststaysrightthereinhismind,refusingtomaterializeforus.

“Ithoughtitwasmaybejustme.”RememberingthatbleakanddrearytimewhenIfirstfoundmyself

here.“Iwassoconfusedbackthen,Iactuallythoughtmaybethiswholeplaceexistedbecauseofme.You
know,likeitwasaphysicalmanifestationofmyinnerstate—or—something.”Ishrug,feelingmorethan
alittlestupidforhavingvoicedthatoutloud.

JustabouttotakeanotherstepforwardwhenDamenstretcheshisarmoutbeforemeandstopsme

deadinmytracks.

Ifollowhisgaze,followthelengthofhispointingfinger,allthewayacrossthemuddygrayswamp.

GaspinginsurprisewhenIspotanolderwomanjustafewfeetaway.

Herhairhanginginwet,whitewispsthatfallwaypastherwaistandclingtoathin,graycottontunic

that’s a perfect match for the gray cotton pants she wears tucked into tall, brown rain boots. Her lips
movingincessantly,mumblingsoftlytoherself,asshestoopsforward,herfingersdiggingdeepintothe
mud—as Damen and I look silently on, wondering how we could’ve possibly missed seeing her until
now.

Wecontinuetostandthere,unsurewhattodoorevenwhattosayshouldshehappentonoticeustoo.

Butsofarsheremainsoblivious,focusedintentlyonwhateveritisthatshe’sdoing.Finallytakingabreak
fromallthediggingwhenshereachesforasmall,silvercanandbeginstowaterthealreadythoroughly
drenchedarea.

Butit’snotuntilsheturns,turnstofaceus,thatIseehowoldshereallyis.Herskinsofine,sothin

and translucent, it’s practically see-through, while her hands are gnarled and bumpy, with large bulging
knucklesthatlookpainfultothetouch.Butit’shereyesthattelltherealstory—theircolorresemblinga
faded-out,sun-bleachedlightdenim.Appearingrheumy,filmy,clusteredwithcataracts,butevenfromthis
distance,there’snomistakingthefactthatthey’retrainedrightonme.

Her fingers loosen, dropping the watering can to her feet, not seeming to care when it’s quickly

swallowedwholebythemud.Herarmslowlylifting,fingershakybutstillpointingrightinmydirection,
whenshesays,“You.”

Dameninstinctivelymovestocoverme,toblockmefromview.
Butit’snouse.Hergazeremainsfirm,unwavering,asshecontinuestopoint,continuestorepeatto

herself,againandagain:

“You.It’sreallyyou.We’vebeenwaitingforyouforsolongnow…”
Damen nudges me, whispering between clenched teeth. “Ever, don’t listen to her, just close your

eyesandpicturetheportal—now!”

Buteventhoughwetry,itdoesn’twork.There’snoquickescape.Nomagickormanifestingtobe

hadintheseparts.

Hepushesintomyshoulder,grabbingholdofmyhandasheurgesmetorun,turningonhisheeland

sloshingthroughthemud,doinghisbesttopullmealong.Thetwoofusstumbling,falling,takingturns
pickingeachotherup,aswecontinuetomoveforward.Doingwhateverittakestogetbacktoourhorse,
togetoutofhere.

Togainsomedistancefromthevoicethatcontinuestochaseus.
Tauntus.
Repeatingthesamephraseoverandoveragain:

Fromthemuditshallrise

Liftingupwardtowardvastdreamyskies

Justasyou-you-youshallrisetoo…

chapterthirty

Themomentwewalkthroughthegate,westartsearchingforHaven.Butsheseesusfirst.
Icantellbythewayshestops—stopstalking,stopsmoving,practicallystopsblinkingandbreathing

—andsettlesforgapinginstead.

ShethoughtIwasdead.
SheleftJudefordead.
Butapparentlythatdidn’tturnoutquiteasshe’dplanned.
Inodinacknowledgment,takingamomenttopushmyhairovermyshouldertoprovideaclearview

of my neck—still free of the amulet, just like she left it. Wanting her to know that I’m no longer
vulnerable.Nolongerruledbyaweakspot.Nolongerendangeredbyalackofdiscernment,trustingall
thewrongpeopleormisusingknowledge.

I’vetotallyandcompletelyrisenaboveit.
Leavinghernochoicebuttodealwithmenowthatshecan’tdoawaywithme.
And when I’m sure she’s had enough time to process all that, I lift the hand that’s clasped with

Damen’s,raisingithighenoughforhertosee.Wantinghertoknowwe’restilltogether,thatweweathered
thestorm,thatshecannotdefeatus,nothingcan,soit’sbestnottotry.

And even though she quickly turns away, turns back to her friends and tries to carry on as though

everything’snormal,webothknowit’snot.I’veputamajordentinherplans,andifshedoesn’tgetthe
fullextentofityet,shesoonwill.

Wemovepasther,throughthequad,andallthewayovertothebenchwhereStaciasitsbyherself

with a hoodie pulled over her head, earbuds shoved in her ears, and a pair of oversized designer
sunglasses shielding her face in an attempt to deflect and ignore the stream of insults coming from just
abouteverysinglestudentthatpasses,whileshewaitsforDamentoshowupanddefendherfromthem.

Istop,struckbythewayshelooksjustlikeme,oratleasttheoldme,wonderingifsheseesittoo,if

she’smanagedtotuneintotheironyofit.

Damensqueezesmyhand,hisgazequestioning,havingmisreadmyhesitationasanunwillingnessto

gothroughwithit,eventhoughwe’vebeenoveritamilliontimesalready.

“I can handle it.” I nod, glancing at him as I add, “Seriously. No worries. I know exactly what to

say.”

Hesmilesandleansintokissme,hislipssoft,sweet,astheybrushacrossmycheek.Aquickand

easy reminder that he loves me—that he’s with me, always will be. But while it’s definitely nice, and
whileIdefinitelyappreciateit,Inolongerquestionthosethings.

StaciagazesupfromheriPod,wincingthesecondsheseesme.AndIcan’thelpbutnoticetheway

hermouthgoesgrim,thewaysheinvoluntarilyhuncheshershouldersandpullsthemwayinwhenIclaim
thespacejustbesideher.

Havingno idea whatI could possiblywant, but clearly convincedthat whatever itis, it cannot be

good,shepushesherglassesontoherforeheadandshootsDamenaquick,helpmekindoflook,buthe
justclaimsthespacerightbesideme,asIshakemyheadandsay,“Don’tlookathim,lookatme.” My
gazeholdsonhers.“Believeitornot,I’mtheonewho’sgoingtogetyououtofthismess.I’m the one
who’sgoingtoputeverythingbackthewayitwas.Oratleast,almostthewayitwas.”

Hereyesdartbetweenusasherfingerspickattherolledhemofherdress.UnsureifI’mactually

beingsincereorifshe’sbeingplayedinsomesortofpaybackplanthatI’vemade.

Justabouttogetupandleave,takeherchanceswiththehostilemasses,whenIstopherbysaying,

“But,asI’msureyou’vealreadyguessed,thereisonecondition.”

Shelooksatme,gazewary,assumingtheabsoluteworst.
“The condition being that when I return you to table A, you use your popularity for good and not

evil.”

Sheshakesherhead,thenburstsintoanervouslaughthatendsalmostasquicklyasitbegins.Unable

to determine whether I’m joking or serious, and again looking to Damen for the answer, but the only
answerhegivesisacasualshrugashemotionstowardme.

“I’mnotjoking.I’monehundredpercentserious.Incaseyouhaven’tnoticed,incaseyou’vealready

forgotten,you’vebeennothingbutacompleteandtotalbitchtomefromtheveryfirstdayIarrivedatthis
school.Youtookwaytoomuchpleasureinmakingmylifealivinghell.AndI’mwillingtobetyouspent
moretimeplottingagainstmethanyoudidstudyingforyourSATs.”

Shegazesdownatherknees,cringingatmylistofaccusationsandflushingundermyscrutiny,though

wiselychoosingnottospeak.I’mfarfromthroughwithheryet,andthere’splentymorewherethatcame
from.

“Not to mention how you tried to steal my boyfriend right out from under me—on more than one

occasion.” My eyes narrow on her, devoid of all mercy. “But let’s not pretend I was the only one you
tortured,becauseIthinkwebothknowthat’shardlythecase.Prettymuchanyoneyouperceivedaseither
weakerthanyouorsomehowbeneathyouor,heck,evensomekindofthreattoyou,wasatargetasfaras
youwereconcerned.Youevenwentafteryoursupposedbestfriend.”Shelooksatme,nosescrunched,
eyes squinty, prompting me to say, “Um, hel-lo, Honor?” I shake my head, wondering if I’m not just
wastingmytime,ifit’sactuallypossibletogetthroughtosomeoneasvainandselfishandemotionally
cluelessasher.“Whydoyouthinksheturnedagainstyou?Youthinkit’sallHaven’sfault?Thinkagain.
She’sbeenplanningthisforsometimenow,mostlybecauseyoutreatedherlikecrap—thesamewayyou
treateveryone.Butalsobecauseyoueventriedtostealherboyfriend,andfromwhatIheard,thatwasthe
lastandfinalstraw.”

Sheswallowshard,combingherfingersthroughherhair,rearrangingitinawaythatpartiallycovers

herface.Completelyunwillingtolookatmeandreluctantformetoseeher,butatleastshe’snottryingto
denywhatwebothknowistrue.

“But I also hear you were as successful with that as you were when you tried to steal Damen.” I

narrowmygazeandshakemyhead,thoughIleaveitatthat,figuringI’vegloatedenoughasitis.

“Anddespitethefactthatyourbehaviorissocompletelycruelandcalculatingandtotallyuncalled

for,I’mstillgonnahelpyougetyouroldpositionback.”

She searches my face, trying to determine if it really is true, then quickly returning to the intense

studyofherspray-tannedkneesassoonasIconfirmit.

“And it’s not because I like you—because I really, truly don’t—and it’s not because I think you

deserveit—becauseIdefinitelyknowyoudon’t—it’sbecausewhatHavenisdoing,believeitornot,is
evenworsethanwhatyouusedtodo.AndsinceIhavenointerestinbeingthequeenbeeoftheschool,
I’vedecidedtoreturnthepositiontoyou.But,likeIsaid,itcomeswithconditions.Themainonebeing
thatstartingrightnow,fromthismomenton,you’regonnahavetofindanotherwaytobuildyourselfup.
You’regonnahavetostoptearingeveryonedowninordertomakeyourselffeelbiggerandbetterbecause
that’sprettymuchthelowest,cheapestthingapersoncaneverdo.Andifthisexperienceofyours,this
reversal of your social fortune, hasn’t taught you that, then I don’t know what will. I mean, now that
you’veexperiencedwhatit’sliketobeontheotherside,nowthatyouknowfirsthandhowitfeelstobe
ostracizedandtreatedasbadlyasyouusedtotreateveryoneelse,Ican’timagineyou’dreallywantto
makeanyonegothroughthatagain.Butthen,maybeyoudo.There’sreallynosayingwithyou.”

Shecontinuestositthere,shouldershunched,hairhanginginacurtainbetweenus.Herheadbobbing

asshetapsthetoesofherexpensivedesignersandalstogether,theonlycluethatshe’slistening,takingme
seriously,andthat’sallIneedtocontinue.

“Because the thing is, you’re smart and pretty, and you have all the advantages anyone could ever

want in this world, and honestly, that alone should be enough to empower you. So maybe, just maybe,
insteadofactinglikesuchagreedylittlebratandtryingtostealeverythingyouknowyoucan’thave,you
can concentrate on finding a way to use your gifts to be a good influence on others. You may think it’s
corny,youmaythinkI’mridiculous,butI’mtotallyserious.Ifyouwanttogobacktobeingtherockstarof
thisschool,thenthat’sexactlywhatyou’regoingtodo.Otherwise,Ihavenointerestinhelpingyou.For
allIcare,youcanspendtherestoftheyearlikethis,andneitherDamennorIwillliftafingertohelp
you.”

Shetakesadeepbreath,thenglancesbetweenus,sighingandshakingherhead,directingherwords

mostlyatDamenwhenshesays,“Issheserious?Isthisforreal?”

But Damen just nods, slides his arm around me, and pulls me even closer. “It is. So you should

probablylistentoherandtakenotesifyouneedto.”

Shesighs,takingamomenttogazearoundaschoolsheusedtoruleandnowfears.Andeventhough

it’sclearshe’sfarfromconverted,thatshe’sonlygonealongthisfarbecauseshe’shitrockbottomand
hasnothinglefttolose,nowhereelsetogobutdownevenfurther,it’sstillastart.

Stillgoodenoughforme.
So I give her another moment to let it really sink in, waiting for her to turn to me and nod her

agreement,whenIsay,“Okay,sohere’swhereyoustart…”

IfI’dhadmyway,shewould’vestartedrightthenandthere.AndDamenandIwould’vewatchedas

shewalkedrightuptoHonorandputtheplaninmotion.

ButStacianeededmoretime.
Timetothinkitover,timetogetusedtotheidea.Eventhoughsheclearlywantedtobeontopagain,

she was so unused to the concept of apologizing, she ended up requiring not only a good deal of
convincingbutalsoquiteabitofcoachingtofindtherightwords.

Still,asmuchasIpushedher,asmuchasItriedtoconvinceheritwastherightthingtodo,deep

downinside,Ireallydidn’texpectittowork—oratleastnotrightaway.Iwasmoreinterestedingetting
herusedtotheideaofbeingabetterperson,andifI’mgoingtobeperfectlyhonest,thenIalsohaveto
saythatIwantedhertohavenodoubtinhermindthatImeantwhatIsaid.

Myhelpcamewithconditions.Andifshewantedit,well,she’dhavetoearnit.

Iwasn’ttobemessedwithagain.
Sobylunch,whenHavenandherminionsstrolloutofclassonlytofindtheirtableoccupiedbyme,

Damen,Miles,andStacia—well,they’renotquitesurewhattomakeofit.

Andit’sprettyclearthatHaven’snotquitesurewhattomakeofme.
Butthen,neitherisHonor,forthatmatter.
They just sort of stand there, loitering awkwardly, gawking in disbelief as Craig and his friends

slowlymovetowardus,gratefullytakingtheseatDamenjustoffered.Acknowledgingthegesturewitha
“Hey”andanod,whichmayseemsimpleonthesurfacebutisdefinitelysomethingtheyneverwould’ve
botheredwithbefore.

AndwhileHavencontinuestostandthere,handsshakinginfury,eyesnarrowedandred,Ipretend

not to notice. Looking right past the storm cloud of hate that emanates from her when I say, “You’re
welcometojoinusifyouwant,aslongasyoubehaveyourself,thatis.”

She rolls her eyes, mumbles a slew of obscenities under her breath, and starts to turn away. Fully

expecting her flock of minions to follow, but her power over them is no longer what it once was. It’s
waning.Andtobehonest,it’sprettyclearthatthey’reallgettingalittlesickofher.Sowhentheyaccept
Damen’soffertojoinusinstead,sheturnstoHonor,eyesblazing,virtuallydaringhertochoose.

AndjustwhenHonorstartstoturnawayfromusandmovetowardHaven,Staciajumpsupfromher

seatandsays,“Honor,wait—I’m—I’mreallysorry!”

The words sounding so shrill, so uncomfortable, so foreign coming from her that Miles instantly

burstsoutlaughing,andIhavetosqueezehisknee—hard—togethimtostop.

Stacialooksatme,eyesnarrowed,browsmerged,asiftosay:See,Itried,butitdoesn’twork!
ButIjustnodtowardHonor,seeingthewayshe’sstopped,thewayshe’sturned,herheadtilted,gaze

fullofquestions,waveringbetweentwosupposedbestfriends,neitherofwhomsheparticularlylikes.

HesitatingforsolongthatHavenstormsoffinahuff.AndeventhoughI’mtemptedtogoafterher,

temptedtotrytocalmher,findawaytohelpheroratleasttalksomesenseintoher,Idon’t.MaybelaterI
will,butnotnow.FornowI’vegottoseethisthingthrough.

InudgeStacia,nudgeherwithmyeyes,withmymind,shovingmyenergyupagainsthers,urgingher

tokeepgoing,tonotstopnow,eventhoughtheterritorymayseemscaryandunfamiliar.

Andamomentlater,they’regone.
Walkingsidebyside,Honorshouting,hurlingthelonglistofaccusations,alltheverygoodreasons

whyStaciashouldapologize,whileStaciapatientlylistens,justlikeIcoachedhertodo.

“Areyoueavesdropping?”Milessays,elbowingmeandpointingtowardthem.
“ShouldI?”Ilookathim.
“Well, yeah.” He squints. “I mean, what if it’s not what you think? What if they’re both plotting

againstyou?”

ButIjustsmile,watchingStacia’saurashiftandchange,becomingjustabitmorevibrantwitheach

passingstep.Knowingshestillhasalongwaytogo,thatshemayneverreallyarrive,butstillsecurein
theknowledgethataurasneverlie.Andhersisofftoasemi-decentstart.

TakingasipofmyelixirandlookingatMileswhenIsay,“Trustworksbothways.Aren’tyouthe

onewhotoldmethat?”

chapterthirty-one

Even though it shows all the signs of turning into an insanely uncomfortable situation, Damen still

insistsongoingtoMysticsandMoonbeams.Andthistime,justbeforeweclimboutofmycarandhead
in,I’mtheonewhoquestionshimonwhetherornothetrulywantstogothroughwithit.

Buthejustlooksatmeandsays,“Ever,forfourhundredyearswe’vebeencirclingeachother.Don’t

youthinkit’sfinallytimetocallforacease-fire?”

Inod,notdoubtingforaminutethatitisindeedtime,thoughI’mnotatallsurethatJudewillagree.

It’saloteasiertobelogicalandreasonableaboutthesethingswhenyou’retheoneonthewinningteam.

HeholdsthedooropenasImakemywayin.Spottingafewfamiliarcustomersmillingabout—the

womanwhocollectsangelfigurines,theguywho’salwaysbuggingustogetanauravideostation,even
thoughfromwhatI’veseenofhis,he’sboundtobedisappointedbytheresults,andtheolderwomanwith
thebeautifulpurpleglowallaroundherwhoAva’scurrentlyassistingwiththemeditationCDs—while
Jude sits behind the counter, taking small sips of coffee. His aura flaring the moment he sees us—
especiallyDamen—thoughit’snotlongbeforeitsettlesandcalms,andIsighinrelief.Knowingitwas
just the result of an age-old, knee-jerk reaction, the kind that may require some time to phase out, but
someday,ifDamenhashisway,itwill.

Hemovesaheadofme,eagertogetthisthingstarted.Makingstraightforthecounterwithaready

smile and a softly spoken “Hey,” as Jude takes another sip of his coffee and merely nods in reply. His
gaze dancing between us, apprehensive and unsure, and I really hope he doesn’t think we came here to
gloat.

“Iwaswonderingifwecouldmaybetalk.”Damenmotionstowardtheback.“Somewhereprivate,

perhaps?”

Judehesitatesforamoment,takingaseriesofslowcontemplativesips,beforetossinghiscupand

leadingusintohisoffice.Settlinghimselfbehindtheoldwooddesk,whileDamenandIclaimthetwo
seatsontheoppositeside.

I watch as Damen leans forward, his gaze intent, face earnest, determined to get right to the point

whenhesays,“I’mguessingyoureallymusthatemebynow.”

ButifJude’ssurprisedbythewords,hedoesn’tshowit.Hejustshrugs,leansbackinhisseat,and

rests his hands flat against his stomach. His fingers splayed across the colorful mandala symbol that
blazesacrosshiswhitetee.

“And it’s not that I’d blame you if you did,” Damen says, eyes steady, focused on Jude. “Because

I’venodoubtcommittedmyshareofhatefulactsoverthelast—”Heglancesbrieflyatme,stillunusedto

voicingitoutloud,eventhoughhefindshimselfdoingsomoreandmorethesedays.“Overthelastsix
hundredandsomeoddyears.”Hesighs.

BothofuswatchingasJudetiltshisseatbackasfarasitwillgo,takingamomenttogazeupatthe

ceiling,pushinghisfingersintoasteeple,beforethewholethingcollapsesandhedropsforwardagain,
hisgazeboringintoDamen’swhenhesays,“Dude,seriously,what’sthatabout?”

Damensquints,asIshiftuncomfortablyinmyseat.Thiswasabadidea.Wenevershould’vecome

herelikethis.

ButJudejustleansforward,slidinghiselbowsacrosshisdesk,pushinghisdreadlocksoffhisface

asheadds,“Really,what’sthatlike?”

Damen nods, making some kind of sound between a grunt and a laugh, instantly relaxing as the

tensiondrainsfromhisfaceandhesettlesfartherbackinhisseat.Proppinghisfootonhisknee,snapping
thebottomofhisflip-flopbackandforthagainsthisheel,heshrugsandsays,“Well,Iguessyoucouldsay
it’sbeen—”Hepauses,searchingforjusttherightword.“Long.”Helaughs,eyescreasingatthesides.
“It’sbeen…really,reallylong,infact.”

Judelooksathim,noddinginawaythatshowshewantstohearmore,andDamenobliges,pickingat

thefrayedandbrokenhemonhisfadedoldjeans,whenheadds,“And,tobehonest,well,sometimesit’s
alittleexhausting.Andsometimesitfeelsmorethanalittledefeating—especiallywhenyou’reforcedto
watchthesameoldtiredmistakesbeingmadeoverandoveragainwiththesamelousyexcusestosupport
them.” He shakes his head, lost in a stream of memories most people only learn about through history
books.Hisexpressioninstantlytransforming,brightening,whenhesmilesandsays,“Andthosearejust
themistakesI’vemade.”HemeetsJude’sgaze.“Butthen,therearealsomomentsofsuchextremebeauty
andjoythat,well,itreallydoesmakeitallseemworthwhile,youknow?”

Jude nods, more in contemplation than agreement, as though he’s still taking it in, considering the

statement.

Thoughit’senoughtopromptDamentosay,“Why,youinterested?Youwanttogiveitago?”
JudeandIbothlookathim,eyeswide,unabletotellifhe’sserious.
“BecauseIcansetyouup.Iknowaguy…”
Andit’snotuntilhislipscurlintoagrin,thatIrealizehe’sjoking,andIsettlebackwithrelief.
“Butthethingis,”Damensays,backtobeingseriousagain.“Intheend,it’sprettymuchallthesame.

I may live for centuries, you may live for three quarters of a century, but both of us will always find
ourselvespreoccupiedwithwhatever’simmediatelybeforeus—or,moreoftenthannot,whateverseems
justoutofreach…”

We sit there in silence, the words hanging heavy between us, as I gaze down at my knees, too

uncomfortabletolookanywhereelse.Knowingthatthisisthemomentwecamefor,thatDamen’sfully
preparedtoofferwhateverexplanationorapologyJudemightdemand.

ButJudejustsitsthere,pickingatastraypapercliphefoundonhisdesk,twisting,andbending,and

totallyreshapingituntilit’scompletelyunrecognizablefromitsoriginalform.

Finally looking up when he says, “I get it.” He glances between us, focusing on me until I lift my

headandmeethisgaze.“Really,Ido.”HisfacesosincereI’venodoubthemeansit.“Butifyoucame
heretoapologizeortrytomakeupforitor—whatever—youshouldprobablyforgetit.”

Isuckinmybreath,asDamensitsperfectlystill,waitingforhimtocontinue.
“Imean,I’mnotgonnalie,thewholethingsucksforme.”Hetriestolaughbutdoesn’tquitemakeit.

Hisheartisn’tinit.“Butstill,Ireallydogetit.Iknowitwasn’tjustamatterofplayingfairornotplaying
fair.Iknowitwasn’tjustaboutyourimmensewealthandmagicktricks.AndIalsoknowitwasprobably
extremelyunfairofmetopretendthatitwas.Becausethethingis,Everisn’tthatshallow.Neitherwas

Evalineoranyoftherestofthem.”Hiseyesmeetmine,andthey’refilledwithsuchwarmthandkindness
and love, it’s impossible to look away. “The only reason I never stood a chance with her is because it
wasnevermeanttobeme.Itwasalwayssupposedtobethetwoofyou.”

I exhale slowly, my shoulders sinking, stomach settling, releasing a tension I wasn’t even aware I

washolding’tilnow.

“Andthefire—”Damenstarts,desperatetoexplainthataswell.
ButJudedismissesitjustasquickly,wavinghishandbeforeus.“Iknowaboutthattoo—thanksto

SummerlandandtheGreatHallsofLearning.”Heshrugs.“I’vebeenspendingalotoftimetherelately,
maybetoomuchtime,oratleastthat’sbeenAva’sconcern.But,sometimes,well,sometimes,oratleast
latelyanyway,I’dratherbetherethanhere.Iguessthat’swhyI’msofascinatedbyyourextralonglife.I
mean, I don’t know how you do it when there are definitely times when the regular life span feels like
morethanenough,youknow?”

Damennods.TellingJudehemostcertainlydoesknow,knowsalltoowell.Thenhelaunchesinto

thestoryabouthisfirsttriptoSummerland,backwhenhewaslost,andlonelyandlookingforsomesort
ofdeepermeaning,andfoundhimselfstudyinginIndiaalongsidetheBeatles.Andhavingalreadyheardit
myself,likeathousandtimesbefore,Iquietlygetup,letmyselfout,andheadbackintothestore,curious
toseewhatAva’sbeenupto.

Findingheroffinthecorner,restockingashelffullofcrystalswhensheturnstomeandsays,“All’s

wellthatendswell,right?”

Ishrug,havingnoideawhatshe’sreferringto.
“Yourchoice.”Shesmiles,turningbacktowardtheshelf.“Itmustfeelgoodtohavethatallfigured

out,no?”

Isigh.Becausewhilethere’snodoubtthatitdefinitelydoesfeelgoodtoputitbehindme,thething

withproblemsis,there’sneveranyshortageinthesupply.Assoonasonegetssolved,anothercropsupin
itsplace.

Shedigsherhandintoabagofrosequartzcrystals,thecrystaloflove,balancingagenerouspileof

chunksinherpalmwhensheglancesatmeandsays,“But…”Purposelydraggingthewordoutforaslong
asshecan.

“But…”Ishrug,handdartingforward,catchingafallingstoneandhandingitbacktoher.“There’s

stillHaven,who’sgettingmoreandmoreoutofcontrol,andthen,ofcourse,there’sstilltheantidote,and
the fact that Damen and I can’t really, truly touch…” Not outside of the pavilion anyway, but I’m not
abouttoletherinonthat.“Andthenthere’s—”

Shelooksatme,browraised,patientlywaiting,asIquicklyweighwhetherornotIshouldconfide

inheraboutthedarksideofSummerlandI’vediscovered,andthestrange,seeminglydementedoldlady
DamenandIranacross.

Butsomethingkeepsmefromdoingso.Somethingtellsmenottogotherewithher.Oratleastnot

yetanyway.Notuntilwe’vehadachancetoinvestigatealittlefurther.

SoItakeadeepbreath,liftanamethystclusterofftheshelfandcarefullyinspectitfromallsides,as

Isay,“Well,youknow,thatwholedramawithSabineisstillaliveandwell.”ShakingmyheadasIreturn
thestonetoitsplace,knowingthatwhileitwasn’texactlyalie,itwasn’tquitethetrutheither.It’snot
botheringmenearlyasmuchasitusedto.Sadly,I’mgettingusedtolivinglikethat.

“Wouldyoulikemetospeaktoher?”sheoffers,butIquicklydismissit.
“Trustme,itwon’twork.Hermindismadeup,andIhaveafeelingtimemaybetheonlycure.”
She nods, wiping her hands on the front of her jeans as she stands back to inspect the shelf. Head

tilted,mouthtwistedtotheside,assheswitchestheapache’stearwiththephantomquartz,thensmiles

approvingly.

AndwhenIlookather,Imeanreallylookather,Ican’thelpbutwonderwhyshe’salwaysalone.I

mean,shehasthetwinstolookafter,soIguessshe’snotreallyalone-alone,butstill,eversinceImether,
she’sbeendecidedlysingle,andfromwhatIcantell,shehasn’tgoneoutonevenonedate.

AndbeforeIcanstopit,Isay,“Doyouthinkeveryonehasasoulmate?”
Sheturns,regardingmeseriously.
“I mean, do you think everyone has that one person they’re destined to be with—like Damen and

me?”

She’ssilentforamoment,asthoughshe’sreallytakingthetimetoconsider.AndjustwhenI’msure

she’snotgoingtoanswer,shedoessomethingIdefinitelywasn’texpecting—sheburstsoutinlaughter.

Her whole face lifting, her eyes glinting, when she looks at me and says, “Why? Who are you

worriedaboutmorehere,Ever,meorJude?”

Iflush.Ihadn’trealizedIwasthatobvious,butknowingthatshe’saprettygiftedpsychicandall,I

should’vefiguredshe’dseethroughme.

“Well,both.”Ismilefeebly.
Watchingassheturnsbacktoherwork,foldingupthenowemptybags,andpilingthemontopof

each other before folding the stack in half and stashing them inside a bigger bag. Her voice soft, just
barelyaudible,whenshesays,“Well,fortherecord,yes,Idobelievethat.Butwhetherornotyou’reable
torecognizethemanddosomethingaboutitisawholeotherstory.”

chapterthirty-two

“So,how’ditgo?”IglanceatDamen,watchingashesettlesintothepassengerseatandcloseshis

doorasIpullawayfromthecurb.

“Good.”Henods,shuttinghiseyesforamomentashelowersthetopwithhismind,takingalong

deepbreathofcooleveningairbeforehelooksatmeandsays,“We’regoingsurfingthisweekend.”

Igape,morethanalittlesurprisedtohearthat.Imean,Ioriginallythoughthe’dbeluckytogetthe

cease-firehewasafter,Ineverevenconsideredtheymightbecomefriends.

“So,isthis,like,adate?”Itease,wonderinghowlongit’sbeensinceDamen’sbeenabletohavea

friend—arealandtrueguy-typefriend—onewhoactuallyknowsthetruthabouthim.

“Never.”Heglancesatme.“I’veneverhadafriendwhoknewthetruthaboutme.And,tobehonest,

it’sbeenavery,verylongtimesinceIeventriedtoconnectinthatway.”Heavertshisgaze,takinginthe
shops, the trees, the pedestrians crowding the crosswalks and streets, before he turns back and says,
“Friendshipsformewerealwaysshort-livedsinceIhadnochoicebuttomoveonafteracertainnumber
ofyears.Peoplegetsuspiciouswhenyoustayexactlythesamewhiletheyage,andafterawhile,well,it
justseemseasiertoavoidthosetypesofthings.”

Iswallowhardandconcentrateonthedrive.Eventhoughit’snotthefirsttimehe’ssaidit,itdoesn’t

makeitanyeasiertohear.EspeciallywhenIrelateittomeandmylifeandthelonglistofgood-byesI
havetolookforwardto.

“Doyoumindtakingmehome?”heasks,therequestjoltingmerightoutofmythoughtsasIgapeat

himinsurprise.Iwassurehe’dtrytodragmeofftothepavilionagain,andtobehonestIhadnoplansto
denyhim.

“Miles is meeting me back at the house. I told him I’d help him run some lines for a play he’s

auditioningfor.”

I shake my head and laugh, making a right on Coast Highway before stealing a quick peek at him.

“Gotanytimeinthereforme,youknow,amongstalloftheseplaydatesofyours?”Onlypartiallyteasing
asIpresstheacceleratorandcruisealongthewindingcurves.

“Always.”Hesmiles,leaningintokissmebutendingupdistractingmesobadlyInearlyrunthecar

offtheroad.

I push him away and right the wheel again. Gazing out at the ocean, watching the waves turn to

foaming white froth as they crash against the shore, and clearing my throat as I turn to him and say,
“Damen,whatarewegonnadoabouttheantidote?”Seeingthewayhisshouldersstiffen,feelingtheway
his energy shifts and changes but still forging ahead, knowing it has to be said. “I mean, I’m fully

committedtoyou,tous,Ithinkyouknowthatbynow.AndasmuchasIenjoyourtimeinthepavilion,
well—”Iswallowhard,I’veneverbeenmuchgoodatdiscussingthiskindofthing,Ialwaysendupa
red-faced,embarrassed,sputteringmess,butstill,I’mdeterminedtogettoit.“Imiss you. I miss being
abletotouchyouinthislife.NottomentionIwashopingthatsomedaywecouldbreakthisfour-hundred-
year-old-dryspelland—”

Ipausebeforehisgate,wavingatSheila,whomotionsusin.Takingthehillandtheseriesofturns

thatleadtohisstreet,beforebrakinginhisdrivewayandswivelinginmyseatuntilI’mfullyfacinghim.

Justabouttofinishthethoughtwhenhesays,“Ever,Iknow.Believeme,Ido.”Hereachesforme,

cupshishandtothesideofmyface,ashiseyesfixonmine.“AndIhaven’tgivenup.I’veevengoneso
far as to turn the wine cellar into a sort of chemistry lab—and I’ve spent every spare moment in there
hopingtosurpriseyou.”

My eyes go wide, trying to calculate just how long it’s been since I last poked around Damen’s

house, realizing it’s been a while. When I haven’t been avoiding him for one reason or another, we’ve
beeneithertrainingormakingoutinthepavilion.

“Butifthewinecellarisachemlab,thenwheredoyoustoretheelixir?”Iask,frowningasItryto

pictureitformyself.

“Inthenewwinecellar,wherethelaundryroomusedtobe.”
“Andthelaundryroom?”
“Gone.” He laughs. “But then, I never really saw the point of it anyway, when I can just manifest

new,cleanstuffwheneverIneedit.”Buthissmilesoonfadeswhenhesays,“But,Ever,Idon’twantto
get your hopes up, because while I haven’t given up trying, well, so far at least, it’s been pretty slow
going.IhavenoideawhatRomanputinthatdrink,buteverythingI’vetrieduptothispointhasfailed.”

I sigh, pushing my cheek hard against his palm, aware of the almost feel of his skin upon mine.

Telling myself it’s enough, that it will always be enough, but even though I’m fully committed to that, I
stillcan’thelpwishingformore.

“Wehavetogetthatshirt.”Mygazemeetshis.“Wehavetofindit.Iknowshestillhasit.There’sno

way she’d get rid of it. She’s either keeping it for sentimental reasons or because she knows what it’s
worthtome,orboth.But,eitherway,it’sprettymuchouronlyhopeatthispoint.”

Helooksatmeintheexactsamewayhedidthelasttimewediscussedit—infullagreementthatitis

indeedimportantbutcompletelyunwillingtopinallofhishopesuponit.

“Surelyit’snotouronlyhope?”hesays.
ButIshakemyhead.I’mnotpatientlikehim.Idon’twanttospendthenextseveralyearsenjoying

briefrespitesinthevariousguisesofmyformerself,justsowecanenjoyachastesmoochnowandthen,
whilehefiddlesaroundinhisformerwine-cellar-turned-chem-labontheside.Iwanttoenjoythis life.
TheoneI’minnow.

Iwanttoenjoyitasfullyandnormallyasanyothergirlwould.
AndIwanttoenjoyitwithhim.
“Ican’ttalkyououtofthis,canI?”hesays,hisvoiceasresignedashissigh.
Ishakemyheadagain.
“ThenI’mgoingwithyou.”
“Goingwhere?Ihaven’tadmittedtogoinganywhere.”
“Aw,maybenot,butaplanissurelyforming,Icanseeitinyoureyes.Soyoubettermakeroomfor

onemore,becauseI’mcomingwith.”

“No,youhangwithMiles,I’llbefine.Really.”
Butdespitemyprotest,he’salreadygrabbinghisphone,alreadytextingMilesandtellinghimhe’s

gotanerrandtorunsohe’llbealittlelate.

“So,whereshouldwestart?”heasks,pocketinghiscell.
“Thestore.”Inod,havingjustconfirmeditformyself.“Butreally,youdon’thavetocome,I’llbe

fineonmyown,”Iadd,givinghimonelastchancetobackout.

“Forgetit.”Hebuckleshisseatbeltagain.“I’mcomingalongwhetheryoulikeitornot.Andjustso

youknow,allthisrefusal,well,it’sreallystartingtogivemeacomplex.”

Ilookathim,havingnoideawhatthatmeant.
“Lasttime?WhenyoubrokeintoHaven’shouseandchosetodragMilesalonginsteadofme?”
Ilookathim,thinkingIhardlydraggedMiles,nottomentionthatIreallydidn’thaveachanceto

invitehimsincehewasguardingStacia.Butthenagain,that’snotreallythepoint.WhatIreallywantto
knowishowhehappenedtoknowaboutthatwhenIhadn’tquitegottenaroundtofillinghiminonallof
thosedetailsjustyet.

“Milesmentionedit,”hesays,answeringthethoughtinmyhead.
I glance out the window, my eyes narrowed as I say, “Is this what it’s going to be like now that

you’reMr.Popularwithallyournewfriends?”Iturntowardhim.“You’regonnaspendallyourfreetime
coaxingthemtospillmysecrets?”

“Onlythegoodstuff.”Damensmiles,pressinghislipsbrieflytomineasIbackoutofhisdriveand

makemywaytowardthegate.“OnlythestuffIreallyneedtoknow.”

chapterthirty-three

WedrivepastRoman’soldstore,Renaissance!,eventhoughIhavenoplanstogoinsidesinceit’s

tooearlyforthat.ThelastthingIneedisanotherconfrontationwithHavenoranyoftheotherimmortals
thatworkintheplace.YetIstillslowasInearit,quicklycalculatingjusthowlongit’sbeensincethelast
timeIwasthere,andmorethanalittlecurioustoseewhat’sbecomeofitnowthatRoman’snolonger
around.

ButeventhoughIexpectedtofindsomekindofchange,Ineverexpectedtofinditboardedupthe

wayit is. Thewindows empty, theonce elaborate displays dismantledand gone, witha door that’s not
justlockedbutalsobearingasignthatreads:closed!Withtheadditional,hand-scrawledscribbleof:For
Good!Justunderneath.

“IknowIshouldn’tbesurprised,butstill,Ididn’tseethatcoming,”Damensays,hisvoicesoftand

low,hiseyesfixedonthesign.“IthoughtforsureHavenwould’vetakenitover,orevenMarco,orMisa,
orRafe.”

Inodinagreement,ditchthecarbythecurb,asthetwoofusscrambleout,crossingthestreetuntil

we’re standing before it. Peering through the window at some of the bigger pieces of furniture—the
couches,tables,anddisplaycases—that,forwhateverreason,wereleftbehind.Seeingthat,forthemost
partanyway,withafewexceptionshereandthere,allofthesmalleritemslikeclothesandjewelryand
suchareallgone.

AndIcan’thelpbutwonderjustwhosedecisionthiswas,justwhodecidedtoshutteritforgood.

NottomentionjustwhoRomanmight’vepossiblyleftcontrolofitto.

Beingimmortalandall,Isomehowdoubtheeverthoughttomakeawill.
Itakeaquicklookaround,makingsurenoone’spayinganyattentiontous,beforeIclosemyeyes

andopenthedoorwithmymind.Forgoingmyoriginalplantowaituntildark,figuringwiththewaythings
aregoing,thisplacecouldbeemptybythen,soit’sbesttojuststrikewhilewecan.

“You’vebecomeincreasinglycomfortablewiththebreakingandentering,”Damensays,hislipsat

myearashefollowsmeinside.“ShouldIbeconcerned?”

Ilaugh,astartlingburstofsoundthatechoesinthisvast,high-ceilingedspace.MotioningforDamen

toclosethedoorbehindusasIplacemyhandsonmyhipsandtakeagoodlookaround—takingamoment
toclosemyeyesandemployallmysenses,tryingtogetareadontheplace,tuneintowhereastained
whiteshirtmightbehidden,asDamenstandsbesidemeanddoesthesame.

But not getting much of anything, we decide to start right where we stand. Peeking inside antique

armoires,wobblyoldchestsofdrawers,sortingthrougheverythingquickly,methodically,butnotfinding

the one thing we need. Damen heads for the back, the space Roman once used as an office and, once
inside,callsformetojoinhim.

It’samess.Anabsolutemess.Likeatornadoblewthroughit.Likethefaultlinesrecentlyslipped.

RemindingmeofthewayJude’sstorelookedthedayHavenleftusfordead—andItakeitasasuresign
thatshe’sresponsibleforthis.

Wepickourwaythroughmassivepilesofpapersallstrewnacrossthefloor.Damensteppinglightly,

gingerly,whileI’mnotquitesogracefulandaccidentallygoskiddingandsurfingafewtimesonlytohave
himcatchmeandkeepmefromfalling.

Idodgeanoverturnedchair,scootaroundasetoftrulyhideous,greenpaisleycushionspulledfrom

thesmallloveseatthat’sshovedinthecorner,pausinglongenoughforDamentoremoveanemptiedfile
cabinetfrommypath,beforewemakeforadeskthat’salmostaslitteredasthefloor,coveredinamess
of papers, and cups, and books, and debris so thick you can barely make out the fine inlaid wood
underneath.Thetwoofuspilferingthrougheverylastdrawer,everylastnook,untilwe’resureit’snot
here—convincedit’snothiddenanywhere.

Damenstandsbesideme,wearinganexpressionthat’sclosertoresolvethandisappointment,since

heneverallowedhimselftobelievewemightfinditsoeasily.Andeventhoughhemakestoleave,I’m
notquitereadytojoinhim.Ican’tseemtokeepfromstaringatthesmallwinefridgeinthecorner—its
plugpulled,itsdoornotjustleftopenbuthanginghaphazardlyoffitshinges.

Asmall,innocuousfridgewithnothingspecialaboutit,exceptforthefactthatI’msureitwasonce

filledwithelixir,thoughI’venoideawhomight’veemptiedit.

WasitMisaandMarco,whowerelastseenhoppingafencewithtwodufflebagsfilledwithstolen

juice?

WasitRafe,who,well,Ihaven’tseeninsolongIhavenoideaifhe’sevenstillaround?
Or was it Haven, who, from what I’ve seen anyway, seems to have developed a serious elixir

addictionproblem?

And,evenmoreimportantly,doesitreallymatteranyway,consideringmyonlyrealconcernhereis

obtainingtheshirt?

Damennudgesme,readytomoveon.Andsincethere’snoreasontostay,nothingtobegainedhere,I

takeonelastlookaround,makingsureIhaven’tmissedanything,thenfollowhimoutthedoor,thetwoof
usslippingoutjustasquicklyandcovertlyaswecame.

No closer to obtaining what we need, though more assured than ever that we’re definitely getting

closer,definitelymakingprogressofsomesort.

Haven’s world isn’t just showing signs of wear—it’s also starting to crumble all around her. And

nowit’sjustamatteroftimeuntilsheeitherreachesoutforhelporcompletelyself-destructs.

Eitherway,Iintendtobethere.

chapterthirty-four

Sincethestoreendedupbeingsuchacompleteandtotalbust,IdropDamenathishousesothathe

canhelpMilesrehearse,thendecidetoheadhomesoIcanregroupandhopefullycomeupwithanew
planofattack.Feelingmoredeterminedthanevertolocatethatshirt,especiallynowthatDamenandIare
sosolidlybackontrack.

Ipullintothegarage,heavinganimmediatesighofreliefwhenIseethatit’sempty.Sabine’svacant

spacesignalingthatshe’seitherstillatworkoroutwithMunoz,andknowingthateitherwayitallowsme
thepromiseofanemptyhouse,somemuchneededtimeonmyown,andafewhoursofcalmandpeaceful,
non-arguingsilence,whichisexactlywhatIneedbeforeIheadoutagain.

AndI’vejustwalkedthroughthesidedoorandamabouttomakemywayupthestairstomyroom

whenithitsme:

Acoldblastofenergy.
Theeffectsostingingandfrigiditcouldmeanonlyonething:
I’mnotnearlyasaloneasI’dthought.
I spin on my heel, not the least bit surprised to find Haven standing behind me. Her body fidgety,

twitchy, her formerly beautiful face reduced to a shockingly pale arrangement of sunken cheekbones, a
sharply angled nose, grim shrunken lips, and eyes so narrowed and hollowed and red, it’s like gazing
uponacrimescenephoto.

Herlipstwistinginawaysogruesome,itinstantlytransformsherintoavisionevenmoreluridthan

shewasjustamomentago.Scowlingatmewhenshesays,“Whereisit,Ever?”

AndsuddenlyIknowexactlywhodismantledthefridgeinthestore.
Knowexactlywhatshe’sherefor.
MisaandMarcobrokeintoherhousetostealherelixir—itallmakessensenow.
Romanneverpassedontherecipe,andwithouthim,therogues’supplyiscutoff.Andnowit’sonly

amatteroftimebeforetheirpowersdwindle,andultimatelytheiryouthandbeautyarelost.

I’mHaven’sonlyhopeofretaininghernewpowers.
Hernewlife.
Still,it’snotlikeI’mabouttomakeiteasyonher.Notwhenthiscouldturnouttobejustthesolution

Ineed.

ShewantssomethingIhave—andIwantsomethingshehas.So,underthecircumstances,thatleaves

meprettywellpositionedtobrokersomekindofdeal.

I’lljusthavetotreadcarefully,cautiously.Ican’taffordtoalerthertothetruesignificanceofthe

shirt,justincaseshehasn’trealizedityet.

Liftingmyshoulderscasually,Isay,“Idon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingabout.”ThenIsmile,stalling

fortime,tryingtogetabetterreadonherasIformulateaplaninmymind.

But she’s not about to play along, she’s in much too big a hurry for that. She’s fading fast, barely

holdingon,andshedoesn’thavetimeforthisparticulargame.

“Quitfuggingaroundandjustgiveittome!”Sherollshereyesandhuffsunderherbreath,shaking

herheadinawaythatthrowshercompletelyoff-balance,forcinghertograbholdofthestairrailinorder
tosteadyherself.

Inarrowmygaze,takingamomenttoreallystudyher,notingthewaysheappearssoedgy,sojumpy,

sooutofwhackandunsteady,shecanbarelystandstill,canbarelyholdherselfupwithoutsomekindof
support.Focusingonhersolarplexus,seeingitlikeabull’s-eyesmackdabinthecenterofhertorso,fully
preparedtotakeheroutifIhaveto,thoughstillhopingitwon’treallycometothat.ThenItrytotuneinto
herenergy,tuneintoherhead,trytogetsomekindofreadonjustwhereshe’sat,andjusthowfarshe’s
willingtogotogetwhatshewants—butgettingnothingformyefforts.

She’snotjustshutofffromme—she’sshutofffromeverythingaroundheraswell.
Belongingtonooneandnothing.
Barelybelongingtoherself.
She’slikeawalkingtalkingShadowland.
Dark.
Alone.
Totallycaughtupinapastshe’shellbentonavenging,eventhoughthetruthofitisnothingatalllike

theversionshe’schosentoconvinceherselfof.

“Theelixir,Ever!Givemethefuggingelixiralready!”Hervoiceisshaky,high-pitched,raspierthan

ever, revealing just how much her desperation has come to define her. “I’ve already checked all the
fridges—theoneinthekitchen,theoneoutsidebythebarbecue,thespareoneinthelaundryroom,andI
wasjustabouttoheaduptothedenoffyourroom,when,well,youcamehomeandbeatmetoit.So,I
figureaslongasyou’rehere,Imayaswellasknicely—seeingaswhatgoodfriendsweusedtobeand
all.So,comeon,Ever,foroldtime’ssake,foroldfriend’ssake,handoverthefuggingelixiryoustole!”

“That’s you asking nicely?” I lift my brow, noticing the way she eyeballs the space between the

banisterandme,asthoughplottingtosneakthroughit,promptingmetoquicklygrabholdofit,blocking
allaccess.

Shemumblesunderherbreath,grippingthestairrailsotightlyherknucklesblanchtoanimpossible

shade of white, looking at me with eyes so red they’re practically bleeding from the effort, leaving no
doubtthatshe’sthisclosetosnappingwhensherepeats,“Justgiveittomealready!”

Itakeadeepbreath,andconcentrateonsurroundingherwithastreamofcalmingenergy.Hopingit

willhelptopacifyher,coolher,easesomeoftheanger,temperandtonedowntherage.ThelastthingI
needisforhertogooff,toexplodeinsomesortofmeltdown.Eventhoughsheposesnorealthreattome
anymore,she’sstillaveryrealthreattoeveryonearoundher,andIcan’taffordtoletitgettothatpoint.

ButwhenIseethewaymybubbleofpeaceonceagainfailstopenetrate,bouncingrightoffherin

much the same way it did the last time I tried, I decide to give her what she needs instead. Figuring a
couple sips of elixir can’t hurt—if anything, from what I can see, it should go a very long way toward
tamingthebeast.

Iturn,slowly,cautiously,carefulnottoalarmherorsetheroffinanyway,headingupthestairsand

motioningforhertofollow,whenIglanceovermyshoulderandsay,“I’mhappytoshare,Haven.I’vegot
morethanenough,sonoworriesthere.ThoughIamcurious—”Istoponthelandingandfaceher.“Why

doyouneedmyjuice?Whathappenedtoyours?”

“Iranout.”Sheshrugs,glaringatmeassheadds,“Iranoutbecauseyoustoleabunchofit,andnow

I’mgonnatakeitback.”

Shegrins,thepromiseofadrinkseemingtoappeaseherjustthetiniestbit,thoughherwordsleave

me chilled. I have no idea how much juice Roman might’ve kept on hand, but if he was anything like
Damen it must’ve been a pretty healthy supply, a year’s worth at the very least. Since it’s forced to
fermentunderthepropermoonphases,it’snotlikeyoucanjustwhipupabatchspontaneously.Andthe
factthatMisaandMarcoonlymadeoffwithabagfulmeansshe’smanagedtoplowthroughtherestofit
insuchashortamountoftimeit’snotonlyalarmingbutgoesalongwaytowardexplainingthestatethat
she’sin.

Iheadformydenandovertothemini-fridgethat’splacedjustbehindthewetbar.Reachingfora

freshnewbottleasIsay,“Ididn’tstealyourelixir.Ihavenointerestorneedforthatkindofthing.”

Seeing her stand before me, hands shaking in outrage. “You’re such a liar! You think I’m stupid?

How else did you survive? I know all about the chakras—Roman told me and Damen told him! It was
backwhenRomanwascontrollinghim,backwhenheconvincedhimtospillallkindsofsecrets.Ihityou
inyourweakspotandyouknowit.Ihityoubeforeyouwentdownandafteryouwentdown,andIeven
hityouonelasttimeforgoodmeasurejustbeforeIleftyoufordead.Itshould’vekilledyou!Ithoughtit
did kill you. I was sure the only reason you didn’t disintegrate into a big pile of dust is because you
weren’tasoldastherestofthem.ButnowIknowtherealreasonforwhyyou’restillhere—”

I look at her, knowing full well what that reason is—the fact that I watched my lives unfold right

beforeme.ThefactthatIwitnessedthetruth.Andbecauseofit,Imadetherightchoice,theonlychoice,
whichallowedmetoriseabovemyweakchakra.Nomore,noless.Still,I’minterestedinhearingher
takeonit.

“You drank Roman’s elixir.” She shakes her head, allowing the blue gemstones on her earrings to

chimesoftlytogether.“It’swaymorepowerfulthanyours,asyouwellknow,whichisexactlywhyyou
drankit.It’stheonlythingthatsavedyou!”

I shrug, catching our reflections in the mirror on the far wall behind her—noting the difference

betweenus—herdarknessversusmylight.Thecontrastsostark,ittakesmybreathaway.Thenaverting
mygazejustasquickly,determinednottooverfocusonhersad,sorrystate.Ican’taffordthesympathy,
notwhenImaybeforcedtokillheratsomepoint.SwitchingmygazebacktoherswhenIsay,“Ifthat’s
sotrue,thenhowcomeitcan’tseemtosaveyou?Andhowcomeitcouldn’tsaveRomaneither?”

ButHaven’sdonechatting.She’sdeterminedtogetwhatshecamefor.
“Givemetheelixir.”Shetakesaslow,unsteadysteptowardme.“Givemetheelixirandnoonegets

hurt.”

“Ithoughtwejustcoveredthat.”Ikeepthebottlebehindme,holdingitwelloutofherreach.“You

can’t hurt me anymore, remember? No matter what you do or how hard you try, you can’t get to me,
Haven.Sojustmaybe,insteadofthreateningme,youshouldtryawholenewapproachandtrytogeton
mygoodside.”

Butshejustsmiles.Causingherfacetowidenandliftinawaysoghastlyitonlyservestoemphasize

herhollow,redeyes.“MaybeIcan’thurtyou,buttrustme,Ever,Icanstilldosomeseriousdamagetothe
peoplewhoarenearanddeartoyou.And,asgoodandfastasyoumaybe,well,it’snotlikeyoucanbe
inallplacesatalltimes.It’snotlikeyoucansaveeverybody.”

Andthat’swhenshedoesit—that’swhenshetakesadvantageofmymomentaryshockathearingher

wordsandlungesstraightfortheelixirgraspedinmyhand.

Andthat’salsowhenIreactjustalittlebitquickerthansheplanned.

Tossingthebottleaside,watchingasitlandsclearontheothersideoftheroom,welloutofreach,I

pounceonher.Descendingsosureandsofastshedoesn’tseeitcominguntilit’swaytoolatetoreact.

Throwingherdowntothecarpetasmyfingerseagerlycircleherneck.Wrigglingthroughthetangle

ofnecklaces,immediatelynoticinghowheramuletisstillgone.

Butdespitethefactthatherfaceisturningblue,despitethefactthatI’mslowlycuttingoffherair

supply,shejustlaughs.Themotionofitpushingherthroathardagainstthepalmofmyhand,assheemits
asoundsogruesome,soawful,I’mtemptedtokillherjusttoputanendtoit.

ButIcan’tactrashly.Can’taffordtodoanythingofthesort.NotuntilIgetwhatIwant,andifthe

priceisafewbottlesofelixir,thensobeit.

“Givemethefuggingelixir!”shescreams,thesecondIloosenmyhold.Herbodythrashingunder

mine, moving frantically, violently, thrusting from side to side, as she scratches and claws with sharp,
pointy,bluenails.

Lashingoutlikearabidanimal.
Likeajunkiegonetoolongwithoutafix.
Scrambling across the floor the moment I lift myself off, grasping the bottle, popping the top, and

shovingitagainstherlipssohardandfastherfrontteethbreakofffromtheforce.

But she doesn’t miss a beat. Doesn’t pay it any notice at all. She just continues to gulp and glug,

draining it so quickly it’s just a matter of seconds before it’s completely emptied, and she’s tossed it
aside.Ahintofcolorreturningtohercheeks,thoughherteethstillhaven’tre-formed—notthatsheseems
tonoticeorcare.Shejustlooksstraightatme,lickingherlips,asshesays,“More.Andmakeitthegood
stuffthistime.Thestuffyoustole.Yourjuicetasteslikecrap.”

“Didn’tseemtostopyou.”Ishrug,havingnointentionofhandingoveranythingmoreuntilIgetwhat

Iwant.“YoucanhavemyentiresupplyforallIcare.I’mnotaddicted,likeyou.”Islowlylookherover,
leaving no doubt just how troubled I am by the view. “But just so you know, I didn’t steal your elixir.
MisaandMarcodid.”Istudyherface,notingthewayitchanges,transforms,asshestopsandconsiders
mywords,calculatesthepossibilityofthemactuallyholdingevenasmidgenoftruth.

“Andyouknowthisbecause…?”Shequirksherbrowandplacesahandoneachhip,asshecocks

herheadtotheside.

Imeethergaze,knowingIhavetosaysomethingquickly,thoughnotquitesurewhatthatis.IfItell

herIwasthere,thatIsawit,thenshe’llknowIwaslookingforsomethingelse,somethingshemightnot
yetrecognizethesignificanceof.So,instead,Ijustshrug,forcingmyvoice,myentiredemeanortostay
cool,calm,andcollectedwhenIsay,“BecauseIdidn’tstealit.AndbecauseDamendidn’tstealiteither.
And because that is hardly the reason why I survived your attack. And because it only makes sense, if
you’llstoplongenoughtothinkaboutit.”

Shelooksatmeandfrowns.Andthat’sallIneedtoseetoknowshe’snotbuyingit.Thatshe’sstill

convinceditwasme.

“Or—ormaybeitwasRafe?”Isay,havingtemporarilyforgottenabouthim.“Imean,whenwasthe

lasttimeyouevensawhimanyway?”

But when I look at her again, it’s clear it’s not working. Even though everything I just said makes

sense,it’snotquitegettingmewhereIwanttogo,need to go, and thanks to the elixir she drank, she’s
nowjustalertenoughtorealizeit.

She smooths her heavily jeweled fingers over the front of her dress, plucks some stray carpet lint

fromhersleeve.“Notaproblem,”shesays.“I’lldealwiththem.Butinthemeantime,sinceI’mhereand
all,whatdoyousayyoujustgivemetherestofyoursupply?”

chapterthirty-five

Justasshe’sleaving,clutchingasinglebottleofelixirtightlytoherchest,Sabinemarchesthrough

thesidedoor.

Jugglingherbriefcaseinonehandandabagofgroceriesintheother,shestops,doesaquickdouble

take,andsays,“Haven?Ihaven’tseenyouin…ages.You’relooking…”Sabinepauses,browslantedas
sheslowlylooksherover.AndeventhoughHaven’sinmuchbettershapethanshewaswhenshearrived,
she’sstillalongwayfrombeinganywhereevenclosetopresentable.Andforthosenotusedtoseeingher
newlook—well,she’sdownrightscary.

ButHavenjustlaughs,shootingSabineafriendly,broken-toothedsmilewhenshesays,“Noworries.

Trust me, my mom’s not crazy about it either. Which, by the way, is just one of the many reasons I’m
divorcingher.”

Sabineglancesbetweenus,clearlyconfusedbythestatement.
ButHaven’squicktofillintheblanks.“I’mdivorcingallofthemactually,bothmyparentsandmy

little brother. I’d divorce the housekeeper too if I could.” She laughs, the sound so unnatural, so
disturbing,itinstantlysetsSabineonedge.“Anyway,longstoryshort,Imovedout.I’minthemiddleof
gettingemancipatedsoIdon’thavetodealwiththeircrapanymore.”

Sabinefrowns,eyesnarrowedinalookI’vecometoknowalltoowell,alookthatclearlysignals

heroutrageddisapproval.

ButHaven’simmunetoallthat.Ifanything,itonlyseemstoeggheronevenfurther.Causingherto

smilethatmuchbrighterwhenshesays,“TheyjustrefusedtoacceptmeasIam,so,Ijustpackedupmy
stuffandsaid—adios!”

Sabineglancesbetweenus,probablywonderingifI’msomehowplayingaroleinthis,ifIfedHaven

thelines,toldherjustwhattosayandwhen.ButeventhoughthewordsclearlyapplytothewaySabine’s
beentreatingme,Ihadnothingtodowithit.Haven’saone-womanshow.

“Well,I’msuretheymissyouverymuch.”Sabinenods,revertingtohercourtroomlitigator’stone.
ButHaven’snotplayingthatgame,theonewhereeveryoneactsallpoliteandpoliticallycorrectand

pretendsthatwhatwasjustsaidreallywasn’t,andthateverythingwillworkoutintheenddespiteaload
ofevidencepilingupagainstit.

She’salsowaypastplayingtheparentand/orguardiangamewhereyouworkovertimetryingtoput

your best manners on display, so your friends’ parents will like you, trust you, and invite you to come
backagain.

BecauseHavenandIaren’tfriends.

Andshecouldn’tcarelesswhatSabinethinksofherorifshe’severinvitedback.
Sosheshrugsandrollshereyesandsings,“Doubtful!”
Causing Sabine’s gaze to immediately harden and switch over to me as though I’m somehow

responsible, that my silence, my not saying a word, my not doing anything to stop it, signals consent of
somekind.Whenreally,I’mjustwaitingforthiswholethingtoend.WaitingforHaventofinallyshutup,
forSabinetofinallygiveup,headintothekitchen,andputthegroceriesaway,soIcanfinallymakesome
progresstowardclosingthedealHavenandImade.

Though, unfortunately, Haven’s far from done. Clearly relishing every last bit of tension she’s

introducedandeagertoaddtoit,shesays,“Butthen,Idon’tmissthemeither,soIguessthatmakesus
even.”

Sabine looks at me, ready to speak, but Haven just waves her hand in the air, temporarily losing

controlofthejuiceandwatchingasithurtlestowardthefloor—sparkingandflaringasitsplashesupthe
sides,untilshecasuallyreachesout,flattensherpalm,andcatchesitinmidair.Hereyesglintingwhen
she sees the way Sabine blinks, shakes her head, and instantly talks herself out of what she just saw,
convincingherselfthatnoonecanactuallymovethatfast,thatitdidn’thappenatalllikeshethought.

“Whoops!”Havenlaughs.“Well,anywho,don’tmeantokeepyou.Justcameovertograbsomeof

Ever’s elixir here.” She holds the bottle before her, tilting it from side to side, causing it to spark and
flare,beforepointingattheboxIgraspinmyarms,theonethathousestherestofthesupply.

“Youcametogether…what?”Sabinesquints,strugglingtomakesenseofit,glaringsuspiciously

betweenthebottleandme,beforerisingupontohertoesandpeeringinsidethebox,wonderingwhyshe
failedtopayitanyrealnoticeuntilnow.Sheplacesherbagontheentrytableandreachesforthebottle
Havenhappilyoffers.Ifitmeanstroubleforme,Havenwillgladlyhanditrightover.

Butthishasgonefarenough,andthere’snowayIcanletitcontinue.
Ican’tallowSabinetogetherhandsonthejuice.
Can’tallowHaventoplaymelikethis.
“It’s nothing,” I say, shoving the box into Haven’s side, pushing hard against her. “It’s just that

energysportsdrinkIlike.”

ButSabine’snotbuyingit.Onelookatherfaceisallittakestoknowthatshe’slaunchedintoafull-

scalealert.Suddenlymakingtheconnectionbetweenmystrangebehavior,myrefusaltoeat,andallofmy
otherstrange,unexplainable,andjustplainweirdhabits,assuming,somewhatcorrectly,thatitallstems
fromthisonesinglething.

Havenlaughs,thrustingtheelixirtowardher,tauntingher,temptingher,urgingSabinetotryalittle

sip so she can see for herself just how good—just how refreshing—just how energizing and life
changingonesipcanbe.

AndSabine’sjustabouttodoit,luredbythepullofHaven’sgaze,thesparkoftheelixir,andjust

abouttotakethebait,whenHavenlaughsevenharderandsnatchesitaway.

CausingSabinetoshakeherhead,straightenhershoulders,andquicklypullherselftogetherwhen

shesays,“Ithinkyoushouldleave.”Thewordsgroundbetweentightlyclenchedteeth.“Ithinkyoushould
gorightnow.AndwhileI’msorrytohavetosayit,Haven,you’reobviouslyverytroubledandinneedof
someserioushelp,anduntilyoufindawaytogetyourbehaviorundercontrol,Ireallydon’twanttosee
youhangingaroundhereanymore.”Shereachesfortheshoppingbag,liftingitoffthetableandbalancing
itbackonherhipasshecontinuestoeyeballhercarefully.

“Oh,noworries.”Havensmiles,turningtoleave.“Youwillnotbeseeingmeagainanytimesoon.I

haveabsolutelynoneedtoeverreturn,nowthatIgotwhatIneed.”

ShereachesforthedoorandI’mrighttherebehindher,determinedtogetthisoverwithasquickly

andseamlesslyasIcan,beforethecalmingeffectsofthejuicewearoffandHavenstartsragingagain.

ButjustasI’mabouttostepontothestoop,Sabinestopsmebygrabbingholdofmyarm.Shehasno

intentionoflettingmeleave,notnow,andcertainlynotwithafriendshejustbannedfromherhouse.

She narrows her gaze, fingers slipping down to my wrist, circling tightly, as she says, “And just

wheredoyouthinkyou’regoing?”

My gaze meets hers, and I know I have no choice but to say it as calmly and succinctly as I can.

Leavenodoubtwhatsoeverthatwhethershelikesitornot,shewillnotkeepmefromgoingthroughwith
myplan.

“Sabine—IhavetogosomewherewithHaven.Itwon’ttakelong,andwhenIgetback,wecantalk

allyouwant,butfornow,Ihavetogo.”

“You’lldonothingofthesort!”shecries,hervoicehigh-pitched,shrill,asshegripsmethatmuch

tighter,mywristturninganangryshadeofredthatwon’tevenhavetimetobruisebeforeit’shealedagain.
“Didn’tyouhearme?Youarenottohangaroundwiththatgirlanymore.IthoughtImademyselfclear?”

I’mjustabouttoyankfree,justabouttoagreethatyes,shehasmadeherselfclear,butthatit’snot

reallyherchoicetomake,whenHavensmiles,liftstheboxrightoutofmyarmsandsays,“Noworries,
Ever.Youstaywithyourauntie.She’sobviouslyveryupset.Icangetitfromhere.”

AndIwatchassheheadsforhercar—Roman’scar—dumpingtheboxonthepassengerseatbefore

settling in, revving the engine, and laughing hysterically as she waves good-bye and backs down the
drive.

Sabine’sfingersstillonme,stillclutchingme,stillkeepingmefromdoingtheonethingIneedtodo

most—theonethingthatcouldendthishorriblecurseandputmylifeonawholenewcourseofcomplete
andtotalhappiness—shouting,“Gotoyourroom!”Hercheeksred,eyesblazing,facesofullofoutrageit
makesmefeelterribleforcausingit.

Butthat’snothingcomparedtohowIfeelwhenIyankmyselffree.Pullingsohardandfastthatthe

bagofgroceriesslipsfromhergripandsendsabarrageofcansandfruitsandvegetablesandeggcartons
and cottage cheese containers scrambling all across the floor, leaving a trail of curds, pulpy bits, and
runnyyellowyolkalloverthepolishedtravertinestone.

Nothing compared to how I feel when I catch her expression—a horrible mix of hurt, outrage,

surprise,andevenworse—fear.

NothingcomparedtotheregretIfeelwhenIglancebetweenthemessandher,wishingIcouldjust

make it disappear with my mind, erase it entirely, make it seem as though it never did happen—but
knowingthat’llonlyservetomakethingsworse,Iturnmybackonitall,andheadoutthedoor.

DesperatetocatchupwithHavenwho’sjustusedtheopportunitytorenegeonourdeal.Havingno

ideawheretostartbutknowingIneedtostartsomewhere,andIneedtostartnow.

Callingovermyshouldertosay,“Sabine,I’msorry.ReallyIam.Buttherearethingsyoujustdon’t

understand—don’twanttounderstand—and,asitjustsohappens,thisisoneofthem.”

chapterthirty-six

Assoonasmyfoothitsthestoop,Istartrunning.Notwantingtowastethetimeit’lltaketogointo

the garage and get my car and start it up and back out of the drive and all the other steps in the whole
“normal” routine I work so hard to keep up if for no other reason than to appease Sabine (even though
prettymuchallofmyactionssofarhavedonejustaboutanythingbutappeaseher),butalsonotwanting
tomanifestanythingwhileshe’sstillwatchingfromthewindow.Knowingthat’llonlyresultinawhole
newslewofquestions—questionsIhavenointentionofanswering.

Hergazefollowsme.Icanfeeltheweightofitwrappingallaroundmeinahorriblemixofanger,

worry,andfear.

Thoughts are things. Made of a very tangible form of energy. And hers are shooting straight to the

heartofme.

But despite feeling terrible about everything that just happened, it’s not like I can take the time to

stopandworryaboutitnow,there’llbeplentyoftimeforthatlater.I’llnodoubthavemyworkcutoutfor
metryingtofindawaytomakeituptoher,butfornow,myonlyconcernisfindingHaven.

Iturnoffmydrivewayandontomystreet,thinkingI’mfinallyhomefree,onlytobeconfrontedwith

thesightofMunozslowinghisPriusasheheadsrighttowardme.

Great,Imumble,watchingashelowershiswindowandcallsoutmyname,hisfacecloudedwitha

lookofgenuineconcernwhenheasks,“Everythingokay?”

Istop,stealingasecondtolookathimandsay,“Actually,no.Prettymuchnothing’sokay.Infact,not

evenclose.”

Hescruncheshisbrowandglancesbetweenthehouseandme.“CanIhelp?”
I shake my head, starting to take off again, but then I think better, so I turn to him and say, “Yeah,

pleasetellSabinethatI’msorry.ThatI’mreallyandtrulysorryforeverything…forallthetroubleI’ve
caused,forhurtingherinthewaythatIhave.Sheprobablywon’tbelieveit,probablywon’tacceptit,and
Ican’tsayIblameher,but,well,anyway…”Ishrug,feelingmorethanalittlefoolishforhavingshared
allofthat,butit’snotlikethatstopsme.“Oh,andfailingthat,youcanalwaysgreetherwiththese…”I
closemyeyesandmanifestalargebouquetofbrightyellowdaffodils,knowingIshouldn’thavedoneit,
knowingit’llonlyspawnawholenewslewofquestionsIhavenotimetoanswer,butstillthrustingthem
uponhimwhenIadd,“They’reherfavorite—justdon’ttellherhowyougot’em,okay?”

Andbeforehecanreply,beforeIcantakeinthefullimpactoftheshockonhisface,I’moff.
Having wasted more time than I can afford, I take one more second to manifest a black BMW for

myself,justliketheoneDamendrives.AwareofMunoz’sbewilderment,hisoutrightastonishment,ashe

continuestowatchmefromhisrearviewmirror.Seeinghisjawdroppeddowntohiskneesinabug-eyed,
didIreallyjustseewhatIthinkIdidkindofstarewhenIspeedoutofsight.

Making my way toward Coast Highway, figuring I’ll find a way to deal with him later, as I

acceleratealongtheseriesofcurvesandtrytodeterminewhereHavenmight’vegone.

Mygutsinkingthesecondtheanswerappearsinmymind.
Theshirt.
Nowthatshegotwhatshewanted—thankstoSabine’sinterfering—shehasnoplanstomakegood

onherendofthedeal.Shehatesmesomuch,she’dmuchratherdestroytheonethingIwant,theonething
Ididn’tjustaskforbutinsisteduponinreturnforthejuice,eventhoughitclearlyholdsgreatsentimental
valueforher.

EventhoughI’mprettydangsureshehasnoideaofthepromiseitholdsforme.
But that’s hardly the point. As far as Haven’s concerned, the fact that I want it, the fact that I was

willingtobargainforit,isreasonenoughtodestroyit.

Icouldtellbythewayshelookedatme.Shemayhavebeenshaky,morethanalittleunsteady,but

she’dhadjustenoughelixirtoallowhertothinkandactsomewhatlogically.

SowhenIofferedtoprovideherwithanicesupplyofjuiceifshegavemesomethinginreturn,she

justshruggedandsaid,“Fine.Whatever.Justgoaheadandspillitalready.What’sthisbigthingyouso
desperatelyneed?”

“Iwanttheshirt,”I’dsaid,movinguntilIwasstandingrightbeforeher,seeinghersquintinreplyas

Iadded,“theoneRomanworeonhisverylastnight.Theoneyousnatchedrightoutofmyhandbefore
youthreatenedmeandtoldmetoleave.”

Hergazenarrowed,andthewayshelookedatme,well,itwasclearshestillhadit.Butitwasalso

clear she had no idea why I’d want it, what the significance could possibly be. And I can only hope it
staysthatway,atleastuntilIcangettheshirtsafelywithinmypossession.

“Youmean,theshirthewaswearingonthenightwhenyoukilledhim?”she’dsaid,browquirking

crazily.

“No.”Ishookmyhead,keepingmyvoicesteadyandsure,mygazefocusedonhers.“Imeantheshirt

heworeonthenighthesotragicallydiedanaccidentaldeathatJude’shands.”Mygazeholding,making
sureIhadherfullattention,whenIadded,“Youhandoverthatwhitelinenshirthewaswearing,andI
mean that very same one, because trust me, Haven, I will know if you try to swap it for a fake, but
anyway,yougivemethatandinexchangeI’llgiveyoualltheelixiryouneed.”

She glanced between the box of elixir I’d just filled—the box I referred to as a good-faith down

payment, since it was all that I had on hand—and me. Wanting so badly to deny me, but so completely
overcomebyherowndependency,herownragingneed,intheend,shewasunabletodoanythingbut
reluctantlyagree.

Finally nodding her consent when she said, “Fine. Deal. Whatever. Let’s just get this over with,

okay?”

Andthat’swhenweheadeddownstairs.Havencarryingafreshnewbottleshewaswellonherway

todraining,andmeluggingtheboxforsafekeeping,determinedtokeepitfromheruntiltheexchangewas
complete.

ButthenSabinecamehomeandwreckedeverything.
Isigh,switchingmyfocusbacktothepresent,justabouttostopbyheroldhouse,theonewhereher

parentsandlittlebrotherstilllive,wonderingifshemight’vestasheditthereforsomereason,primarily
because it seems like the last place anyone would look, when I have this overwhelming urge to head
somewhereelseinstead.

Not knowing if it’s a message of some sort, a sign of some kind, or maybe even just some crazy

powerfulintuition,Ifollowitanyway.EverytimeIignoreoneofmystrongerinstinctsIlivetoregretit,
sothistimeIpullaquickU-turnandfollowitslead.

DisappointedwhenIfindmyselfataplaceI’vealreadychecked.ThatMilesandIalreadychecked,

butstillgoingaheadwithitanyway.Iapproachthedoor,thinkinghoweventhoughsheclaimsit’shers,
havinglivedhereformonthsnow,Ican’thelpbutthinkofitasRoman’s,asafloodofmemoriescome
rushingback.

RememberingallthetimesIcameherebefore—thetimesIknockeddownthedoor,thetimesIfought

withhim,nearlysuccumbedtohim,thetimeIwatchedJudekillhim—thenpushingthethoughtsasideasI
makemywayaroundaconfusingmazeoffurniture.Stuffthatupuntilrecentlylivedinthestore,andnow
thatit’sbeenmovedhere,allowsforonlytheslimmestpathdownthehallandintoadenthat’salsoso
jam-packeditrequiresamomenttotakeitallin.

My gaze roaming among the antique armoires, the silk and velvet settees, the shiny Lucite coffee

tablethatlookslikearejectfromtheeighties,andovertothehugestackofoilpaintingsinornategold
frames,allpiledupagainsteachother,leaningagainstthefarwall,whilevariousitemsofclothing,from
alldifferenttimeperiodsstretchingbackhundredsofyears,arestrewnoverpracticallyeveryavailable
surface,includingthebarwhereRomankeptthecrystalgobletshefilledwithelixir,aswellasthecouch
whereI,ruledbythedarkflamewithinme,triedtoshamelesslyseducehimwhilewearingafaçadethat
made me appear to be Drina. The same couch where everything changed the night I made Haven drink
Roman’sspecialbrew.

My gaze traveling past all of that and all the way over to the blazing, stone hearth, where Jude

cowers.Lookingscared,shocked,defeated,andconfused,whileHavenstandsbeforehim,clutchingthe
stainedwhitelinenshirtinonehandandJude’sarmintheother.Havingmadethetransformationbacktoa
slightlyhealedversionofherself,oratleastwhereherteethareconcerned,thoughshe’sstillalongway
fromtheoldHaven,stillcompletelyruledbyherownoverwhelmingaddictionsandanger.

“Well, well,” she says, turning to me, her eyes red and squinty. “Did you actually think you could

trickme?”

Ishakemyhead.I’masconfusedassheisastowhat’sreallygoingonhere.
Mygazedartingbetweenthem,seeingthewayJudecowers,caughtinhergrip,clearlyhorrifiedat

havingbeencaughtdoing—well,doingwhatI’mnotsure.Ican’tquitemakesenseofwhatI’mlookingat
orwhathisgoalcould’vepossiblybeen.

Hashefiguredoutthetruthbehindtheshirt—thepromiseitholds—andhe’stryingtoobtainitasa

sortofpeaceofferingforDamenandme?

Or, even worse, and far more likely, is he here to steal it, destroy it, having only pretended to be

friendlywithDamen,toforgivehimforthepast,whenreallyhe’sbeenplanningforthismomentallalong,
refusingtogiveuponhisfinalrevenge?

AndbeforeIcandoanythingtostopit,she’sonhim.Fueledbythejuicethatrageswithinher,the

juicethatIgaveher,sheletsgoofhisarmonlytocatchhimbythethroat.Liftinghimhighintotheairas
hisfeetkickanddanglebeneathhim,shakingtheshirtbeforeher,shakingitatmewhenshesays,“What
thefugisgoingonhere?”

“Idon’tknow,”Isay,carefultokeepmyvoicelow,steady,slowlyapproachingherwithmyhands

heldwhereshecanseethem.“Really.Ihavenoideawhathe’sdoing.Perhapsyoushouldaskhim?”

SheglancesatJude,seesthewayhiseyesbulge,thewayhisfacegrowsswollenandred,andshe

drops him just as quickly, her grip switching to his arm to keep him from bolting, as he sputters and
coughsandfightstocatchhisbreath.

“Youtwoplanthis?”Sheglaresatme.
“No.” I glance between her and Jude, wondering why he always has to show up at all the wrong

times.

Whyhealwayswreckseverything.
Knowingonethingforsure—it’snotacoincidence.There’snosuchthing.Theuniverseisfartoo

harmoniousforsuchrandomnessasthat.

Sowhatthen?WhyisitthateverytimeI’msoclosetogettingexactlywhatIwant,Judeshowsupat

justtherightmomenttothwartallmyplans?

There’sgottobesomethingmoretoit—somesortofreasonormeaningfulexplanationbehindit—

butwhatthatreasonorexplanationcouldbe,iscompletelybeyondme.

Havenholdsuptheshirt,scrutinizingit,inspectingit,tryingtodeterminewhyI’dwantit,whyJude

wouldrisksomuchtogetit,whatpossiblesignificanceitmightholdforanyoneotherthanher.

Then she switches her gaze between us, noting how he gazes at the stain, noting how I watch him

gazingatthestain—andthat’swhensheknows.

That’swhenthelightbulbgoesonanditallcomestogether.
That’swhenshelosesherselfinpealsofshoulder-shakinglaughter.
Laughingsohardshecanbarelycontainherself.Bendingforward,onehandonherknee,sheheaves

andcoughsinaseriesofthigh-slappingspasms,untilshefinallygetsholdofherself,rightsherself,and
says, “I totally get it now.” She dangles the shirt from the tips of her fingers as a hideous grin spreads
acrosshercheeks.“Ido,Idoindeed.But,unfortunatelyforyou”—she points at me—“or, maybe, even
possibly you—” She jerks her head toward Jude. “It seems like Ever here has a very big decision to
make.”

chapterthirty-seven

She turns, eyes darting between us as she says, “You know, at first I kept the shirt with me all the

time.CarriediteverywhereIwent.Toschool,tothestore,IevensleptwithitjustsoI’dneverhavetobe
farfromhisscent.”Sheshrugs.“IprettymuchlookeduponitasmylastconnectiontoRoman—theone
remainingthingI’devertrulyhaveofhis.ButnowIknowdifferently.Everythingyouseehereismine.
Romanneverplannedondying,sohedidn’tbothermakingawill.Whichmeansnooneelsehasanyclaim
tohisthings,andIdarethemtotry.ThisismyconnectiontoRoman.”Shewavestheshirtthroughtheair,
thefabricgentlyswayingasshepointsatthecollectionofantiques.Usingherotherhandtotightenher
griponJude’ssleeveassheadds,“Thishouse,thesethings,everything,allofit,belongstome.Ihave
remindersofhimeverywhereIlook,soit’snotlikeIneedsomedumbwhiteshirtanymore.No,you’rethe
one who needs it, Ever. This is all about the stain, right? It’s left over from that infamous antidote you
came so close to getting if it wasn’t for this guy.” She grips Jude harder, causing him to flinch, but he
refusestocryout,refusestogiveherthesatisfactionofknowingshe’sactuallycausinghimpain.“And
now it seems he’s done it again.” She turns to Jude, tsking as she shakes her head. “If this guy hadn’t
gotten in the way, you’d be living happily ever after now, wouldn’t you? Or, at least that’s been your
versionofthestoryanyway.SoIaskyou,youstillwillingtostandbehindthat?Youstillwillingtoblame
himforeverything?”

Ilookather,keepingmygazesteady,mybodytensed,readyforanything,thoughrefusingtoanswer,

refusingtofallintowhatevertrapshehasset.

Butshejustrollshereyes,notatalldissuadedbymysilence,saying,“Well,it’snotlikeitmatters

anyway,becausewhat’sdoneisdone,andit’snotlikeIneedyoutoknowwhat’sreallygoingonhere.
Youhonestlymanagedtoconvinceyourselfthatalltheanswerslivehere.”Shewagstheshirtbeforeme.
“Inabig,greenblobofastainonawhitelinenshirt.Youhonestlyplantodropitoffatsomecrimelabor,
better yet, take it to the science lab at school so you can get extra credit for breaking down all the
components,aswellasfinallygettingyourhandsontherecipethat’llallowyouandDamento,asRoman
wouldsay:shagyourbleedin’heartsout!”Shelaughsandshakesherhead,herOuroborostattooflashing
inandoutofviewassheshootsmeapityinglook,asthoughshecanhardlybelievethefoolishnessofit
all.“Sotellme,Ever,howamIdoingsofar?AmIright?AmIprettymuchontrack?”

Buteventhoughshecontinuestoeyeballme,eventhoughsheprettymuchnailedthetruthonitshead,

Idon’tanswer,andI’mcarefulnottoleton.Ijustcontinuetostandthere,warningJudewithmyeyesnot
todoanythingasrashandstupidasthelasttime,whilekeepingwatchoverHaven,who’sstillalongway
frombeingatthetopofhergame,butisstillabletodoagoodbitofdamageandwreakagoodbitof

havoc,fromwhatI’veseen.

TakinggreatcaretonotlethercatchmeasIcovertlycallforbackup.Sendingatelepathicmessage

toDamenthatconsistsofnothingmorethantheimageunfoldingbeforeme.

Knowingit’sjustamatteroftimebeforeheappears.
AllIhavetodoisstalluntilthen.
“Listen,Haven—”Istart,butIdon’tgetveryfar.
She’sseenit.
Seentheshiftinme.
Andbecauseofit,she’snotabouttoindulgemeanyfurther.
AndbeforeIcandoanythingtostopit,she’sgotJudebytheneckagain,whileshekicksthescreen

awayfromthefireanddanglesRoman’swhiteshirtjustovertheblaze.

Her fingers shaking as the shirt dangles precariously. Allowing the flames to spark and lick and

blackenthehem,asshelooksatmeandsays,“Nousewastinganymoretimehere,isthere?Sowhaddya
saywejustcuttothechase,shallwe?Timetodecide,Ever.Thechoiceisyoursandyoursalonetomake.
What’llitbe—alifetimeofnonstop,happyshaggingor—Judegettingtoenjoyalonglife?”

Jude gasps and struggles against her, but when he looks at me, instead of a plea for help, his gaze

begs only forgiveness. His oxygen supply becoming more and more scarce the tighter she grips, yet he
stillallowsmetoseeinsidehishead.

Hecamehereforme.
Onlyforme.
He wanted to make good on his word, to prove that he really does just want to see me happy. He

wantedtomakeupforwhathedidallthosemonthsbefore,righthereinthishouse.Andnow,he’sready
todieforitifitshouldcometothat.He’sfullypreparedtosacrificehimselftoseethatIfinallygetwhatI
want,toseethatit’sdone.

Doit!heurges,hisgazeholdingmine,thefeelofitsowarm,solovingitrobsmeofbreath.Please,

Ijust want youto be happy.And because of everythingyou’ve shown me,everything I’ve learned in
Summerland,I’mfreeofallfear.Thinkofitasmyfinalgifttoyou.Iwaswrackingmybrain,tryingto
thinkofawaytomakeupforeverything,whenIrememberedRoman’sshirt,rememberedthewayyou
reactedthedayIspilledmycoffeeandsoakeditupwithmysleeve.Andafterputtingthetwotogether,
Irealizedthiswouldbetheperfectwaytoerasemymistakes.

Hecloseshiseyes,butthethoughtsdon’tstopthere,hecontinuestothink:ButnowI’veonlymadeit

worse,andI’msosorry.Ireally,trulyam.Ijustwantyoutoknowthatmylovehasalwaysbeentrue
andmyintentionsgood.I’veneveroncemeanttoharmyou.

I choke back a sob, work past the knot in my gut, blink back my stinging wet tears, and glance

betweenhimandtheshirtHavenholdsjustshyoftheflames.

And I know that all I have to do to get the one thing I’ve sought for so long is to make the choice

they’rebothbeggingmetomake.

Jude’salreadygivenhisconsent.He’spracticallypleadingwithmetodoitalready.
And Haven, well, Haven can hardly contain her excitement. This is exactly the sort of thing she’s

cometolivefor.

Exactlythekindofthingshe’scometoenjoymostinthisworld.
SoItakeadeepbreath,allowingthewordsforgiveme,tostreamfrommymindtoJude’sasIturnto

Havenandsay,“Youknow,thisistheexactsamekindofcrapRomanusedtoplay.AndlikeItoldhim,
I’lltellyou,Idon’tplaythisgameanymore.”

chapterthirty-eight

Shelooksatme,clearlyunabletobelievewhatshejustheard.
SoIrepeatit,leavingnoroomfordoubtwhenIsay,“Seriously.I’mnotchoosing.I’mnotplaying

this game. So it looks like you’re gonna have to come up with something else—and hopefully it’ll be
somethingalittlemoreoriginal,alittlemoreunique.Takeyourtime,though.”Iliftmyshouldersinaway
that’s deliberately calm and cool. “I’m in no hurry. Though you might want to lighten up on poor Jude,
unless, of course, you’ve decided to kill him after all, in which case, feel free to grip even tighter and
finishthejob.Eitherway,I’llberighthere.I’mnotgoinganywhere’tilIgetwhatIcamefor.”

Shelooksatme,handsbeginningtoshakefromtheeffort,ragetakingoveragain.Herscathing,hate-

filledgazemovingovermeasshesays,“Sohelpme,Ever,IwillburnthisshirtandkillJude,andthere’s
nothingyoucandotostopit.”

“No you won’t.” My voice remains firm as my gaze holds steady on hers. Noticing how she’s

loosenedhergraspjustthetiniestbit,thoughdoingmybestnottoletonthatIsaw,forfearthatshe’llonly
tightenupandcausehimgreatpainyetagain.“Iknowofatleasttwoverygoodreasonswhyyouwon’t
eventry.”

She looks at me, her entire body growing increasingly shaky as she quickly loses whatever grip

she’dmanagedtohangontountilnow.

“One,becauseit’sbeenalittletoolongsinceyourlastdrink,andyou’realreadystartingtosuffer

withdrawal.”Ishakemyheadandcluckmytongueagainsttheinsideofmycheek,wearinganexpression
ofdisapprovingpity.“Justlookatyourself,Haven,you’reahollow-eyed,sunken-faced,shiveringwreck.
Ittookyears—centuriesprobably—forRomantobuildupthekindoftolerancetodrinkasmuchasyou
haveinjustafewmonths.Youcan’thandleit,you’reinwayoveryourhead.Justlookatyourself,will
you?”

“Andtwo?”shesays,voiceraspy,acid-tinged,broadcastingherextremedispleasurewithme.
“Andtwo.”Ismile,eyesneveronceleavinghers.“You’reabouttobeoutnumbered.Damenishere.”
Icanfeelhispresence,feelhimpullingintothedrive,rushingthroughthefrontdoor,downthemaze

inthehall.WarningMilestostayback,tonotgetinvolvedorventureanyfurther,ashestormsintotheden
and Haven gazes upon them. Seeing Damen, standing right beside me, while Miles peers in through the
doorway,havingrefusedtolistentoDamen’swarningtostayoutoftheway.

Narrowinghereyeswhenshesays,“Oh,wouldyoulookatthat—Damenbroughthisownbackup.

That’ssocute!”

Iturn,glimpsingMiles,hisauradimming,hisshoulderscringing,regrettingthemomenthedecided

toenterthisroomwhenhetakesinthegruesomesightofhisformerbestfriend.

Haven glares, her eyes blazing with fury when she says, “You chose the wrong side, Miles.” She

narrowshergazeevenfurther,untilallIcanseearetwoslitsofred.“Ican’tbelievewhatatraitoryou
turnedouttobe.”

Milesmeetshergaze,andifhe’sscared,hedoesn’tshowit.Hejuststraightenshisspine,squares

his shoulders, and combs his fingers through his hair, his aura beaming, strengthening, when he says, “I
haven’tchosenatall.Imaynotagreewithyourmorerecentchoices,Imayhavechosentodistancemyself
abit,butasfarasI’mconcernedweneverstoppedbeingfriends.Imean,seriously,Haven,sofarI’ve
madeitthroughyourballerinaphase,yourpreppyphase,yourgothphase,youremophase,andnowyour
super-scaryimmortalwitchphase.”Heshrugscasuallyashetakesamomenttoglancearoundtheroom.
“Andthefactis,I’mnotgoinganywhere.Foronething,Ihaven’tyetgivenuponyou,andforanother,
well,I’mwaytoocurioustoseewhichroleyou’lldecidetoplaynext.”

Sherollshereyes,voiceraspierthaneverwhenshesays,“Well,Ihatetobreakittoya,butthereis

nonext,Miles.Whetheryoulikeitornot,thisisit.Thisisthenewandimproved,infiniteversionofme.
I’mcompletelyself-actualized.I’meverythingIwasevermeanttobe.”

Milesshakeshishead.“Ireallywishyou’drethinkthisorlookinamirroratleast.”
But if she hears it, she chooses to ignore it and instead turns her attention back to Damen. “So,

DamenAugusteEsposito.”Shesmiles,herfacegarish,eyesredandflashing,usinganamethatwasthrust
on him a very long time ago, back when his parents were murdered and he was turned over to the
orphanage where he lived until the black plague ravaged the area and he spared himself by making the
elixir.Anamehehasn’tusedforseveralcenturiesatleast,andittakesmeamomenttorecognizeit.“I
know all about you. I’m not sure if Ever mentioned it or not, but Roman kept very good records, very
detailedrecords.Andyou,well,let’sjustsayyou’vebeenavery,verynaughtyboy,nowhaven’tyou?”

Damenshrugs,carefultokeephisfacestill,hisemotionswellhidden.“Ibroughtyoumoreelixir.I

leftabigboxbythedoor,andbelieveme,there’splentymorewherethatcamefrom.Sowhydon’tyou
comewithmeandhavealook,okay?Youcanevenhaveatasteifyou’dlike.”

“Whydon’tyousavemethestepsandbringittomeinstead?”Shebatshereyes,attemptingtosmile

in the way that she used to—cute, charming, flirtatious, with a hint of adorable quirkiness. But she’s
veeredsofarfromthatoldversionofherself,itjustendsuplookingcreepyinstead.“Asyoucansee,I’m
alittlebusyhere.EverandIwerejustworkingthroughthedetailsofalittledealthatwemade,andifI’m
notmistaken,thefactthatshesummonedyoumeansshenolongertrustsme.Whichisprettyironicifyou
considerthatnotonlydidshemakemethisway,but,fromeverythingIsawinRoman’sjournals,well,
shereallyhasnogoodreasontotrustyoueither,nowdoesshe?”

“Enough with the journals,” I say, eager to move away from all this. “I know everything, Haven.

There’snothingleftforyoutolordoverus,sowhydon’tyoujust—”

“Yousureaboutthat?”Hereyesdartbetweenus,asthoughsheknowssomethingIdon’tandcan’t

waittorevealit.“YouknowabouthispastwithDrina?Howhefakedhisowndeathinafire?Aboutthe
littleslavegirlhestolefromherfamily?Youknowaboutallofthat?”Sheglancesbetweenus,including
Jude,buthejustmeetshergazeandgivesnothingaway.

“Shedoes.”Damenlooksather.“And,bytheway,Ididn’tstealtheslavegirl,Iboughtherinorder

tofreeher.Unfortunately,that’showitwasdonebackthen.Itwasaverydarktimeinourhistory.ButI
don’tthinkyou’rereallyallthatinterestedinrelivingthat.Soplease,don’twasteanymoreofourtime
withthisnonsense.JustletgoofJudeandhandovertheshirt.Now.”

“Now?”Shebalks,liftingherbrow.“Ohno,Idon’tthinkI’llbedoingthatnoworanyothertime,for

thatmatter.That’snotthewaythisgameisplayed.Infact,thatprettymuchgoesagainstalltherules.And

sinceyou’resolatetotheparty,allowmetoexplainittoyou.Basically,achoicemustbemade.Youcan
either,A,choosetosaveJude,orB,choosetosavetheshirt.SoDamen,what’llitbe—aperson’slifeor
yourownself-interest?KindoflikewhatRomanmadeEverdowhenshemademedrink,rightherein
thisroom,well,atleastaccordingtoEveranyway.Ican’tsayforsuresinceIwassooutofit.ThoughI
do remember how the whole thing went down right there on that couch.” She jerks her head toward it.
“Which,Iguess,isprobablywhyshe’srefusingtoplaythistimearound.Mustbeapainfulremindersince
it’sprettyobvioushowmuchsheregretsherdecision.It’sprettyobvioushowshewishesshe’djustlet
medieinstead.Butjustbecauseshewon’tplaydoesn’tmeanyoucan’t.Sotellme,Damen,whichone
willitbe?Justtellmeandit’syoursandyourstokeep!”

Damenlooksather,preparingtocharge,totakeherdownandputanendtoallthis.Icanfeelitin

the way his energy shifts. I can see the plan forming in his head. But I quickly warn him against it—
pleadingwithhimtostaycalmandstillandtonotdoathing.She’sbaitinghim,expectingnolessthanan
ambush,andthere’sfartoomuchatstaketoplayitthatway.

“Haven,noone’schoosinganything,”Isay.“Becausenoone’splayingyourstupidlittlegame.So

why don’t you just let go of Jude, hand over the shirt, and try to get a grip on yourself—on your life.
Believeitornot,I’mstillwillingtohelpyou.I’mstillwillingtoputallthebadstuffbehindus,soyou
canrecover.Seriously.Just—justgivemetheshirtandletgoofJudeand—”

“Choose!” she screams, her whole body shaking so badly my gut jumps into my throat when I see

howcloselytheshirtveerstowardtheflames.“Fuggingchoosealready,sheesh!”

Andeventhoughshemeansit,eventhoughhereyesblazewithrage,Ijustlookatherandshakemy

head.

“Fine.”Sheglares.“Ifyoutwowon’tchoose,thenI’llchooseforyou.Butjustremember,youhad

yourchance.”

SheturnstowardJude,herlipspartingasthoughshe’sabouttosaysomething,somethingthatmight

begood-byeorgoodluckorgoodriddanceor—oranythingofthesort.

Butit’snotreal.
She’stryingtothrowusalloff.
MakeusthinkJude’snotlongforthisworldwhenshecouldn’tcarelessabouthim.
It’smeshewantstohurt.
It’smeshewantstodestroy.
Andshe’sdeterminedtotakeallofmyhopesanddreamsalongwithit.
SoIlunge.
JustasDamenlungestosaveJude,andJudelungestokillHaven.
Coilinghisfingersintoafist,aimingrightfortheverycenterofhertorso—herthirdchakra—herone

majorweakspot—justlikeItaughthim.

Onlyitdoesn’tconnect.
Dameninadvertentlycatcheshiminmidflightandknockshimoffcourseattheverylastsecond.
WhileMilesinstinctively,nobly,foolishly,rushesforwardtohelpme,onlytogetcaughtinHaven’s

snareasshegripstheshirtinonehandandherbestchildhoodfriendintheother.

HerfingerssqueezingtightlyaroundhisneckasMileskicksandgaspsandstrugglestofreehimself.
Andonelookinhereyesisallittakestoseethatshemeansit.
Toseejusthowdarkandevilshe’sbecome.
Everythingthey’vesharedmeansnothingtoher.
Shehaseveryintentionofkillinghimiffornootherreasonthantohurtme.
Toforcemeintochoosing,whetherIlikeitornot.

Flashingmeonelast,horriblegrinasshesqueezesMilessohardhiseyesareabouttoburstfromhis

head—simultaneouslyshriekingwithdelightasshedropstheshirtintotheblazingfirewhereit’sgreedily
metbytheflames.

Allofithappeningsoquickly,inlessthanafractionofasecond,thoughitseemstoplayoutinslow

motionbeforeme.

Herfacelooming,hatefulandobscene,gleamingwiththevictory,theabsolutethrill—ofgettingto

me.

SowhileDamenuntangleshimselffromJude,Idrawbackmyfist,recallingthemanifestedversion

ofthissceneIrehearsedallthosemonthsago,andnotinghowit’snothingliketheall-too-realversionthat
playsoutbeforeme.

MostlybecauseIhavenoregrets.
Noreasontoapologize.
NochoicebuttokillherbeforeshekillsMiles.
Islammyknucklesstraightintoherchest,feelingitconnectsmackintothesweetspot.
Seeingtheflashofshockinhergaze,asDamensnatchesMilesfromhergrasp,andIleapintothe

flames.

Myfleshscorching,burning,bubbling,peeling—thepainwhitehotandagonizinglysearing.
ThoughIpayitnonotice.
Ijustkeepgoing,reaching,grasping,seeking.
Allofmyfocusnarroweddowntothisonesinglething—tryingtosavetheshirt—eventhoughit’s

clearlytoolate.

Even though it’s been swallowed whole, consumed by the flames, leaving no trace that it ever

existed.

VaguelyawareofthesoundofMiles’sandJude’sfranticcriescomingfromsomewherebehindme.
Vaguely aware of Damen’s arms grasping, holding, soothing, pulling me out of the fire and

smotheringtheraginginfernothat’sconsumingmyclothes,myhair,myflesh.

Pullingmetightlytohischest,whisperingintomyearoverandoveragainthatit’llallbeokay.That

he’llfindaway.Thattheshirtdoesn’tmatter.TheimportantthingisthatMilesandJudearesafeandwe
stillhaveeachother.

Begging me to close my eyes, to look the other way, to avoid the hideous sight of my staggering,

gasping,dying,formerbestfriend.

ButIdon’tlisten.
Iallowmyeyestomeethers.
Takinginhersnarlofhair,herblazingredgaze,hersunkencheeks,heremaciatedbody,hercrazed

expression, and her voice filled with absolute, all-consuming hatred when she screams, “This is your
fault,Ever.You’retheonewhomademethisway!Andnowyou’regonnapayforthis—Iswearyou’re
gonna—”

Unabletostoplookingevenaftershecrumbles,andbreaks,andswiftlyslipsaway.

chapterthirty-nine

“Youhadtodoit.”Damenlooksatme,mouthgrim,browcreasedwithconcern.“Youdidtheright

thing,youhadnochoice.”

“Oh,there’salwaysachoice.”Isigh,meetinghisgaze.“ButtheonlythingIfeelbadlyaboutiswho

shebecame,thewayshechosetohandleherpower,herimmortality.Idon’tfeelbadlyaboutthechoice
thatImade.IknowIdidtherightthing.”

IdropmyheadonDamen’sshoulderandallowhisarmtosliparoundme.Thinkinghoweventhough

IknowImadetheonlyrealchoicethatIcouldunderthecircumstances,thatdoesn’tmakeitanyeasier.
ThoughIchoosenottovoicethat,notwantingtoworryDamenanyfurther.

“Youknow,oneofmyactingcoachesusedtosaythatyoucantellalotaboutapersonfromhowthey

handle times of great stress.” Miles glances between us, his neck still roughed up and red, his voice
hoarseandscratchy,butthankfully,he’swellonthemend.“Hesaidtruecharacterisrevealedbytheway
peoplereacttothebiggerchallengesinlife.AndwhileIdefinitelyagreewiththat,Ialsothinkthesame
canbesaidofhowpeoplehandlepower.Imean,Ihatetosayit,butI’mreallynotallthatsurprisedby
the way Haven reacted. I think we all know she had it in her. We went all the way back to elementary
school,andasfarasIcanremember,shealwayshadthisreallydarkside.Shewasalwaysdrivenbyher
jealousiesandinsecurities,and,IguesswhatI’mtryingtosayis,youdidn’tmakeherthatway,Ever.”He
looksat me, hisbloodshot eyes andpale face bearing hisdistress at losinghis friend—at almost being
killedbyhisfriend—butstilldesperateformetobelieveit.“Shejustwaswhoshewas.Andonceshe
realizedherpower,onceshestartedthinkingshewasinvincible,well,shejustbecameevenmoreofwho
shewas.”

IlookatMiles,silentlynoddingmythanks.
Then I sneak a quick peek at Jude, who’s off in the corner searching through the large stack of oil

paintingsproppedupagainstthewall,determinedtokeepquiet,keeptohimself,feelingresponsiblefor
everythingthatjusthappened,andmentallykickinghimselfforyetagainmessingwithmyplansinapretty
bigway.

Andyet,eventhoughIwishhehadn’tdonewhathedid,eventhoughitdefinitelyresultedindisaster

onacolossalscale,Ialsoknowhedidn’tdoitonpurpose.Despitehistendencytointerfereinmylife,
alwaysmanagingtocomebetweenmeandtheonethingIwantmostinthisworld,it’snotlikehe’strying
togetintheway.It’snotlikeit’stheleastbitintentional.Infact,italmostseemsasthoughhe’sdrivento
doit.

Asthoughhe’sbeingguidedbysomehigherforce—eventhoughI’mnotevensurewhatthatmeans.

“So,anyway,whatshouldwedowithalloftherestofit?”Milesasks,havingalreadyhelpedDamen

andmecollectRoman’sjournals,oratleastalltheoneswecouldfind.

Thelastthingweneedisforsomeoneelsetostumbleuponthem,andreadthefirsthandaccountof

one very flamboyant person’s very flamboyant (and flamboyantly long!) flamboyant life—even if they
probablywouldjustassumeitwasaworkofover-the-topfiction.

“Weboxitupandgiveittocharity,Iguess,”Damensays,smoothinghishandovermybackashe

gazes around a house that’s completely jammed with all manner of antiques from all different periods.
Basically everything that was once kept in storage or at the store has been moved here. Though it’s
anyone’s guess what Haven planned to do with it. “Or we have an estate sale and donate the money to
charity.”Heshrugs,seemingalittleoverwhelmedbythetask.

UnlikeRoman,Damenwasneverahoarder.Hemanagedtoexistforcenturieswithonlytheitemshe

neededatthetime,whilesavingonlythosethattrulymeantsomethingtohim.Butthen,Damenknowshow
to manifest. He knows just how plentiful the universe really is. While Roman never mastered that gift,
probably didn’t even know it was possible, and instead became greedy, believing there was never
enough,andthatifhedidn’tsnatchsomethingup,thensomeoneelsewould,sohe’dbettergettoitfirst.
Andtheonlytimehewaseverwillingtoreleaseorletgoofanythingwaswhenitresultedingreatprofit
forhim.

“Thenagain,ifyouseeanythingyoureallywant,feelfreetotakeit,”headds.“Otherwise,Iseeno

reasontokeepit,Ihavenointerestinanyofit.”

“Yousureaboutthat?”Judeasks,speakingupforthefirsttimesinceitallhappened.SinceIkilled

myformerbestfriendandsentherstraighttotheShadowland.“Nointerestinanything?Noteventhis?”

Iturn,weallturn,onlytofindJudestandingbeforeus,splicedbrowraised,dimplesonfulldisplay,

asheholdsupacanvasrevealingaglorious,vibrantoilpaintingofabeautifultitian-hairedgirltwirling
inanever-endingfieldofredtulips.

I gasp. Swallowing a huge mouthful of air, instantly recognizing the girl as me—the me of my

Amsterdamlife—butunsurewhotheartistcouldbe.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Jude gazes between us, though his eyes land on me. “In case you’re

wondering, it’s signed by Damen.” He motions toward the hand-scrawled scribble in the lower right
corner.Shakinghisheadasheadds,“Iwasgoodinmyformerlife,nodoubtaboutthat.FromwhatI’ve
seeninSummerland,BastiaandeKoolcertainlyhadhisshareoftalent—helivedaprettygoodlifetoo.”
He smiles. “But still, as hard as I tried, I could never quite capture you in the way Damen did.” He
shrugs.“Ijustcouldn’tseemtomasterthat—technique.”

He hands me the painting as my eyes continue to graze over it. Seeing how it’s all there—me, the

tulips,andeventhoughDamen’snotpictured,Icanstillfeelhispresence.

Canseetheloveheheldformeineverylastbrushstroke.
“Iwouldn’tbesoquicktojustboxitallupwithouttakingareallygoodlookatleast,”Judesays.

“Whoknowswhatothertreasurescanbefoundhere?”

“Youmean,likethis?”MilesslipsintotheblacksilksmokingjacketRomanworeonthenightofmy

seventeenthbirthday—thenightthatcamesoclosetogoingsotragicallywrong—untilIfinallyfoundthe
courage, the strength in my heart, to push him right off me. “Should I keep it?” he asks, tying the sash
tightlyaroundhiswaistandstrikingaseriesoffashion-model–typeposes.“Imean,ifI’meveraskedto
auditionforaroleasHughHefner,I’llhavetheperfectthingtowear!”

AndIstarttosayno.
Starttoaskhimtopleasejusttakeitoffandputitaway.
Starttoexplainhowitholdsfartoomanybadmemoriesforme.

ButthenIrememberwhatDamenoncesaidaboutmemories—thatthey’rehauntingthings.
AndbecauseIrefusetobehauntedbymine—IjusttakeadeepbreathandsmilewhenIsay,“You

know,Ithinkitlooksreallygoodonyou.Youshoulddefinitelykeepit.”

chapterforty

“Doyouthinkanyone’severdonethisherebefore?”
Ikneeldown,mykneessinkingintotheleftoverdirtfromtheholeIjustdug,asIglanceupatDamen

besideme.Therich,moistsoilprovidinganicecushionasIleanforwardandplacethevelvet-linedbox
containing all that remains of Haven—her jewelry and clothing—into the space I just made, as Damen
lookson.

“Summerland is a very old place.” He sighs, his voice tight, filled with unease and concern. “I’m

suremostthingshavebeentriedatleastonce.”

Heplaceshishandonmyshoulder,andIcanfeeltheworrystreamingoffhim.He’sworriedthatI’m

onlypretendingtobefinewithmychoice.ConvincedthatdeepdowninsideI’mnotnearlyasokayasI
claim.

ButeventhoughI’mleftincrediblysaddenedbymyactions,Idon’tdoubtthemorquestionthemfora

second.

I’mnolongerthatgirl.
I’vefinallylearnedtoplacemytrustinmyself,tolistentomygut,toheedmyownoverwhelming

instincts,and,becauseofit,I’matpeacewithwhatInowknowIhadtodo.Evenifitmeansonemore
lostsoulhasbeensenttotheShadowland,Havenwasfartoodangeroustobeallowedtocontinue.

Butthatdoesn’tmeanIdon’twanttohonorher.
Thatdoesn’tmeanIcan’tstillholdoutabitofhopeforher.
Havingrecentlybeentheremyself(thankstoher),Iknowexactlywhatshe’sgoingthrough.Falling—

floating—forcedtowatchthemistakesofherpast,overandoveragain.AndifIwasreadytolearnfrom
itandbettermyself,well,maybeshecandosoaswell.

MaybetheShadowlandonlyfeelslikeaneternityspentaloneintheabyss.
Maybe there really is a second chance at some point—a shot at redemption for a newly rehabbed

soul?

I lift the lid off the box, wanting to take one last glimpse at the sky-high boots, the skintight

minidress,thetangleofjewels—allofthemblue—thedanglingearrings,andthepileofrings,including
thesilverskullringsheworebackonthedaywefirstmet.

Backwhenneitheroneofuscould’veeverimaginedourfriendshipendinglikethis.
Then, just before I close it, I manifest a single red-velvet cupcake with pink sprinkles that I place

rightontop.Rememberinghowitwasherfavorite,oneoftheearlier,moreharmlessaddictionssheso
happilyindulged.

Damenkneelsdownbesideme,squintingbetweenthecupcakeandmewhenhesays,“What’sthat

for?”

I take a deep breath, take one last look, then close the lid again. Scooping up heaping handfuls of

loosedirtthatIletfallthroughmyfingersandontothetopwhenIsay,“Justalittlereminderoftheold
Haven,thewayshewasbackwhenwefirstmet.”

Damenhesitates,studyingmecarefully.“Andwho’sthisreminderfor—heroryou?”heasks.
Iturn,eyesgrazingoverhisjaw,hischeekbones,hisnose,hislips,savingtheeyesforlast,Isay,

“Theuniverse.It’ssilly,Iknow,butI’mjusthopingasweetlittlereminderwillconvinceittogoeasyon
her.”

chapterforty-one

“Wheretonow?”Damenwipesthedirtfromhisjeans,asIshrug,andgazeallaround.Knowingthe

pavilion’sout,itwouldbegrosslyinappropriateaftereverythingthatjustwentdown,andit’snotlikeI
wanttogohomeanytimesoon…

He looks at me, having just heard the thought, so I decide to fess up and say, “It’s not like I don’t

knowIhavetogohomeeventually,buttrustme,therewillbemajorhelltopaywhenIdo.”

Ishakemyhead,allowingthewholeuglyscenewithSabinetostreamfrommymindtohis,including

thepartjustafterIstormedoutofthehouse,whenImanifestedabouquetofdaffodilsandaBMWrightin
Munoz’sview,andseeingDamenwinceatthesightofit.

Suddenlygettingawholenewideathoughnotquitesurehowtoapproachit,Iglanceallaroundus

andsay,“Butmaybe—”Ipause,knowinghe’snotgoingtolikeit,butresolvedtobroachitanyway.“I
mean,it’sjustathought,butwhatdoyousaywegovisitthatdarksideagain?”

Ipeerathim,seeinghimreplywithanareyoucrazy?look,and,yeah,maybeIam.ButIalsohavea

theory,andI’meagertoseeifI’mright.

“Ijust…there’ssomethingIwanttosee,”Itellhim,knowinghe’sstillalongwayfromconvinced.
“Soletmegetthisstraight.”Herakeshishandthroughhishair.“Youwantustogovisitthatcreepy

partofSummerland,wherethere’snomagick,nomanifesting,nothingmuchofanythingotherthanasteady
supply of rain, a bunch of burnt-out foliage, miles and miles of deep, swampy mud that practically
doubles as quicksand, and, oh yeah, some creepy old lady who’s obviously gone completely mad, and
who,asitjustsohappens,istotallyfixatedonyou?”

Inod.Thataboutsumsitup.
“You’dratherdothatthandealwithSabine?”
InodagainandthistimeIliftmyshoulderstoo.
“CanIaskwhy?”
“Sure.” I smile. “But I probably won’t answer ’til we get there, so just trust me, okay? There’s

somethingIneedtoseefirst.”

He looks at me, obviously reluctant to go through with it but even more reluctant to deny me, he

quicklymanifestsahorseforustorideasIclosemyeyesandurgehimtotakeustothedarkest,dreariest
partofthisplace.

AndthenextthingIknow,we’rethere.OurmountcomingtoacrashinghaltasDamenandIfightto

stay on his back. Rearing and bucking and pawing the earth, forcing Damen to coo softly into his ear,
assuringhimheneedgonofarther,andcalminghimdownenoughforustoslideoffhisbackandhavea

goodlookaround.

“So, just like we remembered it,” Damen says, eager to ditch this place for somewhere warmer,

brighter,better.

“Butisit?”Iventuretowardthespotwherethemudbegins,tappingmyfootsoftlyagainstit.Testing

itssoftness,itsdeepness,tryingtodetermineifit’schangedinsomeway.

“I don’t know what you’re getting at.” He peers at me. “But as far as I can see, it’s just as wet,

barren,muddy,anddepressingasthelasttimewewerehere.”

Inod.“That’salltrue,butdoesitsomehowseem…biggertoyou?Like,Idon’tknow,likeit’s…

growingorexpandinginsomeway?”

Hesquints,notquitefollowingwhereI’mgoingwiththis,andknowingI’llrisksoundingcrazyor,at

theveryworst,completelyparanoid,Istillchoosetogoaheadwithitanyway,sinceIcouldreallyusea
secondopinion.

“I’vegotthistheory—”
Helooksatme.
“Well—”Itakeadeepbreathandgazeallaround.“Ican’thelpbutthinkthatImightsomehowbethe

causeofallthis.”

“You?”Damensquints,browsmergedwithconcern.
ButIlookrightpastitandquicklycontinue.Desperatetofinish,togetthewordsoutbeforeIhave

enoughtimetoreallystopandlistentomyself,beforeIloseallmynerve.“Look,”Isay,voicetenseand
hurried.“Imean,Iknowitsoundsstupid,butpleasehearmeoutfirst.”

Henodsandflasheshispalms,showinghehasnoplanstostopme.
“I’m thinking that maybe… well, maybe this place started growing when all the bad things started

happening.”

“Badthings?”
“Yeah,youknow,likewhenIkilledDrina.”
“Ever—”hestarts,eagertodispelit,toerasealltheblame.
Butbeforehecanfinish,I’mtalkingagain.“Imean,you’vebeencominghereforareallylongtime

now,right?”

“Sincethesixties.”Heshrugs.
“Okay,right,andso,I’msurethatduringallthistimeyou’velookedaroundagoodbit,didyourfair

shareofexploring,especiallybackinthebeginning.”

Henods.
“Andduringthosetimes,yousaidyou’dneverseenanythinglikethis,right?”
Henodsandsighs,thoughhe’salsoquicktoadd,“Butthenagain,Summerlandisaverybig place.

It’squitepossiblyinfiniteforallIknow.It’snotlikeI’veevercomeacrossanykindsofwallsorborders,
soit’squitepossibleit’sbeenhereallalongandImissedit.”

Ilookaway,tryingtoactasthoughI’mmorethanwillingtodropitifheis,butI’mnottheleastbit

convinced.

I can’t help feeling there’s something here that’s either caused by me or that I’m meant to see, or

both.Imean,that’swhatgotmehereinthefirstplace.IsimplyaskedtheSummerlandwhatitwantedme
toknowaboutitanditlandedmehere.ButwhatIdon’tknowiswhy.

Is it somehow connected to all of those souls that, because of me, have ended up in the

Shadowland?

Aretheysomehowmakingitgrow?
Likeaddingfertilizertoabatchofweeds?

And if so, does that mean it will continue to encroach and maybe even take over the rest of

Summerland?

“Ever,” Damen says. “We can explore if you want, but there’s really not much to see, is there? It

seemslikeit’sjustmoreandmoreofthesame,doesn’tit?”

Igazeallaround,reluctanttogiveupsoeasily,andyetnotreallyknowingwhatI’mlookingfor,or

evenhowtogoaboutprovingmytheory.SoIstarttoturnaway.StarttomovetowardhimagainwhenI
hearit.

Thesong.
Driftingfrombehindme,asthoughcarriedbyalonganddistantbreeze,butstillthere’snomistaking

it.

Nomistakingthevoice—thewords—theeerilyhauntingtune.
AndIknowwithoutlookingit’sher.
Turningtofindherpointingfinger,hercrooked,gnarledhand,raisedhighasshesings:

Fromthemuditshallrise

Liftingupwardtowardvastdreamyskies

Justasyou-you-youshallrisetoo…

Onlythistime,shecontinues,addingmorelinesshedefinitelydidn’tsingthelasttimewewerehere:

Fromthedeepanddarkdepths

Itstrugglestowardthelight

Desiringonlyonething

Thetruth!

Thetruthofitsbeing

Butwillyouletit?

Willyouletitriseandblossomandgrow?

Orwillyoudamnittothedepths?

Willyoubanishitswornandwearysoul?

AndjustwhenI’mthinkingit’sover,shedoestheweirdestthing.
She holds her hands up before her, cupping them as though anticipating some kind of offering, as

MisaandMarcosuddenlystepoutfrombehindherandstandoneitherside.

The two of them flanking her, gazing intently upon me, as the old woman closes her eyes in deep

concentrationasthoughtryingtomanifestsomethingspectacular.

Butallshegetsforhereffortsisasprayofgrayashthatemanatesfromthecenterofherpalmsand

fallsgentlytoherfeet.

Andwhensheliftshergazetomeetmine,herfaceappearsstricken,ashereyesstareaccusingly.
Damen grasps my arm and quickly pulls me away. Away from her. Away from them. Desperate to

escapethiscreepyscene.

Bothofuscluelessastowhosheis,whereshecamefrom,orwhatthesongcouldpossiblymean.
BothofushavingnoideawhatherconnectiontoMisaandMarcomightbe.
Onlyonethingisclear—thesongisawarning.
Thewordsintendedformetoheed.
Tohear.
Shecontinuestosing,hervoicesoft,melodic,herwordschasingbehindusaswerunbacktoour

horse.

Backtotheplaceofmagickandmanifestingandeverythinggood.
Backtotherelativesafetyoftheearthplane,wherewelandsidebysideonastarkemptybeach.
Ourhandslooselyclaspedasweliebackonthesandandfighttocatchourbreath.Tryingtomake

senseofthewords,thedisturbingscenewejustwitnessed.

Gazingupatablack,moonlessskybearingnotonesinglestar.
Mynightstarisgone.
Andforamoment,I’movercomebythishorrible,forebodingfeelingthatit’llneverreturn.
ButthenDamenwhispersmyname,hisvoicepiercingthesilence,piercingmythoughts.
And when I turn on my side to face him, seeing the way his face looms before me, his gaze filled

withsuchreverence,solovingandkind—mymindfloodswithrelief.

MynightstarisnolongerherebecauseI’mnolongerinneedofit.
Thetwoofusshineinitsplace.
“Thatsongisforme,”Itellhim,voicingthewordsIknowinmyhearttobetrue.“Haven’sdeath,

losingtheshirt…”Ipauseandtakeadeepbreath,feelingtheassuringwarmthofhisfingerasitgently
traces my cheek. “It’s all part of my karma. And now, apparently, there’s something more I’m meant to
do.”

Damenstartstospeak,eagertocomfort,torefuteit,toerasetheconcernfrommyface.
ButI’mquicktostophim,bringingmyfingertohislips.
I’venoneedforthosewords.
Whatevertheoldwomansingsabout,I’mreadytofaceit.
Onlylater,notnow.
“We’lldealwithit,”Isay,mywordsathischeekasIpullDamentome.“Together,we’lldealwith

everything. But for now…” My lips meet his, lingering as I savor the soft, sweet, almost feel of them.
“Fornowlet’sjustbegratefulforthis.”

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

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